Chapter Text
Chuuya was decidedly against this plan, that much Dazai could tell.
But the rest of Chuuya's thoughts? Dazai was at a loss. He could only make vague guesses as to what Chuuya had endured while he was asleep. And aside from the vague admission to encountering the Dazai of this universe – a thought that seemed to stir something in Dazai's gut like bad seafood – Chuuya remained tight-lipped.
Chuuya hadn't argued against the plan though, and so, Dazai was left to silently protest the scheme he'd helped come up with. He sensed that Nakahara was well aware of his distaste, but the man said nothing. He didn't even complain when Ranpo had suggested they should switch clothes and was subsequently dragged to the next room by a reluctant Chuuya, who quietly grumbled the entire way.
"This is worse than the vampirism," he'd hissed, tongue scraping along his faux fangs.
The two emerged five minutes later: Chuuya looked less than enthused by the once-navy, blood-stained rags he'd been forced to don, while Nakahara seemed vaguely uncomfortable as he tugged on the bottom his new, cropped jacket.
Ranpo scanned over them both before giving an approving nod. Chuuya scowled at him. "Are we done? I want to get this over with."
"Have you even been briefed on the plan, Chuu?" Dazai asked with a teasing lilt – anything to delay the inevitable, right?
Chuuya turned to him, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Dazai stared back, unfazed.
Chuuya turned away with a huff. "Yeah. Act like a psycho, get caught, get into the military camp," he answered, with a pointed side eye to Nakahara (who simply turned up his nose). He turned back to Dazai. "It's hardly the most complicated plan you've come up with."
Dazai fought back a wince at the reminder that this entire operation was his brainchild. He wasn't even sure why he was having second thoughts now. It couldn't be about Chuuya's safety – he'd put the other in far worse situations – or his own – again, he'd put himself through worse (plus, he didn't think Nakahara would pull anything).
"Just making sure your hat didn't completely consume your brain," he joked, slipping into a familiar suit of nonchalance.
Chuuya rolled his eyes and, not one to stand on ceremony, marched right out of the building to avoid any other insults Dazai might try to jab him with.
Dazai hated it. Chuuya didn't avoid confrontation, he stomped on it; that wasn't how their verbal spars were meant to go.
Although, there was no 'them' anymore, Dazai supposed, recalling his promise with a glum look on his face.
"Uhm–" Dazai looked away from the doors to find Atsushi watching him with nervous eyes.
"Yes Atsushi?" Dazai prompted after a moment's silence.
"Are you...okay, Dazai?" The boy's gaze flickered to Nakahara before landing back on him.
Dazai patted him on the shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring guesture, though it was probably slightly harder than he meant it to be. "Of course I am," he lied smoothly, voice lilting. "Although, I can't imagine looking for this bomb will be an incredibly exciting endeavour." He tutted, lips protruding in a weak pout. "Have fun infiltrating."
Atsushi watched him for a moment, scrutinising him. Dazai was almost certain the were-tiger didn't buy his act at all, until Atsushi's face slipped into a tired smile. "Yeah," he sighed. "I'm sure we will."
The rest of the group seemed to have collected themselves, beginning to file out of the door after Chuuya. Only–
"Captain," Nakahara called out to the stragglers, causing Nakajima to stumble. "You stay."
Ryuunosuke looked about ready to stab Nakahara, while the were-tiger stood shock-still, not even deigning to turn around.
"Why would you want Atsushi?" Fukuzawa asked, a calm hand raised to placate the others who'd risen on literal hackles and Izumi who'd plonked herself directly in front of the boy as if she could shield him from view.
The answer seemed fairly obvious to Dazai, even before Nakahara opened his mouth. "We're looking for a bomb. His enhanced senses are best suited to locating it," he explained, in a cool tone that Dazai had only ever heard from his own Chuuya when the two of them were giving reports to Mori. Clearly, Nakahara was okay to take orders from Fukuzawa for the time being.
'Until he gets an opportunity to get his Dazai back,' a nasty voice in the back of Dazai's mind whispered, in conjunction with Nakahara's hoarse and broken whisper back in the basement, "Osamu."
Dazai shook off the unnecessary thoughts, instead voicing a nonchalant agreement.
"Then take the other one," Ryuunosuke hissed, jutting his chin at Atsushi, who looked vaguely betrayed for a moment, before seemingly remembering which Akutagawa was just talking.
Nakahara narrowed his eyes. "I'm not familiar with his skillset or training," he said, which Dazai supposed was a polite way of saying, 'he lacks any kind of training or discipline'.
By that point, Nakajima had either recovered from his shock, or been convinced by Nakahara's level-headedness. He settled his colleagues with a nod and stepped around Izumi and Ryuunosuke. "Okay," he agreed.
Nakahara nodded approvingly, and some distant instinct instilled by years of Mafia induction had Nakajima straightening with the acknowledgement.
"The rest of you should hurry after Chuuya," Dazai suggested. "I doubt he'll wait for you for very long."
There was a moment of hesitancy before the others started clearing out. Kouyou's gaze lingered over Nakahara as Yosano escorted her out, while the man stared at the floor to avoid meeting her eye.
Atsushi, trailing behind the rest of them, lingered in the doorway. When Dazai met the other's gaze, the boy pursed his lips, as if he were searching for something to say.
"Good luck," Atsushi eventually settled on. He sent a weak but genuine smile to Dazai before hurrying after the others.
"I'll need it," Dazai muttered to himself, practically choking on the tension that had been building since Nakahara had asked Nakajima to remain behind.
The quiet anticipation loomed like a building storm, apprehension just as pungent in the air as ozone, anxiety as thick and heavy as humidity.
Dazai shoved his hands in his pockets to ground himself.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, he whirled around to face the others. Nakajima was rigid; not so much as a finger's twitch of movement came from him. The only reason Dazai could be certain that the mafioso had not in fact been replaced with a wax figure of himself was the eyes. Dazai had yet to encounter an artwork that could accurately reflect the pain and fear of human life, and that darkness was practically spilling out of Nakajima's amatrine eyes and slithering across to pool and writhe at Nakahara's feet.
Nakahara hadn't seemed to notice – or if he had, didn't care – Nakajima's stare. He was instead focused on the small, leather-bound book Ranpo had left behind. "Don't suppose that thing still works?" He croaked once he detected Dazai's eyes on him.
Dazai shrugged. "Not since I've touched it. Why? Do you think I'll need it?"
A strange sort of expression flitted across Nakahara's face: a twitch of the corner of his mouth and a crease of his brows that almost seemed...fond?
"Not for me," he said.
Dazai gave a curt nod in answer.
"Here," Ranpo said, handing Dazai a small, brown paper package. "Just in case."
Dazai took the item from him and slipped it into his coat. "You think we'll need this?"
Ranpo shrugged, sipping the mango smoothie he'd had Yosano buy him from the cafe, eyeing Dazai with an unknown expression. "It's a precaution."
"So, yes?"
"I don't know enough about this world to predict how this will end. This is in case someone gets overwhelmed."
Dazai nodded, greatful for the assistance, even if Ranpo's phrasing was a little off to him. Which Chuuya did Ranpo forsee Dazai requiring Poe's pocket dimension for?
"Be careful," Ranpo said, his tone uncharacteristically serious, too serious for Dazai's liking. "Something about this world feels...wrong."
The taller smirked at him, laughing off the concern. "What? The fact that Chuuya destroyed a place he'd lay his life down for? Yeah, I know."
Ranpo fixed him with an emerald glare. If Dazai hadn't been trained in the art of the poker face, he would've been squirming under the gaze. "I'm serious," he warned. "Something's seriously wrong."
Dazai schooled his face into something that reflected Ranpo's tone. "Aside from the obvious?" Ranpo nodded. "What?"
"Nothing I'm certain of," he said, eyes drifting to a distant point as he tugged at loose thoughts whizzing around his head.
"You? Uncertain?" Dazai almost scoffed, but Ranpo's expression stopped him. The detective's mouth was drawn in a tight line and his gaze hardened.
"I'm not certain of much these days."
Dazai made no moves to dispute or reassure him, merely waited in silence for any thoughts Ranpo was willing to share.
It wad a moment before the older finally spoke. "There's so much we don't know about the Book, Dazai. It's origins, it's power..." He paused. "...its location."
"What are you thinking?"
Ranpo slurped at his smoothie, before finally turning back to Dazai. "That page cost us a lot," he said, a tinge of old anger haunting his words. "And yet, Nakajima waves around his as if..." He trailed off, evidently too unsure to share any further wisdoms.
Dazai didn't bother trying to press Ranpo further. "Interesting," he said instead, giving the other space to back out of his thoughts.
"It is, isn't it?" Ranpo agreed, eyes sliding shut while he sipped his smoothie innocently, as if he hadn't said anything at all.
"Okay then. Thank your boyfriend for me."
Dazai waved the little paper package teasingly as Ranpo choked on the straw. "Poe's not– we're not–" He coughed out only for Dazai to interject.
"That man drops everything to help you out Ranpo. Maybe you should appreciate the fact you have him wrapped around your finger."
Dazai didn't stick around to watch Ranpo's emerald eyes bulge as he hacked up the rest of his lung. For the smartest guy in the world, the detective seemed incredibly dense in this matter.
If that was a little hypocritical, Dazai didn't notice.
.•°•.
Chuuya didn't bother to knock.
He kicked the door open with a brazen kick, but even the satisfying slam of the brass knob against the wall and the squeaks of protest from the hinges as the door swung back too quickly did little to lighten his mood.
Chuuya glared at the man at the desk, waiting for acknowledgement as he caught the flailing door before it could retributitively smack him in the face. The boss was hunched over some paperwork, leaving his greasy hair casting a shadow over his face but the candlelight caught on his teeth as the man grinned.
"Chuuya," he acknowledged. His voice was quiet – soft even – but it cut through the air like a sweeping dagger poised to slice Chuuya's throat. "I've been expecting you." With a final flourish of his pen, Dazai finished whatever he was working on. His hands settled on the desk as he sat up. The red of his eye caught in the firelight.
Despite his show of confidence, Chuuya hovered in the doorway; his fist tightened around the doorknob. "I don't plan on staying long," he said, stepping inside.
Dazai smirked. "Aren't I the boss, Chuuya? You'll stay as long as I demand."
He beckoned Chuuya forward with a bony finger and a dark glint in his eye. Chuuya scoffed, dragged his feet along the carpet, but marched forward nonetheless, making sire to leave the door open and stopping just shy of a meter for the other's desk.
"It's about our new recruit?" Dazai asked, though there was no question in his tone.
Chuuya shoved his hands in his pockets as he scoffed. "This is about the kid that you've brought into our operation."
"My operation," Dazai corrected. "Don't be getting any ideas Chuuya."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he spat. "But I am your second in command. I'm responsible for keeping you alive until I decide to kill you." Dazai chuckled. Chuuya's fists clenched as he burrowed them deeper into his pockets. "The kid's a liability. He has no control over his gift."
"He'll learn."
"He's killed three of my men."
Dazai rolled his eye, clearly growing tired of the conversation. "Insignificant grunts."
"Shut your mouth!" Chuuya hissed.
Dazai glared in warning and a deadly stillness fell between them like a sudden wave of frost.
Chuuya shivered.
"Fine," he conceded, relaxing his fists. "The boy stays. But I won't be training him with that collar, it's unsustainable and eventually he'll crack."
Dazai shook his head. "The collar stays. He's easier to control this way."
Chuuya didn't bother to hide the look of absolute disgust on his face. "And why the fuck would you need that much control over a fourteen year-old kid?"
"Those who crave power will always be tempted by betrayal," Dazai quoted, lamely, pointedly adjusting his stolen scarf as he fixed Chuuya with a tired look.
The red-head rolled his eyes and took the final step toward the desk, slamming the door to the office shut with a flare of his ability. "He doesn't want power," he growled. "He wants a home. He wants a family. Neither of which you could ever give him so let him go!" With the final word, Chuuya slammed his fist against the desk. Dazai didn't so much as flinch.
"Not until he gives me what I want," he replied, gaze unfocused, looking through Chuuya as if he wasn't there.
Scowling, Chuuya leant over the desk, forcing his face into Dazai's eyeline. "And what's that, hah?"
Finally, Dazai looked at him. "I'm afraid I can't tell you, Chibi," he sighed, jutting out his bottom lip mockingly before fixing Chuuya with a sly grin.
"Oh?" They had secrets now? "What does that mean?" Chuuya fought to keep his hands pinned to the desk lest he put them around Dazai's neck.
"It means that you don't need to know," Dazai's grin was still there, but there was a tension in his jaw and something dark building behind his eye. Back off.
Chuuya's eyes narrowed. Not a chance. He slipped on a manic grin of his own as he rose and walked around the desk. Dazai remained sat in the office chair, but that was fine. Chuuya grabbed the arms of the chair with an audible smack and dragged it around to face him. The wooden legs screamed against the floor as they scratched the polished surface. He moved his face close to Dazai's, just far enough that he didn't go cross-eyed trying to look at him, but close enough to feel Dazai's breath on his lips.
"Aren't I your partner in this, Osamu?" He asked, watching Dazai's pupil dilate. "I may not need to know. But I'm asking."
Dazai could keep his secrets; most of the time, Chuuya didn't even want to know. However, on the rare occasions he did, all Chuuya had to do was ask the right question. While Dazai relished in keeping things from Chuuya, he also took great amusement in waving them tantalisingly in Chuuya's face until the red-head finally found the right question to ask to unlock the secret. It was a kind of game for the two of them.
But something was different. Dazai wasn't playing a game. He wasn't having fun. He was really keeping secrets from Chuuya this time.
Chuuya's brow twitched as he glared at the man in the chair. It was pissing him off. How dare this pathetic excuse for a Mafia boss make plans without consulting his right hand.
Chuuya couldn't keep his hands from grasping the boss' shirt in his vice grip. He lifted the man from the chair and pressed their faces even closer.
"Don't you trust me, Boss?" He whispered, practically spitting the last word.
Dazai said nothing, meeting Chuuya's poorly-hidden rage with a blank, unfeeling stare. Stop.
"You think I'll stab you in the back?" The sadistic grin returned to his face, along with a crazed fire that alighted in his eyes.
"Chuuya." Dazai's tone was one of warning, his next step from the silent treatment. The one before–
"You think I'll slit your throat and take your throne?" A gloved hand crept up Dazai's arm, tip-toeing toward his neck.
"Chuu–"
Chuuyas hand squeezed around Dazai's throat, cutting him off." You think I'll betray you?"
It was a choked gasp that finally pulled Chuuya into reality. He dropped Dazai immediately, backing away as if he'd burned himself. He averted his gaze, doing his best to ignore Dazai's splutters and coughs and wheezes as the man recomposed himself.
"What do you want him for?" Chuuya asked, voice barely a whisper, with his eyes fixed on a miniscule dent in the desk the shape of a fugly-looking duck.
"Tt." There was a wooden creak as Dazai stood from his chair. "Are you going to strangle me again if I don't answer?"
Chuuya didn't look at him. He didn't say anything either, fighting between the urge to scream at the man and the equally strong urge to throw himself at his boss' feet to beg for forgiveness. So he did neither.
Chuuya listened to the low, humourless chuckle that responded to his silence with clenched fists. "You're being particularly difficult today Chuuya," he said, in that wanton tone he always used to diminish Chuuya's desires – though, to the untrained ear, it sounded vaguely amused. "Any particular reason?"
"Don't you trust me?" The hoarse whisper slipped out before Chuuya could swallow it down and burry it. It was a sort of choked whine with a voice crack at the end that had him sounding like he was on the verge of breakdown and honestly, he probably was.
His weakness was painfully obvious and he loathed himself for it. He willed himself to storm out, to leave, to never find himself alone with the boss again.
Then, Dazai reached for his face.
The hand against his cheek was cold and the old bandages were like sandpaper on his skin. Yet, the touch was soft and the caress, almost sweet. Dazai lifted Chuuya's face so their eyes met then moved closer, lips dancing across Chuuya's cheek bone.
"You know that I do," Dazai whispered in his ear, as if it were an intimate secret (and perhaps it was).
Chuuya swallowed, shivering within Dazai's hold even as something warm bubbled in the pit of his stomach. "Then why?" He asked, staring at the wall while Dazai's lips curled around his earlobe before drifting down his neck.
Chuuya whimpered as teeth cut into the skin around his carotid pulse. His hands clenched around Dazai's shoulders to hold himself steady. Dazai lapped at the blood dripping from his neck, sucking at the wound like a vampire.
He pressed a kiss to the forming bruise before re-emerging in Chuuya's eyeline. That single brown eye, so dark it was almost black, tinged with the smallest hint of red, bore into Chuuya. "Do you trust me, Chuuya?"
Chuuya felt his resolve crumble like a house of cards. His gaze flickered down to Dazai's blood-stained lips. "You know that I do," he echoed, moving closer.
Dazai leant down to meet him.
Their kiss was sharp and ruthless. Dazai relentlessly tore into Chuuya's lips and dug his nails into Chuuya's scalp. Chuuya could only whine and groan in response, any noises swallowed up by Dazai, as he clawed at Dazai's shirt.
Dazai forced him backwards until Chuuya hit the desk, sending sparks of pain along his spine. When one of Dazai's hands moved to his thigh, Chuuya got the message and hopped up onto the desk, not missing a beat in the rhythm of their kiss.
Dazai's hand slipped to Chuuya's neck, tugging at the back of the choker until Chuuya was choking. Dazai kept on him though, swallowing Chuuya's gasps as well as the blood from his lips. The burning in his lungs became painful, purple spots danced across his vision when he opened his eyes.
But he didn't let go. He didn't shove Dazai away. He let the man ravish him, and choke him, and take the pleasure that he wanted. Chuuya surrendered wholly because – much to his continued frustration – he did trust Dazai and – to his disgust and continued self-loathing – he loved him too.
Dazai tugged and pulled until the choker snapped free of Chuuya's neck. Dazai released his mouth to allow Chuuya to gasp for air, moving to occupy himself with the new bruise that lined his throat. Chuuya sat, gasping and whining and groaning, doing nothing to stop Dazai from taking everything he wanted.
Chuuya almost forgot what he was angry about in the first place. Dazai was good at that. He excelled in distracting Chuuya with pain-tinged pleasure and forcing Chuuya to submit to his whim. It didn't matter if Chuuya didn't want it; he took it and enjoyed it, enjoyed being the one Dazai took pleasure in. He never managed to experience the same euphoria with any of his hook-ups (not that he indulged often; any men he slept with turned up dead soon after).
It was only Dazai.
And Chuuya fucking hated it.
"Captain," Chuuya called, turning from Dazai to see the boy practically jump three feet.
"Y-yes?" Nakajima answered with a hasty bow.
"Looks like he remembers your training," a voice whispered, lips curling in a predator's smile.
Chuuya ignored him.
"Get over here."
Nakajima scrambled over to stand beside Dazai, who looked vaguely disgusted by the display. Chuuya felt his cheeks heat up.
"Don't be embarrassed Chuu," the voice chided. "A good boss holds great command over his employees."
"Do you have a plan?" Chuuya asked, pointedly staring at Dazai and ignoring the hand currently digging into his shoulder.
"Don't you?"
"If Fyodor's plan really is to level the city with a single device, he'll have put it somewhere underground," Dazai explained while he eyed Chuuya curiously.
Nakajima chewed on his bottom lip. "Like...the sewer or something?"
Dazai shook his head while Chuuya's shadow muttered an amused "nope". "The ground Yokohama is built on is soft," he explained. "To do significant structural damage, he'd have to take out the harder layers below."
"And those are pretty deep," Chuuya sighed, already regretting that he'd signed himself up for this.
Nakajima nodded though, as if Dazai had just told him they were going to cross the street and not that they needed to figure out how to travel several kilometers underground to locate an explosive.
"So the caverns then?"
Both Chuuya and Dazai gave the same, slow blink in response. "The what?"
The voice giggled. "Looks like the White Reaper has some tricks left up his sleeve after all."