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Dazai never expected his life to change this rapidly.
He wanted his life to end rapidly, but that was something entirely different from having two infants handed to him within the course of three months and being told that he was the father of both of them.
Akutagawa is first. His mother drops him off sobbing after their breakup over a year prior, handing Dazai a small child that she can’t provide for. The second, Atsushi, is the cause of the breakup between Dazai and the boy’s mother, who throws their son at Dazai the first chance she gets and never looks back.
He considers dropping them off at an orphanage, but he repeatedly puts it off, and his excuses for keeping them keep changing. First it’s that he doesn’t have the time. After that it’s because they’re not old enough. A while later he reminds himself that he’s orphaned a few children before and he doesn’t want to go there in case any of them recognize him, so it’s best he wait.
And yet, he never makes any move to send his sons away. Perhaps it has something to do with finally being able to care about something that’s a part of him, in a way. His own life is useless, and Dazai knows this, but Akutagawa’s and Atsushi’s aren’t. Their lives have barely started, and maybe he can raise them to not make the same mistakes as him. And if they turn out better than him, well, maybe he can prove to himself that not everything he’s done has been worthless. So be not-so-begrudgingly accepts this abrupt shift into a life of diapers and formula bottles.
That isn’t to say he doesn’t rethink his choice sometimes. Juggling two children while holding a job – a job in the Port Mafia, no less – causes him to stagger into work with bags under his eyes and a lack of focus that almost costs him his life on a few occasions.
“You’re going to kill me,” Dazai mutters one morning, laying down on the rug, watching Atsushi as Akutagawa climbs on his back. “One way or another, you’re going to kill me.”
Atsushi turns his head to look at him quizzically, his golden-purple eyes blinking. Slowly, he grins with just his two front teeth, rattling the small tiger-shaped plush in his hands.
“Da!” he beams.
Dazai stares at him a moment, eyes wide. Atsushi crawls forward, placing his small, pink hand on his father’s face. “Da!” he says again.
Dazai reaches one hand out to gently tussle Atsushi’s hair, causing his son to giggle. He smiles slowly.
“I’ll keep you around until you do me the honor of killing me, then,” he says softly, while Akutagawa pulls at the bandages around his eye and babbles in his ear.
Dazai soon falls into a rhythm. He works when he can, finding babysitters that can show up at a moment’s notice if he’s needed elsewhere, and he begins to learn more about his boys.
Akutagawa screams the loudest and the most often. He always wants attention, and he takes every opportunity to remind his father of this. More violent than his brother, Akutagawa often pushes Atsushi over and forcefully takes toys from him. Atsushi, the quieter one, cries only briefly until he distracts himself with something else. He falls asleep the easiest and is content to merely sit in Dazai’s lap and chew on teethers, rather than play with noisy toys or continually stick foreign objects in his mouth like his brother.
Gradually, as Dazai begins to ask for more days off, he realizes that he’s never told his boss or any of his coworkers about his sons. It isn’t as if he doesn’t want them to know, it’s just never come up. He and the rest of the Port Mafia don’t really have time or reason for small talk or updates on each other’s lives; no one cares anyway. He’ll tell them if they ask.
That’s what he tells himself until the attack.
He’s late getting the boys to bed. The dishes sit piled up on the counter because he hasn’t washed them in days, so he leaves his sons to play with each other in the living room while he finally tries to chisel the crusted food off of their plates. Letting Atsushi and Akutagawa stay up late isn’t a big deal to him; they’ll fall asleep on their own if they’re tired enough, and Akutagawa is always reluctant to leave his toys and go to bed anyway. The longer Dazai can postpone that struggle, the better.
Suddenly something in the living room falls with a crash. Akutagawa screams. Dazai’s eyes grow wide and the plate in his hands falls to the floor and shatters.
“Akutagawa!” he shouts, racing into the living room. He isn’t sure what to think. All he knows is that his son has never screamed like that before. He thinks he hears something growling in the split seconds before he sees what’s happened.
Claw marks slice through the walls. The TV’s fallen over and cushions have been knocked off the couch, but Dazai barely notices them. All he sees is Akutagawa, tears streaming down his face as he screams, a huge white tiger cub looming above him and snarling.
He doesn’t question it. His brain doesn’t give him time to question it. His arms move before his thoughts tell them to and he grabs the beast by its neck. Yet as he makes contact with it, a blue glow emanates from the tiger and his palm, shining through his fevered thoughts like a lighthouse.
The form of the tiger shifts and changes in his hands as Dazai puts the pieces together. The fury in his eyes recesses as they widen, and his grip loosens around the beast’s neck. Still shaking as the glow fades entirely, he pulls what remains of the tiger to his chest. Atsushi lays unconscious in his arms.
Few things in life scare Dazai anymore; death will be a welcome relief when it comes, and he doesn’t care what others think of him. But as he sits in the floor, panting, trembling, fear penetrates him and sinks into his stomach.
He stays awake long past after Atsushi and Akutagawa are settled in their cribs, his mind racing while he stares blankly at the scars across the walls. If Atsushi inherited an Ability from his father, what if Akutagawa did?
The boys aren’t aware of the turn their lives take that night. They have no idea of the pact their father makes with himself as his fists clench, his brow furrowing.
He’ll protect them, both from each other’s Abilities and from the Port Mafia. To them, two Gifted children are just future soldiers.
Dazai makes sure he’s at work more often, but not too often, and he eases back into more work hours as to not raise suspicion. Babysitters are replaced with a nanny that is willing to spend more than half of her week with those boys. She practically lives at Dazai’s house during the day.
“The boys should be in bed by seven, as usual,” he explains as he pulls his coat on. “But I should be back before then.”
Kuniko nods, holding Atsushi in her arms and bouncing him slightly. She won’t meet his eyes today and seems to be holding onto Atsushi a little more tightly than normal. Dazai smirks.
“Are those the signs of infatuation I see?” he purrs, playfully offering her his hand. “Finally fallen for me?”
Kuniko looks at him long enough to raise one eyebrow. “Not on your life,” she says firmly. Dazai chuckles.
“Still as strong-willed as ever. That’s my Kuniko.”
“Not yours,” she remarks as she turns her back on him, walking back into the house. Atsushi waves a little over her shoulder.
“Bye-bye Daz.”
Somehow that small gesture makes Dazai’s chest swell more than Kuniko’s love could ever could.
“I’m home!” Dazai announces, throwing open the door. His cheerful expression quickly becomes a frown; the lights are off. The apartment’s quiet. “Kuniko?”
Silence.
Dazai slips off his shoes and starts to walk into the hall. “Kuniko?” he calls again. His heart rate is speeding up. “Atsushi?” He peers into the kitchen. The light’s off and dirty dishes sit piled up in the sink. “Akutagawa?”
He’s starting to run now. Panic fills him as he sprints towards the bedrooms. “Atsushi! Akutagawa!”
“How long were you planning on keeping them hidden?”
Dazai stops dead. Slowly, he steps backwards, turning to face the living room. The couch is occupied.
“What are you doing here?” Dazai breathes.
His guest sighs, twirling his hat on his finger. “I haven’t been to your place in over a year and this is how you greet me?” Chuuya mutters.
Dazai is on him before he can react, slamming him into the wall behind the couch by grabbing onto his collar and lifting him.
“Where are they?” He hisses.
Chuuya chokes, eyes wide. “They’re in their room! They’re fine! Let go!” He says quickly. Dazai narrows his eyes but releases his hold, letting Chuuya fall back onto the couch to rub his neck.
“How did you find out about them?” he snaps.
Chuuya picks up his hat and sets it back on his head, looking up at Dazai from under its rim. What Dazai can see of his face is a foreign mix of hurt and indifference.
“Certainly not from you,” he mumbles.
Dazai’s expression doesn’t change. “You never asked.”
“I shouldn’t have needed to!” Chuuya bursts out. “You’re the one who didn’t think to tell your partner that you had kids!”
Dazai frowns. “You know what’ll happen to them if Mori finds out,” he replies calmly. But when Chuuya shrinks back and says nothing, Dazai feels his heart stop for a moment.
“I was sent to tell you,” Chuuya says quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Mori thought that if he sent anyone else, you might kill them.”
Dazai stands stock-still as the world seems to collapse around him.
“He noticed you were acting strange and sent a scout to investigate. After he found out, it was easy to get your nanny to work with us.”
Dazai feels as if he wants to scream, run, and empty his stomach onto the floor all at the same time.
“All it took was a little cash and a gun in her face. She let me in and all I just had to wait.”
Dazai stares at him. For once, he has nothing to say. No witty remarks come from his dry throat.
Chuuya watches him. “It’s not all bad,” he says, almost sheepishly. “They’re under the full protection of the Port Mafia now. Nothing can touch them.”
Something in Dazai snaps. “Protect?” he spits. “Mori says he’ll protect them?” Fury seems to pour from his very soul, pulsing through his veins like acid. “He’ll protect them until they’re strong enough to kill for him,” he growls, venom dripping from his words. “He’ll protect them as long as they’re useful to him, but if they slip up one too many times, all bets are off. He’ll protect them until they’re grown into the perfect soldiers and are old enough to fend for themselves.”
Chuuya stares at him with wide eyes. On the surface, Dazai seems eerily calm. But Chuuya’s known him long enough to know the rage behind his clenched fists, the hatred within his dark eyes. “Hey, Dazai, calm down,” he urges, but Dazai’s doesn’t see or hear him.
“They’ll either die or turn into me,” he says with awful realization, his visible eye filled with loathing and anguish as he stares at nothing. It was the worst thought of all; that his own sons might turn out like him, as suicidal Mafia members that can’t even manage to save two little boys from a life of misery and bloodshed.
Chuuya’s palm across his face strikes him like a bolt of lightning. “Snap out of it!” he shouts, grabbing Dazai’s shoulders and looking up into his face. “There’s no use pitying yourself! What’s done is done, and it’s not your fault that it happened!”
Dazai stares at him, the lines on his forehead growing deeper. “I could’ve done something-!”
“No you couldn’t have!” Chuuya shoots back. “And you can’t do anything now, Dazai! Now that Mori knows you’ve been keeping secrets from him, he’ll have eyes on you all the time!” Chuuya’s shaking, gripping Dazai’s shoulders as if he’s the sole thing keeping him tethered to sanity. “Dazai, I know better than anyone how much you’re capable of,” he says, his voice dropping. “But just this once, for your sake, there’s nothing you can do.”
Crying suddenly reaches their ears, drawing their gaze towards the bedrooms. Chuuya swiftly releases his grip.
“Dazai…” He says again, slowly, but Dazai closes his eyes and holds up his hand for silence. His breath’s still shaky as he straightens his back and clears his throat. He opens his mouth to speak, but he cuts himself off with a sigh before saying anything.
“You’re right,” he admits softly. He says nothing else. Losing his temper won’t help Atsushi and Akutagawa. Nothing will.
With that, he walks into the hallway to soothe the Port Mafia’s latest soldiers.