Chapter Text
Dazai had known, even at the time, that leaving the Port Mafia would affect Chuuya.
They’d been partnered together for a couple years at that point, long enough to have gotten more than accustomed to the flow of dual missions. On Dazai’s more nostalgic days, he’d even be willing to say that the two of them were each others’ only equal in that organization. Dare he say even a good team. The best in Port Mafia history if the irritating whispers of grunts who’d never rise high enough to glimpse even the soles of their shoes were to be believed. That kind of habitual— though Dazai shudders at the implications of this word— partnership, would be difficult for any normal person to adjust to life without if it disappeared without warning.
Not that either Dazai or Chuuya were normal by any means. But even Dazai had needed time to get used to it. True though it was that Chuuya had been away on some stupid overseas mission and thus required Dazai to attempt to cover his own blindspot for the weeks prior to his defection; that was entirely different than finding himself with an extended range of vision, and yet no flashes of red and black in his periphery to accompany it. He’d felt that acutely on his way out of the building that had become Odasaku’s final resting place. It was as if the universe itself was mocking him, allowing him to see everything uncovered, but keeping away all those that would bother to look back at him.
The parting bomb in Chuuya’s car had been a… last minute addition to the plan. More impulsive than Dazai would normally be willing to admit. Logically, he was well aware that Chuuya had no control over where Mori sent him, and when. Dazai wasn’t even really sure how the hatrack’s presence would’ve helped, but he was angry all the same. Angry enough to blow up his second favorite vehicle, but not angry enough to even attempt to actually hurt him with it. He could’ve rigged the explosive to the pedals, or a pressure plate in the seat, or the ignition. Even those likely wouldn’t have succeeded in killing Chuuya, but it might’ve taken him off guard enough to harm. But he didn’t do any of those. He took the coward’s way out and set the key fob as the trigger, giving Chuuya more than enough time to protect himself, even on his worst day. Dazai could only hope that the slug had been too furious in the wake of the destruction to see through the— frankly, pathetic— display.
Those who hadn’t spent their teenage years with Chuuya would likely have said that the part of his defection the slug would take the most issue with would be the highly unnecessary ruination of his property. A stupid theory, but one he’s sure passed through more than one simple mind. Someone who knew Chuuya better, who had worked with him in passing, or even talked to the man for an extended amount of time, might guess that the betrayal would bother him most. Which would be significantly closer. The redhead was stubbornly loyal himself, and it wasn’t unfounded to say that Chuuya appreciated a similar level of trustworthiness in those he placed his own in. But, while the desertion surely rankled Chuuya, Dazai is positive that wasn’t what he was most pissed off by. He’d hardly call the slug an open book, no matter how much an outsider might insist he was, but Dazai could usually read him with ease.
It was the lack of agency. Dazai left, without talking to Chuuya, and his parting gift would be taken for exactly what it was— a neon sign exclaiming that Dazai wouldn’t be allowing Chuuya to pursue him. He made the choice for Chuuya, even though Dazai is absolutely positive Chuuya wouldn’t have left the mafia no matter what. But it was also true that the hatrack had had nearly everyone in his life leave, be it through plain walking out or death. Chuuya had never gotten a say in any of those departures, and Dazai had added himself to that list with little to no hesitation.
And to top it all off, Dazai would do it all again.
So there were many reasons that the less than tearful nature of their reunion in that dungeon had been wholly unsurprising. Frankly, had Chuuya shown any signs of forgiveness in that moment, Dazai would have seriously considered the possibility of some sort of doppelgänger ability. And though they’d worked together in the fight against the Guild’s abomination and Q’s subsequent retrieval, the two of them were far from being on civil terms.
But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit confused that Chuuya had seemingly decided— several months after their reunion at twenty-two, and four years after the initial betrayal at eighteen— that a random Tuesday was the day he would finally kill Dazai. And at the Agency of all places, in full view of his coworkers.
His coworkers that he’d had to practically scream at to stay out of the way. All good people, they’d immediately tried to defend him when Chuuya came crashing through a window, more erratic than Dazai had ever seen him. And erratic made him dangerous. Nevermind the fact that every single move the redhead made was practically dripping in the promise of a slow and painful death. If anyone susceptible to Tainted entered the fray, Dazai is positive they’d be reduced to a bloody smear on the wall, truce be damned, for the cardinal sin of interfering. He’d seen Chuuya do it to enemies before, and he really didn’t want to be able to put a face to one such corpse, if it could be called that. Luckily, the more intelligent of his colleagues seemed to understand that, and were doing their part in keeping the more emotional and impulsive members in check.
Dazai just managed to glance over in Ranpo’s direction, curious as to just how worried he should be in this situation. The wide green eyes that greeted him were less than reassuring. Ranpo clearly knew something Dazai didn’t yet, but he knew the other man wouldn’t risk being a distraction by voicing it. At the very least, Dazai could gather from the traces of fear in that moment of eye contact that Chuuya did fully intend on killing him. Which was… shockingly inconvenient.
Whenever he thought about dying by Chuuya’s hand, he’d always thought it would happen in the same moment Dazai nullified Corruption for the last time, or at a time where circumstance forced them back to opposing sides of a battlefield. Something poetic, or at least symbolic. Never had he considered that Chuuya would just, snap and do it. He was somewhat disappointed.
To say nothing of the fact that Dazai would truly rather not die in front of the entire Agency. They’d been kind to him, given him a sense of kinship and, on his better days, something akin to the purpose Odasaku died wishing upon him. None of these people deserved to live with the image of Dazai’s lifeless corpse, not when it would be used by each and every one of them to drown themselves in guilt. Atsushi especially would take it hard, with the Port Mafia alliance being his suggestion. Dazai knew he’d wronged Chuuya. He could admit that. He just didn’t think it warranted adding another layer of trauma to a group that didn’t even know his name when he’d betrayed Chuuya. It felt unnecessarily cruel, which was out of character enough to break Dazai from his internal monologue, and actually observe the other.
Chuuya’s usual outfit wasn’t officially a uniform, but it essentially functioned like one. He occasionally changed his look, but Dazai would have a hard time believing the other man would put on an entirely new outfit just to come finish him off. It was more red than Chuuya would usually wear to work. His personal wardrobe was another story, but the hatrack had always insisted wearing too much red as a mafioso was a bit tacky. Dazai isn’t sure if that was meant as a slight against Mori, but he’d taken it as one, if only for his personal amusement.
Speaking of Mori, there was a very familiar scarf draped around Chuuya’s shoulders, and Dazai mentally berated himself for not clocking it immediately. So something had happened to Mori, and based on the dark stains on the fabric, Dazai was willing to bet it was nothing good. Did Chuuya think Dazai had something to do with it? Make no mistake, there was exactly no love lost between him and the— possibly former?— mafia boss, and he’d possibly like to shake the hand of whoever had taken it upon themselves to off him, but Dazai certainly hadn’t killed the man himself. And such a violent reaction from Chuuya was more than a little startling. Dazai hadn’t realized that Mori and Chuuya were… close? Even the thought felt odd as it crossed his brain. Chuuya was loyal to the Port Mafia, certainly, but Dazai hadn’t thought that the redhead was that attached to Mori himself. And attached enough to attack Dazai without any proof? Unless this was an elaborate framing situation, baseless violence wasn’t really Chuuya’s idea of a good time.
Dazai was getting tired of just speculating, but clearly that was all he could do considering Chuuya hadn’t uttered a single word. Not when he crashed through the window, not when he threw the first punch at Dazai’s head, and not in the minutes since. Part of Dazai wanted to probe, try his best to get the other talking, or at the very least just get that look off Chuuya’s face.
He was looking at the eyes of a man that’d been broken, possibly beyond repair. It was a look that Chuuya had held several times in the years Dazai had known him, but never like this.
What had happened in the time since he’d last seen Chuuya that would lead them here? Chuuya had clearly thrown out any semblance of strategy, opting to just lunge at Dazai with fists that look clenched tight enough to break his own fingers. It was true that Chuuya couldn’t use Tainted in direct contact with Dazai, but that didn’t explain why he’d completely avoid using it while fighting him. He’d always supplemented his gravity manipulation with his pure physical prowess, no matter who he was fighting. Using his ability to dodge and augment his agility was part of the reason Chuuya was regaled as such a good combatant. Dazai couldn’t think of a single explanation for the culmination of odd behaviors Chuuya was exhibiting.
But Dazai would be damned if he wasn’t going to figure it out.
Waiting for the moment Chuuya lunged, Dazai smoothly dodged. Though instead of stepping back out of reach as he’d been doing, he planted his feet. When Chuuya whipped back around to face him, he would be met with an unmoving target. Dazai had even put his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. This was an exceedingly risky gamble, and based on the choked off sounds of protest from behind him, the rest of the Agency did not approve of his methods.
There was a gun to his throat and nearly crazed blue-grey eyes boring into his before Dazai could even register Chuuya moving.
Dazai wasn’t sure when and where he’d procured the gun from, but he fought to keep any surprise off his face. For all that he could read Chuuya, the other man was eerily adept at returning the favor at times. He didn’t want the clearly emotionally compromised man to find any weakness in Dazai’s form, but he was also wary of appearing like a threat. Chuuya was the better fighter on Dazai’s best day, but they didn’t call him the Demon Prodigy for nothing. His best weapon had always been his mind, a fact Chuuya would be acutely aware of. If the man got the sense that Dazai was scheming— which he was— it was more than likely his blood would be decorating the walls. And possibly his coworkers.
Nobody moved for what felt like hours. Dazai wouldn’t be surprised to find a handful of people even going so far as to literally hold their breath. He could only hope no one behind him would open their mouth. An Agency member drawing any attention to themself would quite possibly be the worst case scenario. Maybe he was underestimating the intelligence of some of his coworkers, but they had more than a few righteous types that he could see speaking on his behalf, or even just speaking to break the overwhelming tension blanketing the room.
Fortunately— or perhaps unfortunately— the first to move is Chuuya. The gun stays firmly pressed just above the line of Dazai’s bandages. Not hard enough to disrupt his breathing in any meaningful way, but Dazai would be willing to bet that if Chuuya were to remove the gun, there’d be a mark. Without breaking the… very intense eye contact, Chuuya’s ungloved hand not holding the gun rests on a nearby desk for a moment, before rising to clamp on the junction between Dazai’s neck and shoulder. It takes Dazai a moment to realize what the other is doing, and why that particular spot jogged his memory. The place Chuuya’s holding him is covered by bandages, but one finger drifts higher, to a spot of uncovered skin. His theory is confirmed when Chuuya’s eye cut over to the desk for only a fraction of a second, as if Dazai would escape the moment eyes weren’t on him. Chuuya’s testing his ability.
Or rather, he’s testing Dazai’s ability.
It becomes much harder to keep quiet. Why is Dazai’s identity in question? And could the stupid slug not have tested this before he jumped to attempted murder? Something must have rattled Chuuya bad to make him this sloppy.
Whatever Chuuya had expected to find, it was clear this revelation had caught him off guard. It appeared to Dazai that the other had not expected his ability to actually be nullified, bringing back the question of why Chuuya was in doubt of Dazai’s identity in the first place.
All the air in Chuuya’s lungs left in one whooshing noise. Dazai could tell that more than one person behind him flinched. Connecting eyes again, Dazai’s off put by the pure anger that’s taken over Chuuya’s entire face. And for the first time since Dazai yelled at his fellow Agency members to keep away, words pierce through the stillness of the office.
“I don’t know how the fuck you pulled it off, but it’s never happening again. I’ll make you watch as I level this building with everyone inside.” Chuuya all but hissed out through gritted teeth.
Any amount of tension that had abated in the wake of Dazai not immediately dying ramped back up. For the first time in a long time, Dazai truly had no idea what was going on, or what to say. This entire situation was so bizarre that a very small part of him briefly considered the idea that this was a horrifically elaborate practical joke, but the lethal severity of his threat was etched into every line of Chuuya’s face. He’s sure the shock was all too clear on his face now, but he couldn’t help it.
Without so much as glancing at the collective behind Dazai, Chuuya shifts his grip from shoulder to arm. He’s squeezing hard enough that Dazai’s sure it’ll bruise, even through all the layers. Keeping his eyes on Dazai alone, he removes the gun from where it's pressed into his neck, in favor of brandishing it in the direction of the group at the back of the room. Dazai’s breath hitches involuntarily, and Chuuya’s face goes dark. But he doesn’t fire the weapon, thankfully.
Instead, he pulls Dazai out the door, crushing the frame beyond repair on their way out.
Being a highly regarded executive of the mafia was nowhere near as glamorous as he’d thought it would be when he was a teenager. He’d pretty much thought it’d be like his time with the Sheep, doing essentially what he wanted, just with more rules and structure, but the added benefit of a generous paycheck. And the added— well he’d hesitate to call Dazai a benefit— but his stupid scheming brain did occasionally come in handy. In reality, it was far more paperwork. His teenage self, impatient as he was, would’ve blown a gasket at the mountain of documents ahead of Chuuya on his desk.
While paperwork was nowhere near Chuuya’s list of preferred activities, it did provide a mindless activity, which was a somewhat appealing concept. Obviously it was hell when he actually had something on his mind, but on regular days Chuuya didn’t mind the monotony.
He was just finding his rhythm when the door to his office was thrown open with a frankly insulting amount of force. Unless the city’s burning down around them, there’s absolutely no reason any of his subordinates should be entering his space this dramatically.
Chuuya allows himself one moment to pinch the bridge of his nose before looking up at whoever decided their emergency was important enough to warrant giving him a headache. Instead of a panicked grunt, he comes face to face with the blazingly furious form of Kouyou.
“I’ll only ask you this once Chuuya. Where is he.” Kouyou hisses through teeth clenched tight enough Chuuya’s half expecting to hear the pop of a tooth cracking. Her eyes are darting around the room as if looking for something. Then her words register, and her use of his name rather than calling him lad, and he feels his face draw into an incredulous frown.
After several seconds of offended silence, he manages to get out, “Ane-san, what? Who’s he? And why would I have anybody?” Rather than look appeased by Chuuya’s very clear denial of involvement, Kouyou’s face screws up even further. It’s a look he’s never seen on the older woman, and Chuuya’s quickly pivoting from confusion to worry.
Kouyou cuts an imposing figure looming over his desk, and each word she speaks is as sharp as any blade. “Chuuya. I know you have a complicated relationship with the man, but I should never pick up a call from any of our allies— even the Agency— to hear that you’ve invaded their space. And not only that you’d literally crashed through their window but that you’d also attacked the man unprovoked, then threatened them. And to top it all off, you kidnap the man?”
Chuuya’s jaw clicks rather painfully with how abruptly it pops open. His mind is racing at a million miles a second, and Kouyou’s furious disappointment isn’t helping him get his thoughts in line. He barely even registers her pulling out a phone before it’s resting on the desk in front of him, displaying an ongoing call with a name he vaguely recognizes to be that of the Agency’s doctor. Not trusting his hands to hold the object up to his ear, he slips a glove off to put the phone on speaker.
Noise blasts from the speakers, and Chuuya barely suppresses a flinch. There’s a fair amount of shuffling, he assumes multiple people are fighting for the phone. It goes quiet for a moment as the victor emerges from the scuffle.
“If anyone cares to listen to me, you’d know that wasn’t Fancy Hat. It looked like him, and had his ability, but that wasn’t him. I… don’t know who it was yet, but I know it wasn’t the Fancy Hat we know. Someone else kidnapped Dazai, and I think he’d appreciate us trying to find him rather than having us sit around accusing someone we know had nothing to do with it.” The voice is firm and assured, but Chuuya can hear the undercurrent of worry clear as day.
The speech did absolutely nothing to clear anything up for Chuuya. A hand falls to his shoulder, and gone is the anger from Kouyou’s face. She has the same look of confusion and budding dread that Chuuya’s sure is all over his face.
The same face that had apparently just broken into the Agency and kidnapped Dazai, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t left his office in hours.