I try to forget you as you forgot me

by MissTinfoilHat

Summary:

A necromancer (of sorts) has hit the streets of Yokohama with ties to Dazai's past.

Notes:

• For injeong.

This is the first entry in this swap-fic thingy I've started! I was not going to start any more long fics at this point, but as I hit three thousand words on this, I realized that it wasn't going to happen with this particular one- I was really inspired. I won't share the prompt I got from Injeong yet, since this is only the first part!

If you want to partake in this fic-swap, I'll leave the info at the end!

The title is taken from the song "In my time of need" by Opeth.

Chapter 1

As usual, everything went to shit the second it turned out to be connected to Dazai’s past in the Port Mafia. It didn’t matter how insignificant it seemed to be; an informant who knew about his shenanigans back then that demanded money to keep his or her lips shut, another botched cooperation between the two rival groups or a seemingly random cat that tended to stay around at bar Lupin that suddenly came back to haunt him years later. As long as it had anything to do with the Port Mafia, it would unavoidably end in disaster.

And ‘haunting’ was kind of the word of the day.

The day started like any other mission-day at the Armed Detective Agency. Atsushi overslept, Kunikida was verbally and/or physically assaulting Dazai for an ill-timed suicide joke, Kenji watered his vegetable garden, Ranpo ate himself queasy on candy and Naomi kept inappropriately groping her (supposedly*)  older brother. Hopefully, they would have time to go over their strategy before heading for the cars that would take them to where everything was going to go down. 

At first, the majority of the agency had some difficulty taking this mission seriously. The reports they had gotten, apparently from people with no obvious correlation to each other, had seemed impossibly unlikely. They spoke of seeing deceased loved ones roaming around town. Once they had approached them to confirm that they were nothing but an illusion, they would be shocked to find out that they were in fact far from it- they were real. They would recognize them and be happy to see their friends and family again, wholly aware that they had died and come back to life.

More and more similar cases made their way to their desks. The clients claimed that their walking deads told them about an ability user that had the gift of making blank canvases come to life and summon restless spirits that still had unfinished business amongst the living, merging the two into a perfect replica of the person that had passed on, complete with appearance and mind. 

Nobody had actually wanted to report the instances. They wouldn’t want to stop what they saw as miracles from happening to more people. They were just happy they had their loved ones back and wanted to continue their lives together with the missing pieces that had left their families incomplete.

But, as with everything that seems too good to be true, this would end up in a ghastly morbid catastrophe.  

With each and every case, the same scenario had unfolded. On the fifth day after getting their loved one back from the dead, they would wake up in the morning to a rotting corpse in the bed where their loved one had gone to sleep the night before. A corpse that seemed to have deteriorated for the appropriate amount of time for a corpse that had been left unattended since the time the person had originally died. 

Needless to say, that had prompted them to seek the agency’s help immediately. 

It was a perplexing case, that triggered excitement and dread for most of the Agency members. Most of them were already sufficiently haunted by the ghosts of their pasts and had enough with being visited by them in their nightmares. They wouldn’t want to have to deal with them coming back to life as well, no matter if it was on borrowed time.

Only Dazai seemed to be unable to settle into the tense air that suffocated the atmosphere in the car. He groaned loudly about “What is even the point of seeking sweet relief in death if I can simply be brought back by some maniac with an ability,” whining loudly about his newly found existential crisis, now that his entire life-goal turned out to be a huge sham. At least he seemed uncharacteristically highly motivated to stop the culprit.

Closing in on the supposedly abandoned storage facility the offender had been reported to work from, Dazai leaned over to Kunikida’s driver seat, lingering right by the idealist’s shoulder. 

“Do you think this guy’s ability would work on me if I was dead? Maybe I could kill myself, and he could bring me back every time until I’ve successfully attempted all the different methods from my book.”

Kunikida gnashed his teeth together and held in a current of expletives that wanted to spill out from his lips. Dazai took the lack of response as permission to continue and beamed obnoxiously. 

“There’s just so many exciting possibilities, you know. But some of them are so effective that there’s no way I could try them all without ruining any chances of trying the others. Maa~ so much fun to be had, such high fatality!” 

“Can you please shut up,” Kunikida growled dangerously, forcibly calm but convincing no one. 

The incomprehensive and empty look Dazai shot him through the rearview mirror was what provoked him and pushed him over the edge. He let go of the staring wheel in favor of grabbing ahold of Dazai’s bolo tie and pulled him down between the two front seats, tightening the string of the tie, efficiently suffocating the ever-bandaged man while screaming about his uselessness. 

“Kunikida-kun can finally fulfill his deepest desire~ kill me! Crazy-scientist-san will revive me and Kunikida can kill me again!” Dazai croaked happily as Yosano’s arms pulled the men apart.

“Shall we keep at least one pair of eyes on the road, four-eyes?” she deadpanned tiredly, before shoving Dazai floppily back in the backseat. Kunikida abruptly returned his attention to the road ahead, just as they were about to miss their turn. 

---

The wind along the coastline was frigid on this autumn day. Dazai wrapped his coat around him tightly and contemplated if maybe he should try to gain some weight before the winter as they exited the cars in front of the large warehouse. 

This case made him strangely nervous. The concept of raising people from the dead didn’t sit right with any of them, but he highly doubted that any of the others had put as many potential zombies in the ground as he had. Not even Fukuzawa in his past as Mori’s right-hand man. 

A zombie apocalypse was one of those things he’d always thought sounded fun in theory (and he kicked ass in Resident Evil Deadly Silence on his DS), but he simply didn’t feel like killing the same people twice. It defeated the purpose of this whole, living his life in the light , thing. There was also this weird feeling in his gut he had had ever since he first heard about this person. Dazai was sure he had never come across anyone with an ability like that (cause if he had, Mori would have been all over the guy- a literal army of darkness? Just up the Port Mafia’s alley), and yet, he hadn’t been that surprised when the reports started piling up. 

...maybe he had known someone with a power similar to that? 

Kunikida quickly drew up a boltcutter in his notebook and broke the lock tp the large storage facility. It slid out of the henges with a loud thud. They proceeded by opening the doors, Kunikida sliding open the right one and Atsushi getting the left one. 

They entered and started down the long halls. The inside was like a labyrinth. Hallway by hallway of large locked doors. 

“Do we know where he’s supposed to be, or are we just going to walk around blindly?” Dazai asked with disinterest, folding his arms behind his head. 

Ranpo pulled a large piece of paper from his pocket and folded it out. 

“According to the blueprints, the building is three stories, about 50,000 square meters. The larger storages are downstairs, so I suggest we start there.” 

Kunikida nodded curly and lead the way. The group took the elevator to the basement. As they exited the cramped lift, they were met with complete blackness. They could hardly see from one end of the room to the other in the shuttering dark. 

“Atsushi, would you mind looking for a light-switch?” Kunikida asked, well aware of Atsushi’s superior night vision. The young were-tiger affirmed the command and started tracking along the walls. 

Dazai took a couple of steps into the room. The energy was different down here. The temperature was cooler, and it smelled old and dusty. Each step he took made the echoes bounce between the walls. Something across the large open space made a noise- as if a door was being shut. 

The heads of all six agency members left snapped towards the sound. Kunikida raised his hand, signaling for them to halt. Fumbling along his waistline, he quickly retrieved his gun and waved for them to back him up. 

Dazai frowned slightly. It was odd, but something pulled him in the other direction. The hallway opposite to where the sound had come from, but he reluctantly followed along. 

A few faint clicking sounds were heard before Atsushi returned. “The light switches don’t work. The power is probably cut down here.”

“Makes sense. This building hasn’t been in use since the owner died nearly 7 months ago,” Dazai murmured thoughtfully. “All though, our culprit might benefit from raising him from the dead and make him pay the power bill,” he added with a cheeky grin. 

The joke didn’t seem to land.

The air appeared to grow thicker as they moved quietly through the narrow hallway, passing storage units and dark, nearly black sideways, following the muffled sounds that kept roaming subtly through the facility. After walking for what felt like hours, they stopped. They had reached a dead end. 

Another muffled sound came from inside the unit closest to them and Kunikida pointed out everyone’s positions and got ready for entry. 

For a while, he struggled to recover a usable lock cutter from his notebook- it was impossible to get it right in the pitch darkness and tensions grew amongst them. 

A loud slap made everybody jump and instantly they turned towards the sound. 

Dazai stood, rubbing his neck with a sheepish grin. Kunikida shot him an angry glare and mouthed the word “what?”. 

“Mosquito,” Dazai apologized in a whisper, shrugging while still scratching his neck. A collective sigh, a mix of irritation and relief, ran through the group of detectives and they turned their attention back to where Kunikida was fumbling with the lock.

Dazai kept massaging his neck. The prickle on the side of his throat stung fiercely.

In front, Kunikida was finally able to break the lock and he gave a signal for the rest of the team to get ready to immobilize their culprit as he slid the door open in one quick motion. 

They all burst into the room, guns raised and senses sharpened, ready for anything. The room was dark and still- Tanizaki quickly shone his flashlight around, revealing nothing more than old furniture and dust-snowflakes brushing across the room.

“What--” Kunikida started as a bat flapped from the roof and escaped the room. They kept still, watching the orb of light darting back and forth, covering every single inch of the room. 

“Retreat,” Kunikida said grimly, and they turned around and backed out. 

“Dazai-san, do you have any ideas,” Kunikida started.

No one answered. 

Everyone turned around, searching their surroundings. Grabbing the flashlight from Tanizaki, Kunikda shone it down the hallway, where it finally settled on a crouched form further down.

“Dazai-san?” he asked again, closing the distance between them wearily. “Are you okay?” 

Still, no answer came. The beige-clad shoulder’s seemed to shake, and finally, Dazai stepped back nearly knocking himself over as he steadied a hand across the wall to help himself stand up. 

“Mmh… Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaked, wiping a bandaged covered arm across his mouth. The flashlight shifted to where Dazai had been bent over, revealing a puddle of acidic bile. 

“Are you sick?” Kunikida inquired pointedly, scowling at Dazai as he brushed past him, still not completely steady on his feet.

“Maa~ Kunikida-kun, I’m moved by your concern.” He cleared his throat before his voice turned slightly more serious. “But really, I’m fine. I guess I overdid breakfast,” he smiled obliviously. 

Kunikida had clearly seen that whatever he had thrown up had not been indigested food, but he decided to choose his battles. They had more pressing matters at hand at the moment than if the bandage-wasting maniac had or had not eaten breakfast. 

Turning back around and facing the rest of the team, Yosano had crossed her arms and was scowling at the two of them intently. Dazai seemed oblivious to her shift in demeanor, but Kunikida raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

“What is it, Yosano-sensei?” he sighed, brushing an exasperated hand through his hair. 

“Dazai, would you do that again?” she asked, narrowing her eyes curiously. 

“Do what?” the brown-haired asked, eyes large and owlish, tilting his head. 

“Brush past Kunikida again.”

Dazai arched his eyebrows in confusion, looking back at Kunikida, who looked just as perplexed as he did. 

“Why?” 

Yosano sighed tiredly. “Just… Dazai, would you... slap Kunikida, please?” Her arm waved nonchalantly into the air as she spoke. Before Kunikida had time to object, an evil smile was tugging at Dazai’s lips and he raised it hand and slammed it across the taller man’s cheek. 

“What in the world was that for?” Kunikida spat angrily, holding his reddening cheek and immediately slapped Dazai right back with his opposite hand. 

“Aii~ Kuunikida-kun, I was just following Yosano-sensei’s orders,” Dazai sulked pathetically. 

The doctor ignored their whining and pointed towards Kunikida’s pocket. “Did you not get those bolt-cutters using your ability?” she inquired deliberately. 

“Yeah, so?” Kunikida glowered back a second before it hit him. Albeit this time, it was not Dazai’s palm. 

“Then why-” Yosano started, but let him finish the thought himself. 

“-didn’t it vanish?” 

Everyone turned towards Dazai who was still sulking over his slightly swollen cheek. Once he noticed the examining stares at him, his hand faltered and he stared back. 

“...what?” 

Resting his chin between his thumb and index finger, Kunikida came closer to him. Dazai quickly covered both of his cheeks with his hands and cowered slightly. 

“Can you hold this for me?” Kunikida asked casually and handed him the bolt cutters. With empty eyes, Dazai caught the large utensil and stared at it incomprehensively. For a moment, no one said anything- they just observed as Dazai held the ability-created tool in his hand, counting seconds before Dazai would realize what was going on. 

“Wait, what?” he exclaimed finally and dropped the device to the ground as if it had burned him. It made a sharp clank that bounced between the walls. 

“Why can you do that?” Kunikida growled urgently as he picked it back up. 

“I don’t know!” Dazai proclaimed, then, he started blinking profusely. His pallor changed quickly, turning into an ashy grey and he toppled over again with his hands clutching his stomach. 

Atsushi was quickly beside him, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Dazai-san!” the boy cried and started stroking circles on his back as Dazai’s abdomen knotted painfully, making him gag and finally spilling out its contents once more. 

Dazai stayed down. None of his limbs seemed to react to the commands his brain was sending to them. His head throbbed and felt as if it was about to explode while a loud screeching, ringing noise chimed in his ears, threatening to burst his eardrums. A stab of pain in his stomach made it impossible to keep a straight face. He groaned out in pain- this wasn’t normal. 

Arms were flailing around him, but he was unable to pay them any mind. Another stab, this one bigger than the last. A pair of hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away from the bile-covered floor and forced him onto his back and tried to loosen his own arms that grabbed at his shirt desperately. 

The sweat was pooling down his face now in what could only be an abrupt fever. A gloved hand was checking his pulse, and blurry faces looked down at him. Their lips were moving, but their words muddled together and seemed impossible to make out. 

The rining, pain and the unbearable heat that radiated through his body soon became too much and he felt himself drifting off. His vision was scattered with black spots, and the edges were closing in. Soon, all of their chatter seemed more and more distant, and he gradually drifted off into a deep, chaotic slumber. 

---

Something was pushing down on his solar plexus and nearly thrust the oxygen out of him. It wasn’t the pure force as much as it was the pain that took his breath away. With a sharp intake, Dazai startled awake, swatting weakly at whatever was putting the pressure on him with shaky limbs.

His eyelids still felt heavy as he tried to tear himself out of his foggy drowse. Voices started to rift through in the distance, coaxing him back from unconsciousness. 

“He’s coming to,” one voice sounded, but he couldn’t make out who it belonged to. All sounds where too muffled. It felt as if his ears were stuffed with cotton, nearly making him feel sick all anew. 

“That’s it Dazai, wake up.” He finally recognized the voice as Yosano’s, alluring yet dismal. A wet cloth was being pushed against his cheek and he instinctively tried to turn away from the offending fabric as he slowly realized that they were outside. The chilly wind brushed across his face and made his hair stick to the wet splotches of his face and neck, whether it was from the rag or perspiration. It made him feel slightly uncomfortable to know they had been able to move him all the way outside without him realizing it, but that thought got pushed to the back of his mind as another wave of nausea hit him.

Yosano must have noticed because before he was able to throw up into his own lap, he was being shifted to his side. The sudden movement made him fall to his side, and he felt his lip split open as his face hit hard asphalt. Slowly, he got his trembling arms to work, and he pulled himself up in time to steady himself on his elbow as the bile reached his mouth and was shed onto the ground below.

He was finally able to flutter his eyes open in time to see why the lie about eating breakfast hadn’t worked. Frowning at the gross puddle if miscolored liquids, he spat out the residue of bile and about half a mouthful of blood into the mess, and let Atsushi’s lean arms help him move away. 

The wet cloth was offered to him. He accepted it and held it to his cracked lip to quelch the bleeding. Great, not only was he sick but he would be sporting a ridiculous fat lip as well. If only that cursed insect bite would stop stinging at least he would have had that going for him. 

“What are you doing there?” Yosano was suddenly kneeling next to him, giving him a scrutinizing look-over. 

“Huh?” Dazai croaked, frowning at his own choked voice. He cleared his throat and tried again, “What do you mean?” 

Yosano raised her eyebrows and looked at his hand. Dazai hadn’t even realized that he was rubbing at the sore spot on the side of his throat. 

“You’ve been scratching at that mosquito bite since we were downstairs. Can I look at it?” 

No- there was no way he wanted her to look underneath the bandages on his neck, but the way she put the emphasis on “mosquito bite” made him pause. What did she mean by that? Before he could answer, however, she had already positioned herself at his side and started to tug at the fabric covering his collar. There was a sinking feeling of doom in Dazai’s stomach, and it was not from sickness this time. But, if she notices the cuts and burns that marred his skin, she didn’t say anything. Yosano examined the bite in silence, all the while Atsushi was hovering nearby. 

“Where are the others?” Dazai asked, winching and twitching a little as Yosano pinched around the sore spot. 

“Still inside,” Atsushi offered. “They wanted to keep looking.” 

“Then why are we wasting time out here? Shouldn’t we be in there, helping them?” 

“Throwing up all over a potential crime scene you mean?” Yosano deadpanned before again putting tight pressure around the tender area on Dazai’s neck. This time, Dazai flinched away and gave her an accusing glare- that one hurt . She raised her hands in surrender and got back to her feet. Dazai quickly re-positioned the bandages to cover back up.

Yosano cleared her throat before she spoke, pacing back and forth on the port. “There’s a small pin stuck in your neck, Dazai-san.” 

Dazai and Atsushi’s heads snapped up to look at her. Dazai’s hand subconsciously moved up to touch the side of his throat. 

“I didn’t want to touch it, I think it might be carrying some kind of poison. That’s probably what made you sick.”

“A pin?” Dazai asked dazed as his mind wandered. It wasn’t that he had never gotten a mosquito bite before, but in between all the cold sweats and dry-heaving, he hadn’t really had much time to reflect on how uncharacteristically painful it had been. All though if he had, he would probably have shrugged it off to be a wasp instead. 

Yosano nodded grimly. “We should get back to the Agency so I can remove it. But first…” Again, she approached Dazai. This time he was wearier of her and grabbed his bandages protectively to keep them from being messed with again. But instead of trying to manhandle him again, she waved Atsushi to come with her. 

“I’m sorry about this Dazai, but I have a hunch that I need to confirm. Atsushi-kun?” 

The kid nodded in response, clearly knowing what to do. Dazai stared at her in confusion as something warm and fuzzy touched his shoulder and brushed against his cheek. Wide-eyed, he peered over at a large white paw and realized that it was Atsushi’s ability. 

Awed, he grabbed the large paw in his hands and petted it idly. “It’s softer than I imagined,” he beamed with large twinkles in his eyes. His euphoria was short-lived though, as another twinge of pain wracked its way through his system. 

Dazai let go of the furry limb and scooted away from it, holding his abdomen trying to breathe through the fit. Yosano’s analytic poise was all over him within a second, feeling his pulse, checking his temperature with the inside of her wrist and listened to his breathing. 

“It’s definitely affected by abilities,” she mused thoughtfully. “Okay, that’s it. I’m taking you back to the Agency to examine you further. Please go over to the ocean and throw up before you get in my car.” 

Dazai looked as if he was about to argue, but she dismissed him with a shake of the head. As he scrambled back to his feet, she gestured for Atsushi to follow him. 

“Make sure he doesn’t topple over into the water, okay? Unintentionally or not.”

---

After another few hours, Dazai’s condition was gradually improving. When they had arrived back to their base, Yosano had to remove the pin stuck in her coworker’s neck while he was hunched over the toilet, retching until his eyes flooded over with tears. It might not have been the most sanitary of practices, but she had made one observation. 

Their abilities didn’t have to be active for it to affect him, it was enough that they had one. But, as long as none of them touched him, the poison in his system seemed to be calm. 

She had drawn enough blood from him to leave him borderline anemic, but she wanted to make sure that she had enough while the poison was still actively raging through his system to have the best chances to identify it. All though, she suspected that this was some kind of rampant home remedy.  

At least Dazai was fast asleep in the infirmary so he couldn’t wreak havoc while she was sat up in her little makeshift lab. 

A door in the next room over opened, and chatter filled the hallway, notifying her of the rest of the Agency’s return. The lack of struggling and profanities told her that they were returning empty-handed. She quickly settled her utensils aside and undressed from the disposable apron and gloves before she went to meet them. Passing Dazai on her way, she made sure he was still resting peacefully. 

“Nothing?” she said as she peeked out from the infirmary, catching Kunikida’s attention. 

“No, nothing,” he growled irritably. “Is Dazai up for an oral debriefing in the main room? We have to plan our next steps.” 

“About that…” Yosano started, but Dazai abruptly appeared behind her and brushed past her through the door to stand next to his partner. 

“Yep,” he declared resolutely. 

Kunikida took a step back to take in his appearance. Dazai looked like shit. His already pale skin had taken on a sickly complexion of gray, and the deep purple circles under his eyes made it look like he hadn’t slept for a week- which, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Kunikida had to chase him off the couch earlier the same day, wouldn’t have surprised him one bit. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt wrinkled. Dazai had even discarded of his usual west and bolo-tie.  

“No,” Kunikida said decisively and crossed his arms. 

“I’m fine-” Dazai tried to dispute but the venomous glare Kunikida shot him made him shut up. 

“Dazai,” Yosano sighed. “You only just brushed past me, and you already look worse than you did in there, not even a minute ago. We have no idea what this poison is and how it’s going to affect you in the long run.” 

Kunikida’s demeanor changed in an instance. “Poison?”

“That was what I was going to tell you.” The doctor explained what they knew and her hypothesis’ of what the poison did to Dazai. Before they were even finished talking, Dazai excused himself and staggered off to the bathroom again. 

“It seems to be getting worse,” Yosano said quietly. “Earlier, it took a few minutes for him to become sick from contact, but now it happens immediately. On the bright side, he seemed to be improving a moment ago when he had slept undisturbed for a couple of hours, so I think we can safely assume that as long as no one touches him, he’s all right.” 

“Are you guys coming?” Kenji asked from the doorway with his usual easy-going smile. 

“Yes, Kenji-kun. We’ll be there in a minute,” Kunikida answered grimly. The blonde beamed back before he bounced off back into the room.

A flush was heard from the other room and Dazai came wobbling out. He leaned heavily on the brick wall and moved clumsily forward. Kunikida moved to help him but paused as Yosano’s arm touched his shoulder. He frowned as she shook his head grimly towards him.

“I’ll go get Haruno-san,” he suggested instead and headed for the offices. 

Yosano could only look at the painful movements of her coworker as he tried to maneuver his way forward, but luckily, Kunikida moved fast and soon he was back, joined by their clerk. 

Haruno’s expression went from curious to dark once she saw Dazai’s labored efforts of staying on his feet, and she was quick to throw Dazai’s arm around her shoulders. 

“Haruno-san, please help Dazai back to the infirmary,” Yosano instructed her, but Dazai vigorously shook his head. 

“No, I’ll be okay in a minute. I want to know what happened.” 

Assessing the situation for a moment, Yosano finally relented. They could use Dazai’s sharp mind right now, even if it was a little muddled at the moment. Even then it was probably brighter than the majority of the agency. 

Once inside, Dazai gathered a lot of unwanted attention, and he couldn’t help but be grateful once Haruno gently lowered him onto the couch in the back of the office. Once Kunikida started to speak, all of their concentration was focused back on him and he didn’t need to feel self-conscious by the prying eyes anymore. 

The first thing they addressed was his condition, where things even he hadn’t known was touched upon. Like the fact that nobody could touch him, ability activated or not- which really, was a relief. Anytime anyone touched him, it would leave tingles down his spine and make him itch. But the fact that he hadn’t even questioned why Haruno was called in to help him in the hallway, worried him slightly. He was really out of it, wasn’t he? 

Also, he really preferred getting the creeps over being sick any day of the week. 

A wave of alleviation washed over him as they steered the conversation back to the mission, and he listened intently to their reflections. Their culprit was nowhere in sight, but there had been clear indications that one of the storage units had been recently inhabited.

“But, if Dazai has been poisoned while we were in there, our guy must have been there while we were,” Ranpo added to the mix.

“He wants us to find him,” Dazai explained, yet again gaining the attention he so despised. 

“Why do you think that?” Kunikida asked. He didn’t doubt his partner’s brilliancy. It was meant more as an aid to coax the answers out of him. They way Dazai leaned heavily on the armrest of the couch was evidence enough that he was feeling lousy. 

“The poison used on Dazai-san was customized with him in mind,” Ranpo realized out loud. “I’ve never heard of a poison like this. Its effects are weirdly specific for it not to be personalized.”  

“B-but why would a necromancer want to hurt Dazai-san?” Atsushi asked worriedly, glancing over his shoulder at his mentor who was slouched over at the couch. 

A low hum escaped the hardly conscious man’s lips. “Come on,” he drawled weakly, bitterness tainting his low voice. “At this point, you all know about my past. It can not come as a surprise to any of you that a lot of people have a perfectly justifiable reason to hate me.” 

“But what about all the other victims?” Tanizaki offered. 

“They didn’t get poisoned,” Ranpo pointed out. “He had to grab our attention, and he certainly has.”

“But what are his intentions?”

“There’s no way of knowing yet. He hasn’t made his final move.”

“Look-- if he poisoned me, he clearly has plans of acting pretty soon before the poison wears out.” Dazai sank further into the sofa. 

Kunikida moved to the back of the room and placed himself in front of Dazai.

“Dazai-san, what do you suggest we do?” he asked calmly.

A chilling chuckle made it go cold down the bespeckled man’s spine as Dazai opened his eyes back up and looked at him. His gaze was dark.

“Why, Kunikida-kun, we give him what he wants.”

Notes:

* If you don't get the reference, read (or read about) Jun'ichirō Tanizaki's novel "Naomi".

Chapter 2

Summary:

“Why, Kunikida-kun. We give him what he wants… Let him have me.”

Featuring angry Chuuya and (slightly but not too) creepy Mori.

Notes:

Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! I haven't gotten around to answer everything- life has been a bit challenging as of late, and all you amazing, beautiful people have truly been an awesome support. Thank you so much!

“Why, Kunikida-kun. We give him what he wants… Let him have me.” 

The ghastly echo of his partner’s words replayed through Kunikida’s mind and made him shudder as he followed Dazai’s half-slumped form, draped over Haruno’s narrow shoulders towards the skyscraper that was the Port Mafia’s headquarters. 

He didn’t like this one bit, but he knew it was their best bet. This mission had gone in a totally different direction than what they initially had expected, and he cursed Dazai’s past as part of the criminal corporation like he had so many times before. His right hand twitched tensely at his side near the gun holster as the grunts guarding the entrance shifted nervously at the downright pathetic sight of their old superior.

Dazai was such a brilliant person, but he had been dealt a bad hand at the beginning of his life. Whatever must have happened to Dazai to make him a mafia executive at age 15 was something he didn’t even want to think about. It was too much. Too horrible. 

Despite every conception one might have about the idealist, he did love children. Once upon a time, he had decided to become a teacher after all- and his reasonings for that had not, despite what was rumored, been to rage and reach havoc upon slightly amused teenagers. 

“This place gives me the creeps,” Ranpo muttered beside Kunikida, tearing off another piece of the diminishing cloud of cotton candy he had made him buy for him- Kunikida was unsure of how that had happened. 

“Yeah,” the blonde replied in a huffed tone. “We should have come here right away. Dazai is only getting sicker.” Kunikida shot Ranpo a pointed glare. He was indicating to the several stops they had made along the way. All they were supposed to do was to go over to the Port Mafia headquarters to ask Ougai Mori if they were, or had been in the past, affiliated with anyone with powers that were similar to the ones their culprit displayed. Not to stop by the fare to get cotton candy, or the fish market to pick up a batch of fresh crab (which admittedly, Kunikida couldn’t blame on Ranpo).

The short master detective grinned sheepishly, tilting the pink fluffy sugar towards Kunikida as a peace offering, which was sharply declined. 

A couple of feet in front of the two men, Dazai and Haruno had halted in front of the armed guards and were talking calmly. Kunikida could hear how his partner’s voice struggled to keep steady as he presented himself and told them to call on Mori to announce their arrival. One of the suited men, looking ever so stereotypically like a mafioso, including black sunglasses and a Bluetooth headset, pressed a button on his ear-piece while Haruno guided Dazai over to Kunikida and Ranpo. 

Kunikida observed Dazai’s sluggish movements and graying skin with keening eyes. Why was he getting worse? None of them had touched him since the day before when they realized what triggered the poison, and he seemed fine before they left the agency. They would never have taken him out of the infirmary if they had known how bad he was getting. At least they had been forboding enough to bring Haruno to help out. 

“How are you holding up?” Kunikida finally asked. 

“It’s not too bad,” Dazai assured them. Yet, he still had to wipe away a droplet of sweat that seeped from his bangs and landed in his eye. Haruno frowned and felt his forehead. 

“Your fever is picking up again,” she sternly pointed out, but before anyone could respond to that, the guards waved them back over. 

“The boss is ready to see you,” the man who had called informed. “I assume you know the way?” 

Dazai gave him a crooked smile as they passed them and entered into a grand foyer that looked more like the entry of a gothic mansion than the entrance hall of a major corporation. Slowly, they made their way through the elongated room towards the elevator that took them to the top floor. Both Ranpo and Kunikida looked mesmerized on as they were greeted with the view of Yokohama through the wall-sized windows, running all the way down the hallway which would lead them to their destination. Dazai paid it no mind, having seen it a thousand times before. 

The door at the end of the hall opened, and out came a short, fiery redhead, seething as he shut the door behind him and turned to stomp in their direction. Noticing them, the redhead stopped. An explosion seemed to go off in those cerulean eyes as he sneered. “What the hell are you doing here mackerel?” he growled angrily. 

“It’s nice to see you too, slug, ” Dazai answered evenly, unwilling (or unable) to acknowledge the short man’s anger. “Don’t worry though, we’re just having a brief meeting with Mori-sama.” 

Nakahara Chuuya nearly frotted at the mouth, clearly on edge. “Well, good luck with that. He’s in a mood today, so having to see your ugly mug was the last thing I fucking needed.” 

“You’re not exactly a sight for sore eyes yourself, hatrack.” 

The redhead scoffed and pushed past them, giving his shoulder small shove as it brushed past his former partner, hoping to at least throw him a little off balance. He had not expected for the other to topple over while moaning painfully. 

Exasperated, Chuuya turned around. “Honestly Mackerell! There’s no need for the dramatics…” 

Dazai was kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily with a brown-haired, mousy looking girl rubbing his back. The two other clowns Chuuya recognized from the Armed Detective Agency were hovering above them. Uncertain, the mafia executive took a few steps back, mouth curved into something that looked almost worried. 

“I’m okay now, it’s fine,” Dazai panted, squinting at the bright light from the windows. Sharp, cutting pain shot through his eyes and into his head as he started pushing himself off his knees. Haruno had a tight grip on his elbow while he got back up. He thanked her in a wordless whisper.   

“Dazai, what-” Chuuya started, while Dazai swayed at his feet, shielding sensitive eyes from the daylight with his hand. The short mafioso paused, scrutinizing the former executive’s face. 

Incomprehensive, Dazai stared back a moment before he realized what the other was looking at. A bandaged arm came up to wipe at his nose, leaving a blotch of crimson on the white fabric. 

“That’s not good,” Dazai muttered wryly. 

“What the hell is going on with you?” Chuuya snarled angrily, making Dazai winch at the sudden loud noise. At least his nose did not appear to continue bleeding.

The door to Mori’s office opened again. A short blonde-haired girl in a red, ruffled dress peeked out and giggled eerily. “Mori-sama is getting tired of waiting,” she squeaked, high-pitched before she disappeared, leaving the door open for them. 

“Join us?” Dazai asked Chuuya without waiting for an answer. The entourage moved slowly towards the office, leaving the short mafioso to pounder for a slight moment, before he audibly made his dissatisfaction obvious, and followed. 

---

Mori’s condescending laughter filled the room. “Have you had an aneurysm, Dazai-kun? How in the world am I supposed to remember that? Do you think I’ve kept a journal of all the people you’ve pissed off along the years?” 

Dazai sat with a straight back, looking emptily at his former boss. His nausea had calmed a bit, but he was still experiencing slight vertigo. 

Kunikia stood a few feet behind Dazai’s back, burning holes in his partner’s neck. How in the world was Dazai able to sit steady and upright like this, when he was nearly unable to keep his own weight under him only moments ago? The few interactions Kunikida had witnessed between his partner and the mafia boss had always had a strange feel to them, more than just the awkwardness of a closed business relationship that ended on bad terms. 

Finally, Mori’s uncanny, self-satisfied chuckles died down, and the menacing doctor sobered. “But no, I think I would have remembered if I had ever heard about anyone like that. He would have been a great asset to my team.” 

“You could finally raise your army of darkness,” Dazai commented humourlessly, glancing out the window. The doctor’s mouth curved sinisterly as velvet eyes surveyed his former subordinate. 

“Does he have something to do with why you’re sick?” Mori finally asked and chortled at the way Dazai’s bleary eyes widened at the remark. 

“I’m not-” he tried to argue but quickly realized there was no use. Inhaling sharply, he started to explain exactly what had happened. 

“...so now, I don’t have No Longer Human, and I’m gradually becoming weaker.” 

Mori rested his chin on top of his hands with a thoughtful furrow between his eyebrows. Chuuya stood at his side, glaring furiously. 

“Don’t you think that’s something you might wanna share with us?” he spat, taking a few steps closer about to punch his idiot ex-partner with a closed fist. Mori calmly reached his arm out, stopping the fiery man. 

“Don’t, Chuuya-kun. You’ll only make him sicker.” 

Chuuya growled his dissatisfaction but kept his distance. “You know you’re the only one who can stop Corruption, shitty-Dazai! You need to tell us shit like this-”

“We’re not partners anymore, Chuuya,” Dazai stated cynically. “I don’t have to tell you anything. God forbid you actually have to use your brain to solve a case instead of mindlessly slaying everyone in your proximity.” 

A series of incomprehensive slurs followed until Dazai rose on unsteady legs and bowed his head. “Well, thank you for your time, Mori-sama. I think we got what we need.”

“I am sorry that I could not be of more help,” Mori answered sincerely, but Dazai waved it off. 

“As I said, we got what we came for.” 

Walking back outside, Dazai stubbornly refused Haruno’s aid until the elevator door closed. As they descended, he let himself lean into the wall and slowly slid down, resting his forehead on his arms. 

Kunikida grimaced, while Ranpo simply looked on. 

“What did you mean by that?” Kunikida asked before clarifying, “that we had gotten what we came for. They didn’t tell us anything.” 

A trembling hand came up, waving at him to wait while Dazai breathed through another fit of sickness.   

“Oh, we didn’t actually expect them to have any answers for us,” Ranpo suddenly revealed, chuckling at the dead-panned look Kunikida shot him. “We simply needed to rule out that he wasn’t part of the mafia, which we did.”

“So, they lied to us?” Kunikida asked, shifting his attention between the older and the slightly younger detectives. 

“Oh, no. They told the truth. But Dazai became worse and worse on our way over here and was getting better once we got inside- until the angry one pushed into him.” 

Kunikida still didn’t seem to understand as they scrambled out of the elevator. Now, Dazai had given up on keeping face and leaned heavily on Haruno once again, dragging his feet as they walked out of the Port Mafia HQ.

---

The hope that fresh air would help with Dazai’s nausea quickly died when the bandaged man pushed away from Haruno to hurl into a nearby trash bin. 

“We think our culprit has to stay close to Dazai-kun for his ability to work,” Ranpo explained as he and his bespectacled coworker went around the corner of the building, making sure that no one could hear what they were talking about. Not that Dazai dry-heaving into a bin would not be a sufficient distraction (and not at all because Kunikida was kind of a sympathetic puker).  

“But, it’s a poison that’s making him sick,” Kunikida retorted, perplex. He was not doubting the master detective’s theories, he was never wrong- it just peeved him slightly that he had to drag it out of him word for word. It was such childish power-play.

“Yes, but, the longer he’s subjected to an Ability, the worse he gets.”

“He hasn’t been subjected to any Abilities since yesterday!” Kunikida moaned in exasperation. 

“...that we know of.” Ranpo tried to lead the answer out of his slouched and agitated colleague, watching him expectantly. 

“...you think we’ve been followed,” Kunikia finally realized. 

“Bingo!” Ranpo cheered, throwing his fist into the air. “And, if he was unable to follow us into the meeting, he doesn’t have access to the HQ. So there is that.” 

“So, we’ve been roaming around town for literal hours with a sick Dazai, only making him sicker and endured an utterly fruitless meeting with the creepiest man I’ve met my entire life, only to confirm our initial inkling and exclude a corporation of about a hundred people?” Kunikia muttered expressionlessly. 

Ranpo blinked. “...aaand we got cotton-candy. Which I am all out of now, so if you don’t mind stopping on our way back that would be great.”

Ignoring the short detective in favor of his sanity, Kunikida glanced behind his back. “Did he collapse again back there? What’s taking them so long?” 

Walking back, rounding the corner to where they had been standing, Kunikia’s first reaction was that Dazai and Haruno were nowhere in sight. 

“Dazai-san? Haruno-san?” he called out, visually scanning the area. Then, chills ran down his spine as he recognized two small feet dressed in sensible black heels, peeking out from behind the trash bin that Dazai had previously been seen heaving into. The blonde quickly ran over to it, hoping there to be some sort of logical explanation to this- maybe Dazai actually had fainted, and Haruno simply sat there to cradle his head until he woke up?

But Dazai was not there. Haruno sat propped up along the wall, nodding back and forth, trying to keep her consciousness. There were no visible injuries, but Kunikida suspected that if he felt the back of her head, there would be a growing bump. Ranpo appeared behind him, gasping audibly at the sight. Without another word, he went running in the opposite direction.

Kunikida kneeled down, cupping her face with large, well-groomed hands and helped her hold her head up. 

“Haruno-chan? Can you hear me?” The girl hummed distantly, squinting her eyes.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Kunikida coaxed. “I will help you back so Yosano can take a look at you, okay? I just need to know what happened to Dazai-san.” 

A few more muffled words left her lips, still incomprehensible. She frowned, mind seeming to clear a little. “T-took him,” she finally managed. 

Kunikida cursed, but kept his focus on her. “Did you see him? Did you see who took him?”

Her hands fidgeted slightly. At first, Kunikida did not notice it, so she shook it lightly until he glanced down. A piece of paper was folded in her hands. He picked it up, casting a worried glance at her as she spoke.

“Dazai-san dropped this,” she mumbled, taking a deep breath. “...when he was throwing up, he dropped it. I bent down to pick it up just as the man attacked. I-if I had been quicker, I would have gotten away,” she sighed sadly. 

“Don’t worry about it, Haruno-chan. You’ve done good,” he said, unwrapping the piece of paper. It was an address- the address to the same storage facility they had visited the day before. It could be a coincidence, but Kunikida had stopped believing in coincidences when it came to Dazai a long time ago. It was the only lead they had to go on anyway.

Ranpo returned, panting heavily. “They’re gone.” 

Kunikida growled, crumpling the note in his hand.  “Fine,” he sighed steadily, positioning himself to pick Haruno up. “We’ll return to the agency with Haruno-chan and get reinforcements. I think they’ll be going back to the storage from yesterday.” 

Ranpo nodded and stumbled after Kunikida’s long strides towards the car.   

“So, I guess that’s a no on the cotton candy, then?”

Notes:

While writing this, I kinda realized that I ship Kunikida and Haruno.

Chapter 3

Notes:

I'm so sorry for the long wait! I was struggling with this ALOT! I'll warn you right now- this ends up pretty dark. Also, this chapter might leave you a bit confused, but I promise that everything will be cleared up in the next (and probably last) one! This chapter just turned out much longer than I expected, and I had to end it somewhere!

Thank you so so so so much to little_coffins who's been listening to my ramblings of ideas and cries of desperation while trying to piece this together. If you haven't checked her out, please do! She has so much awesome Dazai-whump goodness!

Dazai came to awareness with a pounding headache unlike he had ever experienced before. His stomach churned as if it was ready to turn inside out as he slowly fought his way back to consciousness. Instinctively, he wanted to rest his throbbing head in his hands, but they were stuck to each other behind his back. 

For a moment, he tried to make sense of his surroundings, but the loud ringing in his ears made it impossible to focus on anything else. Just before Dazai worried that his eardrums were about to explode, a shadow flashed before his blurry vision and made him snap his head up. He stared incomprehensibly at the shape, the apparition fading in and out, duplicating a couple of times before it slowly settled into one fuzzy, dark figure, standing a few feet away from him. 

Dazai wanted to ask what was going on, but only a faint sigh left his lips. He felt too sluggish to even articulate his question. His head was too heavy to bear on his shoulders and it flopped uselessly back and forth like a pennant in the wind. Someone, the apparition most likely, said something he couldn’t comprehend before his bandaged neck was exposed and a new pinch, much like the not-mosquito-bite earlier, was placed on the side of his neck. 

Too weak to fight it, Dazai let it happen. In his clouded mind, he didn’t quite understand what was going on anyway, so he decided it was best to just roll with it. He would probably understand it sooner or later anyway.

After a few moments, the liquid started burning. Curiously, the energy emitting from the body that was looming over him started to feel stronger and stronger. The nauseous sensation lingering in the back of Dazai’s throat grew, and he was unsure if he’d be able to keep it in much longer. He inhaled and exhaled sharply to keep it at bay, but the imminent presence that seemed to have brought it on didn’t go away. 

As muddled and confused as Dazai was, he realized that the presence and his sickness were connected, and he fruitlessly tried to kick at it. But, he quickly found out that his legs were bound to the chair he was seated on as well. The only thing that resulted in was furious twitching to his body that only aggravated the sickness in his abdomen and increased the pain shooting through his head. It felt like he had to vomit, but he stubbornly forced it down. 

“W-what was that?” Dazai panted, referring to the prick on his neck while trying to get weak fingers to identify what had been used to tie him up.

“There’s no use fighting, little one,” he heard a breathless, eerily familiar voice say, and his attention locked with the sound, but instantly falling into a dizzy spell. Footsteps closed in from the opposite direction he initially thought his captor was, contemplating if there might be more than one. If the walls hadn’t been dancing and fluttering in his vision, it might have been easier to get an overview of the situation.

“What did you inject me with?” Dazai tried again, doing his best to keep the apprehension away from his shaky voice. The hands behind his back worked franticly, trying to understand the strange bindings. Whatever or whoever was in the room with him seemed to glide seamlessly over the floor towards him. 

“Don’t worry about that,” rung, startlingly close to Dazai’s left ear. Suddenly, long, pale fingers enveloped his throat, nearly caressing it while simultaneously tightening against his windpipe. Dazai swallowed thickly, scrunching his eyes shut. He knew who it sounded like, but there was no way. Many people used that term of endearment, but only one person had ever called him “little one”, and the memories sent chills down his spine. Rationally, he knew that he was caught by the man they sought out for, that was the plan, after all. They already knew that this was his ability and that he somehow had managed to rob Dazai of his, but never in his darkest most bizarre nightmares, had he thought that this maniac would be able to bring Him back.

“F-father?” he rasped dreadfully, any other words dying on his lips. A low hum sounded from behind. 

“Are you surprised?” 

Dazai paused. This time, the voice came from the direction he thought it did the first time. The voice was different, a bit higher than his Father’s deep, strangled howl. 

“Ah! You’ve finally decided to show your face,” Dazai said a bit too chipperly. For a moment, he felt the cold fingers of his father close a bit more firmly around his throat. 

A figure clad in a deep brown duster took a step into the dim light emitting from a single, flickering lightbulb. Dazai squinted his eyes to try to see him clearer. As the tall man stepped even closer, Dazai could finally make out his facial features. His nose was long and thin, his expression hard. Thin lips were forming a straight grimace under a thick mustache and a five o’clock shadow. There was little to no hair left on his head, and the creaks of his eyes were deep and wrung out. 

Had he seen this man before? 

A faint flash of recognition hit him, and pictures started to flash in his mind but would disappear as soon as the appeared. A rising fever didn’t help, as Dazai wracked his brain for answers. 

Who is he? Why does he look familiar? Why can’t I remember- Why..?

A brief image of a dark smudge on the floor with long black hair, arms, and legs flailing brokenly, almost desperately, flickered into his consciousness. Dazai flinched at the memory. It felt like a knife slashing through his mind and even if he had no idea where the memory was coming from, he knew it was bad and that it hurt- knew that whatever the reason he had for suppressing it, it was probably a really good one. 

“Do you remember me?” The man asked almost timidly, holding his arms behind his back as he sauntered closer. 

“I-” Dazai muttered hesitantly but was interrupted when something sharp met his neck. He felt the hairs on his nape stand up. The old Mafia boss made a quick snip, the bandages around his throat dropped and fell to his lap, the cool blade leaving a trail of stinging against his neck. For a moment, Dazai forgot to breathe but overcompensated with a sharp intake as his neck was exposed, skin crisscrossed with scars inflicted by anything from lit cigarettes to barbed wire, horrible black, purple and red marks etched into fragile skin. 

His stomach churned as the unknown yet familiar man recoiled at the sight of his bared skin. Dazai instantly felt ashamed and cast his head down, crumbling under the unwanted attention to his reviled throat. 

There was no doubt in his mind now; the man standing behind him, caressing his marred throat, was definitely his father and the old mafia boss. A man who had been murdered with him as a witness, doing nothing to save his old man from their doctor's needle-sharp scalpel. 

A man who had hated him before and had a fairly good reason to hate him now. 

A man Dazai feared more than being alive. 

The faintly familiar man shifted his stare between Dazai’s quivering form and the sickly pale bearded man dancing his fingers passionately against the miscolored neck of their captive and frowned. 

“Answer my question,” he urged unsteadily, approaching with wavering steps. If it hadn’t been for Dazai’s very vulnerable position, he would have taken advantage of his obvious nervousness; toyed with his mind, made him slip up, and lower his defenses. But the fact that the man who had thought him mostly everything he knew about the matter was standing right behind him with his hands grasped around his throat, made him deem it unwise. 

Besides, Dazai knew very well that he wasn’t the person this man feared ( Dazai had always imagined the midwife and nurses fleeing the room when his father was born; already having his thin, long beard with glowing insane eyes, darting back and forth while waling in riddles and pooping bullet rain).

...it actually seemed just as likely at twenty-five, as it did in his five-year-old mind.

Suddenly, something hard connected with the back of his head. He recognized the blunt tail of a dagger as it whipped his head forwards and left a faint ringing in his ears. His arms jerked, instinctively wanting to rub the sore bump the impact left.

“What have I taught you about answering when being talked to, chibi?” the low voice told him calmly, yet menacing. Dazai had yet to look at his father, but just the memories of the deep wrinkles, crazed eyes, and horrid training sessions and punishments were enough to take him back. Make him feel like that terrified, hopeless child again. Even his blind eye that hadn’t been bothering him much for years was mysteriously starting to throb behind his dead eyeball. 

The silence drew out as Dazai contemplated how to respond. His mind drew a blank in front of the ominous presence at his back and the curious and utterly confusing one in the front. Yet, he still felt more eyes on him. 

“I- I don’t know,” Dazai finally breathed. “I- there… there’s something… somewhere, in the back of my mind… but, but I can’t… who else is here?” His head felt clouded like it was stuffed full with cotton and the nausea was growing worse from all the nearby abilities he gradually felt in the dark room. It distracted him, forcing his attention in several different directions at once. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. They’re not quite ready yet.” The scientist finally smiled, casting a glance over his shoulder. Dazai tried to see what he was looking at, but the room was just too dark. Being half-blind didn’t help his poor night vision, the unease prickled in every inch of his lean body. They already knew what this man could do, and the implications of what was brewing merely a few feet away from him, frankly, made him terrified. 

The scientist slowly disappeared out of Dazai’s line of vision again, followed by faint groaning and rustling.

“I can’t believe we let go of this genius all those years ago,” the old boss hummed. Dazai scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion for a moment, before going stiff as he felt his father’s presence shift behind him.

“We laughed at his pathetic presentation. His progress has been quite remarkable, Dazai-chan-”

“Don’t call me that-”

His father scrunched down in front of him with an agility that was far from the withering, sickly man Dazai remembered, but his skin was just as ashy and dead-looking as the day he died; eyes just as beady and chock full of pure insanity.

“If it hadn’t been for the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed watching that bitch squirm before me someplace between life and death, I would have had him executed on the spot for being useless,” he babbled manically, gaze beady with his pupils the size of pinpoints. Dazai watched him wide-eyed.

“W-who? What?” The black mass on the floor. Dazai flinched. His father snickered.

“You really don’t remember, do you? Well, I guess that’s understandable. You were young and looked pretty shaken after what happened. It’s not every day you see a dead parent come back to life, after all.”

All Dazai could do was stare at him, fear etched on his face.

“So, how about we both savor this moment? Because I’m not going to crumble into pieces on the floor, wailing and shrieking and making a huge scene as your mother did."

Dazai's eyes shot up. 

He remembered.

---

“T-thank you so much for this opportunity,” the middle-aged man stuttered and bowed deeply in front of the Mafia Boss and his white-coated executive. The powerful man’s expression was bored already and it intimidated him greatly. The fact that no one actually knew his real name only made him more intimidating.

“Which one are you again?” the executive drawled, lazily flipping through a few pages in a book in front of him. He was a tall, lanky man with oily black hair, almost reaching his shoulders and a five o’clock shadow. 

“Oh, r-right. My name is Ernest Becker,” he answered nervously, unable to stand still.

“Ah, the American,” the greasy man muttered unimpressed to his boss before sighing obviously. “All right, and your ability is called-” He drew out the last word for a moment while skimming down the page, then paused for a moment, quirking an eyebrow and watching the fidgeting man curiously. “The denial of death?”

Becker nodded vigorously. “Yes! Yes, I- I can raise people from the dead. It’s… it’s nothing permanent. It’s just for a few hours, sometimes minutes, b-but they can talk a-and walk around and do… do normal people stuff.” 

The two mafiosos exchanged glances for a brief second and the talkative of them, the executive, tilted his head, urging him to start. 

“O-okay, great! I just…” He held his hand up in a wait motion, fidgeting clumsily with the lock on his suitcase. When he finally got it open, he pulled out a small, faceless doll. 

“I didn’t realize we had signed up for a ventriloquist act,” the man in the coat remarked snidely behind a raised hand, but Becker pretended not to hear him. He grabbed the delicate doll and looked around, spotting a small side-table.

“May I?” he asked, walking towards the table while watching them energetically.

“Go ahead.”

Becker smiled and pulled the table into the middle of the room, placing the doll on it. Then, he grabbed a chair placed by the window and put it beside it. 

“I-I guess I should have brought someone, but your guards explicitly told me that I was the only one allowed entrance, b-but I, I need, uh, s-someone to… extract a memory from. The memory of someone who’s passed on.”

Again, the two men exchanged glances. A soundless conversation was held. Eventually, the boss nodded and the other got up. Instead of taking a seat, he did a b-line towards the door and shut it behind him. Only seconds later, he came back with a young boy.

He was small and frail with an alarming amount of bandages on the visible parts of his body. Even his eye was bandaged up. He struggled to keep the coated man’s pace, with his arm in a sling, clutching onto the smallest crutch Becker had ever seen. 

“I’m sorry Mori-sama, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” the boy complained as they came to a halt beside Becker and the chair.

“Don’t worry Dazai-chan, we actually have use for you this time,” the man, Mori was apparently his name, singsonged in a strangely chipper way to the boy. Becker was unsure if it seemed weird because the man had appeared so sarcastic and unkind a moment ago, or if it was the fact that, even if he talked childishly to a child, something felt eerily wrong about it. 

The boy named Dazai stared owlishly at him. “Hi,” he said softly and Mori helped him up on the chair, his short legs dangling in the air above the ground, still not long enough to touch it. 

Becker watched Mori pat the boy on the head, small shoulders tensing and not releasing until the creepy man was seated safely on the other side of the room again.

“I- I’m sorry, but are you sure- I mean, this… He’s a child and considering what my ability does, I’m not…” 

“He’ll be fine,” the boss said briefly, the first thing he’d said out loud since Becker had been in there.

He gulped and eyed the child, dangling one foot clad in a small black loafer with a baggy white sock sticking out from it, and one dressed in a hard cast. Becker paused for a moment, absently wondering why no one had signed his cast, remembering when his own little girl had broken her wrist and came home from school with the thing covered in colorful doodles and get well messages from her teachers and peers.

The boy looked at him expectantly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I heard the name of your ability,” he said silently, and Becker felt like the boy was telling him a secret. Of course, he didn’t understand the reason Dazai found his ability so compelling.

Becker kneeled in front of the boy, trying to smile reassuringly. “Dazai, right?” Dazai nodded eagerly.

“I have a daughter. She’s probably just a couple of years older than you. Her name is Suzie.” The boy in front of him didn’t answer.

“I’m going to ask you a question, but you don’t have to answer it if you think it’s a difficult one, okay?”

Dazai frowned and looked towards his father and Mori uncertainly but seemed to get the reassurance he needed. Again, he nodded.

“Have you ever known someone who has passed away?” The child’s eyes narrowed and Becker felt like he needed to clarify. “You know, someone who has gone to heaven?” 

Dazai chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before answering. “I know some people who have passed away, but they only go to the crematory in the basement.”

Becker swallowed hard. “...right. Uh, well, do you ever feel like there’s something you wish you could have told them before they died? Or maybe something you’d want to ask them?”

The boy’s eyes blew open, starry and he jumped in his seat. “Oh, yes! Yes! I have so many questions! Like, what does it feel like to have your jaw crack open on the pavement! I bet it hurts! Oh, oh! And if they drowned, how does it feel when you finally breathe in and your lungs explode with water or maybe they died of the bends and did their eyes pop out of their heads cause I read they could do that-”

“T-that’s good, great,” Becker stammered to calm him down and sent the two mafioso’s on the other side of the room a frightened look. 

“Kids and their violent video games,” Mori chuckled and tilted his head. Becker shifted his attention back to Dazai who was beaming up at him.

“I guess we’re doing this,” he sighed and got back to his feet, walking behind the chair. 

“Now, I want you to think about the person you’d like to talk to, and we’ll try to make them appear for a few moments so you may ask them your… questions.” Wide brown eyes looked up at him quizzically, before they shifted over to the other two men.

“But-” 

“It’s fine, little one,” the boss said calmly with a quiet smirk. Dazai seemed hesitant, but eventually shrugged and sat back.

Inhaling sharply, Becker concentrated. He felt the energy brewing on his insides, charging, focusing. A green light illuminated his hands and he roared out the name of his ability to unleash it. 

“Denial of death!” 

For the last piece of the puzzle, he brought his hands down on Dazai’s head, but as soon as he touched him, his familiar green glow evaporated and electric blue took over. In seconds, it was gone like a power outage.

Disbelievingly, Becker backed away while looking at his hands, then he peered over at Dazai who looked a perfect mix of disappointed and annoyed. He sighed dramatically and looked back at the boss and his executive. “Told you.” 

Mori hummed and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry you wasted our time, Becker-san. But I’m afraid the likes of you have no place in the Port Mafia. You’re too soft.” 

“B-but, wait!” Becker begged, eyes crazed with desperation. A click behind him demanded his attention. A man in a dark suit, holding a handgun had appeared in the doorway, pointing his firearm directly at him.

“Please,” he exclaimed, hands up in surrender as he looked between the armed guard and the mafiosos. “This- this has never happened to me before! I’ve never failed to- to…” 

Calmly, Mori got up from his chair and sauntered towards the man with a sly grin. “Oh, we know. You didn’t fail. This is Dazai. He’s a nullifier,” he explained, gesturing towards the child still seated on the chair, now expressionless.

“A nullifier?”

“Yes, he cancels abilities whether he wants to or not. It’s really useful.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“Of course you don’t. You see, your ability would be extremely useful to us if it had another host,” Mori explained easily. “But you’re too delicate for the Mafia. You have a conscience. That much was clear the moment you stepped inside the room.”

“I really, really need this job. My wife is sick! If I can’t pay for her treatment she’ll-”

“However, your ability and that soft, snuggly conscience of yours might be greatly convenient in the hands of our enemies, so I’m afraid we can’t let you walk out of here alive.” 

Becker’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

“Oh, but look at the bright side! If you have life-insurance, your wife will have money for her treatment!” 

“Wait, please!” Before he could think, Becker grabbed the doctor’s arm. Immediately, the green light was back. He half-expected to be shot instantly but realized that Dazai, aware of it or not, had risen to a wobbly stance on the chair, bouncing excitedly at the sight of the ability and blocked the gunman’s aim. Quickly, he called on his powers anew and watched as Mori’s upper body engulfed in green flames.

Soon after, the doll on the table started to glow. Its featureless face gradually morphed into something faintly recognizable as human before it shook and its limbs extended. Every occupant in the room looked mesmerized on the transformation. Black hair grew on its head and the table tilted under its weight, leaving the forming human to struggle on the floor. The body molded itself into sickly thin female’s curves, her naked skin lazed with bloodied scars.

Mori and Becket watched in horror as the woman trashed on the floor in hysterics, screaming and crying with lung-blasting and ear-shattering force.

A moment later, a small thud came from the chair. Dazai had fallen over the armrest. The child struggled onto his knees, watching the figure cramp up while the heart-wrenching sobs increased in volume. 

Becker watched Dazai’s wide, tear-filled eyes, his heaving chest, and the struggles to cover his ears with a broken arm. He understood that he was afraid, but at this point, Becker had lost control over his creation. All of his creations were created in the image of the person he extracted them from and taking such an image from someone who’d most likely killed hundreds of people had been utterly insane of him.

Then, he remembered the child’s ability.

It only took him a moment to make up his mind. Quickly, he leaped towards Dazai and gathered him in his arms, whispering a silent appology that he hoped he could hear over the wailing female. The boy in his arms resisted desperately, and Becker was surprised that no one had come to his aid yet.

The moment he approached the woman with the child in his arms, her cries stopped, just for a moment. She shifted; sunken, nearly black eyes stared holes into Becker’s soul. A long, frail arm reached out towards them. 

“Dazai?” she croaked, and he felt Dazai clawing at his neck, trying to get away. It went cold down Becker’s spine. 

“M-my baby, give me- give me my baby!” Her speech was slurred and shrilling, and Dazai scrambled in his grip. The boy didn’t cry but his breath was ragged and panicked.

“Nullify her, Dazai. Only you can do it. Come on,” Becker begged and tried to get the boy off his shoulders, but he wouldn’t be budged. In a last desperate attempt, Becker grabbed Dazai’s hair and tore his head back. The sudden action startled the boy and his healthy arm went to grab at the back of his head. Becker used this moment to hurl the boy off him, letting him bounce harshly onto the floor. Within seconds, the female creature was hovering over him and Dazai finally let out a strangled sob. 

“B-baby,” she whispered, moving statically while watching him. Dazai closed his eyes and turned away.

“My baby, my… my baby.” Her voice was eery and quiet. Becker knew he had fucked up. This had never happened before, and he had no idea if it was because of Mori’s memories of her or the rushed transformation.

All he knew for sure was that this thing was further from human than anything he had ever created, including the snowmen and chicken-scratch drawings in his youth. 

After watching Dazai in a trancelike state for a minute, she finally lowered her head and sniffed into his hair. The azure light was back immediately, covering both the kid and the creature. She seemed to understand what was happening, knowing her child’s power, and clutched onto him.

“No! No, please! Nono nonono my baby! Please! Don’t take me away!” she shrieked and clawed at what was now just the shell of the boy that had been dragged into this only minutes before, while the blue flames danced viciously around them. “Baby! Don’t!” she was able to wail before her body spasmed and evaporated into a thick fog, quickly settling around them.

When she was finally gone, the room went quiet for a few agonizingly long seconds.

Then, a quiet hum that slowly turned into laughter broke it.

The mafia boss clapped his hands together and smiled brightly, trying to stifle his chucks. Becker looked towards Mori. Even he looked disturbed. 

“I haven’t seen something that ridiculous in a long time,” he chortled as if he’d just watch a comedy routine. Mori dragged his hands across a tired expression and sent Dazai a quick glance. The boy was staring emptily at the ceiling, arms still covering his chest.

“Well, I’ve decided," the old man declared ceremoniously. "Since you’ve made me laugh, I’ll let you go. But I may call upon you some time to give me another demonstration.”

Without a minute’s hesitation, Becker was out the door.

Notes:

Did anyone else imagine Dazai's mother as MOMO?

Btw! I have a ko-fi! No pressure to donate or anything, but I wanted to let you know!
https://ko-fi.com/misstinfoilhat

Notes:

I’m writing a lot of whumpy Dazai fics lately, and the reason I write them is that I wanna read them. So I was wondering if anybody would want to write a Dazai Whump fic for me based on my work, and I’ll write a Dazai Whump fic based on your work in return? And also, if you haven’t written anything but would still like to give this a go, I’d still be happy to write a fic in return, if you’ll send me a few key-words (and if you’re an artist I would happily trade works too- but I’ll spear you all my chicken-scratches and write something of course).

I will also accept artwork in return!

Please let me know in the comments!

I also just recently made a twitter account. I don’t really know how to use it, cause I’m old AF (not really but kinda), but it’s there! So please follow me for updates on the progress of my stories and… I don’t know, other stuff. Possibly. Probably. MissTinfoilHat is the name, of course. Give me a follow! (I still have yet to post anything, cause I'm not going to talk to myself in there, baha).

(If you really want to participate but think it’s awkward to write anything about it in the comments, I’m also available for private messaging on tumblr, fanfiction.net and discord (#5905) all under the username of MissTinfoilHat.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Whump swaps