Chapter Text
It's a beautiful, sunny day and Dazai is splayed supine on the ground and squinting up at the sky, spots dancing across his vision.
That's not particularly unusual for him.
What is unusual is the fact that he can actually see the sun. He shouldn't be able to, considering that it was quarter to midnight thirty seconds ago.
Huh. Is he finally dead?
Dazai takes stock of himself and his surroundings.
The heat of the sun beats heavily against his exposed skin, almost tangible in its oppressive weight despite its position near the horizon. His body feels heavy, like he’s sinking into the surface beneath him, like it will start to envelop him like moss creeps over stone.
The ground is firm enough that his back is going to hate him if he keeps lying on it much longer, but it’s absorbed enough heat from the sun that it’s comfortably warm against the palms of his hands, if a little crumbly. The granules are familiar — small and gritty and annoying. (Just like a certain someone he won't mention, in case thinking about him makes him appear.)
The air is permeated with the stench of an industrialized city — greasy fried food, noxious gas fumes, the acrid scent of heated blacktop. But it's missing the faint note of salt and sea and the metallic undertone that differentiates Suribachi City from the rest of Japan.
…Probably not dead yet, unfortunately. He's pretty sure that whatever awaits him after he dies, if anything, won't be anywhere near this pleasant. Personally, he's hoping for instant, painless oblivion, although he isn't exactly holding his breath. His luck isn’t that good.
In any case, it's clear he's not in the same location he was thirty-two seconds ago. Some kind of transportation ability, maybe? Teleportation is the most likely, although there's the miniscule chance that he's ended up in some sort of alternate universe or new dimension. How, exactly, The Book works isn't clear, aside from the obvious, but it wouldn't be out of the question to suggest that using it results in the timeline splitting and an alternate universe where The Book was never used splintering off into a distinct but parallel universe.
He'd been hoping for something interesting to happen soon. He supposes this qualifies, although his thoughts had been more along the lines of finding a new method for suicide.
Alas. He’ll have to keep searching.
Something to his right makes a sound — a groan, short but languid and dripping with frustration.
It sounds disturbingly familiar.
Dazai drags open his heavy eyelids, blinking lethargically to clear his vision as he allows his head to fall to the side. The blur of color next to him resolves itself into unevenly cut orange hair and a pile of tacky clothing.
He can feel his lips curl involuntarily.
Even in an alternate dimension, it seems he can't escape Chuuya.
“Ah,” Dazai drawls, pitching his voice to elicit maximum annoyance. “So hell is real.”
What a shame. He would've preferred being reincarnated as a bug.
“Haah?” Chuuya levers himself into a sitting position in an instant so that he can turn the full force of his glare on Dazai. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dazai spreads his hands expressively, as if the solution should be obvious. “If I’m dead and Chuuya is here, then this must be hell.”
Chuuya snorts unattractively. “Feeling’s mutual,” he says absently, scanning their surroundings warily.
Dazai rolls his eyes, faintly disappointed by Chuuya’s lukewarm reaction. “There’s no one within ten meters of us,” he says dismissively, drawing Chuuya’s attention back to himself.
Chuuya doesn’t bother asking how Dazai knows, taking his words at face value. The line of his shoulders relaxes slightly, though the muscles in his arms are still tensed, ready to flip himself into the air at a moment’s notice. That’s normal for him, though. Dazai’s fairly certain Chuuya hasn’t completely unclenched since he was eighteen.
It’s probably why he’s survived as a Port Mafia executive this long.
The weight of Chuuya’s gaze returns to Dazai, the pressure familiar and heady. The blue of his eyes is paler than he’s used to, the flat gray of the sky above lightening them from their usual darker shade. "So, where are we?"
If Chuuya doesn't recognize this alleyway, they're definitely not in Yokohama. Chuuya knows those streets even better than Dazai does.
Dazai glances around, looking for anything that might give him an indication of where they are. Unfortunately, no newspapers conveniently blow past, and he's forced to admit, "I don't know."
Chuuya frowns, shifting his weight to his other leg. Annoyingly, this just brings him closer to Dazai. “Well, we’re kind of fucked then, aren’t we?”
Dazai shrugs. “Only until we get to the main street. It should be easy enough to figure out from there.”
There’s no reason that they shouldn’t work together, after all.
(And, well. Even if there were, Dazai is confident that they’d find some way around it.)
Chuuya hums in acknowledgement. “There’ll at least be a language to work with,” he agrees. He pauses for a moment, a smirk slipping its way onto his face before he asks slyly, “How’s your French, by the way?”
Dazai doesn't wince, but it’s a near thing. French hasn't exactly been at the top of his priority list recently. It's good enough to pretend he understands what foreigners are talking about if they ever decide to show up at the Armed Detective Agency, but that's the extent of it.
“Better than yours,” he deflects. “Besides, I doubt we made it as far as France.”
”Wanna bet?” Chuuya rises to his feet, stretching his arms above his head like that will somehow make him taller.
Dazai doesn’t dignify that with an answer. It’s possible Chuuya has spent the last few years improving his French when Dazai hadn’t been looking. It’s unlikely, though.
(But not impossible, he supposes.)
And he also doesn’t really want to bet on where they are since it’d probably end up coming back to bite him in the ass sooner or later. Given his luck, they probably are actually in France.
There’s no way he’s admitting that, though, so instead he falls back on tried and true classics: annoying Chuuya.
“What makes Chuuya think I want his money? You’re already my dog for life, or have you forgotten?” Dazai shakes his head theatrically. “I know you don't have a lot of space in that tiny head of yours, but I didn't think you were that stupid.”
Chuuya’s eyebrow twitches, the way it always does when Dazai brings up the bet he lost when they were fifteen.
(Some things never change.)
“Yeah, yeah.” Chuuya waves a hand dismissively in Dazai’s general direction, trying to act unbothered. “You won one bet, whatever. Worry more about figuring out where we are instead of bringing up old news.”
Ha. Seems like Chuuya still has some bark in him.
Dazai scoffs, finally mustering the energy to lift himself up onto his elbows. “I think Chuuya’s forgotten something in his old age!” he says brightly. “I don’t take orders from dogs.”
“We are the same age,” Chuuya forces out through gritted teeth.
Dazai grins at him beatifically. “That’s a hundred and eighty-two in dog years,” he informs Chuuya. “Chuuya’s ancient.”
A vein in Chuuya’s temple pulses. Dazai watches it gleefully.
That’s more like it.
“Although,” Dazai continues. “I heard somewhere that dog years go by even faster the smaller the dog. So Chuuya is probably closer to three hundred —”
The last thread of Chuuya’s patience audibly snaps and suddenly Chuuya is on top of him, thighs pinning him to the ground and his hands wrapped around Dazai's throat like they never left.
Aha. There's the reaction he was looking for.
Before Chuuya can successfully choke him to death, though, something large and green and vaguely humanoid comes hurtling through the building and plows right into Chuuya, throwing him off of Dazai and into the building behind him.
Dazai blinks at the empty air above him, then turns his head to stare at the brand new gaping hole in the building next to him that Chuuya and the green humanoid disappeared into. His neck twinges at the movement; he's definitely going to have bruises in a few hours.
The green humanoid comes sailing back through the hole a moment later, soaring over Dazai's head and landing with a thud in the ruins of the building on the other side of the street. Chuuya steps out a moment later, dusting off his gloves. There's a minor tear on one of his sleeves, but aside from that he looks unharmed.
“What happened to ‘No, Chuuya, there's definitely nothing within ten meters of us’?” Chuuya asks him sardonically, complete with air quotes and a frankly lackluster attempt at impersonation.
Dazau is vaguely insulted, but only because he knows for a fact that Chuuya can do a much better impersonation of him.
”There wasn’t when I said that,” Dazai informs him, sticking out his bottom lip and pouting exaggeratedly. “It’s not my fault Chuuya isn’t aware of his surroundings.”
Chuuya ignores his performative sulking (this particular expression had been much more effective when they were sixteen) and stalks through the rubble of the two newly demolished walls to poke the greenish humanoid with one foot. Then he notices the faint scuff marks on his thousand-euro imported Italian leather dress boots and grimaces.
Dazai can’t imagine what Chuuya thought he was going to get out of poking his attacker, but he’s entertained by Chuuya’s disgusted expression anyway.
“A speed- or time-based ability?” Chuuya suggests, studying the scuff marks on his boots intently and frowning.
Dazai hums noncommittally. It’s not a bad guess. “As usual, Chuuya is short-sighted,” he sighs, mostly because he can’t resist the low-hanging fruit that is that particular opportunity to mock Chuuya’s height. “It could also be a perception- or spatial-manipulation-based ability, or even a transformative ability like Atsushi-kun’s.”
“So, basically, we don’t know jack shit,” Chuuya summarizes, pretending to be unaffected by Dazai’s mocking even as the vein in his temple begins to pulse again. “Are you going to lie on the ground all night or are you going to pull your own weight for once?”
”I was considering it,” Dazai says, honest for once. He doesn’t particularly feel like getting up, and, besides, Chuuya clearly has this handled.
Chuuya rolls his eyes and starts to make his way back towards Dazai, probably to force him to his feet. Then he finally notices the tear in his sleeve and his expression turns dark and stormy. “You owe me a new shirt.”
…While Dazai could buy one of Chuuya’s stupidly expensive shirts if he dug into the old Port Mafia accounts he’s got hidden overseas, he is absolutely not going to do that.
Think of the precedent that would set. Chuuya would force him to buy new clothing anytime Chuuya ruined his clothing and Dazai was within a ten block radius.
Besides, it's not like it's his fault that Chuuya got attacked.
So instead, he says, “Sorry, Chuuya. No matter how many times you ask me to be your sugar daddy — ” Chuuya splutters satisfyingly. “ — I don't buy things for people who are under a hundred centimeters tall.”
Chuuya scowls and an angry flush starts to peek out from underneath his collar. “I'm a hundred and sixty centimeters and you know it!”
Before Dazai can graciously reassure Chuuya that he believes him, no matter what the measuring tapes say, the humanoid twitches.
Dazai’s attention snaps to the greenish form, and he can feel Chuuya doing the same beside him, his muscles tensing, ready to dodge at a moment’s notice. One of his hands twitches slightly towards Dazai — he’s preparing to grab Dazai in a fireman’s carry and get them both out of here if necessary.
How thoughtful. Unfortunately, Dazai would rather die than let anyone see that happen.
Without taking his eyes off the greenish humanoid, Dazai clicks his tongue once, warning Chuuya that he’s about to move, then grabs two of the knives from the holsters hidden inside Chuuya’s boots and throws them at the humanoid. The knives slice precisely through the bulging tendons in their ankles, neatly slashing their Achilles tendons. Chuuya follows suit half a second later, his throwing knives stabbing through their shoulders and severing their rotator cuffs.
Then, in an instant, he crosses the distance between them and the humanoid and leaps onto their back, body glowing red with For the Tainted Sorrow. Chuuya plants his feet squarely on their back, then increases his own gravity enough that the humanoid's ribs creak audibly and they let out an involuntary pained groan.
Dazai’s lips twitch upwards into a faint smirk. Their opponent won’t be getting up anytime soon.
Dazai, on the other hand…
Dazai props himself up on one elbow and stares at Chuuya for a few moments with something that isn't quite admiration. Admiration's twisted cousin, maybe. It's always entertaining to watch Chuuya fight, even when it's over as quickly as this. Especially when he can manipulate Chuuya into doing most of the work.
Chuuya scowls at him, finally catching on. “What're you looking at? Get your ass over here and do something useful, you waste of bandages.”
Dazai sighs theatrically and drags himself off the ground, forcing his limbs away from the pavement that wants to absorb them. “Chuuya can't handle a minor interrogation by himself? I weep for the Port Mafia's future, with an executive like you.”
Chuuya's eye twitches as he struggles not to rise to the bait. He's got better at that over the years. Dazai isn't sure he likes that.
Then again, Dazai’s also got better at pushing Chuuya’s buttons, so all it really means is that they are once again on equal footing.
Hm. He'll need to do something about that in the near future. Chuuya has the best reactions when he's pissed off; Dazai would hate to deprive himself just because Chuuya managed to build up a tolerance.
Right now, though, they have bigger problems, so he'll have to be the bigger person and put a pin in that thought for now. Not that that's hard, given Chuuya’s… diminutive stature.
Dazai surveys the person who had attacked them. Now that they're unconscious and not hurtling over his head at Mach 1, it's much easier to make out more of their appearance. What he had previously only been able to process as a greenish humanoid blur of movement resolves itself into a light green pile of limbs attached to a torso that looks too big for the rest of the body.
They're tall — easily forty centimeters taller than Chuuya. They aren't wearing a shirt, which leaves six lumps on their broad green shoulders on display. The lumps look like some sort of growth, bulbous and about to burst.
They are, thankfully, wearing pants, but not shoes; their feet look somewhat unnervingly human, if green. They're also wearing some kind of mask that covers their eyes yet leaves their brain exposed. Dazai doesn't know a lot about fashion — only what he's picked up from Chuuya, really, and everything Chuuya wears is ugly as sin — but he's pretty sure that's not ‘in vogue’ and probably won't ever be.
That doesn't tell him anything useful about this person's ability, other than that it might be transformative like Atsushi's or Akutagawa's, since superhuman speed, green skin and exposed brains aren't exactly common. More importantly, it doesn't tell him where he is or why Chuuya, of all people, is here with him.
Isn't it handy that there's someone right in front of him that he can ask for information? It seems as if it's about time for him to dust off his interrogation skills.
Dazai crouches down next to the humanoid's head and stares deep into their soul, pasting on a fake smile that doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes. He's been reliably informed by various members of the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia that this particular expression looks ‘really fucking creepy, Dazai,’ so he's reasonably convinced that it alone will be enough to put his opponent on edge.
“Hello there,” he greets the humanoid politely, smiling his reportedly ‘bone-chilling’ smile. “Care to tell me why you attacked us?”
Usually, that's enough to get low level grunts and petty criminals blabbering away like he's threatened to murder their entire families. The particularly weak-willed ones have a tendency to faint.
Unfortunately, this particular opponent doesn't seem incredibly affected, aside from an involuntary twitch in the muscles in the back of their neck. Their face is expressionless, as far as Dazai can tell, and their eyes are dark but blank, like there's nothing behind them.
Hm. This might be a little more difficult than he'd expected.
Dazai considers a dozen or so of his usual interrogation methods and discards them just as quickly. He gets the feeling that this particular opponent is one of few words and won't be provoked into giving away information easily.
Ah, well. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he supposes.
Dazai lets the painfully fake smile abruptly fall from his face.
“You have exactly ninety seconds before I tell Chuuya to vaporize you,” Dazai informs his opponent flatly. “And he doesn't always follow orders like a good little dog, so it might be less than that.” Chuuya makes a face at him, but obligingly increases the gravity of the humanoid beneath him until their ribs audibly crack.
“Of course,” Dazai continues, as if he hasn't noticed, “if you can tell me something worthwhile…” He idly picks up one of the knives Chuuya threw earlier, flipping it twice before grabbing the handle and pressing the blade against the humanoid's neck until a thin rivulet of blood beads along the edge. There's more resistance than he'd been expecting; their skin seems to be thicker than a baseline human's. “I can make your death simple and quick.”
The humanoid doesn't react. Not even a flicker in their glazed, blank eyes.
Dazai frowns slightly.
He readjusts the knife, then slices through his opponent's throat again, half a centimeter higher. He puts more force behind the cut, purposely making it rough and jagged, deep enough that it has to be painful even with their thickened skin.
No reaction. Their pupils don't even dilate.
Dazai presses the blade of the knife into the humanoid's exposed brain until it bleeds and doesn't even get a flinch in response.
Ugh. How disappointing.
He gets to his feet, stretching his arms over his head until something in his spine pops.
(There's an ache in the middle of his spine that just won't go away. He's considering manipulating Chuuya into cracking his back like a glowstick, but he needs to make sure Chuuya won't paralyze him out of spite first.)
“Done playing with your food?” Chuuya drawls, examining the seams of his gloves like he hasn't been keeping an eye on Dazai's interrogation as he keeps watch over their surroundings.
“They're being controlled by someone. I don't think they're cognizant enough to know anything useful, much less tell us.” Dazai pastes a smile back on his face again, choosing one of his more infuriating expressions this time. “Chuuya is, of course, welcome to try, if he thinks he can do better.” He makes his voice sound doubtful, like there's no way Chuuya can possibly succeed.
As expected, the challenge sparks an ember burning behind Chuuya's eyes. “If I can, you have to shut the fuck up when I tell you to,” Chuuya says casually, not at all like a man who has won exactly one challenge against Dazai ever. (Chuuya would probably argue with that number, but Dazai stands firm: that time when they were eighteen doesn't count. Hirotsu was the one playing, not him.)
Dazai pretends to ponder his answer for two whole minutes, which is just long enough to get the vein throbbing in Chuuya’s forehead again. Then he says, “If I win, Chuuya has to do me an unspecified favor in the not too distant future.”
He doesn't even bother trying to sound less suspicious, because he knows Chuuya will agree.
He's a little surprised that Chuuya agrees immediately and without question, though. Chuuya must be very confident.
Chuuya smirks, and the glint in his eye changes slightly. He takes a step backwards, off of the humanoid.
Ah. Dazai should dodge now.
Dazai leans to the left just as Chuuya kicks the humanoid and sends them shooting right where his head had been two seconds ago. He turns to watch as they sail into the building next to him, the force of Chuuya’s kick wedging them into a brand new hole in the wall. They fall to the ground a second later with a loud thump and a soft, pained groan.
Chuuya clicks his tongue. “Why'd you dodge?” he complains, stalking over to their opponent.
Dazai smiles beatifically. “Getting crushed by a flying humanoid sounds painful.”
“ ‘Getting crushed by a flying humanoid sounds painful,’ ” Chuuya mimics in a high-pitched voice, making a crude facsimile of a mouth with one hand so he can flap it open and closed mockingly. Then he takes advantage of Dazai's momentary distraction to kick the humanoid like a soccer ball again, this time at a different angle.
Dazai jumps to the side, just barely getting out of the way in time for the humanoid to hurtle past him and into a building at the other end of the street. This building must not be quite as well-made as the ones the humanoid had barreled through earlier, because this building crumbles to dust and small chunks of concrete more or less instantly.
Dazai gasps theatrically. “Chuuya!” he admonishes. “Think of all the property damage you're causing!”
“I'm surprised you even know what property damage is!” Chuuya snarks back, his sharp grin widening. “ ‘Sides, not like I'm paying for it.”
This is actually a good point, which means that Dazai can't let it lie.
“Maybe you should, though?” Dazai says, rubbing his chin with one hand faux-thoughtfully. “Since it's Chuuya's ability destroying all these buildings during his failed interrogation.”
Chuuya grits his teeth audibly, his smirk melting into a scowl. “I haven't failed yet!”
Dazai smirks at him smugly until Chuuya realizes that the key word there is yet.
Chuuya growls at him, the sound deep and primal in a way that makes the hair on the back of Dazai's neck stand up. His teeth grit together audibly, then the pressure eases as he opens his mouth to retort –
Oh? What's this? Does Chuuya actually have a good comeback for once? Dazai is on the edge of his seat.
Chuuya points at him and says, “Shut up.”
“How eloquent. Chuuya is truly a master wordsmith.”
Chuuya growls at him again, then jumps over some of the new rubble on the street, heading towards the humanoid he's been kicking around. To take responsibility for his actions or something, probably. This is the only reason Chuuya could have for leaving his side, Dazai is sure.