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The blade was driven into his arm, the third to decorate it in just a few minutes. By this point, Dazai could feel the early stages of blood loss. The dizziness. Feeling light-headed. He was able to keep his breathing under control - for now, at least. At this rate, in a few hours, he might not. If he lost too much and became too weak, they would make him talk - he’d be too fatigued to fight. All he would have left to do would be to bite into the cyanide pill hidden between his teeth. Simple, quick, difficult to stop. A perfect backup plan.
His captors - a group he had been tasked to spy on alone in Tokyo - had already removed and destroyed his tracker. If this went south, there would be no backup squad to bail him out. Just the pill.
Another shock went through his body. The electrocutions were stronger to ones he’d experienced before. A lot stronger. But he had a job. Say nothing. Give them nothing. Don’t respond in the slightest.
A spiked club swung into his stomach. Dazai clenched his mouth shut, his eyes watering. The pain of the spikes, he had braced himself for. The brute force of the club itself was almost worse. The intense nausea that followed almost overcame him. It likely would have, had the pain that followed not distracted him.
The collar around his neck began its attack, a hundred tiny needles impaling and retracting themselves several times a second in an endless cycle. He was sure they went in deeper each time the collar was used. This was the fourth.
A hazy figure towered over him. ‘Ready to talk yet? I promise we’ll stop if you do. If not,’ glee spread across his face. ‘The Boss said we could try a new technique. I’m sure you’ll love it.’ He grabbed Dazai’s face, pulling him up to look him in the eyes. His long talon-like nails dug into his skin. Dazai spat blood in his face.
He received a black eye in response.
Fury lit up his expression, the glee turning to rage. He wiped the blood off his face, arm trembling as his fist closed in on something, releasing his grasp on Dazai’s jaw. As the man roared, still close to his face, a deafening and grotesque bellow, he slammed his hand down upon Dazai’s, outstretched on the arm of the chair. Dazai hissed through his teeth as a blade sunk into his hand, deep enough it embedded itself into the wood below. ‘Bring them in!’
A door slid open and footsteps entered. His eye was beginning to swell, the vision growing weak, the room starting to spin. Moving his fingers was agony, his nerves on fire as he tried to school his face into neutrality. Don’t focus on the knife. Focus on the footsteps. On the figures fast approaching. Just don’t think about the knife.
Two heaved something behind them, a third following closely, his arms outstretched, eyes darting between the weights the men dragged across the blood-splattered floor. They shoved the weights in front of them, removing hoods with a flourish.
Any hope of remaining neutral and in control was instantly lost.
No.
Two red-headed men sat on the floor, covered in cuts and bruises, their hands bound by a glowing orange light. Dazai could smell the singed skin. Chuuya’s gloves had been taken and he’d lost his hat. Oda seemed more aware of his surroundings than Chuuya, whose gaze remained fixed on the ground, rapidly blinking and swaying slightly.
Drugged, Dazai deduced. The dose had worn off on Oda, but not quite yet on Chuuya. An ability user in what had appeared to be a group of non-gifted individuals. He didn’t have time to hazard a guess as to why they were here when his jaw was gripped again. He hadn’t realised his mouth had been agape.
‘It’s your lucky day, Dazai Osamu,’ the man squeezed his fingers around Dazai’s skin, dragging across the cuts already left. ‘Your best friends. One will leave here with just a mild concussion, the other…’
No. No. No.
He chuckled, no doubt feeling Dazai’s pulse soar through the roof as he put the pieces together. ‘Just pick one. One to save, one to die. Pick who dies.’
Chuuya froze in place. His eyes didn’t leave the floor still. Oda paled, eyes dancing between Dazai and Chuuya. He had no doubt he looked horrendous - covered in blood, cuts and bruises, barely able to unravel his twisting vision.
‘And if I don’t pick?’
It was the first thing Dazai had said since he arrived.
Maniacal glee returned. ‘If you don’t pick, we’ll assume you’re ready to have them both slaughtered. That option takes a lot longer, though. Shame. At least choosing one takes only a few minutes.’ He sighed. ‘The last time someone refused to choose it went on for days. Even I got bored by the end.’
Oda’s eyes met Dazai’s. He glanced pointedly at Chuuya for a moment. Chuuya’s chest was moving in and out far too rapidly to be healthy, eyes still trained to the floor. His head was shaking slightly, a pool of water forming beneath him.
Think. There’s always a third option. Think.
‘The clock’s ticking, Dazai Osamu. We wouldn’t want our guests to be waiting too long, would we?’
Oda stared intently at him, no tremor in his body. No fear. Just selflessness and determination to get two teenagers home safely.
Dazai’s thoughts flashed back to the last time they had been at the bar together, drinking happily, making jokes. Happy. Enjoying life.
The word cut into Dazai’s throat, sharper than any dagger. ‘Let Chuuya go.’
An eyebrow is raised. ‘Not what I would have done, but an interesting choice.’ He turned to the men across the room. ‘You heard him.’
Chuuya’s head has shot up, eyes bloodshot. ‘No! Dazai, you bas-’
His words are cut short with a strike to the back of the head with a gun. Chuuya is carried away.
‘Dazai.’ Oda looked at him sharply. ‘Do what you must. Find a way to escape. Bring Chuuya with you. Tell the shopkeeper I’m grateful. Do some good for this world.’
A choked sob escapes from Dazai. ‘I’m sorry, Odasaku. I’m...I’m so…’ Another sob breaks through his barrier.
Oda smiles softly. ‘It’s okay. Knowing you’ll be able to find happiness with him is enough. You made the right choice.’
The gunshot wakes him up.
His bandages are covered in sweat, his hands shaking. He can’t get enough oxygen, so he takes another breath. And another. And another. And-
‘Osamu,’ a gentle voice breaks through. Chuuya. ‘It was a dream. You aren’t there now. You’re safe.’