Chapter Text
Dazai’s eyes blinked open to the distantly familiar grey ceiling of the Agency’s infirmary.
He stared, unseeing, at the colourless tiles, his mind reeling as he tried to recall just when he’d passed out. Along with everything that had happened beforehand.
He’d been on a mission for the Agency, sent alone—of his own accord, of course, because he knew that he wouldn’t end up alone. Because…
Oh, right. Chuuya had arrived.
It had been just when things were getting messy, just as Dazai had predicted they would.
It had been a simple mission, retrieving files from a base that assumingly belonged to whatever enemy was threatening the Agency now, an organization that Dazai had already dismissed as nothing too much to handle, though their grudge against the Agency ran deep.
Dazai hadn’t quite figured out where the grudge stemmed from at that point, but he knew that it had something to do with Fukuzawa, from back before he’d formed the Agency.
However, after some thought and some digging, he’d realized that it was remnants of an organization that had been wiped out by Fukuzawa back when he’d been serving as Mori’s bodyguard. Because of course the Port Mafia had to be brought into this whole mess, it was just the worst.
Though, it made Dazai’s mission slightly easier. Just slightly. Although, the fact that it made it a million times more intolerable almost shifted those scales.
Because Dazai had been surrounded after not-so-subtly breaking into the enemy base—he could’ve easily gotten in and out without being spotted, but he knew how the night would pan out, so there was no point trying to change it. And that was when Chuuya made his grand entrance.
And by grand, Dazai meant obnoxiously annoying, though he had expected nothing less from his sheepdog.
He’d smashed through the roof of the building—an old, supposedly abandoned office building that the enemy had been holding up in as a momentary base—immediately incapacitating the twenty or so men that had been surrounding Dazai with their weapons raised, weapons that were deemed useless against Chuuya.
Once the men were down for the count, Dazai had taken the opportunity to ask Chuuya if he had shrunk since the last time they’d met. And Chuuya had taken the opportunity to punch Dazai in the gut for it.
A hit that never landed, much to Chuuya’s annoyance. But Dazai only cooed about how he’d always been able to read him, and Chuuya had scoffed and turned away with a flourish of his coat.
Dazai hated Chuuya’s guts, wished he’d never have to see the ugly hatrack again—let alone have to work with him—but it was only really in moments like these that Dazai felt as though his humanity was just out of his reach.
As if he only had to close the gap between himself and Chuuya to finally wrap his fingers around it.
...Not that Dazai wanted anything to do with his own humanity—or lack thereof. He’d accepted long ago that it wasn’t something that he would ever have the luxury of holding close to himself, not in the way that Chuuya did.
And maybe that was it, maybe that was why Dazai always felt more human around his old partner, out of everyone. Maybe it was because Chuuya’s humanity was endless, practically seeping out of him, between the cracks of every mask or wall he put up, as if he’d ever be able to convince anyone that his blood ran mafia black.
No, Chuuya’s blood was red. No amount of Mori’s twisted assignments could change that.
It was due to the fact that Dazai was so caught up in his own thoughts about humanity and life and all things that were not for him, that he didn’t realize the shift of movement to his right until a split second later than he should’ve.
He vaguely heard Chuuya call out his name just as something hit him, something heavy that sent him reeling across the room.
An ability, it had to have been. No man-made object would look quite like that—a glowing tendril that burned to the touch, and was extending from a woman’s body.
However, an ability it was not, as he had just proved by taking the hit. If this had been an ability, it would’ve been nullified the moment it made contact with his skin.
Meaning they were in another bind. Another situation that he would pointedly name ‘Lovecraft’. For obvious reasons.
However, this oddity meant one of two things. Either these people were simply coincidentally affiliated with whoever had made Lovecraft of the Guild the way that he was—granted the fact that Dazai’s theory about the superhuman being exactly that, something inhuman, was correct—or the other, slightly worse option.
They’d been expecting Dazai.
The woman who was operating the non-ability didn’t seem to be awake, which only added to the strangeness of the situation. Instead, her head lolled to the side almost lifelessly, and her eyes were shut tight as if she were sleeping.
Dazai inspected her carefully from where he had slammed against a filing cabinet, momentarily ignoring the pain shooting up his spine at the impact.
Ah, she didn’t appear to be breathing.
So that’s what this was.
Dazai had noticed the exact same thing with Lovecraft. While that thing had had the appearance of a human, it was easy to see that he was not that at all. Besides the obvious—his mangled body snapping back into place without so much of a wince, his non-ability of mass destruction, that cold, lifeless look in his fish-like eyes—he didn’t breathe. His heart didn’t beat.
It was as if he was only a shell of a human, and a dead one at that.
Case in point, that’s what this was.
Chuuya rushed toward him then, his expression panicked and open, in the way that had once annoyed Dazai, a much younger Dazai, because no mafioso should be showing so much clear emotion on their face. It was as if Chuuya wanted the enemy to know of his weaknesses.
However, as Chuuya crouched in front of him to examine Dazai quickly, his eyes growing less panicked the longer he inspected him for life-threatening injuries—one’s he did not harbour—Dazai wasn’t annoyed by the clear display of emotion. In fact, it wrapped it’s way around his heart and squeezed, because Chuuya really shouldn’t have this much care left in his tiny body for someone who abandoned him.
But, Chuuya’s humanity seeped past the blue of his eyes. As it always had, as it always would. It was much too big for his minuscule chibi body, after all.
Once Chuuya had realized that Dazai hadn’t sustained any major injuries, he glanced over his shoulder at the woman, briefly sizing her up. Then, his eyes were on Dazai’s again,
“Lovecraft?” He asked, though the edge to his tone told Dazai he already knew the answer. After all, there were really no other variables.
“It appears my ability has grown famous~” Dazai mused, and Chuuya had rolled his eyes with a scoff, standing up to face their enemy after delivering a swift kick to Dazai’s shin.
Dazai stood after him, his eyes not leaving the woman.
As another tendril of light burst from her chest toward them, Dazai inspected her reactions.
Of course, it was as though she was dead. As though her non-ability was the only part of her that lived, she was simply a shell.
Dazai knew already, from Chuuya’s history, that human beings could be artificially crafted in order to house an ability, because an ability could not exist outside of a living human.
Which only added to Dazai’s suspicions about the non-ability.
Because, this woman was dead. From the discolouring of her skin to the way her cheekbones jutted out of her cheeks, he knew she’d been dead for at least a week. He was sure if he were able to get closer to her, he’d be able to smell it.
He was more than certain that this non-ability had been artificially crafted, though they had used a real human in order to house it. A dead human, but a real one nonetheless.
Which only meant that the non-ability abided by similar rules to an ability. It needed a human host.
Chuuya broke through the tendril with a weighted punch, his gravitational ability bursting through the tendril in a collision of red and white light.
Dazai also calculated that Chuuya wouldn’t be able to defend against the woman for long. Which left them with two options.
Another tendril shot out, making a beeline toward Chuuya this time, as opposed to the other two that had been sent toward Dazai, clearly distinguishing him as the primary target.
Chuuya prepared himself to knock back the attack, but just before it made contact with his fist, it split in two, one branch of the tendril shooting off into the wall of the building, and the other—
Impaling Dazai in what would have been the heart if he hadn’t seen through the attack a moment before she struck. Instead, he managed to redirect the aim slightly, but the burning hot tendril still struck him through the lower abdomen.
He’d avoided vital organs, but that didn’t mean the hit hadn’t hurt. Sigh, Dazai hated pain.
For a moment, he wondered if this non-ability could break off into more branches, because if so, Dazai would really have no choice but to succumb to his fate then and there. If the tendril already piercing his insides split off in different directions now, surely one of them would stab into something that should not be stabbed into, and he would die.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be a terrible way to go…
But, as soon as he’d had the thought, the tendril had retracted from his body painfully, and his vision momentarily flashed white. Then, it was speeding back toward his heart, and he couldn’t dodge it this time.
Chuuya had been there, just as Dazai had expected, smashing the thing to smithereens with his ability as he turned to Dazai with that same panicked expression from before.
He yelled something insulting and worried at Dazai, and Dazai had just coughed against the taste of blood in his throat as he sent a shaky smile at Chuuya, only refraining about making a joke about Chuuya not being fast enough due to the expression in his ex-partner’s eyes as he stared as his stab wound.
Luckily, due to the fact that the non-ability was burning to the touch, the wound that he’d received had been cauterized, so he was not at risk of bleeding out.
Honestly, a poor decision on whoever had manufactured this non-ability.
Then again, maybe it had been a miscalculation. The person responsible for this non-ability likely hadn’t meant for the tendrils to be so scalding.
So, this meant that there wasn’t a large team behind these manufactured non-abilities. It also meant that the people who were behind it were novices in the subject, and this woman was likely one of their earliest successful trials, considering the fact that she was being deployed here, in such an insignificant place.
That also meant that they had bigger cards up their sleeves. Ah, what a bother this was all becoming.
Chuuya warded off another couple attacks, pausing to wearily eye Dazai, who was still collapsed behind him.
“My eyes are up here, chibi~” He’d mocked when Chuuya’s eyes kept dropping to the injury on his abdomen. Chuuya’s eyes had snapped up to his with a plethora of emotions flashing through them that left Dazai a bit too winded to try to decipher at the moment, given his current bodily capacity.
However, much to Dazai’s distaste—and expectations—the non-ability user continued her relentless attacks, and none of Chuuya’s counter attacks seemed to phase her.
Which left them with two options.
“Chuuya,” Dazai called from the ground as Chuuya threw the non-ability user across the room for what must’ve been the seventh time in the last four minutes.
“Shut up, mackerel!” Chuuya hissed in response, not tearing his eyes from the battle for a moment. “I’m busy, and you’re injured! Don’t make it worse!”
Dazai blinked at that, not entirely surprised that Chuuya would worry about him, but…
Ah, Chuuya was just so human, wasn’t he?
“Chibi,” Dazai tried again, and Chuuya finally spun around to face him.
“What?!” He barked, and Dazai would’ve made a dog comment if their current situation didn’t call for so much caution.
“I think now would be a good time to retreat, yes?” He got to the point quickly, silently communicating the importance of his words through that.
Chuuya regarded him for a moment, before a dark resolution shifted in his eyes and he turned back to face their enemy.
“No.” He told him, and Dazai found his eyebrows pulling together of their own accord—because unlike certain slugs, he was not one to show pesky emotions like concern during missions—as he realized that Chuuya had made a choice.
“Chuuya, don’t use it. It’s better to retreat now and find out more. We can find a better counterplan than—”
“Dazai,” Chuuya said, and something in his tone had Dazai’s jaw clicking shut over whatever other words he’d planned on speaking. There was a note of resignation, along with something like relief. However, overlying it all was a fierce loyalty, and Dazai realized immediately what was going on.
“Mori.” He said shortly, and Chuuya was silent for a moment, before he nodded jerkily.
“He must’ve known you’d be here, I guess.” Chuuya told him, but Dazai knew that he knew the truth as well as Dazai did.
Mori had ordered Chuuya to use Corruption when he sent him out on this mission. It was only a matter of time before Mori would inevitably discard Chuuya in such a manner, and though Dazai could think of many reasons why he may have chosen now to do so, none of those reasons mattered in the moment.
Because Mori had ordered Chuuya to use Corruption, and both Dazai and Chuuya knew that he hadn’t known Dazai would be there.
He’d ordered Chuuya to his death. And Chuuya had accepted his fate.
He always had been loyal to a fault.
“Chuuya,” He tried again, but it almost felt as though Chuuya’s own emotions were clogging Dazai’s throat, because Dazai knew how badly it must hurt him to have another family toss him aside.
Betray him.
“Don’t go back there.” He found himself saying, before he could think twice about it. It wasn’t something that happened to him often, though he found it happened much more frequently around Chuuya.
In fact, it only ever really happened around Chuuya.
How peculiar.
Chuuya’s shoulders jolted at Dazai’s words, and when he glanced over his shoulder to meet Dazai’s eyes, his walls were up as he searched Dazai’s face for any indication of a lie.
Of course, his humanity always creeped past those walls, and Dazai didn’t have to look hard to see what Chuuya was thinking.
“I can’t abandon the Mafia, Dazai.” Chuuya told him, but there was something in his eyes that contradicted his words. Something like betrayal, because Chuuya hadn’t abandoned the Mafia.
No, this time, the Mafia had abandoned him.
And he knew it.
“Don’t use Corruption, Chuuya.” Dazai tried again. “Let’s just get out of here.”
However, when Chuuya’s resolve slipped, he pulled it back up with three times as much strength. Dazai already knew how their conversation would end.
“Shitty Dazai,” Chuuya responded, turning back to the woman. “It’s my choice.”
Dazai didn’t have anything to say in response to that, so he waited for Chuuya’s next words to inevitably come.
“You better not be late.”
Then, before Dazai even had a chance to assure Chuuya that he would not be—or maybe, he could’ve made a joke about checking his schedule—Chuuya was muttering out the activation code for Arahabaki, and then he was gone.
Corruption always left a bad taste in Dazai’s mouth, worse than the blood that he’d coughed up earlier. It made him feel almost helpless, watching Chuuya put himself into that state, letting Arahabaki take control of his body, jerking him around on invisible strings as he cackled brokenly out of Chuuya’s mouth.
Dazai’s fingers itched to touch, to cease the suffering he could see Chuuya going through.
But, Chuuya had made his choice. And Dazai knew better than anyone that a choice made by Chuuya was irrefutable once decided. So he waited with bated breath as Chuuya began his merciless attacks on the corpse being controlled by the non-ability.
He pushed himself up from where he’d been collapsed on the ground, the aching in his side fading to practically nothing as he kept his eyes focused on Chuuya.
There was something disturbingly similar about the way that Chuuya’s body movements mirrored the woman’s, both being completely controlled by their abilities.
However, Chuuya wasn’t dead. And Dazai planned on keeping it that way.
So, as he took a stumbling step toward his partner—ex-partner, he reminded his brain, which was apparently more muddled by his injury than he’d previously realized—who had just sent a gravitational compression directly through their enemy, one that the woman had only just managed to block with the tendrils, which had been torn to shreds by the miniature blackhole.
So the body wasn’t able to regenerate like Lovecraft’s had, that was good.
However, the same couldn’t be said for the tendrils, which bubbled back to their original length after the blackhole decimated them.
Chuuya coughed, his shoulders wracking with a laugh, and blood dripped from his mouth.
They didn’t have much time left.
However, due to the fact that Dazai had been too wrapped up in observing Chuuya’s condition, he hadn’t noticed the sniper’s gun gleaming in the moonlight from a vantage point in a nearby building.
Not until a moment too late.
The gun fired, and Dazai didn’t have a chance to react. Even if he would’ve noticed the sniper sooner, in his current state his only hope would’ve been for Chuuya to fend off the bullet.
Though Chuuya was a little busy at the moment.
And that was when Dazai realized his mistake.
He hadn’t been the only one to anticipate Chuuya arriving here.
He’d already established the fact that the organization was aware of his ability, and he wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if they hadn’t decided that kidnapping him and using him for his ability would be a good deviation from their current mission.
But they must have done their research. Extensively.
Research that one wouldn’t have been able to get their hands on if not…
Ah, it looked like the Port Mafia had a mole.
Someone had slipped information out, information about Dazai, about Chuuya, and this plan was set into motion.
Lure Dazai to the location alone, and Chuuya would be sure to follow. Dazai would not be accessible as long as Chuuya was there, so he had to be eliminated from the equation.
And so, Corruption.
Whether Mori was in on this, Dazai wasn’t sure at the moment, but he wouldn’t be shocked by that either. Because now, they’d fallen directly into the enemies hands, and there was nothing they could do but let it play out.
The bullet struck Dazai in the side, and his body curled toward the impact instinctually, more unbearable pain shooting through his nerve endings.
However, it only took a moment for Dazai to realize that what struck him hadn’t been a regular bullet, in fact, it seemed to be a bullet shaped metallic syringe, only holding the appearance of a bullet.
Which meant, he’d been injected with something. Which was never good.
Poison? No, that didn’t make sense. If they were to kill him, they’d have no use for his ability. So what? A sedative? But still, something about that didn’t sit right with him…
Regardless of what it was, he’d been compromised.
And Chuuya was still in the throes of Corruption.
Dazai took another stumbling step forward, knowing that the sniper would not fire again now that they had hit their mark. In fact, the sniper was probably fleeing from the scene now.
Dazai’s vision swam, and a sedative suddenly seemed like a much more viable option.
He pushed past the spinning of the room as he took another step toward Chuuya. He could almost reach him now, just another moment or so.
However, upon his next step, his leg collapsed underneath him, as if made of jelly. And that really was no good. Because Chuuya was right there, and he had to get to him before the sedative fully set in.
He had to reach him.
Chuuya’s last words before giving in to Arahabaki suddenly entered his foggy mind, as if to mock him,
“You better not be late.”
Dazai slipped out of consciousness.
And that was how he’d found himself here, in Yosano’s infirmary, a sickening dread filling his gut.
He sat up quickly, twisting the covers off of him as he stood silently, wasting no time in reaching the infirmary door as that dread expanded, filling his lungs and throat.
He hadn’t reached Chuuya in time. There was no way he had. He’d passed out before he could stop his rampage of Corruption, and Chuuya had trusted him not to be late.
Dazai had been late.
He paused momentarily in his nearly stumbling steps toward the main office of the Agency, leaning against the doorframe of the infirmary for support as he sucked in a breath, pointedly not allowing his thoughts to go to the worst case scenario.
The only case scenario, at this point he knew.
He felt bile rise in his throat.
He swallowed it down just before it made him retch, because he knew he had to get answers from someone as to why he was in the Agency and not some enemy headquarters as to where Chuuya was.
—or whatever was left of him, his mind whispered maliciously, and Dazai’s vision blurred at a punching feeling of guilt that left him breathless.
Still, he shoved everything down, deep, deep down, and took the five shaky steps necessary to reach the door of the main office.
He pushed the door open without pause, half expecting the place to be empty considering how late it surely was.
Only, it wasn’t empty at all. In fact, nearly every Agency member looked up at him, their eyes bugging in what must be a mixture between shock and concern at whatever expression Dazai’s traitorous face was displaying in that moment.
However, he didn’t care about any of their eyes, didn’t care about their concern, because his own eyes had zoned in on—
Blue ones.
Chuuya.
Dazai wasn’t sure if he’d uttered Chuuya’s name out loud or not, but he felt something in him collapse with a feeling much too much like relief, much too human, for someone like himself. But at that moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Chuuya was staring at him, about as wide-eyed as everyone else in the room, sitting on top of Dazai’s desk, looking much less out of place than he should, all things considered.
And he wasn’t hurt. In fact, he looked completely uninjured, not so much of a scratch on him.
(Dazai could still hear Arahabaki’s broken laugh in the back of his mind.)
“Dazai?” Dazai hardly heard Chuuya’s response, because the next thing he knew he was approaching his desk at record speed in order to reach Chuuya.
To do what, Dazai wasn’t exactly sure. But he needed to do something with the overwhelming crushing relief he swore he could feel to his very bones.
“Oi, shithead, what are you—?”
Chuuya’s complaint immediately died in his throat when Dazai reached toward him and buried his face in Chuuya’s shoulder.
Dazai felt Chuuya freeze beneath him, which wasn’t too surprising, considering the fact that Dazai rarely initiated any sort of touch with his ex-partner, let alone in a situation that didn’t call for it, and let alone like this. He was even less surprised by the weight of his coworkers eyes on him, though he couldn’t bring it in himself to care.
Dazai inhaled, and Chuuya smelled like Chuuya, like that ridiculously expensive shampoo he had used since they were sixteen, like the cologne that Kouyou always bought for him, and the faintest bit… tainted, like he always did after he used Corruption.
“I thought I hadn’t made it in time.” Dazai’s voice was no louder than a whisper, and it had barely gotten out around the uncharacteristic lump in his throat. No one had heard his uttered confession but Chuuya.
“Oi, shitty Dazai,” Chuuya replied, his voice sounding somewhat strained. Then his hands were on either side of Dazai’s head, pulling it up and off of his shoulder so their eyes could meet.
“...Stop being weird.” He told him, but there was an emotion flickering in his eyes that was so Chuuya that Dazai couldn’t help but smile, because Chuuya was here, Chuuya was alive.
“You really…?” Chuuya started, but he let the rest of his sentence fall away into the space between them, his eyes shifting slightly as he promptly shoved Dazai away from him.
“You’re a dipshit. Fuck you.” Chuuya told him, clearly annoyed at Dazai's sudden display of affection—something he should likely be more annoyed at himself for, but at the moment, he didn’t have it in himself to care.
Dazai just let Chuuya shove him, falling backward and into his desk chair with a flop. Chuuya’s eyes were still on him—as were the rest of the Agency staff’s, but Dazai didn’t care about that just then—and Dazai could tell he had more he wanted to say.
For a long moment of silence, he just stared at him, as if trying to convey something without saying any of the words out loud. Dazai got his message, but then he decided to verbalize it anyway.
“...I knew you wouldn’t be late.” He said shortly, averting his eyes with a frown. “You never are.”
Maybe, Dazai thought to himself as something flip flopped inside his chest, maybe one day he’d understand how Chuuya could trust him so blindly, no matter the situation. No matter how much time had passed.
“Okay, lovebirds, let’s break this up, huh?” Yosano spoke up, and Dazai didn’t even bother refuting her nickname. On a better day, he’d whine in offense about how he could never like an ugly hatrack, but right now…
Dazai didn’t see the point in trying to deny anything, not after the scene that had just unfolded.
Chuuya must’ve noticed his uncharacteristic silence, because he scoffed at him and kicked him in the leg from his perch on Dazai’s desk. Dazai just smirked at him, feeling ridiculously warm.
“Yosano-sensei, you used your ability on the chibi, correct?” Dazai asked, finally averting his attention to the doctor. She only nodded curtly, her eyes flickering between Dazai and Chuuya for a moment as if she was being careful on how she chose her next words.
“...When Kunikida and I arrived, due to Ranpo-san’s intel on how your mission had gone awry, the ability user that had been targeting you was already dead. Nakahara was in bad condition, but Kunikida managed to use your unconscious body in order to nullify his ability. After that, I healed him with my ability.” Yosano informed him, and Dazai filed all of the information away in his mind, focusing on a few key parts.
“You didn’t have to injure him first.” Dazai said, but it wasn’t a question. Yosano nodded anyway, and Dazai grit his teeth. If Yosano hadn’t needed to harm Chuuya to heal him, he’d already been close to death. Dangerously close. If Kunikida and Yosano hadn’t arrived…
Dazai decided not to think about it. Instead, something else tickled the back of his mind.
“The bullet I was shot with,” He continued on, nodding toward his own bulletwound, that was now staining his bandages red. He’d likely reopened the wound in his haste to reach the main office. In fact, the stab wound in his side ached more the more he thought about it, but he ignored it for the moment.
“What was in it?” Dazai inquired, and Yosano eyed his bloodied bandages with a slight annoyance before she answered his question.
“I analyzed the remains of the substance it had injected you with, the main effect of it had been the sedative, though it was not long-lasting, it was fast-acting You’re likely going to feel more tired than usual for the next couple days until it’s entirely out of your system.” Yosano explained, and Dazai already knew as much, but he nodded along anyway.
“And the other effects?” He pressed on, and Yosano continued.
“The other part was an ability, a man-made one that is similar to your own, it’s an ability suppressant.” She explained. “Their intention was likely to prevent you from using your ability on Nakahara, should you reach him before you collapsed. However, it was rendered nearly useless against your own ability, so you only experienced about a two minute lull in your ability being effective.”
Dazai paused, taking in the information. He couldn’t help but feel as though something was missing in the equation, but he knew from Yosano’s body language and tone of voice that she wasn’t hiding anything from him.
So, was it something she had missed?
“Any long lasting effects?” He asked, though he already knew what the answer would be long before Yosano shook her head. It had only been a sedative and a near-useless ability suppressant. Simple.
Too simple.
Dazai sat back in his chair, his mind whirring as he tried to figure out just what he was missing here. Something was out of place…
Actually, speaking of out of place—
“And just what is the chibi doing here?” He asked, swiveling his chair back around to send Chuuya a look.
“Shouldn’t he be back at the Port Mafia headquarters?” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, but there was an emotion in them that he didn’t manage to hide. At least not from Dazai.
And that was when Dazai remembered their conversation just before Chuuya had given himself over to Corruption.
“Don’t go back there,” Dazai had said, but Chuuya had leveled him with a look and said, so sure of himself,
“I can’t abandon the Mafia, Dazai.”
And yet, here he was.
He spun through the many possibilities of what called for this situation in record speed, before he came to a simple conclusion with a click.
Chuuya must’ve seen it in his eyes, because he stood from his seat at the same time that Dazai did.
“Ah, if you’ll excuse us for a moment~” Dazai called to the Agency, whose eyes were still heavy on his shoulders, before ushering Chuuya out of the room and back toward the infirmary for a semblance of privacy.
Because Dazai could easily see that this was not going to be a simple conversation. Not a chance.
Once they entered the infirmary, Dazai closed the door behind them with a click. Then he turned to Chuuya.
“...What the fuck was that?” Was the first thing Chuuya asked him, his annoyance barely contained. Dazai, of course, knew exactly what he was referring to, but he figured he may as well give Chuuya the hardest time he could.
“Whatever is the slug yapping about now?” Dazai asked innocently, and Chuuya’s eye twitched in that familiar way that Dazai couldn’t help but revel in, just a bit.
Because Chuuya was alive.
“You know what I’m talking about, you fucker! Back there! Where you— when you—Arg! You’re the worst!” Chuuya exploded, all of his emotions finding their outlet in anger, as they tended to when it came to the hatrack. Dazai just watched in amused silence as he fumed, pacing around Yosano’s infirmary.
“Did Chuuya get all of his anger out yet?” Dazai piped up once Chuuya’s rage seemed to have simmered down slightly. Of course, his comment only made it return, and Chuuya spun on his heel to face him, his expression curled up in frustration and at least the tiniest bit of embarrassment.
“You—” He hissed, jabbing a finger into Dazai’s chest to punctuate his words, “Have a lot of explaining to do.”
Dazai hummed in acknowledgement, leaning away from Chuuya’s abuse.
“Perhaps,” He agreed, “But don’t you think there are more important things to discuss at the moment?”
Chuuya’s eye twitched in annoyance, but he caught the insinuation of Dazai’s words, because his anger died down slightly and he took a few steps back, crossing his arms over his chest in the way he did when he was feeling defensive.
“What happened to not leaving the Mafia, Chuuya?”
Something dark flashed in Chuuya’s expression then, something hurting, and Dazai found that he had the strangest urge to reach out and somehow comfort him. How odd.
Though he was never one to offer comfort, and Chuuya was never one to admit he needed it, so Dazai stayed put and waited for Chuuya to get all of those thoughts out of his head and into his words so Dazai could understand.
Of course, Dazai already had a fairly good idea as to the circumstances of Chuuya’s sudden change of loyalties—presuming that that was what was happening here—but he still needed Chuuya’s confirmation on the matter.
“I tried to go back.” He said, the bitterness in his tone a failed attempt to mask the betrayal that was no doubt souring his tongue.
“...Before I reached headquarters, Ane-san found me.” Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed, and Dazai already knew how this would end, but he let Chuuya continue regardless.
Perhaps it would be good for him to talk about it, as well. Not that Dazai cared what would be good for him, but…
Ah, maybe it was pointless to deny it to himself any longer, after all.
“She told me I couldn’t return. She said that Mori-san—” Chuuya grit his teeth, his eyes fixed on the wall over Dazai’s shoulder but distant, likely reliving the memory with a vividness that Dazai could only ever expect from Chuuya.
“Ane-san, she told me that if I returned, Mori-san would only send me out to be killed again. She said that if that became the case, he would make sure that the job was complete.” Chuuya scoffed, but the noise was grating, lifeless.
“So much for executive, huh? So much for fucking loyalty.”
Dazai watched him in silence, rolling around the information in his head momentarily, and suddenly, the reasoning for Mori’s sudden—or, not-so-sudden, if you’d been paying attention (Dazai had been)—change of heart about Chuuya’s position as a living executive of the Port Mafia, was crystal clear.
“You’ve grown too strong.” Dazai told him, although he had an inkling that Chuuya was already aware of this. Chuuya just scoffed again, that same, monotonous scoff that just didn’t sound right to Dazai’s ears.
“So fucking what? I’ve been strong the whole time, dammit.” Chuuya muttered in response, but Dazai knew that he already knew why Mori had chosen now of all times.
Perhaps it would be better not to mention it, though. Sure, Dazai was aware that Chuuya already knew, but he couldn’t be certain that the chibi wouldn’t react… badly, to say the least, if Dazai actually said it out loud.
“He’s… concerned about where your loyalties lie.” Dazai said anyway, because he had had a slight revelation recently that he didn’t want to leave many things unsaid with Chuuya anymore.
“Shut it.” Chuuya shut him down immediately, his eyes flashing dangerously in warning. But still, Dazai continued.
“He knows you’re loyal to the Mafia, knows you wouldn’t betray them for almost anything. But he also knows your true nature, as he tends to.” Dazai continued, because Mori was a cockroach that crawled underneath any unsuspecting person’s skin and learned everything there was to learn about what makes them tick.
A cockroach that emerged from your skin as a snake, who would use those weaknesses against you at every turn. Who would not hesitate to bite anyone who showed the slightest resolve of disloyalty with venom tipped fangs.
“So what?!” Chuuya interrupted him, seemingly abandoning his previous goal to make Dazai stop talking on the topic. “Why does that matter?! I’m loyal to the Mafia first, the boss knows that.”
Dazai was silent for a long moment, letting the words sink into the air around them, tasting them with his own venomous tongue.
“You’re not fit for the Mafia, Chuuya.” Dazai finally said, and Chuuya’s eyes snapped to his, but they’d lost some of their fire. “Your blood doesn’t run mafia black. Mori knows this, and it puts a strain on his trust in you.”
“But, although he’s doubted how far your loyalty to the Mafia would extend, he’d always had one factor for insurance. One factor that your loyalty never wavered for. One factor that he knew would keep you tied to the Mafia, so long as that factor was.”
Chuuya’s eyes spoke a magnitude of words and thoughts and feelings, and most of them were not good. They spoke of anger and betrayal and melancholy and grief. They spoke of a fifteen year old boy getting stabbed with a poison laced blade by his own friends, they spoke of a sixteen year old boy giving his body up to a god of destruction for the sake of saving everyone else, they spoke of an eighteen year old opening a century old bottle of wine as a farewell to the one person he’d trusted more than anyone else.
“Mori doubts your loyalty to the Mafia, not because you’ve ever done anything to seem disloyal, but because he worries that you have stronger loyalties that lie elsewhere. Because he knows that where those loyalties lie is a world that would suit someone with blood as red as yours much better than the Port Mafia does.”
Chuuya grit his teeth, his eyes finally shifting from Dazai’s in order to glare holes into the wall. He was beyond furious now, but of course, he couldn’t deny the claims Dazai had made.
Not when they’d all been true.
“Fuck you.” Chuuya hissed at him, but his words fell flat. And still, Dazai continued.
“Mori wants you eliminated because, despite your undying loyalty to the Mafia, your trust in something else runs too deep.” A pause, and Chuuya still wouldn’t look at him.
“Your trust in me.”
Chuuya was silent for a long time, and Dazai followed suit, his words hanging heavy in the air between them.
“...You’re fucking full of yourself.” Chuuya told him harshly, but the words held no bite, no sting. Dazai didn’t bother denying the claim, because both he and Chuuya knew that what he had said had not come from a place of self-absorption.
“The Agency will take you in. They won’t let the Mafia near you, not that you wouldn’t be able to fight them off yourself.” Dazai started, and Chuuya stayed near-deathly silent, almost as though he wasn’t even listening.
“You’ll be safe here.” He said, then, at Chuuya’s clear skepticism, he added on, “If even I could become a person who does good, then it should be no problem for you.”
Chuuya was quiet again, seemingly mulling over everything Dazai had said. Which had been… well, a lot, in comparison to most of the conversations the two of them had these days.
“I hate you.” Chuuya told him flatly. “And I hate this Agency, and I hate not being able to return to the Mafia, because, no matter how shitty it could be sometimes, it was my home.”
Dazai steeled his expression, an almost refreshing feeling of sympathy creeping into his bones, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Perhaps not since Chuuya had used Corruption for the first time, sacrificing his chances at being certain of his humanity for the sake of protecting everyone else as he leaped from that metallic roof, leaving Dazai to stay behind and watch him with a helpless smile.
At the time, Dazai thought it was one of the most human things he’d ever seen anyone do.
“But,” Chuuya continued, bringing Dazai back to the present. “It doesn’t matter what I want, because this is what I’m stuck with. I don’t have a damn choice.”
It was then that Chuuya met his eyes, hardened with a decision that would be indisputable now that Chuuya had made it. It vaguely reminded him of how he’d looked at him all those years ago, at the bottom of that cliff after tearing the poison laced knife from his flesh, the betrayal reeking worse in the air than any scent of blood.
“I’ll join the Armed Detective Agency.”