Chapter Text
5
It wasn’t meant to be like this.
At all.
‘Cause sure, Atsushi was technically a public defender now, but that doesn’t mean that he was ready to fight to the death on a sinking ship with a raging lunatic!
Fighting itself had never been something Atsushi was particularly good at; he was more of a ‘stand to the sidelines scared shitless’ kind of guy. Or a ‘hold his breath until it’s over’ kind of guy. Though he'd nearly been the 'try to stop a fight only to get socked' kind of guy too. And while it’d had kept him alive for long enough to figure out his ability and become part of the agency, it wasn’t like he’d never been in a fight before; those he had been in, he wasn’t proud of, it was kinda embarrassing for him. The first time he’d been it’d been with the older boys at the Orphanage, they’d stolen his book for the third time and one of them had said something he couldn’t quite remember and it had probably been stupid anyways, but it had made Atsushi angry. So bravely, idiotically angry that he’d driven his puny fist through his face, once, just to be jumped by the rest of his entourage. Afterwards they’d all gotten disciplinary punishments, Atsushi had a black eye and walked with a limp and that was the end of that.
The look on the Headmaster’s face when he’d gotten back was like he’d had two hemorrhages apiece since the news broke out. Safe to say that hadn’t been a great day. After that Atsushi had a black eye, a limp, his nose clogged with blood and new scars on his back that'd soon all disappear.
( At the back of his head when he went to sleep a slight growl was let out into nothing, chuffing like it was pleased.)
There’s some potential left in you yet.
The second time he’d been in a fight was with Akutagawa in an alleyway. Kunikida- san had warned him beforehand, but nothing could’ve prepared from what it would’ve been like to be in that situation, to be stabbed, hunted for sport, to be useless when his new friends were gunned down to their deaths. It was terrifying.
Pile hid in the back of the throat as the fear took over. How his stomach sank like an anchor at sea, as the walls caved in on him and everything went quiet, only the buzzing in his veins left a whisper to be heard.
(Fight! Fight -!)
The tiger growled.
Naomi was bleeding out on the ground, the metallic scent hung in the air as a deadly reminder, whoever stood in front of him was dangerous. His blood hummed through his veins, spreading across his body -
He couldn’t remember the rest of it – other than searing pain, electrocuting him from within, as he laid flat on the ground, howling in agony. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Whenever Atsushi anticipated things, he always thought of the worst-case scenario – then he felt relief with a slight delight if the result was better than his anticipation. Never in his wildest imagination could his first mission have gone worse -- no time nor place could’ve warranted this.
But he was weak, he knew he was.
He was weak and he had no one to blame but himself.
In comparison,
Akutagawa fought like a dragon; fierce, in defense, in pursuit of whatever mission the Port Mafia gave him – As prickly as a machine gun and as dangerous as a simmering bomb – Atsushi had been afraid to be near him. Afraid to be hurt, something he feared above all else --
( Because despite being used to fists, too many hands, kicks, a, it didn’t mean that the fear would just stop .)
Gritting his teeth, still, Atsushi pounced on him.
Fear sleeps with him at night and eats with him in the morning. It surrounded him. Fear was an animal instinct that saved him from the meaninglessness of violence, it was a noose hung snug around his throat – and more often than not it made him shake and sob without reason.
The third time reminded him of his Headmaster.
Because everything did.
The only thing Atsushi can remember about the Orphanage’s Headmaster was a blank face; a tall, long, blank face. Attempting to remember more sent gears in his head turning in a direction he wasn’t quite ready to unravel just yet. Puzzles upon puzzles, knots of strings buckled up into a neat ball. The Headmaster’s face was an anomaly, one he most likely created on purpose, less to remember him by, less to link him to. Other than the scars – there were less loose threads to lead back to him.
He couldn’t recall ever being a child, his memories either couldn’t extend that far back, like a stretched out rubber band or he’d locked himself out of that room in his brain years ago. They’d never taken pictures back at the Orphanage but Atsushi was certain he hadn’t changed at all in that time; he’d always been this tall, this broad, this scared. He’d felt like a person all along, the person that he was today – the Headmaster didn’t treat him like he was but Atsushi knew he was a person.
A person, with lungs and a heart and a brain.
A person that was trapped and chained, but a person nonetheless.
Now, miles away from him, miles away from everything, Atsushi still felt a tug on his chain in the middle of a fight.
(People who can’t save others have no right to live!)
Everything felt too familiar. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Potent, like the warm stench of burnt sides from hot pokes, strong - as explosives went off, Atsushi was afraid that he’d die surrounded by fire and death, because he was foolish enough to believe himself strong.
(If you cannot be of use, stand aside and make way for others!)
As he kicked, punched, and raged he tried to push that thought back.
It wouldn’t help him right now.
(He didn’t really know what he was, only that he didn’t want Kyouka to die thinking she was useless.
He didn’t want anyone to die like that, really. It felt too raw.)
Now standing on a sinking ship trying to save a girl, hearing the same words years later Atsushi couldn’t care less if he was useless, he’d try regardless.
“Rashomon: Murakumo!” Akutagawa yelled. Spikes of black crept up so fast Atsushi could only leap back clumsily, right onto a treacherous spear stabbing in him the back.
Howling in pain he bent forward, only to be suspended in air.
“If you must, curse your own weakness. You’re a weakling who’s deluded himself into thinking he was strong. Now you’ll reap what you sow, Weretiger.” Looking down at him Akutagawa looked small. The reality wasn’t like that, he was strong, stronger than Atsushi and so many others, yet he used his strength to torment and kill.
(Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. You ought to remember that the next time you play coy, child. )
The dark cloth of Rashomon creeps near him and Atsushi quickly jumps into the air, away, as tendrils slither around his wrists and ankles.
If he closed his eyes for a second he’d see a tall, gray shadow in the corner of his eye so Atsushi peeled his eyes wide open.
Atsushi wasn’t a fighter, he was just a kid who knew how to roll and take the punches when things went south. But, if he could, for just one day be someone who’d saved someone else that’d be enough.
If Atsushi was a demon for wanting to be stronger, Akutagawa was greedy for wanting more -- Greed is after all a sin.
If someone as worthless, stupid, and useless as Atsushi knew that people needed to be told that they have a right to live, why didn’t Akutagawa? Hubris had never been familiar with him. In fact, it was a feeling so unfamiliar Atsushi had no idea how it’d take form.
“I am weak.” He said. “But I have one advantage.” With his heart in his throat and blood pumping in his veins he felt a rumble in his chest like he was getting ready for something big unraveling inside him.
(If an imbecile like you seeks to survive in a world that abandoned you, you must learn to endure pain.
If not, you will die in short order. The Headmaster would say.)
Why did he say that? Was he stupid? Teaching a child about the dangers of the world by abusing them. What a nutjob. Moreover, was there some important life lesson behind that? What, was he supposed to just become accustomed to being hurt, so it wouldn’t hurt more ?
He didn’t know and frankly he didn’t really care to know, he knew he’d hate it regardless.
“And what’s that?” the smell of smoke tickled his nose, burnt into his memories.
For the first time it smelt of victory.
“-- I can defeat you.” Wishing for more in the Orphanage was selfish and worthy of punishment, but this wasn’t the Orphanage and Akutagawa wasn’t the Headmaster. And if Atsushi longed, strived to be more than he was now, more than a warm vessel to shield others, no one would have to know.
...
The walls painted everything white. It’s made Ryuunosuke blink rapidly as he stared blankly -- he had no idea where he was –
Why, he was suspended in a cloud. But he just couldn’t seem to wake himself up.
Everything hurt –
“Senpai?” A voice called out.
Life was meaningless –
“Senpai.” He tried to decipher who the voice belonged to, but his mind was too hazy.
Death was meaningless – nothing more than a place to go and something to hope for.
“ Senpai ,” It was squeaky and shrill and only made his headache worse.
Ryunnosuke groaned, pissed that even in death people wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone, which then made his side sting and in turn made him groan again.
Fuck. Everything hurts.
This was nothing, he’d survived worse before and he’ll continue to survive worse than this, because it’ll never happen again, At least not the same way.
In the daytime soon he’d walk the streets of Yokohama again, watching mothers and children among fathers and brothers, and he’d feel nothing. He’d see nothing new, thought of nothing other than what skeletons they might hide in their closets – often people watching just to kill time.
In the nighttime he’d see the same mothers and fathers with guns pointed to their temples and he’d feel nothing, see nothing he hadn’t before. And when he went to bed in the early morning, as the dawn dawned upon the sky, he didn’t think of their faces before they died or what their last words were.
The next day he’d walk the streets of Yokohama, between trees in the late spring or the early winter or whatever season it was, and the pollen would make his nose stuffy or the snow would make it red and his cough would flare up –
He’d look, watching children and brothers now sit on benches, hanging their heads, hiding from the world, he’d feel nothing, saw nothing new and thought nothing of it.
(Hanako, Ito, Jun, Katsumi, Maki, Natsuko, Sakura and Taka – when Gin was younger, she would joke that their names fit together perfectly. The ten of them in harmony even alphabetically. ‘It must be fate Ryuu!’)
He could think for years about what the short flame of life meant to him, but nothing would come. Every time, like grasping mist, the answer never formed.
(Dazai-san would berate him if he couldn’t answer, ‘Your life is worthless if you can’t be of use’, was the only answer.)
To be strong was the end goal. The only goal, in fact.
To be strong was the only option.
Defeat had always been with him – sat with him in the dark, laid evenly beneath his skin. Defeat and humiliation were his only companions in the wallowing darkness. Failure stayed with him despite his attempts; He’d failed again, like a brief dream of fading glory and an unreplenished stream. It was there for everyone to see as he laid in the infirmary. He’d been weak before and he’d trained himself to be better, so he had to be better.
( Gin, Hanako, Ito, Jun, Katsumi, Maki, Natsuko, Ryuunosuke, Sakura and Taka.)
The smell of garbage rotting in the hot sun, the scent of grass, dirt, musk, and surviving mixing together with blood. He’d never forget it. Truly. The bitch of a smell had gone and gotten trapped in his head after slumming it for so long.
He didn’t care.
He swore he didn’t.
Everyday. Every day was the same, he’d do what he was told, always at the ready with spears, daggers, with all means possible he’d go to war – and every day, like clockwork he’d come home dirty with other people’s blood.
There’s a means to an end and Ryuunosuke is willing to do whatever to get his –
He’d never let himself go back to being as vulnerable as before. He had too much to lose.
But Akutagawa would be a liar if he said he didn’t envy the Weretiger. Just a little bit.
(He was weak. He was naïve and immature and soft. So why did Dazai- san look at him like that? Why has he never looked at Akutagawa like that?)
Envy was an emotion that often occupied his mind but never quite as often as hunger did – the strive to be stronger, faster, better .
Be better.
(At night when he counted his limbs, he wondered who exactly he was being strong for.)
In the morning he’d forget all about it, it didn’t matter anyways. After all, there was no better place to test oneself than on the battlefield; there’ll be no need for mentors, or lessons or comrades. There will only be him.
(The white walls break into tiles, and he can see again, he sees Higuchi at his side, waiting patiently.)
And that was enough.
4
Hate was a feeling Atsushi was well acquainted with. He hated the Headmaster, he hated the Orphanage, hell he even hated himself. In all instances he’d kept those feelings to himself, like a keepsake to think back only later in life and praise his younger self for their patience. But something about Akutagawa’s face made him want to drive a fist through it. Now, Atsushi wouldn’t consider himself a very violent person. In fact, he hated violence, he was a coward, a mouse of a man, a pussy or whatever else you could call him. Though --Akutagawa just had a very punch-able face, he’d concluded – and the guy certainly didn’t do himself any favors with his attitude, so Atsushi felt no shame in saying it -
He hated Akutagawa.
Long story short; he was an asshole. He had a contentious nature, he sneered at any and every one for so much as breathing and he had little to no frame of common sense or of logic and only ever listened to Dazai. Who was equally as weird in nature and had disturbing takes on things, but Atsushi found he had no interest in learning more about that.
So. He was left with Akutagawa on a mission and had they not been several feet in the air Atsushi would’ve jumped off the deep end. Well, no, that’s a lie, Atsushi couldn’t give up. Not with the agency relying on him.
Though that didn’t stop the unadulterated joy from spreading in his chest when he saw Fitzgerald punch the daylights out of Akutagawa. Had his life not been in danger Atsushi would’ve fucking whooped.
(He deserved it. After what he’d done to the Tanizaki siblings and Kyouka and Atsushi himself and so many others. Besides, it was bound to have happened eventually.)
Fitzgerald advanced on Akutagawa as he coughed wetly on the floor, his back turned to Atsushi.
Quickly, he aimed a kick to the millionaire’s head. His tiger-legs swiping and swiping as Fitzgerald dodged him.
He must’ve sensed it, grabbing onto Atsushi’s leg only to fling into the wall.
“Eugh!”
Making his back bounce off the wall with a thug. Atsushi swore he heard his skull make a disturbing cracking noise.
Across the room as they both had been laid out by their shared opponent, Akutagawa with a bleeding mouth and Atsushi with pounding headache, he had a strange feeling they were in the same boat.
…
“When speaking about the ‘weak’ are you referring to your past self?” Fitzgerald said. From where Ryunnosuke sat behind the Weretiger, he didn’t miss the immediate stiffness in his shoulders or how he flinched.
“I looked up your history. You were nearly killed, twice, in your early childhood by the Headmaster of your Orphanage. Well, what’s more interesting is how after he said, ‘Compared to what your parents did to you in your infancy this doesn’t even count as violence.’”
Ryuu stopped.
He didn’t gasp or move an inch, Dazai- san had taught him better than that. Moreover it didn’t hurt him the way it hurt the Weretiger. Clearly. Looking down at the floor, briefly, he wondered what the Weretiger was looking at, his head still hanging low.
What was he thinking? What should he be thinking right now? What was the right answer to what -
“That must’ve stuck by you. Do you think he would count this as violence?”
“I reckon the old sport would.”
What should one think when reminded of something like that? when reminded of what had once been cut out inside you, holed out for nothing to fill the cavern. He knew he shouldn’t but he wondered if he would know what to say. But he most likely didn’t and wouldn’t, Dazai- san would just stare with that methodical, practiced stare of his.
( The thing is Akutagawa-kun when one person thinks that you’re bad, suddenly everyone else does too. Eventually you start to hate yourself too -)
Everything had always been so easy for him. There it was again, that sinking feeling that there’d been some lesson in this that he’d missed.
Rashomon sliced through the metal below the Weretiger. Quickly, a small creak filled the silence and a sharp breath was heard.
Ryunnosuke wouldn’t know what to say or do unless he was told, like he was most of the time. But that didn’t mean he knew nothing - he understood the Weretiger and he also understood that picking at wounds gave you nothing in the long run.
Together they fell through Moby Dick.
…
Arms stretched out aimlessly, Atsushi laid in the dark of his apartment. Or rather their apartment, Kyouka was fast asleep in the futon, shallow breaths swallowing the silence.
Is this what strong people feel like? stretching his fingers, had Atsushi been normal he wouldn’t be able to see in the dark like this. But alas he wasn’t.
Home from a long and hard mission, his limbs fell flat against the hard floor of his closet, aching all over yet he still couldn’t sleep. Looking up at the ceiling, the walls were chipped white and dirty. It was old and used and uncared for like someone hadn’t been in here long enough to notice - he noted that he’d have to clean at some point.
Atsushi clenched a fist. His thumb snug under fingers, clenching and unclenching, raised at nothing - with whatever resolve he concluded he’d never have imagined this for himself. Truthfully, at the Orphanage moving away had only ever been a pipedream; shared between the closest of close friends as they planned their lives together. Atsushi had kept his ideas close to his chest, having no one to share it with. Wishing to, someday, hopefully, say it to someone who’d be proud of him for getting away. He’d dream of having his own place and be able to make tea on rice in the evening, without sneaking around and he’d clean his dishes and eat out of them again the next day. A simple quiet life. Outside he’d be walking up and down streets in some unnamed neighborhood and he’d wonder how people would talk, what they’d wear and if they’d smile back at him on public transport as kindly as he’d always hoped. His world wouldn’t be confined to his cage anymore…
From now on he knew he didn’t need that or pretty much anything else. If life could taste this sweet, he resolved to not return to bitterness. As ‘someday’ turned to ‘today’ like a flipping page, Atsushi promised that he’d protect his precious life; hold it delicately in his hands like an injured bird or entrap it so it couldn’t fly away. Pulling his arm back he pressed his fist against his chest, feeling his heart thump against his ribs rhythmically. With the beat of Kyouka’s snoring, he fell asleep.
…
“Ryuu,” Gin called.
He cracked an eye open. She was still in her work clothes, most likely just gotten back from a mission. Her eyes tired as she stared at him.
“Oh, you’re home.” Her hair was messy, as usual when she pinned it up. Gin hummed, plopping down on the sofa next to him quietly. Their living room was big, like their couches, but she preferred to be next to him. Ryuu knew that his sister hadn’t changed much from when she was younger.
“Move.”
“No.” Her voice rang. Ryunnosuke closed his eyes again; he’d always loved his little sister’s voice like this. Calm, not croaked from the cold or raspy from having a dry throat. Just normal. Despite the fact that they were in the Mafia they lived peacefully like a normal pair of siblings.
He tried shrugging her head off of him.
Gin smacked his shoulder lightly “Stop, I’m tired.”
She was strong. Strong enough to be in the Black Lizard. There was no way she’d have survived if she wasn’t.
Ryuu groaned back, moving his arm to wrap around her shoulders. They both survived because they were strong, and the other’s weren’t so that’s why they hadn’t. At least that’s what he told himself at night.
The arm that didn’t hold Gin, crept up his side clutching at where his rib cage started beneath his skin.
“The two of you, really are alike.”
“Do not compare me to him!”
He wondered if lying to himself every night helped at all.
3
Dazai- san had teamed him and Akutagawa up, once again, to infiltrate the enemy’s hideout. They were supposed to find the virus ability user to stop the President from dying. While Atsushi hadn’t been with the Agency for that long, he was indebted to the President for taking him when he did.
In fact, Atsushi was indebted to all of the Agency; but lucky as he might be, he couldn’t feign excitement about teaming up with Akutagawa . He’d never been good at lying anyway.
And while he disliked the Mafia (‘dislike’ being a very loaded word), the alliance had kept ridiculous amounts of people from dying so this had to be dealt with and quickly .
Standing in front of Goncharov on top of the world, Atsushi had never felt so powerful. Rashomon breathed in and out of him, beside him, below him - it was as if he was being consumed by the universe itself, in the jaws of a dragon - and yet he couldn’t help but feel at ease.
Is this what Akutagawa feels like all the time?
No wonder the dude was a fighting mad sociopath.
Atsushi leaned back, gathering all his strength like a loose web of strings, his claws were now a meter long, his eyes were like they’d never been before, he could taste the earth and swore he could eat it raw.
The rats in the house of dead never stood a chance.
…
From where Ryunnosuke sat, sucked into quicksand, the Weretiger had a wild and ultimately hard to miss grin spread across his face. All the air in his lungs was punched out of him by some invisible force and it made a dent in his heart; if he relaxed his muscles like his heart he’d fall.
Looking at the Weretiger’s – Nakajima’s face - wild and young and free and sweaty and crazier than any man should be, he knew he’d be falling if he so much as moved an inch. In the end all he did was try to grin back as Atsushi jumped down to him, grabbing him under the armpits and hefting him up, up and out of the quicksand like he weighed nothing, smiling at him like a kid, teeth rotten with sweetness.
“Don’t touch me with any appendages you wish to keep, Weretiger.”
His heartbeat thumping so loudly he could feel it rattle against ribs trying to escape.
Strangely. He’d forgotten he even had a heart.
…
3 WEEKS LATER
In a storm of debris and blood Atsushi and Akutagawa stood side by side. Kamui stands in front of them sword in hand and Ranpo’s words echo in his ears.
(Atsushi, run. You can’t win, just run –)
“The enemy is isolated. We’ll bury the enemy ringleader and close the case.”
“Bury him? But there’s just two of us…”
“Do we need more than that?”
They did. They needed more of - of, logically, everything . Because at the end of the day Akutagawa was the one with a sword protruding from his neck and Atsushi as always got away scot free.
It was so unfair it made him want to scream.