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Chuuya couldn’t move.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t insult the person who was currently cutting into him. The worst part was that he wasn’t drugged or bound to the surface he was lying on in any way. He wasn’t gagged. He just couldn’t do anything.
For the first time, Chuuya wished for Corruption instead of what was happening now. If it were Corruption, he’d barely remember. It wasn’t, though, so he was aware of every single thing. He was entirely aware of his body and his own thoughts and emotions, rather than becoming the embodiment of chaos that didn’t feel or think at all. Despite that, his body wasn’t doing what he wanted it to at all.
Mind control was something that Chuuya exclusively associated with Q, which was a mistake. He assumed that if anyone else had such an Ability, which was probably unlikely, it would manifest in a way similar to Q’s. They would be able to distort the victim’s surroundings and make them see things and react to things that weren’t there. Q’s Ability was horrifying, but apparently it wasn’t the worst thing out there.
True mind control was so much worse.
He’d been stalked by Dostoyevsky’s men. That was the only explanation he could come up with for now, although he was aware that the Rats were just one of many pieces in this puzzle. The person taking their time cutting into him didn’t sound Russian, actually, though they looked European from what little Chuuya saw of them before a bright light was shone in his eyes, forcing him to close them or be blinded since he couldn’t move his head. They spoke crude Japanese and smoother English in an accent that Chuuya would have said was British if he had to place it.
He didn’t think this person was the Ability user responsible. That person, Chuuya was pretty sure, had taunted him before, though it was hard to remember. There was no reason why it should’ve been hard to remember because he hadn’t been knocked out or anything the entire time he was there. The moment he’d been touched during his attack, his body became the other person’s plaything.
This was one of his worst fears playing out. He was trapped in his body, unable to do anything with it, completely vulnerable to whatever anyone else wanted to do to him, and they were taking advantage of that. They weren’t content to just keep him as a captured enemy and Chuuya was pretty sure this wasn’t about taking him hostage and demanding something in return. It definitely wasn’t about torturing him for information. They were going to take something from him that they could get without doing either of those things and have fun doing it.
That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that Chuuya was pretty sure his very thoughts were being altered, which was why he could barely remember how he got there or the identity of the first person who talked to him or what they said. What was happening right now wasn’t being altered, but whatever had happened before this person started cutting into him had been.
Right now the pain was doing a pretty good job of preventing him from analyzing the situation clearly. There would be very little of use that he could tell Mori later, other than that he’d been cut into and that whoever these people were seemed British and might be related to the Rats. He couldn’t say what had been done when he was cut into. The resulting wound or wounds would at least let him know where.
He focused on the pain and let it consume him if only to avoid the gnawing panic that made his throat close and his eyes burn. If he thought about this too hard, this complete lack of control and vulnerability in enemy territory with people who could and would literally take him apart, and were probably doing so right now, would make him lose his grip on anything and everything. The only thing holding him together was, ironically, the pain.
The pain started to fade, though, and Chuuya realized he was being stitched up.
A low whine escaped his throat, an involuntary sound but perhaps the only thing his body had done that was not the result of whoever was controlling him. He couldn’t see how the person above him reacted, but he distantly hoped they were disturbed.
His attention was taken away from the person above him by shouting and banging. That person noticed too, because he heard their footsteps retreating from his bedside. He tried to will himself to move but nothing happened because part of his mind wouldn’t.
And then, suddenly, he got the urge to sit up.
It took his eyes time to adjust without having the bright light shining on them in the dark room, but his hands were already moving, feeling around until his fingers wrapped around something sharp. He brought it up close to him and it shone in the light: a scalpel.
The scalpel already had dried blood on it. Chuuya knew he hadn’t wanted to pick it up, but whoever was controlling him clearly planned something to do with this scalpel, since he couldn’t drop it or do anything else with it. For a few moments he just held it as outside the room, the shouting and banging grew louder.
He realized he was going to slit the throat of the first person who came into the room.
That would have made him happy, but he knew that the person controlling him wouldn’t make him do that in any situation other than a rescue. If there was a rescue going on, the next person in the room could very well be someone from the Mafia.
Chuuya’s fingers twitched against the scalpel, which he realized he wasn’t holding properly. The blade was cutting into his hand — maybe the person controlling him couldn’t tell whether or not he was holding it properly. He wondered if that meant that he could “stab” whoever came in with the handle.
Someone ran through the door, looking around, and their eyes landed on Chuuya. “Chuuya-san!”
Akutagawa. Chuuya wanted to shout at him to leave but his voice wouldn’t work. As Akutagawa moved closer to him Chuuya’s body tensed, and then he struck.
His theory had been correct in that the position of the scalpel wasn’t something the person controlling him could figure out from a distance. He shoved the handle of the scalpel into Akutagawa’s shoulder just a second before Rashomon wrapped around his wrist. The blade sank deeply into Chuuya’s palm.
Suddenly, all the tension left Chuuya’s body.
A bunch of words tumbled out of Chuuya’s mouth, things he’d been trying to say ever since Akutagawa had entered the room, but all together they made no sense to his ears and probably not to Akutagawa’s either. He took a deep breath and tried again, managing to get out, “mind control.”
“Ah.” Akutagawa turned his head away and coughed. “Dazai-san should have taken care of that.”
As if on command, Dazai appeared in the doorway, trailed by Atsushi. “We’re lucky the Special Abilities Department took an interest in your disappearance, Chuuya,” he said, not sounding as if he thought that was lucky at all. “They’ve apprehended everyone in this place so we can just take you home.”
“We?” Chuuya asked.
“You’re injured,” Akutagawa said. “That wound…” He was looking at Chuuya’s stomach rather than his hand.
Dazai followed Akutagawa’s line of sight and frowned. “No wonder they were interested. I guess their initial belief was true.”
“What initial belief?” Chuuya noticed that Akutagawa had let go of him.
“Should we take you back to the infirmary, Chuuya-san?” Akutagawa asked.
Chuuya’s skin crawled. Suddenly, the room felt too small and too hot. “I’m going home,” he muttered, pushing past Akutagawa and Dazai and heading out the door.
He didn’t take note of his surroundings as he went. His heart was pounding quickly and he felt separate from his body again for some reason. He could barely breathe. He didn’t care about the wound on his stomach pulling painfully as he walked or what he must have looked like. Even when he got outside, he kept going, the fresh air not doing much for his state of mind.
They were still within city limits, because these people took “hiding in plain sight” too seriously. It had worked for a while, too. Long enough for them to finish doing what they wanted with Chuuya, for the most part.
He didn’t know how long he’d been walking until a hand touched his arm.
Chuuya spun around, kicking out. Dazai jumped back, looking completely unsurprised. He held up his hands.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Chuuya growled. His arm felt branded from where Dazai had touched it.
“Let me take you home,” Dazai said.
Chuuya stared at him.
“Why?”
“I don’t think you should be alone.”
Chuuya wondered what had given Dazai that idea this time compared to the other times. Dazai had become better at being a partner — they both had, somehow — but something about this made Chuuya feel like Dazai was more concerned for him than usual.
He was too tired to argue. “Fine.”
They walked for a bit. Chuuya’s shirt was soaked with blood from his hand. He still hadn’t looked at the wound on his stomach and part of him didn’t want to look at it ever, but he planned on it as soon as he got back.
Eventually they made it to the apartment. Dazai let them in with the key he’d stolen that Chuuya didn’t try to confiscate. He was kind of grateful for it now because he had no idea where his own key was.
Once inside he headed straight for the bathroom. Dazai followed him and gestured for him to sit on the toilet.
“I’ll get the first aid stuff,” he said.
Chuuya let him. He pulled his hand away from his shirt and chanced a look at his stomach. Bile rose in his throat as he saw how long the wound was, going in a straight line down. It really looked like —
“Hand,” Dazai said.
Automatically, Chuuya held out his hand.
Dazai began cleaning it. Chuuya focused on the pain again. He still felt that strange sense of detachment and he wondered whether or not he could actually move. He pulled his hand away just to test. Dazai frowned but didn’t say anything as Chuuya held out his hand again, satisfied.
“You should know that those people were likely working for the British government,” Dazai said, “and they wanted information about you and your Ability. Europe has its own fair share of Ability users and I don’t doubt that they do similar things that our government does here, but you —”
“Stop talking,” Chuuya said. It felt good to be able to say that, and Dazai’s words were just telling him something he could already guess. Hearing it, though, made him feel worse.
Dazai finished cleaning out the wound and said, “I’m going to stitch it.”
“Go ahead.”
Dazai threaded the needle and began. Chuuya watched as he pierced the skin and pulled the thread through over and over, gradually closing up the wound. He didn’t feel it as much as he should have and he thought he might not have even realized it was happening if he hadn’t been looking at it. His hand barely felt like his own right now. As soon as Dazai was finished, Chuuya pulled it back again.
“I should bandage it,” Dazai said, frowning.
“Right.” Chuuya held out the hand again and Dazai pressed gauze over the wound before wrapping it.
Finally, they were finished. Dazai eyed the injury on Chuuya’s stomach. “I can bandage that as well.”
“Yeah,” Chuuya said. He didn’t want to see it, so that was probably for the best.
He was still as Dazai pressed gauze to the wound on his stomach. It ached, a reminder of how fresh it was.
After a few minutes Dazai finished wrapping the wound and straightened up.
“Thanks,” Chuuya said quietly.
“No problem.” Dazai searched Chuuya’s face.
Chuuya stood slowly, wishing he felt less detached. He used a washcloth to get most of the blood off his arm and stomach and shrugged off his shirt, which was ruined past the point of saving. Dazai disappeared and reappeared with a t-shirt, which Chuuya gratefully put on. It was only then that he looked in the mirror.
His face looked weird. He could see how detached he was by the dullness in his own eyes. It was like he wasn’t there, like anyone could slip in and…
Chuuya laughed. Of course, someone had done that even when he was there. Corruption did that to him and he let it. This hadn’t been Corruption but it had been terrible. It had robbed him of control and made him extremely aware of every second of it and…
“Chuuya.”
Chuuya felt something wet on his cheeks. “Fuck.”
“Chuuya.”
Chuuya turned around to see Dazai watching him, both worried and wary. He wiped at his eyes. “I — I’ll —”
He wanted to say he’d be fine but the words wouldn’t come out. What did come out was a choked sob. He pressed a hand over his mouth.
Dazai took a deep breath as if bracing himself for something, and maybe he was. “I knew you’d hate this,” he said, pulling Chuuya close.
Chuuya buried his head in Dazai’s chest and felt Dazai tense. He was tense himself. Neither of them were used to this. He didn’t have the strength to try to compose himself again, though. It worried him that Dazai was comforting him so easily instead of running in the other direction, but running seemed harder for Dazai these days.
“As soon as I heard...I knew what it would do to you,” Dazai continued. “I don’t know how I can help...but...you’re safe.”
Chuuya felt his tears soaking into Dazai’s shirt as he was wracked with silent sobs. He felt horrible as it hit him, over and over, how completely helpless and at the mercy of others he’d been. He felt sick fear when he let his thoughts linger too long on what had happened and he didn’t want to think about it happening again.
Dazai held him. It was awkward, but he didn’t once let go and it didn’t feel like he was trying to pull away. He was there and solid and real and Chuuya could pull away at any point but he didn’t, because he wanted this comfort if Dazai wanted to give it to him.
Little by little, he started to feel safe.