Chapter Text
Chapter 4: You Don’t Have To Say It. Not When It’s You. (Part One)
“Oi, mackerel.”
Chuuya always called him that. In return, Dazai nicknamed him ‘slug’. Where the names originated? No idea. But whenever they were in conversation and the animal-related insult slipped out, everyone already knew who it was being referred to.
So when the Chibi called him, he turned around, playing his aloof and ignorant personality perfectly, and being the fire to Chuuya’s nerves; like he always has been. The angsty 15-year-old stomped over towards him, holding a — very crumpled —bottle of water and wearing a furious expression.
“You drugged my water?! When the hell did you even get time to do that? We were stuck on a mission for the whole day-!”
Chuuya’s voice echoed through the empty corridor leading towards the exit of the PM building. Dazai turned to face him, the side of his body still leaning against the wall without a care in the world — or at least to the fact he had snuck some random drug into Chuuya’s water bottle and had him unconscious for 3 hours.
“Yeah! I figured you’d love a long rest after that mission, chuuyaaaa~! I was doing you a favor!”
Chuuya managed to punch him in the stomach before storming off, attempting to get rid of a certain Dazai that was trailing behind him.
“Chibiko really shouldn’t be mad at me! I was making sure you get your rest! It’s normal for a dog to be tired after such an exhausting mission~”
“HAH?! How many Goddamn times do I have to tell you I’M NOT YOUR GODDAMN DOG!”
Dazai chuckled, speeding up to walk side by side beside Chuuya, placing a hand around his shoulder that Chuuya visibly jerked at. The redhead looked at him with a glare that said ‘take your hand off me before I snap it clean off’ and Dazai sighed before adding,
“Dogs need to respect their owners. Chibi really needs to know how to respect his peers~”
Chuuya huffed, deflating like a ragdoll and accepting his fate about Dazai’s arm around him. Then he processed Dazai’s words and straightened again, looking at his partner with a sense of fury mixed with confusion.
“What do you mean peers?! I’m older than you jackass!”
He thought about it for a moment, amusement creeping into his eyes.
“Dogs should be respectful to their owners, huh? Do you want me to call you ‘your highness’ or something then?”
Dazai stopped walking.
His breath caught.
For a moment, he didn’t move at all.
Then he slowly turned to Chuuya, eyes widening slightly—not with surprise exactly, but something Chuuya couldn’t place. Something off.
This made Chuuya frown. Because expression didn’t belong on Dazai’s face.
There was no teasing reply this time. No quick insult, no effortless comeback. Just a distant stare—like Dazai was somewhere else entirely while still standing right there in front of him.
Then he laughed — but it didn’t sound right.
It came too clean. Too controlled. Too deliberate.
“That’s funny, Chuuya. Good one. You really are—”
“Dazai?”
Chuuya cut in without thinking.
It wasn’t like him. Not really. But something about this didn’t feel like their usual back-and-forth anymore. It just felt weird.
Their eyes met.
And for once, Chuuya couldn’t read him properly. He just saw dark eyes warily watching him.
“Y-yeah?”
The stutter made him pause.
Dazai never stuttered.
Ever.
Chuuya’s irritation faded into something quieter—uncertainty he didn’t like.
He searched Dazai’s face again, expecting the usual smugness to return, the easy mask to slip back into place.
It didn’t. Quite the opposite, actually.
Dazai stood still, watching him too intently now, like he was holding something back with effort alone.
A silent plea sat somewhere behind his expression. The only thing Chuuya finally understood.
‘Drop it.’
‘Please.’
Chuuya clicked his tongue, forcing the moment back into something familiar. He needed some kind of normalcy before he did something irrational.
He looked away first, then back again, trying to rebuild their regular rhythm.
“What? Going quiet on me now? Cat got your tongue?”
Dazai watched him for another moment, before understanding what the redhead was trying to do. His shoulders slightly relaxed as he fixed a small smile to his face, his voice a low whisper.
“Shut up, chibi.”
Chuuya’s expression softened slightly, rather relieved at the lift of tension. A smile formed on his face.
Without a word, he naturally went to Dazai’s blind side and continued his walk, the brunette following him.
Slowly, they slipped back into their routines of arguments and very normal — not — conversations.
“Lunch?”
“You’re paying.”
“Stupid mackerel.”
A beat. Then a sigh.
“Fine.”
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Chuuya had just come back from a play he was — pretty much forced — to attend by the actor. With Lippmann by his side and going on and on about how the act was so good he could feel the emotions in his veins, Chuuya had managed to tune him out. But even so, he had to keep bobbing his head to make the other believe he was paying attention — his neck was getting sore. He fidgeted with his hands — because he was bored — for what felt like the umpteenth time for today and continued his nodding.
They both resumed their long stride through the familiar mafia corridors, chatter flowing easily between them, as they headed towards Albatross’s dorm — their usual hangout spot.
Lippmann was mid joke when they heard a sudden shout of pain. Chuuya knew that ‘annoying’ voice all too well. He and Lippmann turned simultaneously to see a door — they didn’t see it before somehow — partially opened. Curiosity clouded their minds and against their better judgement, they peeked through the door to see what was happening.
Inside the small room, they saw a bandaged figure aiming a gun at a target. He seemed to be accompanied by someone else, but they couldn’t make out who it was.
When looking at the target, it looked like it had seen better days, covered in holes throughout the center and inner rings.
Dazai aimed at the target again, missing the center by a what seemed to be a millimeter. His jaw hardened in slight anticipation. Then he suddenly shouted again —it sounded like he was in a lot of pain — and that’s when they realized who the taller figure behind him was — Mori.
Mori towered behind him, his black hair covering most of his hair, save for the sadistic smile on his face as he held a twisted knife into Dazai’s left shoulder.
“Aim better, Dazai. Or it’ll get worse. And stop screaming, I’m going easy on you here.” He said, voice casual like it was the most normal thing, but it was equally cold. He pushed the knife in deeper, causing Dazai to squirm.
Dazai shifted his grip on the gun again, wincing at the pain from his shoulder. He turned and said something to the older that the two outsiders couldn’t make out, before turning back and straightening, glancing at the gun before changing his grip again. He held the gun up once more, aiming at the target, his position weird due to the injury.
Pressing the trigger again, Chuuya’s eyes tracked the bullet as he watched it hit dead center, or actually, it went through and hitting the wall behind the target. The sound echoed through the room, a terrifying ballad that made Chuuya’s ears ring. He glanced at Lippmann, noticing his usually bubbly friend’s stone cold expression.
Turning back to the scene, Mori nodded approvingly, pulling the knife out and smiling wider when Dazai collapsed to the ground, clutching his shoulder in pain.
Chuuya’s expression changed from horror to a fearful pity as he watched his partner fall to the ground. When glancing at Mori’s face, his fists clenched fast.
Dazai groaned, placing pressure on the wound to try and minimize the bleeding. His face contorted in pain as he looked over his shoulder at Mori, who held the blood knife in his hand like it was some kind of twisted award. The latter smiled at him, turning around with the expectance that his student will follow.
“Now, we’re onto weapon identification training. Get one wrong, and you know the consequences. Hurry up.”
‘Was this really how Dazai had to train?’ Chuuya thought, ready to burst through the door and pull Dazai out, but Lippmann held a hand before him, blocking the redhead’s path.
The blonde had to physically pull the shorter away. After giving in and falling into step beside Lippmann, Chuuya turned to him.
“What the hell was that?! Why did you stop me?!”
Lippmann took in a deep breath, turning to his colleague with a hardened expression and a weird tone.
“That, Chuuya, is how training works here in the Mafia. It’s not running races and encouraging words here. It’s all pain and suffering if you don’t listen.”
His words were clipped as he appeared to waver, face twisting from devoid to one of hesitation. Then he paused, stilling his stride as he fully turned to face the redhead. Words seemed to swim through his head, eventually coming together as he slowly added,
“And since he is Mori’s direct subordinate and basically his right hand, there is nothing we can do to interfere unless we want trouble.”
Chuuya looked at Lippmann like he’d grown a second head. ‘There’s nothing we can do?’ What bullshit was that? Of course he could do something. He could always do something to help Dazai.
After reaching Albatross’s dorm, Lippmann went to the kitchen with Pianoman to continue his rant about the play. Before entering said dorm, he told Chuuya not to talk much about it, especially since it’s a very sensitive deal around the mafia.
After a slightly nervous glance at Chuuya, he disappeared to after the taller.
Chuuya sat down on the plush couch, staring at his hands and wondering how he didn’t notice the signs. He could have sworn he’d seen Dazai flinch occasionally at a gunshot, or randomly check his shoulder. Chuuya had always played it off as another one of his annoying habits, but it’s safe to say that wasn’t the case.
Lippmann’s words echoed through his head, ‘There is nothing we can do to interfere unless we want trouble.’
But that wasn’t fair.
Even if he always hurt the mackerel and gladly threw insults, he admittedly didn’t like seeing him get hurt. It always irked him and placed a weird feeling into his stomach when he saw the other bleeding or injured in any way.
He always knew that Mori…found happiness in a very twisted way kind of person. It was all the mafia talked about. Their crazy and sadistic boss. Rumors had always followed the man. But this wasn’t what he expected. That crazed smile when Dazai collapsed — god that got under his skin.
Right. Dazai collapsed.
Dazai was always a person who stood with pride and dignity, and Chuuya always hated him for it. But now he wondered,
How the hell did he do that? Go through all of that and still smile with a good appearance.
Most people would have been broken after that kind of treatment. Chuuya knew he would have been. He also knew Dazai was a strong person mentally, but he didn’t expect him to be so ‘strong’ that abuse didn’t get to him.
He must be faking. Smiling through that? It’s humanly impossible.
Ah. Human. What a concept it was. People always took being human for granted. Bleeding red and having emotions.
Come to think of it,
Was Dazai really human?
…
What was he saying? Chuuya mentally punched himself. Of course the stupid mackerel was a human. Something that wasn’t human couldn’t ever be as annoying as Dazai was.
But still…the feeling hadn’t fully dissipated, and it lingered in his head like a whisper he wanted to block.
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
After his brutal training session, Dazai returned to his shipping container and started patching up the wounds. He replaced bloody bandages with fresh ones, rubbing antiseptic and tending to his injuries.
His mother used to do this, and he always memorized her movements. The way she always sang him a gentle song while cleaning cuts from fencing or knee scrapes from sports.
But she wasn’t here to sing that song anymore.
So Dazai hummed the melody, smiling softly with the thought of her gentle hands. And once all the wounds were treated, he proudly chuckled, happy with his work. Then he glanced at the time, and his eyes widened.
“Crap! I’m late!”
He quickly buttoned his shirt up, fixing his ruffled hair and grabbing his suit jacket as he ran out of the metal box.
Mori had asked him if he wanted to live in the mafia dorms or villas, but if he was being honest, he didn’t think he deserved it. And after living in a metal box after years of a giant castle with gold lights? The feeling was definitely weird, but easy to get used to — since it was him.
So once he arrived at his destination, he stopped before the tinted door, staring at his reflection and this shell he’d occupied.
He shook his head, fixing his suit jacket and making sure no blood was on his face, before placing his hand on the door and pushing it open to reveal the familiar Lupin Bar.
As he entered, he was greeted by the smiles of his two friends, Oda and Ango. They gestured for him to come over, already having a seat spared between them for him. As Dazai sat down, he called out to the waiter to get him a glass of whiskey.
“You’re late today. Did something happen?”
Ango asked, turning to Dazai, Oda did the same. Dazai chuckled, trying his best not to move his shoulder much.
“Not much really. Just another training session. I lost track of time.”
Oda’s eyebrow cocked upward, a sign of momentary surprise. He took a sip of his drink, before turning to Dazai again.
“Lost track of time? That isn’t like you, Dazai.”
Dazai nodded in thanks to the waiter as he got his whiskey, putting his head down on the table as he gently prodded at the circular ice in the glass. He took a deep breath in, before exhaling and speaking again.
“Yeah I know. I don’t what’s going on.”
Oda nodded, deciding it’s best not to approach the topic after noticing Dazai’s disinterest. Ango took a drink of his tomato juice, before taking his bag out and placing his phone inside.
“Ango. What were you up to today?”
Dazai had asked casually, not missing the small flinch in Ango’s movements that most people would. He straightened, place his chin on his hand as he continued playing with the ice in the drink, watching it bob up and down.
“Not much. I had a mission today with a client. It was annoying because of the rain.”
Dazai nodded along, not showing any reaction to the information. Oda glanced at him, knowing what the younger was trying to do.
“How is your umbrella dry then? If the rain was annoying, I’m assuming you used it?”
Dazai questioned, looking away from his untouched drink to his friend. He smiled, a knowing kind of look that got under Ango’s skin as he stammered out a response.
“I dried it off in the car ride back. A very energy-consuming task if you ask me.”
“I see. Alright then!”
Dazai said, cheerfulness creeping into his tone as he suddenly turned to Oda. The redhead smiled, anticipating the sudden change of atmosphere.
“Odasaku, what did you do today?”
Oda clicked his tongue, bored by the events of his day. As the lowest member of the mafia, he didn’t do many exciting things. He didn’t complain, but he was always curious as to why Dazai was always so interested in his day.
“I saved a kitten from a well, and disarmed a bomb at a grocery store. Then I had to deal with some clients of the mafia who didn’t pay their part. That’s all really.”
Dazai smiled real big as he spoke, an almost genuine look to it. Oda appreciated these bar visits, mostly because it was the only time Dazai could act like the child he was and not the victim he was forced to be. He watched Dazai’s eyes widen comically when he finished, looking at him with a look of determination.
“Odasaku! Would you be willing to switch jobs?”
“Of course not, Dazai. Like I said the last time you asked, you’d probably be blown up.”
“BUT I WANNA BE BLOWN UP!!”
Dazai had replied loudly with exaggerated boredom. He went back to prodding at the ice in his glass — that somehow hadn’t melted yet — before wincing, because Oda placed a hand on his shoulder.
Oda quickly took his hand back as Ango also turned to Dazai. They both stared at the bandaged boy, clearly waiting for an explanation.
“I just had a rough night of sleep.”
Dazai responded to their questioning paternal looks. Ango seemed to think it over, taking the lie and turning back to his juice. Oda’s eyes however, narrowed at the younger. He knew that Dazai was lying, but he also knew Dazai would have a reason if he was. So he also nodded, turning back to his drink, occasionally throwing glances at Dazai’s shoulder.
And then they went upon their conversations as normal, since it was just another day between the Lupin trio.
Just another ‘normal’ day.
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
“I am going to kill every human who matters to you."
Chuuya ran to his dorm. He’d never run faster in his life. Upon arriving he slammed the door and collapsed in the center of his living room, sobbing as he remembered the pained faces and whispered words of his friends.
The flags were dead. Verlaine killed them.
Chuuya thought back to how he brushed off Verlaine’s words, taking them as a warning rather than a statement. He was foolishly excited to see them, only to discover their bloody bodies and brokenly pure smiles as they drifted away from him. Verlaine thought it was some great act of kindness he was doing for Chuuya, when in reality it was just removing the only real family Chuuya ever remembered having.
Right. These past few days were hectic. Chuuya has held the perfectly preserved body of his 5 year old self, discovering the fact that his currently 16 year old self was a clone of that scared child who was kidnapped from his parents. He was shown the lab he was experimented on, and was told the truth.
He was shown the tubes, the syringes, the electrical devices used on him when he acted out. He was shown everything that he was subjected to but didn’t remember. All because,
He was a clone. A vessel.
He wasn’t human. Not really.
He was so immersed in the relapses that he didn’t hear the rapidly growing sound of footsteps. The door burst open and through blurry eyes, Chuuya saw the outline of the person he wanted nothing more than to see.
Verlaine said he’d kill everyone who mattered, and even if he wouldn’t say it out loud, that group of people included his partner. So seeing him alive was a feeling he welcomed.
Dazai grabbed Chuuya and pulled him closer to his chest, running his hands through the redhead’s hair and slowly patting his back. Chuuya didn’t retaliate to the sudden care of the mackerel, instead relaxing into the taller’s touch while his tears stained the black jacket Dazai wore.
“T-their d-dead and Verlaine d-did I-it and-“
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I know. Just relax.”
Dazai had said softly, as if comforting a child who woke up from a nightmare — maybe that was the correct definition to this situation. He placed his chin on the other’s head, shifting to place Chuuya’s on his chest and making sure they both were comfortable.
“Just listen to my heartbeat, and relax. Okay?”
Chuuya sniffled, nodding as he continued his heavy sobs.
Dazai had to admit, he never thought he would ever see Chuuya cry. He knew how much the flags meant to Chuuya, but he hadn’t anticipated the loss to mean so much.
He actually hadn’t anticipated any of this. He knew Chuuya had to have another reason for such pained cries. ‘It must be about Arahabaki…’ he suddenly thought.
So he continued comforting Chuuya, deciding it was best to ask him later if he felt comfortable, and comfort him now so that he doesn’t carry this alone.
An hour later, Chuuya’s cries had ceased as he fell asleep against Dazai’s chest. The younger sat there, still as he listened to the redhead’s breathing. His head was currently swimming through theories to find a conclusion, but he was eventually always snapped back to reality by a small shift of Chuuya’s movements. Checking his phone for the time, he slowly straightened and stood up, carrying the shorter in his arms.
He took Chuuya to his bedroom, placing him on the bed and covering him with a blanket. He turned on the AC, and then took a paper and wrote a small note telling him it was going to be okay, placing it on the other’s bedside table before closing the door and leaving Chuuya’s dorm.
He tiredly made his way to Mori’s office, mentally preparing for what he knew was coming before opening the door and stepping inside. The office was spacious and quiet, but the wrong kind of silence. Mori was at his desk, looking through papers before he glanced up at Dazai.
“So, how’s he doing?”
“Fine.”
Dazai replied promptly, not wanting to give Mori the details. He knew what all Mori might do to his partner, and he wouldn’t dare let the boss touch Chuuya. He briefly checked the room for Elise, who was sleeping on the couch with a doll in her hand. He turned back to Mori, who placed his papers down and stood up. Mori took a deep breath in, before walking towards the brunette.
Dazai watched the mafia boss approach him and place a hand on his not injured shoulder. Mori looked cheerful and excited about something, and Dazai knew exactly what it was about.
“Osamu Dazai, I promote you to the role executive, and to be my official right hand man. This promotion makes you the youngest executive of the Port Mafia history, because you are still fifteen turning sixteen.”
Mori bent down, bringing his face to Dazai’s ear, not missing the small shudder of the younger through the poker face he put up.
“Take this with great honor, understood? You are one of five, and I won’t have any mistakes.”
He pulled away, looking at Dazai with a terrifying sort of glee. After a brief scan of the younger, he turned around, already knowing the latter’s answer, before walking to his desk and sitting down again. He looked up at Dazai once more, giving him a very cryptic yet amused smile.
“You’re dismissed, Dazai.”
…
“Yes…boss.”