Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chuuya woke with a start, which was surprising in and of itself. There had been a not insignificant part of him that had been fully convinced his last moments were to be spent crawling over to an equally doomed man, trapped in an inky void between worlds. But his fast heaving chest and the bed he was on said otherwise. He didn’t think heaven or hell started on a lumpy, but warm, mattress.

It hadn’t even occurred to him to be mad at Dazai in that moment, for dragging them into the whole mess. He’d been too focused on staying awake long enough to reach the man. Not that actually getting to Dazai would’ve helped either of them. But Chuuya hadn’t been in his right mind, still half high on the rush from opening the portal at all. Now though, a spring digging into his shoulder, Chuuya was back in his right mind, and alive, so the anger came flooding back like the old friend it was.

Somewhat embarrassingly, the anger that fueled him to leap out of bed also prevented him from noticing that something else was up until he caught a glimpse of himself in a slightly grimey mirror.

Namely, that he wasn’t in his apartment. Or a hospital room, or the Port Mafia’s headquarters, or any room he recognized for that matter. Secondly, and equally concerning, looking in the mirror above the dresser, it looked like someone had cut his hair. It just barely fell shy of his shoulders, putting it just a bit longer than it had been as a teen. With his adult features the length just looked… wrong. Chuuya didn’t like it, and he certainly didn’t appreciate it being cut while he was unconscious.

There was also the matter of his clothes. Chuuya hadn’t felt the need to dress up or down for his and Dazai’s little… adventure, so when they’d gone through the portal he’d just been wearing his normal work outfit. But now he found himself in what he hoped to god was a sleep shirt based on the staining, soft with age rather than by quality. The boxers were much the same, save for the fact that they were also starting to fray at the edges. Rooting through the drawers in this room was just about the last thing Chuuya wanted to do, but the idea of walking around in nothing but underwear and a stained shirt legitimately made him nauseous, so rooting around it was. He was able to find a clean shirt, pants, and socks. They all fit well, and that made something at the back of his mind itch, but his mind was too occupied to really think about it.

Running his hands through his hair absently, Chuuya was again distracted by how it felt to have it all be the same length. It had been years, and while he still didn’t like this length on him, it was kind of nice to have it be symmetric again.

Chuuya shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. His hair brushed over his ears in a way that was no longer familiar, but those were exactly the kinds of distractions he was trying to do away with, and thus that too was ignored. There was a door on the other side of the room, so Chuuya walked over and put a hand on the handle, fully expecting it to be locked. Something like that wouldn’t stop him, of course, but he highly doubted whoever brought him here would just leave the door open.

However, instead of being locked, it sprang open without him even turning it. His ability roared to life beneath his skin, and Chuuya’s head snapped up from the doorknob to meet achingly familiar purple eyes. The buzz of gravity fizzled out in an instant, any actions he should’ve taken dying a painful death in his nervous system before the signals had a chance in hell to reach his brain.

“Oh, you’re up! I was just coming to get you to say I saved you some breakfast, since everyone else finished up already. You slept awfully late, what were you even doing last night Chuuya?” Yuan asked, her purple eyes brightened by her smile. She hadn’t smiled much at the end, not genuinely. Neither had Shirase, or any of the Sheep for that matter, and Chuuya was nearly bowled over with the force of how much he had missed it. How he’d missed them. They had betrayed him, undeniably, but age had gifted him better insight. All of them had been nothing more than terrified children, doing whatever it took to survive. What they had done would probably always ache, but to condemn them for trying to ensure their continued existence would be to condemn himself for what he had also done.

There was a large part of Chuuya that wanted to shake her, to demand to know what was happening. Another part wanted to pull her into a hug, and another still wanted to storm past her. In the end, all the conflicting impulses just locked him in place, staring at the girl— or woman, now, she looked so grown up— wordlessly. None of the personal questions he wanted to ask were forming on his tongue, so Chuuya changed tactics and decided to force his attention onto his mission.

“Um, thanks, Yuan.” Chuuya winced, abruptly remembering that this was another universe, and really hoping he hadn’t already fucked anything up. She didn’t seem perturbed, so he took that as a sign to keep going. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Dazai is, would you?” He asked, expecting a healthy level of disgust from her. The Yuan in his world hadn’t liked Dazai at all during the few times they met, and he could see that extending to this one.

Chuuya was hoping she’d say something to the effect that she ‘could not say for sure where exactly, but he generally hangs out around…’ wherever. That would’ve been the best case scenario. Something with the jump had clearly gone wrong, or unexpected, so his best bet would have to be tracking down Dazai as soon as possible.

But Yuan’s eyebrows just furrowed.

“Who?”

Chuuya’s thoughts ground to a halt. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that this Yuan wouldn’t know Dazai. It seemed inconceivable. It appeared that he and Yuan— as well as an undetermined amount of other people— lived together in this house, so how could he have hidden someone like Dazai from them? Was this world’s Dazai better about not breaking into Chuuya’s house? Was that it? It took him far too long to realize Yuan was talking again.

“Is that what you were doing last night? Is this… Dazai… someone you tried to pick up at a bar or something? Because I saw you come in last night and you didn’t have anyone with you.” Yuan laughed, but Chuuya could clearly see a tightness around her eyes. It reminded him of when they were kids, and she hung off of his arm in front of Dazai. She was clearly upset at the idea that Chuuya was out flirting, which he wasn’t, not that that was the point.

“What? No. You know, Dazai? Bandaged menace? Pain in Yokohama’s collective ass? The Demon Prodi—” He wasn’t able to finish that last sarcastic epithet before Yuan was shoving him back into the room, following him in and shutting the door behind her.

Her entire demeanor had changed in a split second. Her gaze darted around the room, as if Chuuya was hiding the man in there with him. “You figured out his name?” She hissed out, looking at him with eyes blown wide. Chuuya just stared at her in shock for a few seconds.

She began to pace. “How are you so calm?! If this is your idea of a joke I don’t find it funny, Chuuya.” Yuan spared a second to throw a harsh glare his way before continuing. “If that really is his name, how did you find out? Did someone tell you? I don’t think anyone outside of the Port Mafia’s executives and boss has ever even laid eyes on him and lived to tell the tale, let alone figured out his name! Chuuya, this is…” Chuuya’s stomach dropped further with each word, but Yuan wasn’t looking at him. “This is huge! If we sell this information off to the highest bidder, we could get out of here! I can’t even imagine what enemies of the Port Mafia would be willing to pay for their coveted Demon Prodigy’s name. Did you get his full name? That would be even better.”

Finally looking back at Chuuya, Yuan’s tirade died off, and her smile faded a bit. “Are you okay? You look pale…”

Chuuya bit back each of the hundreds of words dying to pass his lips. None of them would change the reality of what Yuan was revealing. In this universe, people didn’t know Dazai. It would appear that Chuuya didn’t know Dazai. Here, he was the Demon Prodigy, not Dazai Osamu.

An icy bolt of realization pierced the back of his head. If Dazai was just the Demon Prodigy in this universe, and Chuuya still looked like he was twenty-two, did that mean that Dazai hadn’t ever left the Mafia? It was an uncomfortable thought, that boasted even more uncomfortable implications, ones he really didn’t want to analyze any further.

Unfortunately, Chuuya’s mind didn’t much care what he did or did not want to think about.

Dazai’s defection had angered Chuuya in more ways than one, anyone unlucky enough to be in his presence in the weeks following the news could attest to that much. Of course, the betrayal had been a large contributor. Chuuya can admit he’s more… sensitive than most in regard to his trust being broken. And make no mistake, he had trusted Dazai. Not with anything he intended to keep secret, and not to make his life any easier, but he had had full trust that Dazai wouldn’t ever leave the mafia. Wouldn’t ever leave Chuuya. He’d heard it so many times, that Dazai’s blood ran mafia black, that Chuuya guessed he had just believed it. There didn’t seem to be any other profession that could possibly fit someone like Dazai. Any time they’d gone undercover, no matter what job Dazai would claim to have, Chuuya would have to fight laughter. The very idea of the bandaged bastard doing anything other than ruin lives was uniquely hilarious. How could it not be, with the way Dazai delighted in the act?

He wouldn’t ever admit this out loud, but as a teenager, Chuuya had been fully convinced that one day he would be an Executive in Dazai’s Port Mafia. Mori had clearly wanted Dazai as his successor, but to be honest Chuuya’s predictions never included a smooth transition of power. He had been sure Dazai, or maybe Chuuya under Dazai’s orders, would run a scalpel over Mori’s throat one day. That seemed like the kind of ironic shit that would get both Mori and Dazai excited.

To say that Chuuya had been looking forward to it wouldn’t be right. When he imagined the Port Mafia with Dazai at the heart, he imagined great success, but also a healthy amount of frustration on his part. There was no way handing someone like Dazai that level of power would do anything but make him more annoying. And in all likelihood, those headaches would’ve been on Chuuya’s shoulders alone. But he’d be lying just the same if he claimed that it wasn’t also exciting, in a weird way. Dazai was nothing if not practical, and so Chuuya had no doubt that he would’ve been utilized to his full potential under Dazai’s command. Looking back as an adult, Chuuya wanted to wince at the thought that working with Dazai as his boss used to excite him. In his defense, he’d been a kid, desperate for someone to find him useful.

The few times Chuuya had seen Dazai interact with the members of the Agency, it had been surreal. He smiled and laughed like it was nothing, and those expressions of joy weren’t in response to the suffering of others. The smiles were largely faked, but Chuuya knew that getting a genuine smile out of the man was akin to ripping superglued teeth out of a corpse with nothing but a brittle spoon. Or at least that difficult, considering finding himself in that exact situation was the last time he’d seen a real grin on Dazai’s face. All that to say that the smiles being fake didn’t make them any less surprising. They came easier than any of the fakes he’d pulled in the Mafia, and Chuuya hadn’t known what to do with that information at the time. That had come later.

Chuuya didn’t forgive easy, and he certainly never forgot, so the moment Dazai had defected he’d known he would never want the man to come back. That had held true, even through missions where Dazai’s insights would’ve been invaluable, even in moments when Corruption would’ve been a viable option if not for the lack of nullifier. But, one night when he was drunk, it hit Chuuya that for the first time in four years, he didn’t want Dazai to join the mafia again because goddamn it, Dazai seemed like he was doing well at the Agency. It remained his one truly benevolent, untainted thought toward Dazai since his defection.

Abruptly realizing he’d never responded to Yuan, Chuuya came back to his senses. She was still staring at him with concerned eyes, but he was relieved to find no trace of suspicion in her gaze.

“Yeah, no yeah I’m fine Yuan. Just… thinking about getting out of here. But uh, I didn’t get his full name no.” He said, suppressing a wince every time he nearly tripped over his words. Lying to her— again— rubbed him the wrong way, but he wasn’t going to give her Dazai’s full name. Clearly this universe was more different from his own than he originally guessed, and he didn’t want to endanger her or anyone else by giving out too much information. There was no telling what the Dazai of this universe was like, and what he would do if it somehow got back to him that people had learned his name.

She still looked worried, but thankfully it seemed she wasn’t going to press him on it. “This is a good thing Chuuya, really. We’re not kids anymore, no one is going to waltz into mafia territory and start shit, we know better.” Yuan assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder and then making her way to the door. “Come on, your breakfast is going to get cold. You can brood about this after you’ve eaten.”

God, Chuuya hoped she was right.

Breakfast had been good, if not a bit simple. It was just some eggs and toast, but the plate Yuan had done up for him, warm in the oven, had everything cooked the way he liked. Chuuya didn’t know why that had surprised him so much. It really shouldn’t have, considering Yuan had seemingly lived with Chuuya, or a version of him, for years. But the thought that he could’ve had this was pervasive, and no matter what he did he couldn’t shake it. There was no way to say for sure, but he had a theory that this world was just showing him what he sort of asked for— a world in which he and Dazai had never met.

Chuuya couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of this other Chuuya, who was never betrayed by the Sheep, who had never joined the mafia and so had never lost the Flags. This Chuuya probably didn’t even know about Corruption, or about the clone, or about Rimbaud and Verlaine. All of it, years of pain and hardship, that this Chuuya had just never experienced. Sure, the other guy’s life probably hadn’t been a cakewalk, but it seemed to have gone by smoother than Chuuya’s.

Sighing, Chuuya tilted his head back to drink in the early morning sunlight as he walked. It warmed his face a bit, not much, but enough to make the nippy winds more bearable. He’d just barely remembered to grab a jacket before heading out, a fact he was now thankful for. Though there had been no gloves for him to grab, so he was stuck just shoving his hands in his pockets to fight off the chill. His hands felt naked without the gloves, but he could admit at the moment he was more acutely missing the physical warmth they offered him, rather than the symbolism they offered. In their universe, it had been mid-September when they’d set off, which was clearly no longer the case. If Chuuya had to guess, he’d say it was late November here. Dazai would probably have a better idea of why that was, but Chuuya really only hoped that it didn’t mean they’d been gone from their original universe for several months already.

If that was the case, he was sure Yokohama had already nearly torn itself apart looking for them. The Port Mafia likely initially blamed the Detective Agency, and vice versa, until they had realized that Chuuya and Dazai both were missing. Though Chuuya supposed Dazai going AWOL was something the ADA was probably already used to, so there was every possibility that they wouldn’t have noticed Dazai was actually missing until after the Port Mafia realized Chuuya was gone.

No matter, he’d just amuse himself by suing Dazai for his lost wages. Not that Dazai actually had any money, but it would be funny. Though that would require seeing the man after this whole situation, which would violate the terms of their deal. A shame.

..

So maybe walking right into the mafia’s headquarters hadn’t been… the best decision. In his— admittedly, pretty weak— defense, he really hadn’t remembered at that moment that he himself wasn’t also mafia in this universe. He’d been part of the organization for damn near eight years, it would’ve taken more than one weird morning for him to forget that.

But the moment he’d crossed the threshold, and was met with nothing but suspicion and incredulous stares, he knew where he went wrong. Cursing himself for not thinking this through more, Chuuya walked up to the— mostly decorative— front desk, hoping his posture and confidence could carry him through this interaction, since his clothes clearly weren’t. Maybe he could convince the poor woman that he actually had an appointment, despite the fact that no one actually meeting the boss would have to stop at this desk. This desk was for their rare legal package deliveries, and for the police if it ever came to that. So it was a long shot, but he could probably put on a convincing enough act to at least get his foot in the door, and prevent himself from being thrown out on his ass. If he was removed from the premises, it would be extraordinarily difficult to ever get past the front doors again. And if he was going to see Dazai, he needed to first figure out where the hell they were keeping him.

The front desk woman looked at him like she was praying he would do anything other than come talk to her, which, while Chuuya couldn’t exactly blame her, still rankled. His smile became a little pinched around the edges, but thankfully he was saved from having to actually talk to her by a voice behind him. A familiar voice.

“Nakahara Chuuya?”

Turning around, Chuuya already knew who he’d be seeing. She was just as put together as he’d ever seen her, and it broke his heart that he couldn’t consider her a friendly face under the circumstances.

“An— Kouyou-sama, good morning.” The affectionate nickname almost fell from his lips, and he watched as Kouyou’s expression changed on a microscopic level. Chuuya had gotten pretty good at reading her over the years, and he could tell she was curious about the near slip, and about him. It didn’t seem like she actually personally knew him, but it was clear she’d heard of him somehow, which would make sense if he had still been the ‘King of the Sheep’ at some point in this universe.

She acknowledged his pleasantries with a small nod. “Apologies, I was running a bit late. I am ready for our meeting now, if you’d follow me?” Her eyes probed his, presumably to see if he’d unintentionally call her out on her lie, but Chuuya would be doing no such thing. It was incredible luck and nothing more that had ensured he caught her attention enough for her to manufacture a meeting out of nowhere, and he wasn’t going to look the gift horse in the mouth.

Fighting the urge to send a smug smile toward the receptionist, Chuuya followed Kouyou into an open elevator. Her lessons on manners hammered into his very soul, Chuuya pressed the button for the floor her offices were on without giving it a second thought.

His blood went cold when Kouyou gave him a hum and a raised eyebrow, but thankfully she didn’t call him out. Their ascent went by without words, and when the elevator dinged cheerfully to let them out, Chuuya motioned for Kouyou to go first. Partly because he would always be a gentleman for Kouyou, but mostly so he didn’t blow his cover any further by waltzing right up to the lounge she preferred for more casual meetings like this one. Instead, he kept a respectful half step behind her, trying to act like he didn’t know these halls better than the back of his hand.

She came to a stop outside of the very same lounge Chuuya had just been thinking of, and so he opened the door for her. Giving him an approving nod, one that brought him back to his teenage years, she slipped into the room and motioned for him to sit. He did, and waited.

There was no reason to try and initiate any serious conversation before Kouyou was ready, that had been a lesson that he had learned by being forced to sit through hours of awkward silences. Patience was one of the very first things she had sought to teach him, and while he couldn’t always keep his impulsiveness in check he had still gotten leagues better at it.

“How would you like your tea, Nakahara-san?” Kouyou asked lightly, and Chuuya had to suppress a smile. It didn’t escape his notice that she had decided both that he would be having tea, and what kind to give him. The lack of familiarity in her address dampened his amusement a bit, but it was understandable, and he knew she wasn’t doing it to be cruel.

He turned a bit to look at her over his shoulder. “However you take yours, Kouyou-sama.”

It was a safe bet. Kouyou tended to take her tea plain, at least in the sense that it was without sugar or milk. No one who had tasted her tea could ever say it was plain, though. She was an expert in bringing out the natural flavors of any type of tea he could think of, and probably twenty more. Whenever he asked who she had learned from, she would simply tell him that she’d learned from ‘a dear friend’ or from ‘the best’, with that wistful look she got sometimes. He’d never probed further, but he’d seen the way she would get that same look whenever she saw him and Dazai together. Something to ask her about when they finally got back to their own universe, he filed it away mentally.

In his eyes, to ask for cream, or milk, or sugar to be added to the tea that Kouyou didn’t intend to put there would be a disservice to her skills. He knew he had made the right choice when he heard her approving hum. And anyway, Chuuya wasn’t a huge fan of sweets anymore. His first few mafia paychecks had been spent on far too many of them, and he’d lost some of his affinity for them over the years. He preferred the more subtle sweetness of a good tea now.

No further words were exchanged while the tea steeped, and Chuuya took the silence for what it was, an opportunity for him to relax and collect himself before he inevitably had to explain himself to Kouyou. Obviously he’d be leaving out some of the more… outlandish details, but the less he had to lie to her the more likely it was that he’d get the chance to see Dazai. Kouyou was excellent at telling when people weren’t being truthful, second only to the boss, and Dazai himself. So half-truths and lies of omission it would have to be.

In what felt like no time at all, Kouyou was setting a cup of tea in front of him. Just looking at it, it could’ve been a white tea or a green tea, but as soon as he took a breath in he could tell. It was a brand of shincha that Kouyou was particularly fond of, the scent of new tea leaves permeating the space and calming him. The tea itself wasn’t calming, in fact it was quite a refreshing blend, but the memories that came with the scent soothed him to the bone.

Taking the cup in hand, Chuuya took a small sip. It was just as good as he remembered, and not too hot. He hummed out his appreciation, and Kouyou nodded her head in acknowledgment. For a few moments, they just enjoyed the tea, and Chuuya had to fight to remember that he wasn’t here just to catch up with his Ane-san. In this moment, she was the first of several obstacles between him and Dazai, and by extension his ticket back home.

Eventually, Kouyou broke the silence. “So, former King of the Sheep, to what do we owe this visit? I had been under the impression that you had retired from Yokohama’s underground.” She said, with that same air of dark amusement that she got whenever anybody claimed they were leaving their line of work.

“I’m not here as any sort of King, Kouyou-sama. I simply wish to speak to someone.” Chuuya replied, purposely keeping his words vague. The walls of this establishment didn’t always have ears, but Chuuya had no doubt there were several people listening in at the moment to ensure that Chuuya didn’t start any trouble. Not that Kouyou was unable to handle herself, she very much was, but because nobody was allowed to make trouble in a building like this without the threat of the very public consequences of being outed as consorting with the mafia.

She hummed. “There are far easier ways to arrange to speak with the Boss. Ones that don’t involve walking into this building uninvited and unannounced, as I’m sure you know.”

Chuuya’s next smile contained very little warmth. “Before we go any further, I feel it necessary to inform you that what I wish to discuss is not suitable for outside ears.” He softened a bit when his words lit a fresh spark of curiosity in Kouyou’s eyes. She waved a hand, and to the inexperienced eye it would look like a motion done absently, an empty reassurance of their solitude, but Chuuya knew it was her calling off the eyes and ears trained on their conversation. He had no doubt that they would listen to her wordless signal, and that their words were now private.

Kouyou gave him a nod to indicate as much.

“I’m not here to talk to the Boss. I want to talk to the Demon Prodigy.” Chuuya said, putting as much gravity into his words as he can. The last thing he wants is for Kouyou to think he’s a stupid kid playing with forces bigger than himself. Or actually worse, a threat that needed to be eliminated. In a fight with Kouyou, he would win, but he would have to hurt her to do it, and that was one of his worst nightmares.

The clink of Kouyou’s teacup being set back into the saucer is accompanied by her sigh. “What do you know of the Port Mafia, lad?” She asked, looking older than her years.

This wasn’t a promising line of questioning, but Chuuya had no choice but to answer. “A fair amount, Kouyou-sama.”

“Then you know that I cannot let you do that. Lad, I haven’t even seen the man in person in years. He is the mafia’s closest guarded asset.” She told him, earnest but firm.

Chuuya bit his tongue, and revised what he wanted to say. “I need to talk to him. Just for a few minutes, I swear. And then I will leave and I will stay gone, and no one outside of this room will ever hear about it again.” It was a stupid thing to promise, considering he’d already given Yuan Dazai’s name, but he would promise it all the same.

Kouyou sighed again, but Chuuya cut in before she could refuse again. “You can go to him first, tell him my name and ask if he wants to speak to me. He’ll say yes, but if he doesn’t I’ll leave without a fuss.” Another stupid promise, considering Dazai may very well refuse to see him out of spite. Chuuya sincerely doubted it, because this was Dazai’s mission, but he would never underestimate the depths of that man’s pettiness.

“Lad, even if I could—”

“But you can, can’t you? He’s here, he’s in this building, I know it.”

Kouyou’s eyes widened just a bit, barely noticeable. It set a fire under his skin.

“You said he’s the mafia’s closest guarded asset. The Boss is here more often than anywhere else, and he’d want him close. That means the Demon Prodigy is here somewhere. And I know you have a key, because the Boss wouldn’t trust anyone other than himself with one, no one but you. He’d keep one on himself, but he’d give you one too just in case. Golden Demon is likely under orders to protect that key above all else, so that means you have it on your person. Am I right?” Chuuya asked. The words had come to him apropos of nothing, but as each one passed his lips Chuuya knew in his bones that he was right. Kouyou’s expression confirmed it.

“Are you quite finished? True as that all might be, I still can’t let you speak with him.” She had the decency to look somewhat apologetic when his face fell.

But Chuuya still had one card up his sleeve, one he’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to use. Especially since, as previously mentioned, lying to her was extremely difficult.

“I’m sorry Kouyou-sama. But if you don’t let me speak with him… I’ll reveal the Demon Prodigy’s name and ability to every enemy you have. I’m guessing you have intel on my own ability? I’m not easy to silence, at least not before I’ve told half the city. You’ve worked so hard to keep him unknown, but I can and will rip back the curtain,” he leaned forward, “unless you give me just twenty minutes to talk to him alone.” Chuuya’s voice softened just a bit at the end, feeling scummy for doing this to Kouyou, even though he recognized the need for it.

The woman before him didn’t speak for several minutes, sipping her tea in silent consideration. Chuuya couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, tension locking his muscles in place while he waited for her next move. If she attacked, he would subdue her as non-lethally as possible, and if it became necessary he’d just tear the building apart looking for Dazai. He couldn’t do this whole universe hopping thing without him unfortunately.

Chuuya had long since stopped being insecure about his intelligence. In the mafia he’d been up against the likes of Dazai and the Boss, both of which were freakishly perceptive, outliers honestly, and so he realized that it wasn’t productive to compare himself to them. It had taken a while, and Chuuya knew now that he was an intelligent man, but he could also admit that he just plain didn’t have a brain wired like Dazai’s. And he needed that brain to get back to his own universe.

“One thing. I need to make sure this isn’t simply a— very ill-advised— bluff. So I must confirm you actually have the information you threaten to release.” Kouyou finally replied, giving Chuuya a cool stare.

Chuuya probably should’ve waited a second, if only to ensure that there truly were no unwanted ears. But he knew that look in Kouyou’s eye. He was so close, so close to the very thing that had scarcely left his mind since he’d woken up.

“The Demon Prodigy… is the Ability Nullifier, Dazai Osamu.”

Chuuya’s bluff had gotten him further than he could’ve ever hoped. It was as if the stars had aligned to make this as easy as possible on him. The Boss happened to be out for the day, and Kouyou had been convinced enough by his ploy that she was giving him fifteen entire minutes alone with Dazai.

He wouldn’t have dared to release Dazai’s information to the masses, not actually, but what Kouyou didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. This wasn’t his universe, and he was pretty sure this wasn’t even his body, and actually going public with Dazai’s name would be a surefire way to absolutely fuck up this entire world. Plus, it would put a massive target on the other Chuuya’s— and the Sheep’s— backs, and that wasn’t something he would risk on a whim. He had never really subscribed to the whole ‘by any means necessary’ approach to missions. Sure Chuuya’s morals were far more… flexible than the average person, and thus he was willing to go a lot further than most, but he still did have morals. Dragging innocents, innocents he cared about, into the line of fire wasn’t something he would do if there was literally any other option.

But to tell a lie that got Chuuya where he was now, facing an innocuous door on a random floor of the Port Mafia’s headquarters, a door that had Dazai behind it? That Chuuya would do a million times over.

Kouyou had gone in first, seemingly to confirm that Dazai did actually know Chuuya, and this wasn’t a very poorly executed assassination attempt. That being said, it was truly a wonder that Kouyou was even allowing this to happen. There had to be something Chuuya wasn’t quite getting, some underlying reason Kouyou must have for letting him talk to Dazai.

For all that this Kouyou was achingly similar to the one who guided him, their circumstances were too different for Chuuya to get an accurate read on her relationship with Dazai in this universe. Or rather, based on what she’d said earlier, her lack thereof. Maybe since she never really saw the man, she didn’t hold the same quiet disdain that his universe’s Kouyou did? Was she letting him see Dazai because she pitied the Demon Prodigy? It was an almost laughable notion, but the more he thought about it the more plausible it became. Chuuya himself almost pitied the guy and he hadn’t even seen him yet. It couldn’t be an interesting life, hidden away from the world. And Chuuya knew first-hand what happened when Dazai got bored, so he could only hope this Dazai had learned better coping mechanisms, though he seriously doubted it.

The door creaked open again, seeming much heavier than its appearance would suggest. Kouyou slipped out, gracefully but without offering Chuuya even the slightest glimpse into the room beyond. The only indication that anything of import was behind her was the slight tightness around her eyes.

“Lad, I hope you know what you’re doing.” She said, before gesturing that he was free to enter.

The guilt hit him again. This Kouyou didn’t even know him, and yet she was sticking her neck out for him. Chuuya had no doubt that just about anyone else would've found themself at the wrong end of Golden Demon's— or Kouyou's own— sword. Not to mention that the Boss would surely be furious with them both, and Chuuya was under no illusion that he wouldn’t find out about this meeting. Chuuya really hoped Kouyou would be okay. In his universe Kouyou had no issue talking back to the man, but everything that had happened that day proved that this universe was different.

With little more than a nod to her, Chuuya pulled open the— as expected, very heavy— door, and slipped inside.

..

The room was far less… dungeon than Chuuya had been expecting. At first glance, it even seemed comfortable. It was well lit, there was a nice enough looking bed, a desk, a door that presumably led to some sort of bathroom, and a bookshelf packed to the brim with all sorts of books. Fiction, non-fiction, even some cookbooks and children’s picture books. It was definitely odd, especially that last part, but Chuuya’s attention had been thoroughly caught by everything else.

Namely, the fact that the walls were covered in long scrape marks. In some places, the wallpaper had been scratched away to reveal concrete, which was also scraped up. There were splotches of dark marks that Chuuya knew damn well was dried blood. And sitting on the bed, back to the wall, was Dazai.

Chuuya had to fight to keep his reaction confined only to his own brain. Dazai looked like a corpse. He was sickly pale, hair longer than Chuuya had ever seen on him and hanging limply against his features. The bandages crisscrossing the man’s body were clearly old, and they were covering up his eye again. But what Chuuya could see of Dazai’s face was gaunt, more thin than he’d been even as a teen. It gave the illusion of his other eye being much bigger than it actually was, making the man look like those uncanny valley things that freaked so many people out. Chuuya hadn’t ever really gotten the hype, having seen things that would give normal people nightmares for their entire lives. But looking at Dazai like this now, he can understand. For all that Dazai often acted like he wasn’t human, he’d never truly looked inhuman. Not while Chuuya had known him, at least. Ripping his gaze away from Dazai’s face, Chuuya saw that his fingers were bandaged, but had clearly been broken several times with how crooked they all were. His knee looked weird too, but Chuuya couldn’t really tell with the man’s slacks in the way.

It was horrifying. The entire picture. Chuuya couldn’t properly wrap his head around it. His words come out stilted, and probably broadcast his every thought directly to the other man, but Chuuya doesn’t think he’d be able to get the words out any other way.

“What did they do to you?”

Dazai scoffed, and it was an ugly, ragged sound.

“Have you seriously not figured it out? What’s been distracting your little doggy mind for the past day? They haven’t done anything to me. We’re not just in another universe, we’ve taken up residence in our alternate selves’ bodies for the time being.” Yes, Chuuya had pretty much known that, he just hadn’t ever really thought about it that deeply, but with the way Dazai looked currently, it had slipped his mind. Seeing the man so vulnerable had brought up the same knee-jerk reaction as the mess with the Guild’s monster, seeing it fling Dazai into a tree like he was nothing. It was instinct, nothing more.

That being said, now that the thought had been put in his head, he really did have to be completely sure that there wasn’t another Dazai and Chuuya running around. “Are you positive we’re in their bodies? They’re not also out there?” He asked, somewhat hesitant.

The look Dazai gave him could curdle milk.

“Yes, I’m positive. I cannot believe you just asked me that, oh my god.” The exasperation in his words is achingly reminiscent of their teenage years, and it sends a familiar thrill down Chuuya’s spine. “Tell me, Chuuya, your hair is different, right? If someone had just cut it then how, pray tell, is your left side longer than it was before we came here? You keep that side at least two inches shorter.” That… was a very good point. One Chuuya was embarrassed to admit hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Besides, I’m positive that before coming here, I had both my eyes, and all of my ribs.”

Chuuya’s jaw dropped without his permission, and he was dropping onto the bed next to Dazai with a bounce before his conscious mind could catch up. No wonder the guy looked like he was at death’s fucking door. Where before he’d thought his hands naked without his gloves, now he was thanking the universe he wasn’t wearing any. It meant he didn’t have to waste precious seconds removing them, and was able to just slip his hands into Dazai’s coat without further ado. Feeling over the man’s ribs through his dress shirt, and silently thankful to Dazai for not fighting him, bile rose up his throat when Chuuya was able to confirm that at least two of his ribs were in fact just gone.

As if sensing his thoughts, “Three missing, by my count. The eye’s fully gone too, not just non-functional. One kneecap gone, and fingers broken in more places than I can count.” Dazai's statement was matter of fact, but Chuuya could tell he was somewhat rattled. Possibilities raced around his mind, and not one of them was productive. There was one, however, that kept getting stuck in his head. He hated it, but he needed to make sure, needed to know.

“Was… was it…” Chuuya cleared his throat, readying himself to continue, but Dazai took mercy on him.

“Mori? No, at least I doubt it.” A sigh Chuuya didn’t know he’d been holding released all in one go. The Boss, even in their universe, couldn’t be considered a good person by any means, but it was still a relief to know that this universe’s Dazai wasn’t trapped here with the man who had mutilated him. “If anything, the Mori in this universe seems weirdly… paranoid. Hiding me away like this was probably meant to keep me safe, but all it did was make me— or rather this Dazai— a… commodity so to speak. No, these injuries were the result of either torture, or a few separate attempts on his life, I’m sure of it.” Dazai’s remaining eye cut over to him, all but daring Chuuya to question him again.

He would decidedly not be doing so, namely because Chuuya wanted to keep his breakfast in his stomach.

“Okay. Sure. Have you answered your question yet? Can we get the fuck out of here yet?” Chuuya asked, redirecting the conversation and also hoping his desperation didn’t show too clearly on his face. Maybe if things were different, he’d want to stay in this universe a bit longer, to see what the Sheep could’ve become. But once he’d seen Dazai, all those considerations had fled his mind in an instant. Chuuya wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he forced anybody to be subjected to these conditions for any longer than strictly necessary, even if that person was Dazai. No, they needed to leave, as soon as they could, before he started killing people and messed up someone else’s universe beyond repair.

Chuuya wouldn’t ever accuse Dazai of being easy to read. So it made sense that he couldn’t really identify that the man had been amused until his expression was abruptly devoid of it. In an instant, he had iced Chuuya out, just like he did any time a conversation didn’t go the way he wanted. It had always bothered Chuuya, but Dazai had been doing it since before they ever met, and nothing he could say would ever change the man, so fighting him on it was useless.

Dazai wouldn’t meet his eye. “This universe doesn’t have what I need. We can leave now. You have the sword somewhere safe, I presume?”

..

Fuck.

He very much did not have the sword somewhere safe. In fact, he hadn’t so much as thought about the sword in the entire time they’d been in this universe.

When Chuuya didn’t respond, the man looked back up at him. Something in his expression— maybe the way he could literally feel the guilt in his own eyes— tipped Dazai off.

“Nakahara Chuuya, you lost the sword? Our one and only ticket out of this place? That sword? Oh god, you did, didn’t you? I can’t believe you—” Dazai’s tirade continued, and Chuuya was looking just about everywhere other than at the other man. Hearing his full name out of Dazai’s mouth made him feel like a scolded child, but in all honesty he didn’t have much room to be upset about it. Dazai was right, Chuuya had massively fucked up. He hated admitting that, but his hatred didn’t make it any less true.

“Dazai..” The man in question either didn’t hear him, or didn’t care to stop his rant. “Dazai, come on..” Chuuya tried again, not expecting to have much luck.

But to his surprise, Dazai actually paused and fixed him with a stare full of so much disdain it was actually a wonder that he had ever thought the man incapable of emotion.

“What. What could you possibly tell me to make this situation any better.”

Chuuya… hadn’t thought that far ahead. He really hadn’t been expecting Dazai to stop his tirade so easily.

He floundered for some kind of response. “Uhm. I technically didn’t lose it? Or uh, I never really had it, I mean. It just… wasn’t there when I woke up.” Chuuya grimaced, not believing for a second his words would lead to anything other than several more minutes of Dazai berating him. He’d let it go on for a bit, because he did deserve it on some level, but eventually Chuuya knew he’d get fed up listening to the other man and would pick a fight. With Dazai’s body in the state it was in— Chuuya didn’t want to even think the word fragile, lest the other man actually try to stab him— a physical fight should probably be avoided at all costs.

Luckily, and once again completely unexpectedly, Dazai’s expression shifted to one of consideration.

“It wasn’t with you? Are you sure? How curious…” He trailed off, abruptly lost in thought. His pale, gaunt face made to seem even lighter against the black backdrop of his clothes. For fuck’s sake, the guy practically blended into the bandages wrapped around him. When was the last time this version of Dazai had gone outside? There weren’t even any windows in the room, and no handle on the inside of the door either. This man was fully at the mercy of a mafia boss, completely cut off from the world. Would this have really been his Dazai’s fate if they had never met? Chuuya gets a domestic life with the Sheep while Dazai is condemned to one of solitude and pain? For a minute, he’s irrationally angry at his alternate self. Logically, the other Chuuya has no way of knowing that he should be saving this Dazai, but it still rubs him the wrong way. He wondered if there was a way to make sure when they leave that this Dazai gets his freedom. There was no denying the man wanted it, if those disturbing scratches on the walls matched the scarred and ragged tips of Dazai’s fingers.

Chuuya needed to not think about the scratches on the walls, not if he wanted to leave this building— this universe— intact.

So instead he focused on how weird it felt to be so protective of the man. When they were partners, keeping Dazai safe had pretty much always been his secondary or tertiary objective, but that hadn’t been out of a real sense of care for the guy. He’d kept Dazai safe because Dazai was unfortunately just as necessary to any given mission as Chuuya was, and letting him get hurt out of pettiness would be stupid. Not to mention the punishment he’d have gotten from the Boss for risking an actual mission over one of their squabbles. And once they were no longer partners, Chuuya had even less reason to care about if the man lived or died, except for one glaring factor. A factor Chuuya tried constantly to forget about.

Corruption. It was the one and only thread still connecting them. As long as Chuuya drew breath, there existed the possibility that he’d be put in a situation where he would need his corrupted form. And as long as that possibility existed, Chuuya could never truly be rid of Dazai. He would always exist as an eventuality in the back of Chuuya’s mind, in the absence of gravity at his fingertips, and in the yawning emptiness left in the wake of Corruption tearing through his body. Regardless of if Dazai was alive or not, he haunted Chuuya.

But that was his Dazai, or rather, the Dazai that existed in his universe. The Dazai of this universe had done nothing to earn his ire, had been caged much the same as Chuuya himself had been once. This Dazai may as well be a stranger to him, but his form was familiar enough that it was setting off some sort of deep seated instinct in him.

Dazai’s voice tore him from his thoughts before he could fully analyze what it all meant, which was more than fine by Chuuya.

“Well, this surprises even me, but I don’t think this is entirely Chuuya’s fault! Even though he forgot to look for the sword until now, I have an idea. But we need to leave.” Chuuya had to bite back a few choice comments, but he couldn’t stop himself from perking up at Dazai’s next words.

They were a clear cut command, something he would resent on any other day. But with how fucking sideways this mission had gone, the unspoken assurance that Dazai had a plan was damn near comforting, if anything Dazai did could ever be considered so.

“Get me out of here, Chuuya.”

With pleasure.

Running through the halls of the Port Mafia’s headquarters with Dazai whooping from his place carried on Chuuya’s back wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be doing.

Not to say he’d never carried Dazai, it was just that usually the man had been slung over Chuuya’s shoulder like the useless sack of flour he was. But in this case it seemed inadvisable to put strain on Dazai’s ribs, considering he was quite literally missing some. So piggyback it would have to be, which gave Dazai far too much freedom to be a pain in his ass in Chuuya’s opinion. Little tugs on his hair, a slap on his shoulder, plain wiggling around, everything Dazai did got on his nerves.

Unfortunately, making Dazai run on his own was out of the question. He had stumbled, actually stumbled, the moment he’d tried to get up. It was plainly obvious that this Dazai’s body was completely unused to movement, especially not the kind of movement they’d need to do to escape the building in one piece. And so he’d let Dazai clamber up onto his back, and they’d waited together for Kouyou to open the door.

The look on her face as Chuuya sped past her would likely forever be imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. He had never before seen her caught so off guard, and he suspected he would never see it again. It had almost been enough to get a laugh out of him, even as she called for reinforcements to give chase.

Even now, after making it down several flights of stairs before needing to exit the stairwell, recalling it nearly tore a chuckle out of him. He wasn’t exactly sure what their plan was, but Dazai clearly had one considering the occasional whispered directions and insistent tugs on his hair.

Then, once they had reached a hallway Chuuya was fairly certain he’d never been down, Dazai smacked at his shoulder.

“Let me down, I need to grab something.”

Chuuya did, listening for any sign that anybody was about to catch up to them. “I thought you said this universe didn’t have what you needed?” He called out, peering down the hall where they came. Chuuya wasn’t a fan of the dead end Dazai had steered them into, but he could begrudgingly admit that Dazai wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t at least tangentially important.

Dazai hummed, rather loudly, from his place inside the room he’d entered. “This is something else, don’t you worry about it~”

Chuuya sighed, resisting the urge to give the man one good punch. That could come later, once they were somewhere safe and he didn’t have to worry about unintentionally breaking Dazai’s bones.

From down the hall, Chuuya heard a door slam open. Rapid footsteps followed, and he took that as his cue to slip into the room Dazai was rummaging through, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The other man didn’t even look up from where he was half buried in a storage bin. Without a word, Chuuya started picking up filing cabinets to barricade the door. He had a sinking feeling they wouldn’t be leaving through it anyway.

He’s proven right when Dazai speaks up. “Be a useful slug and get that window open, would you?”

Chuuya bit back a sigh. As if barricading the door, something that would’ve taken Dazai at least fifteen minutes, wasn’t useful. Though Dazai asking— telling— him to do it at least pointed to the assumption that the bandaged man wasn’t able to. Or he was just being lazy, which was equally likely.

Vaulting over one of the cabinets— and resolutely ignoring any snarky comments from the peanut gallery about show-offs— Chuuya made his way over to the window. It was immediately clear that his first assumption had been right, seeing as there was no visible way to open it. No latches, or locks, or hinges, the window was just a plane of reinforced frosted glass embedded in the wall, only really letting light through. For someone like Dazai, it would be nigh impossible to break, even if he had a gun. He certainly wouldn’t be able to get through it before alerting the entire floor to his location.

But Chuuya wasn’t like Dazai. He placed a hand on the glass and let his Ability flow into the material. Negating the downward gravity on it was easy, as was changing it to instead pull outward. But that wasn’t nearly enough to rip it from its foundations, so he shed his jacket, wrapping it around his hand, before rearing back and throwing his considerable strength into a punch. His momentum, transferred entirely to the fabric right before the moment of impact, plus the stress from the outward gravity imposed on the window already, was enough to send several cracks spiderwebbing across the surface. And once the integrity was compromised, his initial gravity manipulation was more than enough to send the glass shattering outward, bringing several chunks of concrete out with it.

He cleared the excess bits of glass and concrete from the hole where the window used to be, and stuck his head out. They were maybe five floors up still, which was far from ideal. Chuuya could make it down easily, it was Dazai that was the problem here. There were only a few ways that they had found over the years to even semi-safely throw Dazai out of buildings, and Chuuya didn’t like any of them given the circumstances. All of them came with their fair share of risk, and too many usually ended with Dazai in some sort of cast. Which he wouldn’t normally care too much about— Dazai wasn’t a child, he knew what he was getting into— but with the current state of the man’s body, he really didn’t want to cause any lasting damage.

“What, are you waiting for me to give you permission?” Dazai’s voice rang out, full of false curiosity. “Go doggy, go on down~”

Chuuya sucked in a breath before turning around to face the other, trying in vain to hide the snarl his lips had pulled up into. If Dazai wasn’t going to be serious, then it had to be him. “And how exactly will you be getting down?” He asked through gritted teeth.

Dazai hummed, transferring the box he was holding to his hip to free up one of his hands, which he used to tap at his chin in a way that made Chuuya want to kick him. “Hmm. Chuuya hasn’t figured it out? I’ll be jumping out of the window too of course!”

He was being purposely obtuse, they both knew damn well that Dazai knew what Chuuya was actually asking. It was things like that that really got under his skin. What was the point of not just answering the damn question? It was an unnecessary delay, and only ever served to piss him off.

With a deep breath in through his nose, Chuuya unwrapped his jacket from around his hand, going to put it back on before he abruptly realized what Dazai had been sneakily implying. Now annoyed for a slightly different reason— because why couldn’t he ever just say what he expected Chuuya to do?— he just held the fabric without donning it as he turned without a word.

Stepping out of the hole he’d made just as Kouyou’s reinforcements arrived and began to pound on the door, Chuuya let the brief rush of wind drown out everything else. He landed without disturbing the ground beneath him, turning his gaze up to the room he’d just exited. Dazai was already half hanging out, and even though Chuuya couldn’t see him all that well he was sure the man was grinning.

When Dazai jumped, Chuuya was ready, immediately opening and smoothing his jacket out, throwing it up. He applied as much upward gravity as he dared, sending the jacket up to meet the falling man. It wasn’t enough to catch him fully— getting nullified within a moment or so of touching Dazai— but the time between contact and nullification was enough to cause a hiccup in Dazai’s downward acceleration. So when Chuuya caught him, it was the difference between both of them crashing to the ground and Chuuya being able to tank the hit with little more than a grunt. And, fortunately, he hadn’t felt any of Dazai’s bones snap on impact.

After a second, which Chuuya used to readjust Dazai into a better hold under his shoulders and knees, he took off in a run. They had made it out, and their stop on the fifth floor would’ve ensured that there was no one on the first floor to give chase. Unless one of them wanted to vault out of the fifth story window, there wouldn’t be anyone coming after them quick enough to be of any concern.

Chuuya had just picked a direction and ran, looking to put distance before anything else, and since Dazai hadn’t said anything yet he was sure the direction he’d picked was fine. Not that Dazai could really talk at the moment, the man had clearly had the wind knocked out of him by his fall, but lord knows if Chuuya had chosen incorrectly, Dazai would find a way to make it abundantly clear.

It took a few minutes of aimless running, but eventually Dazai did give him directions. The man was still out of breath, and it didn’t even bring him the amusement it usually would. Chuuya couldn’t get it out of his head that this other Dazai had gone through so much, and it was warring against his disdain for his own Dazai.

After a further maybe ten minutes of directions they were stopped in front of yet another run down warehouse. Absently, Chuuya had to be glad that neither he nor Dazai would be recognized as who they were by sight alone. Anyone watching them, which was unlikely but regardless, would likely assume they were just a pair of older teens going in to hook up or do drugs or whatever older teens do. Sometimes it did pay to be on the shorter side, and Dazai was so ridiculously thin that he could easily pass as younger than he actually is.

Passing through the doors, Chuuya sets Dazai down near a desk and then picks up another to barricade the entrance— again. It takes a minute to fully cover the doors and windows, and once he turns his attention back to Dazai the man is sitting on the only remaining desk, his box set down next to him, still unopened.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Okay, spill. What’s in the damn box, and how the hell is it going to help us find the damn sword.” He asked, narrowing his eyes when Dazai smiled.

“Come open it and find out~ it’s Chuuya’s anyway.” Dazai spoke through his painfully wide grin. It put Chuuya on edge immediately. He didn’t think it would be a bomb or anything like that, but he absolutely didn’t trust that it wasn’t full of glitter, or slugs, or something equally irritating.

But Chuuya knew Dazai well enough to know that if the man wanted him to be the one to open it, then Chuuya would end up opening it one way or another. All that was really under his own control was the matter of how long it took to get the damn box open. And Chuuya was, admittedly, fed up. So regardless of if there was actually anything productive, he wasn’t going to sit there and argue with Dazai about it for twenty minutes.

So, resolutely ignoring Dazai’s grin, Chuuya walked over and ripped the top of the box off. He couldn’t help but slightly brace himself, still half expecting this to blow up in his face— metaphorically or literally.

He almost wished he hadn’t, because it made him look like an idiot when all that was sitting in the box was a hat.

“We stopped… to get my hat?” Chuuya blurted out, furrowing his eyebrows at Dazai in a way he hoped conveyed annoyance and not pure, genuine confusion.

Dazai’s laugh echoed throughout the room.

“Why of course! I know Chuuya hates to be without the extra inch of height it gives him, so I just had to make a quick stop to pick it up for him, you can thank me later~” The man sang, and Chuuya was still too confused to hit him for the insults. For all that Dazai was a joke of a human being, he was still infuriatingly practical. There’s absolutely no way he’d jeopardize his own mission for a gag like this. Every damn thing the bastard did had a purpose, Chuuya just had to figure this one o—

“—it here.”

Chuuya hadn’t realized Dazai was talking again until the man’s hand was in his face, in a very clear— and childish— ‘gimme’ motion.

He could only assume Dazai wanted the hat, which Chuuya just clutched to his chest in a completely involuntary movement. Never in the entire time he’d known the man had giving Dazai his hat been a good idea. It always ended with Chuuya needing to spend an obscene amount of money to get it restored.

Dazai sighed, as if he hadn’t been the number one threat to this exact hat for years. “I pinky promise not to do anything bad, just give it here.”

With a warning look, Chuuya released his hold on it just slightly, and Dazai took the opportunity to swipe it from his hands. His unbandaged hands, though Chuuya hadn’t noticed the man taking them off. And the thought fell away much the same as his jaw fell open, as a blue light seared at his eyes.

When the glow of No Longer Human faded, Dazai was left holding the sword. The sword. Chuuya’s mind scrambled, trying to figure out how, when Dazai started talking again.

“As I expected.” Said with far too much smugness in his voice.

While Chuuya was still trying to wrap his head around how Dazai could’ve possibly figured out that his hat was actually the sword, said sword was being thrust into his hands. Thankfully hilt first.

It came alive in his hands again, though it seemed to affect him less this time around. His head didn’t feel light, and he could still think straight. Small mercies.

The desperation to be anywhere but here was called to the forefront of his mind as Chuuya unsheathed the weapon and stabbed it into the empty space before him. He damn near cried in relief when he met that resistance again, dragging the sword down to make the tear in reality big enough to fit through. Just like last time, Dazai stepped through first, into that same emptiness. Chuuya followed, turning to Dazai.

But the man was staring back out where they came from.

Sure enough, when Chuuya looked back, the bodies they had apparently just vacated were laid out peacefully sleeping on the ground. And in between them, the hat that had become their sword. Looking down at himself, then at Dazai, Chuuya confirmed that they were back in their own bodies. It was a comfort, but the two of them continued to stare at the sleeping men through the portal until it closed itself.

“You think they’ll be okay? Mori’s gonna be so pissed.” Chuuya commented.

Dazai hummed. “They’ll figure it out. They’re us, after all.”

Chuuya didn’t reply. But the that’s what I’m worried about was loud enough in his mind that he thinks Dazai heard it anyway.

He stares off into the emptiness for a few seconds more, before remembering their last trip into this world between worlds. Chuuya’s eyes snap to Dazai, who is clearly fighting off unconsciousness again.

Though, Chuuya is almost positive they lasted longer this time. Maybe, like the effects of the sword, it was just something they needed to get used to. Still, Chuuya can’t help but fight it too, even though he’s now fairly sure this isn’t death.

The thud of Dazai succumbing echoes in his ears, but Chuuya can’t force his eyes open this time, not without the adrenaline of thinking these were his last moments.

Chuuya feels himself start to fall, and absently hopes he’s asleep before he hits the ground.