Work Text
Evil expects evil from others.
Eyes turning dark, Dazai stared at his reflection in the mirror. How ironic of him to suddenly remember what he said to Mori as realization hit him: even after trying for years, he still couldn’t shake off the evil looming over him. There was not a single thing inherently good about Dazai. He was soaked in blood; bandage be damned. ‘But Odasaku saved you,’ said the small voice messing with his head. Oda was the only good thing in Dazai’s life; the older man wasn’t scared of the bandages wrapped around Dazai’s body, even going as far as cleaning off the blood painting it. So when Oda died, Dazai died with him—his bloodthirst and sadism included. All Dazai ever wanted now was to chase the light. “Dazai-san, the president said you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Atsushi appeared out of nowhere. Or maybe he did not. Perhaps he knocked twice or thrice. Dazai was just too out of it to care. But he did care. In the past—when he met Bukas, an ability user who could throw him into a parallel universe where he could have everything he desired. Dazai was ecstatic, a feeling he never thought would touch his cold heart. Dazai was a mastermind, the demon prodigy. Miscalculation was a word that didn’t exist in his vocabulary, so Dazai didn’t hesitate when Bukas told him that once he rolled the dice, he couldn’t go back to his original world anymore and that there wouldn’t be another ability user like him to undo his choice. Who was he to hesitate, anyway? He spent years in agony, thinking of what could have been. He longed to live in a world where his Odasaku was warm and full of life. He had a chance to make it right—to save his best friend and the children, to get to Atsushi earlier so he wouldn’t suffer as much as he did. He even broke the shackles he forced on Akutagawa’s neck. Dazai’s hands weren’t as bloody as they used to be. In this new world, Dazai had no regrets.
Or so he thought.
“Dazai-san?” Atsushi called softly when his mentor didn’t respond. Dazai was still hollowly staring at himself in the mirror. “Oda-san will be there in your stead. Maybe you should just stay here. The funeral would take some time. We’re worried about you, especially the kids.” Ah. The kids. Dazai fought the urge to snarl, but the voices in his head became louder. ‘Fuck the kids,’ they seemed to say. Those little gremlins were the light in Oda’s life. It should have been his too, but the only light those kids brought to him was fire—maddening, ragingly hot, and turning to ashes fast—just like what they did to Chuuya. One second the Chibi’s perfectly fine, still in control of his body and power, but then came five children and one Ango Sakaguchi.
Three days ago, in the new world:
Ango had Oda wrapped around his fingers, making Oda believe he was trustworthy—that Ango loved him and the people in his life. Oda’s flawless gave him the advantage of being one step ahead of his enemies, but that’s the thing. Oda never thought Ango would betray him, not after he showed him his scars, both inside and out. “Where is Nakahara?” Ango collapsed beside Oda. The latter’s breathing was heavy as he turned to look at the man beside him. “What?” Confusion morphed into Oda’s face; he was still high from the passion and heat he and Ango shared. But none of those emotions were visible in Ango’s face. His eyes were vacant, and his voice sounded robotic too. "I said, where is Nakahara Chuuya? You and Dazai-kun know where he hides.” Oda remained silent. He’s keenly sensing something wrong, going as far as feeling like he had been used. He could use his ability now, see how Ango would react if he pulled his gun, and ask what the fuck this was all about. But Oda was never the violent type, not immediately at least—and not to Ango, never to Ango. So instead of getting his gun, he lit a cigarette instead. Saying, “I have no idea where he is. Only Dazai knows. Why don’t you ask him?” Ango sat up and tilted his head, hating the smell of the cigarette. He looked coldly at Oda. Such a bad liar. “Do you think I’ll be here if Dazai-kun is an option?”
There it is.
Oda felt his heart crumbling down. He released a shaky breath, wanting so badly to suffocate in the cigarette smoke. “Why are you looking for him?” Ango looked relieved when Oda asked that. The coldness in his face died down a little. He sat up straighter and wore his glasses, explaining, “Nakahara is a threat to Yokohama, Oda-kun. Not just because he’s an executive of the Port Mafia...” In this new world, Chuuya never got to escape being a mafioso. Dazai didn’t change his destiny because, for one, he knew the slug grew attached to the people in the organization. He loved hanging out with Elise, drinking wine with his Ane-san, and cooking for the Akutagawa siblings. “He was in a lab some time ago. Nakahara Chuuya is a vessel of Arahabaki. He is the God of destruction. Letting him walk the street of Yokohama is a danger in itself. Millions of lives will perish in a snap of his fingers.” This was something Oda knew already. Dazai didn’t keep secrets from him, but Dazai also assured him that Chuuya was not an abomination others claimed he was.
“He’s more human than I will ever be, Odasaku.” The same as you. Probably more than you. Fate was just cruel to him.
Dazai didn’t say those last words, yet Oda heard him loud and clear. Dazai trusted Chuuya’s humanity—his partner. Because of Dazai, Oda was not wary of Chuuya. However, there were far more important people than one Chuuya Nakahara. Ango stood up and picked up his dress shirt. He swiftly buttoned up his clothes. “If you want to save your children, tell me where Nakahara is.” Oda was startled. He looked pointedly at Ango, “What do you mean by that?” Ango was calm. He went near Oda as he extended his arm, giving the older man his shirt.
The fun was over.
“It means exactly what you think, Oda. You know where Nakahara is, and I know where your children are.” Oda stopped buttoning his shirt. He abruptly stood up, clutching Ango’s collar. “You wouldn’t dare.” Their noses were almost touching. Ango gulped before smirking. “I dare to do anything to save our town. Just like you’d do anything to save your children. You and I are the same, Oda-kun.” “Stop mentioning my children. I am nothing like you.” Oda spat, but Ango’s smirk only grew bigger. “Tell me where Nakahara is. I won’t repeat myself anymore.” Oda didn’t speak. His heavy breathing permeated the room. A few seconds later, he finally relented. “Very well,” Ango smiled, doing up the last three buttons of Oda’s shirt before moving away. He then dialed someone on his phone. “Ability user A5158 has been located. Send the troops now.”
In Oda’s defense, he thought he had time—time to run and warn Dazai. He could also use his ability to help Nakahara. Unfortunately, Oda was too late. He could’ve used his ability the first time he confronted Ango. But ability didn’t work—not when it’s against love.
Especially against love.
Present, in the new world, an hour before Chuuya’s burial:
“Dazai-san, are you really going to the funeral?” Atsushi was dejected. He didn’t know how deep the relationship between his mentor and that gravity user ran, but he knew Dazai wasn’t himself today. He hadn’t been himself since Oda walked past the agency’s door three days ago, chest heaving and breathing ragged. Dazai was surprised. He beamed at his best friend, “Ne, Odasaku, are you so excited to see me that you run straight to our agency~.” “Dazai.” Oda cut off the playful atmosphere. He knew they didn’t have time. “The government knows where Nakahara-san is. We have to help him.” The smile on Dazai’s face vanished. No more questions were asked. Dazai simply ran. He ran until he reached that abandoned shipping container—his residence. The only place not even God was allowed to.
Only Chuuya.
“We’re too late,” Dazai remembered the regret in Oda’s voice. The older man followed him, probably because of guilt. “Ango had the government dogs move like a flash. They had gotten to Nakahara-san at once.”
Darkness.
So much darkness clouded Dazai’s mind. There was ringing in his ears, exemplified by Odasaku’s confession. “I’m sorry, Dazai. I was the one who told them where Nakahara-san is.” Oda swallowed thickly, eyes scanning Dazai’s face. For some reason, his vacant expression made Oda’s lips tremble. “Ango knows where my kids are. They threaten to kill them if I don’t speak.” Dazai remained silent. Oda was getting restless. “Dazai, they’re kids.” I hope you understand. Oda wanted to add, but he knew it would be cruel. But Dazai was an intelligent man. Oda didn’t have to voice it out to know what he meant by that, and that’s precisely what shook Dazai to the core.
Fuck the kids.
Honestly, fuck Yokohama. Fuck the people. Fuck being good. Who the fuck did they think they were? How could they take Chuuya—his Chuuya away? “Dazai, say something,” Oda whispered. It was the only time the older man said something so gentle. Sadly, it did not soothe Dazai’s raging heart. Silence enveloped them. Dazai stared into nothingness. The container was small to begin with. His eyes roamed around the place at least a thousand times, acting as if Chuuya would suddenly pop out of nowhere. But he didn’t. The place was starting to suffocate him. "Odasaku," Dazai finally started. Oda held his breath. “I really enjoyed our time at Lupin.” Dazai tried to smile, but his face was stiff. He looked like a dead man. In his original world, when Oda died, Dazai felt like he died too. In this new world, when Chuuya died, Dazai felt alive. Blood pumping all over his veins, not with joy but with anger and hate and love and blood and knife. Dazai felt everything at once, wanting to consume his body and soul. When Oda died, Dazai wanted to care for the world and be good. When Chuuya died, Dazai wanted to burn the world, collecting all the ashes to bring Chuuya back to life. “Dazai, don’t do it. He’s not worth it.” Oda pleaded, his hand wrapping around Dazai’s bandaged wrist. Dazai stared at him dead in the eyes. Yet he smiled before tearing Oda’s grip away. “Goodbye, Odasaku.” You’re wrong. Dazai wanted to say. He’s worth the blood but without guilt. I would never regret killing him, your kids, and the rest of the world.
You included.
In the end, Dazai didn’t kill Ango. He was about to, but Sakaguchi never ran out of tricks. Even the demon prodigy couldn’t resist. “Here.” Ango, face red and almost out of air, forced something into Dazai’s chest. Dazai felt it. He let go of the traitor’s neck at once. “Nakahara-san told me to give it to you.” Dazai trembled fiercely. It felt as though his energy had been sucked dry. The choker in his hand almost slipped, but he tried hard to tighten his grip until the cold metal on the center of it hurt his hand. Suddenly, he didn’t have the urge to kill Ango anymore. So he left. The truth was, Dazai wanted to live in a parallel world where he could make it right. The kind of world where he didn’t have to run away from Chuuya and hear the accusation and hurt caging his heart.
Four years ago, in their original world:
When Dazai left, he didn’t look back. He didn’t explain anything to anyone, not even to Chuuya. Four years later, he showed himself again in front of his ex-partner. He broke into Chuuya’s apartment, acting as if he owned the world, but owed no one any explanation. Too bad the redhead planned to take no shit from the stupid mackerel. It started with bantering, just like they always did before Dazai defected, but one thing led to another, and Chuuya exploded. Violence was always an option for Chuuya. Things were thrown across the wall. Dazai received a dozen or so punches. On regular days, he’d whine and say he couldn’t handle pain, but this was Chuuya venting, so he let him. Oh, how he wished it stayed with just that. At least the physical pain healed days later, but words and tears? They’re something Dazai couldn’t bear. At some point, Dazai lost it. The accusations weighed down his heart until he was on his knees, forcing him to bring up his last card: “Chuuya,” please. “Oda died.” “Yeah, Oda died. But what about me? You can’t accept my comfort. You hated me.” That’s not true. Dazai begged himself to say, but cat got his tongue. He was in so much pain, but so was Chuuya. He couldn’t take this hurt away from his partner. That would be cruel. It was the only thing left to his Chibi when he left. But as Dazai stared at Chuuya’s bloodshot eyes, he hoped the red string binding them could get through the redhead’s heart: that’s not true. I feel everything when it comes to you, but not hate. Never hate. I hated myself, the world, but never you. But Chuuya had long cut off the invisible string. He was blinded by jealousy and pain. He went on with his attack: “You left, so damn me if I’m wrong. I’m not.” Chuuya’s voice broke. “If it was me who died, you wouldn’t leave Oda, right? You would’ve stayed with him and let him comfort you because he is good. I am not. You hated me when he died—” Your pain made you forget that you love me. “—but you would’ve loved Oda more if I died.” Because the love a broken person gave couldn’t fill the hole in Dazai’s heart. Chuuya’s broken, but Oda was not. Despite this, Dazai still gave his whole love to a man who was not even broken. ‘It’s not fair.’ Dazai remembered Chuuya say. To this day, his voice lingered in Dazai’s heart.
Present, in the new world, five minutes before Chuuya’s burial:
Dazai clutched his aching but hollow chest. Chuuya was still dead. “You’re right, Chibi.” Dazai took a sharp breath. “It’s unfair.” Unfair of you to leave me alone. It was unfair because it took my absence for you to say those words to me, but it took your life to prove that I would never love anyone, or Odasaku, for that matter, more than I loved a slug like you. If Chuuya was so important to Dazai, why didn’t Dazai change the Chibi’s fate in this new world? Why did he let everyone live and be happy except Chuuya? Why was Chuuya the only one left in the mafia? “Are you sure that’s all you want?” Even Bukas was generous enough to ask Dazai twice. Dazai nodded, unfazed. The truth was, Dazai believed that not even an ability user nor fate could ever separate him from Chuuya. Odasaku, the children, Atsushi, Akutagawa, and everyone else—these people were out of his control. They were external factors that affected his life, but Chuuya? Chuuya was his life, his skin, his bones, and his heart. He was everything Dazai loved. He’s the only God Dazai’s willing to worship, even when his mouth is full of blasphemy. So no, he didn’t change Chuuya’s fate. He’d change his fate just to fit Chuuya’s life.
Present, in the new world: five minutes after Chuuya’s burial:
“Dazai-san, do you need me to bring you home?” Atsushi was afraid his mentor would do something to himself. Dazai usually joked about dying, but most time, he looked like he was doing it in jest. Now, though, no humor colored his pale face. “No need,” Dazai smiled. Oddly enough, Atsushi felt it wasn’t fake. “Worry about someone else.” You can’t always be complacent your special someone will be there five seconds later. “But—” Atsushi tried to argue, but Dazai gently pushed the weretiger towards the sulking mafioso.
Akutagawa.
“Go, Atsushi.” The weretiger still looked pensive but sighed in relief, “I’ll see you later, Dazai-san.” Dazai didn’t answer, but one could tell he would not run away.
Not anymore.
Not like what he did four years ago in another universe.
“Shitty Mackerel, try and die and I won’t see you. Not in this universe, in another one, or even in the afterlife.”
Dazai walked away from Atsushi and from Chuuya’s grave. He walked until he was standing on a precipice, the sea below looked inviting, but Dazai only planned to admire its beauty—not to drown in it. Dazai breathed in the fresh air.
“Live, you dumb mummy.”
With shaky hands, Dazai removed the bandage wrapped around his arms.
“Live not for the people.”
The sight of his fair skin blinded Dazai.
“Live not to fulfill the departed's wishes. Who cares if you disappoint them?”
There were marks on his skin. Marks of pain and hatred towards himself.
“Live not for me. I am half of you, but not you.”
All of the bandages had been removed.
“Live for yourself. Any reason is okay. As long as it’s for your own sake.”
Dazai wouldn’t wear his bandages anymore, but he couldn’t leave his skin all bare. He fished something out of his pocket, wrapping it on his right wrist. The familiar cold metal touched his skin.
It was Chuuya’s choker, but now it had become Dazai’s bracelet—covering the marks left by his past—giving himself (not others) another chance to live.
“Slug, wait for me, but it’s gonna take some time.”
“It’s okay. I don’t want a mackerel standing close to me, anyway.”
Dazai smiled, answering, “But you love the mackerel, anyway.”
“I love you, anyway.”
BONUS SCENE:
Bukas smiled when the deal was sealed, and Dazai was thrown into the world he created. “So that’s it?” Kahapon, another ability user close to Bukas, asked. “What do you mean that’s it?” “You just fulfilled that suicidal maniac’s wishes without asking anything in return.” “Who told you I didn’t benefit from this?” Bukas furrowed his brow. Kahapon scowled. “Then what did you gain? He asked for a lot of things. He even wanted to resurrect the dead. Oda, that’s the name, right?” “Yes,” Bukas smirked. “It’s nothing, really. Everything he asked for occupied very little space in his heart. I took away his biggest reason—his will to live.” Kahapon gasped softly. The venom in Bukas’ voice made him shiver. Still, he asked, “And what’s Dazai Osamu’s reason to live?” Bukas shrugged, “Let’s just say it has something to do with gravity….”