Chapter Text
It wasn't uncommon for Chuuya to walk into his hated partner's office to see Dazai slumped against the wall or limp in his spinning chair, bleeding out of the wrists and forearms. It was for times like these that Chuuya kept a spare roll of bandages, the elastic kind, in his coat even if he knew that Dazai did too. It was also for tiems like these that Chuuya had taken an emergency medical course and forced Dazai to attend with him.
With a heavy sigh that spoke of complete and udder tiredness, Chuuya closed the heavy door behind him and knelt to deal with Dazai's bullshit once again. The brunet was drunk once again. Drunk on pain and emptiness rather than the strong alcohol that once resided in the shattered bottle on the floor next to him. Dazai had a shard of particularly sharp glass in one hand, the one connected to the arm he wasn't bleeding out of, and a pile of razors and box cutters that had all been discarded.
Dazai was like this sometimes, unable to choose which he wanted to use. Sometimes it was a razor for its clean and deep enough, not to painful initially but stung like a bitch later, cut. Sometimes it was a box cutter, easy to cut deep especially if he got the angle right, which he always did. Sometimes he used a knife, which tented to hurt more in the cut and sting profusely afterward. Other times, like now, Dazai grew bored of them all and smashed an expensive bottle of chuuya's wine, pilfered from his expansive alcohol rack, which happened to contain only wine.
"Chuuya," the pain drunk man murmured, heavily lidded eyes dragging themselves up to his face but not quite making it. Chuuya ignored him, not in the mood to deal with his antics, but begrudgingly turned his attention to the man when he felt a weak tug on the bottom of his vest.
"What?" he bit out in an exasperated tone. His eyebrows scrunched up lightly, already annoyed by his rude and immature partner.
"Chuuya, I'm sorry," he murmured, not making any sense. "Please stop. Please cut open my wrists." Chuuya sucked in a sharp breath. This was not the first time Dazai had asked him to treat him, but it was the first time he had used 'please', and it was the first time he blatantly asked Chuuya to kill him.
"No, Mori-san would literally kill me."
"Hnn..." came the sound of Dazai's childish whining.
"Oi! Shut up!" Chuuya snapped, regretting it a moment later when Dazai's already empty face lost its fake emotion. "Sorry, just would you please stop whining and let me treat you?" Chuuya's face was tinged with pink now, his face displaying clear irritation. Damn it, Chuuya didn't come in here to plead with this dumbass, he had come here to dump a shit ton of paperwork on him. Damn it.
Dazai released Chuuya's vest with a quiet sigh laden with a life of suffering. He knew that even if Chuuya didn't treat him he wouldn't bleed out, only accomplishing increasing the infection risk. He winced as the ginger poured rubbing alcohol over his arm, secretly proud that despite wishing to cut himself up and let himself bleed out, Dazai had limited himself to cutting on a mere single surface of his body.
"Shit, how deep did you cut?" Chuuya's voice pulled him from his thoughts, diminishing his personal pride with it.
"Hnn, I don't know," Dazai mumbled in reply. His head was pounding, a mix of dehydration, sleep deprivation, and blood loss. On top of that he was dizzy as hell from lack of food. Dazai truly thought he would pass out right then and there, he just hoped he would never wake up. A sharp sting accompanied by the sound of skin hitting skin caused a spike in his headache, even if the slap was considerably weak.
"Don't do that."
"Do what...?"
"Faint."
"And why's that?"
"...You know why."
Yes, Dazai did know why, though he was not pleased. With yet another sigh, he had given up counting them long ago, Dazai resigned himself to his fate of suffering here under Chuuya's merciless hands until the chibi was done or Mori called him for yet another mission, not particularly likely in his current state.
The stinging faded away at last, replaced by the familiar feeling of his arm being wrapped by bandages. These were elastic, he knew, and would be far less comfortable than his usual garb.
"That hurts chibi." No it didn't, Dazai was just a lying asshole who didn't know how to shut up, and both men knew it.
"Shut up shitty Dazai, I'm not leaving these unwrapped."
"Why don't you just let me die?" Dazai wailed meekly, unable to raise his voice or invoke the proper emotions and tones without causing his headache to spike.
"If you died I would too. We both know Mori will require the use of corruption even if you're gone." Chuuya paused and prodded Dazai's forehead before speaking again. "How many pills did you take?" Yeah, Dazai knew Chuuya must have suspected something, as it wasn't exactly unusual for Dazai to accompany his cutting with a heavy dose of various pills, typically resulting is heavy puking.
"Only a bottle," Dazai acknowledged begrudgingly.
"Of what!?"
"Hmm, some kind of painkiller I believe," he answered vaguely.
"And how full was it?"
"Half? I didn't pay attention."
"Yes, I noticed," Chuuya muttered harshly, teeth now gritted. With a drawn out sigh, Chuuya walked to the small yet fancy bathroom connected to Dazai's office and proceeded to remove every sharp object he could find as well as all the pills.
"Now go puke it all up," Chuuya commanded Dazai as he reappeared from the now Dazai proof (no, Dazai would always find a way) bathroom. Dazai grumbled but crawled painfully to the bathroom, Chuuya closing the door behind him. A few minutes later Chuuya, concerned but unwilling to admit it, opened the bathroom door to see Dazai leaning against the wall. His headache was admittedly fading now, the toxins mostly removed from his system.
Chuuya gripped Dazai by the elbow, a spot he knew was rarely cut, and pulled the boy up, then paused. His face shifted from annoyed to furious in the under a second.
"Dazai you piece of shit!" he screech, not so gently tossing his partner behind him. The damn shrimp, not eating enough. It was his fault Chuuya could so easily throw him. Chuuya growled (not like a dog!) and snatched his choker, which had been missing for the past week from the bathroom counter.
"Oh? You found it?" Dazai giggled at his parter, more hysterical than pain drunk now that Chuuya thought about it.
"When the hell did you take this?!" Chuuya seethed, not caring that Dazai wasn't in the best shape to be fighting. Dazai giggled again, and god that very much out of it giggle was pissing Chuuya off.
"My dog wasn't paying attention so I decided to take that!" he exclaimed lightly, finally deciding his head was recovered enough for teasing Chuuya.
"Fuck you. I don't care if Mori-san kills me, one day I will tear you limb from limb!" Dazai merely flashed Chuuya a knowing smile and turned his arm over to reveal the fresh bandages that were both covered in blood and coming undone.
Chuuya let out a screech that could be heard many rooms away, kicked in the cupboard under the sink, and then redid Dazai's bandages. Fuck it. Fuck it all.
Dazai was beginning to think Mori wanted him dead. Seriously, what kind of person gives a whole pound of paper work while knowing Dazai had just gone through an 'episode'? Dazai knew that Mori knew, otherwise he would not have sent Chuuya to bring the paper work, which he had left on the floor after redoing Dazai's bandages knowing full well that bending over would exacerbate Dazai's fresh cuts. The audacity of that asshole.
He groaned, trying to force himself to get through just one more paper, even if he knew it was futile. Damn, he wished Chuuya had let him die. He would just have to strangle that shitty doctor when he was- shit, Dazai was such a fucking idiot.
"Akutagawa!" he called as loudly as he could from the door way. He returned to his desk and a moment later a scarily pale face with no eyebrows peeked through the door way.
"Yes Dazai-san?" Akutagawa asked, as much of a dog as Chuuya.
"Sort through these papers. Give me the important ones and do the rest yourself." Akutagawa looked at Dazai with his mouth slightly agape, eyes bulging at the massive pile of paper work. "This is all very important," Dazai chided at his look, knowing exactly what to say. "It proves that you're worthy of not just being a pawn for fighting." Dazai cast Akutagawa a sideways smirk knowing the boy had been caught.
"Of course Dazai-san!" the rash teen replied as he scooped up the papers and began to flip through them as fast as he could on the way out. Dazai sighed contentedly, though he was anything but, and placed his feet up on his desk. Yes, Dazai was very glad Akutagawa was so desperate for his attention all the time. Now if only the fifteen year old (almost sixteen. He wasn't that immature.) could force himself to discard the blades that sat heavy and comforting in his pocket, drawing his hand to them.
"Dazai!" his hand jumped away from his pocket at lighting speed as a particular ginger stormed into his office for the second time in two days.
"Yes?" Dazai asked with a sigh, though he knew exactly what this was about.
"Why is Akutagawa mumbling like a mad man outside and sorting those papers that Mori-san gave to you?"
"No reason," Dazai said and stood up. He walked to the door, just past where Chuuya was standing. "So what does Mori want to see me for?"
"Stop predicting shit like that. It's creepy!" Chuuya argued, and did not respond. Instead the two exited the room bickering past the completely work absorbed Akutagawa and the number of mafia members, all the way to Mori's office.
"Ladies first," Dazai drawled with an infuriating grin.