Archive of Our Own ^beta

The chaos in Yokohama was nothing new.

Explosions, screaming, the occasional tiger-shaped hole in a building wall, a little glittery here and there, oh! and added some defeat enemy wear Tutu —people had grown used to it.

But today was different.... 

[Armed Detective Agency place]

Today, both the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia were running wild in meeting.

“WHY IS THE SKY ON FIRE?! (how did that happened in the first place?)” Kunikida bellowed, notebook shaking in his hands as he look the sky through window.

“Because it’s fun!” Elise yelled from her throne of stolen office chairs.

“Mori-sensei would approve (NO I DID NOT!!!) ” Dazai added solemnly, even as he tried to set off fireworks inside Fukuzawa office.

A sandal flew across the room.

SMACK!

Fukuzawa gave him the ultimate disappointed dad look.

And in the middle of it all, Mori Ougai—doctor, mafia boss, somehow also the ADA in-law thanks to an inconveniently valid marriage certificate—sighed, raising a hand.

he is here right now with some of his executives (that is his kids too) for monthly meeting of ADA and PM for keeping up the alliance.

This was supposed to be a monthly ADA–PM alliance meeting. In reality, it was just a cover, both sides had been tangled together long before the ADA even existed or Mori become a boss, thanks to Mori and Fukuzawa “accidental” marriage. (They were still married. Don’t ask. it's just convincing.)

“Children, please. You are give me and Fukuzawa-dono wrinkles. Wrinkles are very difficult to manage, you know.”

" are you sure boss? last time we check you and President didn't have one" Piano man tease him, and he is not wrong.

there is another accident that turned them regress their age permanently much to the old married couple disbelief.

Mori sighs " dosen't mean i wont have one in the future if this keep going" he rubbeb his temple.

he ignore behind him where Yosano and Doc debating the most vicious poisons ever conceived.

or across the room where Atsushi and Akutagawa were mid-brawl, breaking yet another wall.

then —

The ground cracked.

A ripple tore through the air, freezing everyone mid-chaos. Out of the distortion stepped figures cloaked in shadows — new enemies, their faces hidden.

Their target wasn’t the ADA.

Nor the PM.

It was Mori.

“Mori Ougai,” one of the strangers hissed. “You are not real. you changed what supposed to happen.”

For once, the room stilled.

Chuuya clenched his fists. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?!”

the stranger ignore Chuuya as he continue " you don't belong here "

Mori breath hitch hearing this.

'they know...'

Even Dazai smirk faded. “well someone talking nonsense~.”

no they don't.

and Mori know that Dazai is too fucking smart not to know what they meant.

but  before anyone can talk—

BAM-BAM-BAM

The weapon fired.

Odasaku moved first, faster than anyone else. “MORI-SENSEI!”

He shoved him back, taking the brunt of the strange energy  but it's useless. It detonated in a burst of light.

Both men vanished.

Koyo eyes windened "NO!"

" MORI-SENSEI!" Kunikida scream.

“DAD?!” Yosano voice cracked.

“BOSS?!” Chuuya roared.

“MY WIFE —” Fukuzawa began, before going very, very silent at everyone stares.(uhhh....what the actually fuc—)

Yokohama echoed with screams as the blast faded.

.
.
.

Mori opened his eyes to a familiar ceiling. White paint, faint water stain in the corner. The hum of a refrigerator in the next room.

No.

No.

No no no no—

“This is—” He sat up, clutching his head. “This is my old apartment.”

Beside him, Odasaku groaned and rubbed his temples. “Apartment? This isn’t the ADA medical room… Where are we?”

Mori throat tightened. The posters on the wall—the shelves stacked with cheap manga—the laptop on the desk blinking with a half-written Word document. He knew every inch of this place.

This was his world. The one before he reincarnated as Mori Ougai.

The world where Bungou Stray Dogs was just an anime.

Odasaku stood and walked to the window. “The city… it looks normal. No armed gangs, no explosions.” He frowned. “And.... no abilities. I can’t feel anything.”

Mori forced a smile. “Ah, yes, must be… must be some kind of illusion.”
His voice cracked.

Odasaku glanced at him, suspicious. “You seem familiar with this place.”

Mori palms sweated. His heart thudded.
He couldn’t let Odasaku know.

If Odasaku realized Mori wasn’t “Mori”—that he was just some other man who hijacked this body years ago—the family he built, the children he raised, all of it could shatter.

“No, no,” Mori said too quickly. “I’m just a good guesser.”

Odasaku narrowed his eyes. “...Right.”

And for the first time in years, Mori Ougai felt true panic clawing at his throat.

.
.
.

it's been few days since they stuck in this world, while trying to find a way to get back. but is hard  where there is no abilty in this world.

Mori tried to act normal. Truly, he did.

He sat on the couch with his arms crossed, legs perfectly poised, he cook for both of them like he used to years ago, he walk together with Odasaku out of apartement. He even smiled politely whenever Odasaku asked questions.

But every few minutes, his eyes darted to the manga shelf. (he hide all the BSD  manga and novel)

Or the laptop.

Or the corner where his old anime DVDs were stacked in embarrassing chronological order.

'Mori, calm down. You are a doctor. A leader. A husband. A father. You can handle this.'

“You’re sweating,” Odasaku said flatly.

“I—no! Impossible! My body regulates temperature perfectly!” Mori snapped, blotting his forehead with a tissue he produced far too quickly.

Odasaku brows furrowed. “You sure you’re not sick? You look… jumpy.”

“I am the picture of health,” Mori insisted, while clutching his chest like he was seconds from cardiac arrest.

That night, when Odasaku finally fell asleep, Mori sat on the floor, hugging his knees. His voice was barely a whisper.

“…Elise.”

The air shimmered, and the little girl appeared but almost a blurr, twirling in her frilly dress. “You called, papa~?”

Mori nearly choked. “You… you’re still here?”

“Of course! Abilities don’t disappear just because you jumped universes. Silly!” Elise beamed. Then she dropped the bomb. “Buuuut… there’s a catch.”

Mori stomach sank. “Catch?”

“To maintain the link to BSD-world and maybe get back, you need to collect… yourself.”

“…What?”

“Merchandise!” Elise clapped her hands. “Figures, keychains, posters—anything that looks like you and our weird family. Then you burn it, and poof! The bond strengthens.”

Mori stared at her like she’d just prescribed him lethal poison. “…You want me to go outside. And buy Bungou Stray Dogs merchandise.”

“Yup!”

“…with Odasaku.”

“Yup!”

Mori buried his face in his hands. “This is how I die.”

********

The next morning—

“Why are we going to an anime convention?” Odasaku asked as they approached the crowded convention center, banners for AnimeJapan Expo flapping overhead.

“Educational purposes!” Mori declared, sweating through his perfectly ironed suit. “you know we need some items so we can go back and… ah… cultural exchange.”

Odasaku glanced at the sea of cosplayers and furries swarming the entrance. “…This doesn’t look educational.”

“It is. Deeply.”

They received their badges at registration.

but today event is unique. instead of names, they were handed plastic tags with their usernames printed in bold.

Mori blinked down at his.

xXxDarkDoctor69xXx

He nearly threw himself into traffic.

'fuck! I forgot how chinun I am when younger!'

“…What is this?” Odasaku muttered, staring at his own badge.

SmokingHotDad ( Mori is in hurry alright!!!)

“…Mori-sensei.” Odasaku face was dead serious. “Why does it say this?”

Mori was already halfway to cardiac arrest. “Perhaps… perhaps they have mistaken you for someone else…?”

Odasaku squinted. “People… call each other this?”

A loud voice cut through the crowd:
“HEY! YOU! Mori haters unite!”

A teenager wearing a shirt labeled MoriIsTheWorst01 lunged—only to be tackled instantly by someone screaming, “HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY HUSBAND?!” Their badge glowed: Akeru_Nakahara.

A full-blown brawl broke out in the food court, banners waving like battle flags.

on the other hand a bunch crowded cosplayer with weird username like Wolfeaat, IntrovertedHermitcrab, and.....SponchamN3?

anyway, they are discussion about some theory, and Odasaku watch from afar as it turned somehow into screaming debated.

Odasaku froze. “.....dad.”

“Yes?” Mori croaked.

he point out on the brawling “…Are they… fighting over you?”

“…No.” Mori voice cracked like thin glass.

Before he could bolt, a group of cosplayers spotted them, and they rushed toward Mori and Odasaku.

“OH MY GOD, YOUR COSPLAY IS SO ACCURATE!”

“They look EXACTLY like Mori and Odasaku!”

“Sir, can we get a picture?!”

"is that a real hair?"

Flashbulbs went off. Mori stood there, smile trembling, while Odasaku stiffly lifted a peace sign like a confused uncle at a barbecue.

Odasaku leaned in, whispering. “Mori. Explain. Now.”

Mori soul left his body for a few second.

he then tugged at Odasaku sleeve, eyes darting around the bustling convention hall where cheers, arguments, and camera flashes blurred into a dizzying noise.

“…Not here,” he murmured, voice sharper than usual. “Come. Somewhere quiet.”

Odasaku raised an eyebrow but followed. He could tell from Mori face that this wasn’t one of his usual games.
.
.
.

They slipped past rows of cosplayers and booths until they found a narrow stairwell, dim and empty, the muffled roar of the crowd echoing from above.

Mori sank onto the steps, folding his hands tightly together. His smile—the mask he wore so well—wavered.

“…I owe you the truth,” he said finally, voice low. “About… me. About this world. About everything.”

Odasaku leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I figured you were hiding something. You’ve been… off. More than usual.”

Mori let out a shaky laugh. “Yes, well… that’s one way to put it.”

He took a breath.

And then he told him.

About waking up years ago in a body that wasn’t his.

About realizing this wasn’t just another life, but the world of Bungou Stray Dogs.

About how he shouldn’t have been here at all.

How he interfered.

How he rewrote things that should have happened.

How he reached into the past and adopted Odasaku, dragging him out of his dark fate, a fatal path before it could consume and killed him.

“…I changed everything,” Mori whispered. “The story was supposed to break you. To kill you. To push Dazai to… to ADA with your death. None of this—your survival, our family, the strong alliance—it wasn’t supposed to exist. And it’s all my fault.”

His voice cracked at the end, guilt clawing at his throat. “I was selfish. I couldn’t stand by and watch. Even if it meant breaking half of the canon world.”

For a long moment, silence filled the stairwell.

Odasaku didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His cigarette case sat idle in his hand, thumb tapping against the lid.

"...."

Finally, he exhaled slowly. “So… you’re not really Mori Ougai.”

“…No” Mori admitted, head bowed.

“And this world… everything I know… is just an anime where you came from.”

“…Yes.”

Odasaku studied him, his sharp eyes unreadable. “And you regret saving me?” he said almost gently.

Mori head shot up. “NO!” His hands trembled. “Never. I—if I ruined fate itself, if I dragged everyone off their paths, if I burned the script to ash—I would do it all again for you. For my children. For the life I stole and made mine.”

His breath hitched, and for the first time, his composure shattered completely. “…But I fear the cost will come due. That something worse could happen and all of you will suffer because of me.”

Odasaku stepped forward, crouched so their eyes met, and placed a hand firmly on Mori shoulder.

“You’re an idiot,” he said simply.

Mori blinked. “…Excuse me?”

“You think saving people ruins them? That rewriting fate is selfish?” Odasaku voice was calm, steady.

“Then I’ll take selfish. Because if you hadn’t interfered, I’d be dead. And I don’t care what some ‘story’ says about how things are supposed to go.”

Mori stared, unable to breathe.

Odasaku gave him a small smile—the kind that felt unshakably sure. “I’m alive. You gave me a family. That’s not ruining the world, Mori. That’s living in it. So stop beating yourself up over what should have been. You’re here now. That’s enough.”

The words struck Mori harder than any blade. His throat tightened, and for once, he couldn’t summon a clever response.

He simply lowered his head, letting the silence stretch, clinging to the weight of Odasaku’s hand like an anchor.

For the first time in years, Mori Ougai allowed himself to tremble.
.
.
.

The conversation in the stairwell left Odasaku quiet for a long time. He didn’t say much as they slipped back into the noise of the convention hall, but Mori could feel it — the silence wasn’t rejection, but thought. Processing.

Mori kept sneaking glances at him. Waiting for the disgust. Waiting for the betrayal.

Instead, Odasaku stopped dead in the middle of Artist Alley, staring at a booth wall plastered with prints.

His prints.

“...Mori-sensei.” His voice was flat.

“Yes?” Mori asked, too sweetly.

“Why… why is there a poster of me… bleeding out in abounded house?”

Mori winced. “…Ah. Yes. That would be your canonical death scene.”

Odasaku turned slowly, cigarette case clicking open and shut in his hands. “Canonical what.”

“And look! They even put it on a body pillow cover. Very high quality.”

Odasaku made the kind of face you make when you watch your own funeral livestreamed with fan commentary. ( well, I mean-) “…People buy this?”

“Oh yes,” Mori said solemnly. “You’re very popular with the tragedy crowd.”

Odasaku pressed a hand to his face. “…I hate this world.”

It got worse.

Much worse.

As they tried to maneuver toward the vendor selling Mori and the Port Mafia characters keychains (the humiliation never ended), Odasaku collided with two cosplayers rounding the corner.

“Ah—sorry,” he muttered automatically.

Then he froze.

One of them had messy brown hair, wrapped in bloodied bandages, black coat swirling dramatically around her legs. The other wore round glasses, suit pressed to perfection, even the faint mole at the edge of his lip drawn in eyeliner.

Cosplay Dazai.

Cosplay Ango.

And not the cheap kind. The details were too sharp. Too familiar. Even the way the Dazai cosplayer tilted "her" head — carefree but watching everything — was unnervingly accurate.

Their name tags blinked cheerfully.

Risa894 with Ango cosplay.

Constellation_Star_Of_The_Sea with Dazai 18 cosplay.

Odasaku brain short-circuited.

Seriously, he almost though of them his really Dazai and Ango, and if he didn't look more closely Odasaku won't found out they are actually girls. 

The “Dazai” beamed. “Oh my god, your cosplays are amazing!”

“Seriously,” the “Ango” added, adjusting "her"  glasses. “You even got the mannerisms right. Most Mori cosplayers just stand around looking smug, but you—wow. And Odasaku isn’t a common choice, but you nailed it. The way you scowl? Perfect.”

Odasaku stared at them. “…You… you think I’m… cosplaying?”

“Of course!” “Dazai” said. “Though, props for committing. Like, you even have the cigarette case!”

“And the eyes,” “Ango” noted, leaning closer with disturbing precision. “That shade of blue, and poker face? Honestly, it’s spot-on.”

Mori smile was frozen, twitching at the edges. “Ahaha… yes… very authentic.”

“Where did you get your badges?” Dazai-cosplayer asked. “The usernames are so funny. DarkDoctor69 and SmokingHotDad? Genius.”

Mori considered spontaneous combustion. Odasaku considered homicide despite being his no killing rule.
.
.
.

The four of them stood awkwardly in the aisle, the “Dazai” and “Ango” cosplayers gushing over how “real” of Odasaku and Mori cosplay is.

Then a voice cut through the din.

“HEY—YOU GUYS!”

A man in a staff T-shirt barreled toward them, face flushed, waving frantically. “Please! Please, you have to help!”

All four froze.

The man skidded to a stop, panting. “The actors for our Bungou Stray Dogs Live Stage panel—two of them are sick and the other two are hurt! And your cosplays are incredible! Could you… could you fill in? Just for fun, of course!”

“Excuse me?” Odasaku said flatly.

“It doesn’t have to be serious!” the man pleaded. “Just roleplay, improvise—everyone will love it! Please, the audience is waiting!”

Mori smile was brittle. “I believe you may be mistaking us for—”

“You’ll even get free merch,” the man added desperately. “Any merch you want. Posters, figures, exclusives—everything!”

Silence.

The cosplayers’ eyes lit up. “Free merch?!”

Mori head snapped around so fast he nearly dislocated something.

Free merch meant Elise condition.

Free merch meant strengthening the link back to BSD-world.

Odasaku muttered, “…We need it, don’t we.”

“Yes,” Mori said through gritted teeth. “We absolutely do.”

The girls grinned, already whispering about the limited-edition badges.

“…Fine,” Odasaku sighed. “But what’s the scene?”

The staffer brightened. “Oh! It’s the Mimic arc. The one where Ango betrays the Port Mafia, Dazai spirals, and Odasaku—”

Odasaku narrowed his eyes. “…And I?”

“—dies!” the staffer finished cheerfully. “Tragic! Iconic! The fans love it!”

There was a long, long pause.

“Joy,” Odasaku said flatly.

“Don’t worry!” the staffer chirped, shoving scripts into their hands. “Just go out there, have fun, play your roles!”

Mori smile didn’t move, but his hands trembled against the paper. He could feel Odasaku gaze boring into him, like he already knew Mori had been hiding this “script” from him all along.

The crowd outside roared as the emcee announced:

“Please welcome our special surprise cast for the BSD Live Stage: Mimic Event!”

Mori leaned toward Odasaku, whispering quickly. “…We just need the merch. Play along. Don’t panic.”

Odasaku didn’t blink. “…I’m literally supposed to die in this play.”

“Yes,” Mori whispered back, voice brittle. “But think of the merch.”

"And... " Mori added " We are going to burned it anyway"

"Doesn't change that this is absurd" Odasaku muttered. 

"You can have a lot Ango and Dazai merch" Mori whisper " You can keep some, think about it"

"...... "

The stage lights were blinding. The crowd was massive.

Odasaku adjusted his borrowed prop gun, muttering under his breath. “This is ridiculous.”

“Smile, dear,” Mori whispered back, already striking a dramatic pose. “Theater is about presence.”

The curtain rose.

The “Dazai” cosplayer immediately launched into character on the Bar Lupin scene, throwing herself to the ground in an over-the-top wail. “ODASAKUUUUU—YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME!”

The audience screamed.

The “Ango” cosplayer clutched her tie dramatical , trembling with perfect anguish. “Forgive me… it was the only way!” (hey that's not accurate!) she then run away from the stage. 

Then “Ango” cosplayer sobbed into her folder(where did she get that?), then whipped around to deliver an impromptu speech about their break relationship on the Bar Lupin scene so powerful half the audience was in tears.

Mori grin was too wide, too sharp. He swept forward like he was auditioning for Les Misérables, voice ringing through the hall. “ using Ango as a spy because he is already a spy, sacrifice Odasaku for the business permit, what is more perfect?!” (okay that's too muc— "shush!") 

The crowd went feral.

Odasaku, meanwhile, was supposed to stagger, cough, and fall dramatically in defeat. Instead, when the “Mimic henchman” extra stepped forward with his fake blade, Odasaku snapped his leg out a bit (he is still salty with the mimic).

CRACK.

The poor man went flying offstage, yelping.

The audience roared in delight, convinced it was all part of the act.

Odasaku smirked despite himself. “…Okay. That was kinda fun.”

"Dazai" instantly seized the moment, grabbing Odasaku by the shoulders. “DON’T YOU DARE DIE ON ME, ODASAKU! FOR IF YOU DIE, THEN WHAT IS THE POINT OF MY EXISTENCE—” He collapsed to his knees, sobbing so loudly the mic squealed. “YOU ARE MY FRIEND! MY FIRST FRIEND—”

Somewhere in the crowd, someone shouted, “BEST DAZAI PERFORMANCE EVER!!”

The cosplayer “Dazai” was rolling on the ground, shaking Odasaku arm with terrifying realism. “ODASAKUUU! I WILL SIDE WITH THE SAVING PEOPLE!”

And the finale, Odasaku had “died” (begrudgingly, after accidentally decking again and this time Andre Gide cosplay), Mori was sprawled across the stage wailing operatically, and the two cosplayers were clutching each other like it was the end of the world.

The crowd erupted.

Cheering, stomping, even a chant of “ENCORE! ENCORE!”

Odasaku lay flat on the stage, staring at the ceiling. “…This is insane.”

Mori, without missing a beat, leaned down and whispered in his ear. “…Yes. But we’re getting the merch.”

The emcee’s voice cracked through the speakers: “Give it up for the most authentic BSD performance we’ve ever seen!”

The audience was on their feet, thunderous applause echoing through the convention hall.

Mori smile was calm, serene, even smug as he stood to bow.

Inside, he was screaming.
.
.
.

Backstage was chaos.

Boxes of BSD merchandise were stacked everywhere, like treasure won from a bloody battle. Posters, acrylic stands, keychains, body pillows — all free, all theirs.

The convention director, a middle-aged man practically glowing with joy, clasped Mori hand in both of his. “That was phenomenal! The most authentic BSD performance this convention has ever seen! Would your group be willing to come back next year?”

Mori, his arms overflowing with flags keychains, the Lupin Trio clear files, Fukuzawa figurines, and even a Mori teacup, gave a polite little smile. “I am flattered, truly. But alas… we are far too busy saving the world to commit to an annual schedule.”

The director laughed, not realizing Mori was dead serious, and shuffled off to gush to the press.

Meanwhile, chaos erupted in the corner.

Risa894 had collapsed onto a beanbag chair, drowning in piles of her wanted characters’ merch. She hugged a giant Chuuya plush to her chest, eyes glassy with bliss. “My children… my sweet children… they’re all mine now…”

Mori carefully averted his eyes. Some things were too unholy even for him.

Across the room, however—

“LET GO!”

“NEVER!”

Odasaku and  Constellation_Star_Of_The_Sea were in a full-on brawl, tug-of-war over a limited-edition Dazai plushie. The crowd of staff and cosplayers around them cheered like it was a wrestling match.

“You don’t even know him!” Odasaku growled, teeth clenched.

“I know him in my heart! He’s my favorite character!” the cosplayer screeched back, eyes wild.

“favorite character?! He’s an idiot who never stops causing trouble!”

“That’s WHY I LOVE HIM!”

The plushie squeaked violently as both refused to let go.

Mori rubbed his temple with one hand while balancing six Mori pins in the other. “…I thought the absurdity would stop once I confessed the truth. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Elise popped into view on his shoulder, sipping juice from a carton. “Papa, you’re married, a mafia boss, and cosplaying yourself at an anime convention. You don’t get to complain about absurdity.”

Mori sighed. “…Fair.”

.
.
.

By the time they finally escaped the convention center, the sun was low, casting Tokyo city in gold.

Their arms were stacked high with loot bags — glossy posters poking out at odd angles, plushies dangling from straps, acrylic charms jingling with each step.

Mori haul was almost entirely all the BSD characters: few rows of smirking Chuuya  keychains, Rimbaud art prints, a Koyo figure so detailed it looked ready to give a speech. He carried it all with the grace of a man pretending this wasn’t humiliating.

Odasaku, on the other hand, was practically buried under Dazai and Ango merch. A Dazai blanket was slung over his shoulder, a tower of Ango books tucked under one arm, and a very smug Dazai plushie clutched to his chest.

“…You’re ridiculous,” Mori said finally, lips twitching.

“You’re one to talk,” Odasaku replied, adjusting the Ango pillow threatening to fall from his stack. “We look like we robbed the place.”

“We did not rob it,” Mori corrected primly. “We performed. To… rave reviews.”

Odasaku snorted. “If you call screaming about your villain speech.”

Mori chuckled, soft for once. “And if you call drop-kicking Mimic operatives staying in character.”

The two of them laughed — tired, shaky, but real.

The laughter faded into a silence that felt heavier, though not uncomfortable. They stopped at the edge of the street, bags at their feet, the city buzzing faintly around them.

“…When we burn these,” Mori said quietly, “the portal will open. We’ll go back. Back to Yokohama. Back to the lives we’ve built.” He glanced down, hands tightening around a plastic bag. “If you still want that.”

Odasaku looked at him for a long moment, the sunset reflecting in his eyes.

“I don’t care what’s supposed to happen, Mori,” he said finally. “I don’t care what the ‘story’ says about me. You saved me once, and somehow, even now, you’re still saving me. So yeah — let’s go back. Together.”

Mori breath caught. He’d worn many masks in his life, but in that moment, with the weight of absurd merchandise pressing into his arms, he let one slip. A genuine smile tugged at his lips.

“…Together, then.”

They gathered their bags and walked on, side by side, ridiculous and burdened but not alone.

Somewhere in the crowd behind them, a fan shouted, “BEST COSPLAY EVER!”

Odasaku groaned. Mori laughed.

And with arms full of merchandise, they carried their absurd, broken, precious future back toward home.