Chapter Text
There’s blood on his hands.
It coats him in a crimson red, the colour extending from the bottom of his palm to the tips of his fingers, and suddenly, everything feels far too present. Far too real.
He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, the only thing that floods into his head is white noise. His best friend is dying. He was too late.
He knows Oda doesn’t have much longer left. He knows he should at least be there, be present for his last moments, but bile rises in his throat, and a sob catches. He doesn’t cry- he never has- but for a moment he can feel it bubbling up. He knows there are words coming out of his mouth, but he doesn’t know what they are; he doesn’t know what he is.
“...Something I want to say to you.”
More words come out. They keep pouring out of him. He knows Oda can probably hear him holding back tears, but he doesn’t care anymore. He knows he’s making excuses; he’s rambling even if his mind can’t comprehend what he’s saying, but oh god, what he would give for another day- just another hour– even a minute.
Oda grabs Dazai’s hair, making their eyes meet. It’s the only thing that stabilizes him from his panic.
Oh god he is going to die-
Oda is going to die and what then?
What does he do from there?
“Listen.”
Dazai’s breath hitches from the sound, the panic becoming secondary to Oda’s last words. He doesn’t want to let him down- doesn’t want his friend to feel unfulfilled even in his last moments.
“You told me that you might find a reason to live if you lived in a world of violence and bloodshed.” His words are forced out, as if his lungs can’t handle anymore.
“Yeah, but who cares what I said now?” He’s frantic and he knows it, trying to come up with a way to keep Odasaku alive. A plea he knows won’t be answered no matter who he begs.
“You won’t find it. You must know that already: Whether on the side that kills people or the one that saves people, nothing beyond what you expect will appear. Nothing in this world can fill that lonely hole you have. You will wander the darkness for eternity.” His voice is as firm as it always is, as if he isn’t dying right before Dazai’s eyes, he shudders.
Dazai knows. He knows it’s true, but to hear it out loud from someone else- from one of his closest friends. The wound is almost too deep to bear.
His voice gets quiet for a moment, before he takes a shuddering breath, “Odasaku.. What should I do?”
“Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, become a good man. Save the weak and protect the orphans. Neither good nor evil means much to you, I know... but that would make you at least a little bit better.”
Dazai takes a breath, his eyes glazing over with tears, “How do you know?”
Odasaku gives a small smile, one of the few things that prove he’s still alive aside from his shuddering, half hearted breathing. “Of course I know, I know better than anyone, because.. I am your friend.”
His breathing gets worse, and internally Dazai’s panic starts coming back, but he shoves it down. He can’t let Oda see him so weak in what he knows are his last few seconds of living.
“I see, I will do as you ask.” It’s the first time his voice doesn’t crack or break, he says it with rigidity he’s learned to carry himself within the mafia, a voice which Oda can believe and hold on to, even if he isn’t sure if he’ll survive in his attempt to leave.
“People exist to save themselves huh.. how true…”
Odasaku’s eyes flutter shut, and Dazai pushes everything back even farther, not daring to let his emotions bubble up. Odasaku slumps over in Dazai’s arms as his hand falls from his hair, pulling off Dazai’s bandages in the process.
He cradles Odasaku’s body, and for a moment- in a near empty room with two dead bodies and the silhouette of a walking dead man, he allows himself to sob over the corpse of his dear friend.
It’s not the first time, it certainly won’t be the last.
—
Chuuya’s bored. He hasn’t had any new assignments for the past week and it’s boring. He’s been on bed rest for a week after Mori declared that the injuries he had sustained were far too great to warrant him working. He knows what that really means: Mori doesn’t want his precious weapon to break. Tough luck breaking something that isn’t even human.
He’s been staring at the ceiling for days, no one has come to see him, not even Dazai has bothered to come over and annoy him until Chuuya inevitably has to force him out of his house.
He sighs. What is there even to do besides lay around waiting for something to happen? He’s here for another week, with not a word from anyone. His phone has buzzed exactly once this whole week, a text from Mori on the first day reminding him to stay in bed.
He’s been wallowing in bed for so long, and the solitude is almost enough to drive him insane. He’s been through a million scenarios, created thousands of stories, watched at least two dozen movies.
In all his self-pity, he almost doesn’t notice when the front door slams open. He groans internally. Hopefully this isn’t another raid; it won’t exactly be hard to get rid of them, but they’re so annoying to clean up after.
Instead the scuffling he hears is familiar, almost too familiar.
“Dazai, why the fuck are you in my house?”
There’s no response that comes from the living room, and he sighs before getting out of bed. His legs tired from the lack of movement in the past few days. He stretches his arms before walking into his living room to see Dazai grabbing a random assortment of items.
“Dazai what the hell are you doing?”
Dazai doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even look at Chuuya, as if he’s in some sort of trance. He hurries past Chuuya into his room, his head hanging down, not meeting his eye. Just what the hell was going on?
He’s rummaging through his drawer when Chuuya shakes his shoulder in order to get some sort of response.
Dazai looks up at him for the first time since he broke into his house, and oh god. There are dried tear tracks on his face, and he looks so dead. It’s the first time Dazai has looked anything but stoic or smug. He looks away again and Chuuya knows that something is deeply, deeply wrong.
“We’re leaving.”
Chuuya hesitates, confused, “Leaving where?”
Dazai gets up, and moves to Chuuya’s closet, picking out seemingly random clothing, “We’re leaving the Mafia.”
Chuuya freezes and he knows that this is an awful idea, that they’re probably going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere for even thinking of deserting the mafia when they’re such high ranking officers. But, Chuuya is an idiot, and maybe the slightest bit suicidal, so instead of objecting, or yelling, or even demanding answers from Dazai he just sighs, “Okay.”
Dazai spends a bit more time rummaging around before he’s satisfied. he shoves whatever he’s gotten from his home into his pockets before dragging Chuuya out of the house.
“Dazai- Dazai!” Chuuya pulls a bit on the grip that he has on him.
Dazai looks a bit annoyed before turning back to look at him.
“Dazai you idiot it’s the middle of winter at least let me get my coat!”
Dazai just rolls his eyes before taking his coat off and putting it over Chuuya, “Here, happy? Now let’s go before someone starts asking us questions.”
Chuuya wrinkles his nose, why does his best friend have the absolute worst fashion taste? Instead of expressing his distaste he sighs and lets himself get dragged away into the dark of the cold winter night.