Work Text:
One doesn’t need to be a genius to work out that something’s up; though, Ranpo suspects only he himself is getting actually, properly concerned. (As usual, when working with people who notice so little).
Dazai hasn’t shown up for work for a couple days in a row - while that in itself isn’t something new, the circumstances are different than his usual disappearing act. Before he just vanished without a word (and, really, it wouldn’t kill to let Ranpo know why, but Dazai enjoys being a pain in the ass), there’d been days of him cutting his hours short, coming in late only to leave early. His attention span has been even worse than usual, Dazai spending most of his days staring at the papers under his pen or some spot on the wall. He’d been ditching field work - not in his usual ‘I’m trying to get out of doing work’ but honestly trying his damndest to stay put in the office, something Ranpo knows he loathes. He'd barely been doing any work (well, alright - that one is par for the course) and driving Kunikida up the wall with how frequently he’s been taking breaks. At times he’d just spring off of his chair and skip out to the hallway, not to be seen for the next ten or so minutes, multiple times a day. As much as Dazai slacks off on any given day, normally it’s more idle, lounging around with a book and headphones; that, or he abandons work just to pester someone. Purposefully being a nuisance. The new breaks, the disappearing and then reappearing as if nothing’s happened, Ranpo suspects are, somehow, something Dazai honestly can’t help.
The way he’d been acting was ringing alarm bells in his head, too. Dazai has been just a bit quieter, hesitant to talk or hang out after work, withdrawn, yet pushier in a way Ranpo recognises too well. Putting up an act so no one sees he’s spiralling. It’s not enough to be wary just yet - Ranpo knows Dazai’s tells, and he’s not an idiot; but it doesn’t sit right either, especially with the new changes to his behaviour at work.
He idly sits at work for the few days Dazai doesn’t show, trying to figure out if something’s really amiss - if Dazai were kidnapped, he’d have somehow let them know (and Ranpo is sure - it did happen before); if he were sick, he’d just be insufferable about it. Unless he’s severely sick. It is like Dazai, the damn idiot, to pretend he has no feelings or weaknesses. The idea of Dazai being ill doesn’t sit very well with him, though, so he moves on to other theories. Troubles in his private life - those, Ranpo knows he’d come to bitch about in the office, and they don’t fit with his shaky work schedule unless it’s an extremely elaborate and weird love affair (highly unlikely). It could just be the depression, God knows it tends to sneak up on Ranpo with the way it makes Dazai behave, but he just doesn’t think it’s only that.
He mulls it over, just about ready to start actually taking notes, but then, the unexpected happens. His phone pings with a new text; and, while that in itself isn’t a novelty of any kind, once he looks-
3:19PM
From: Osamu (づ￣ ³￣)づ
come over after work
dont tell anybody
As if he hadn’t been worrying enough, it’s just like Dazai to pour fuel right into the fire and poke it with a stick.
It’s not like Dazai never texts him. They do text quite often (usually at work, instead of, well, working), and talk over the phone, and schedule things, all the regular stuff. Dazai never starts the conversations or prompts meetings; unless he’s in a bad way. He usually waits for Ranpo to offer, knowing that Ranpo knows he needs to be the one to come out with an initiative (for all the aura of confidence Dazai displays, he’s surprisingly afraid of rejection). If he texts like this out of the blue, well… it’s not pleasant, to think what awaits him after work.
For the rest of the day, he steels himself into possibly having to talk Dazai off the edge, once more. It never gets easier, now matter how many days he’s spent by his hospital bed by now.
He tries his best to feign nonchalance as he leaves work, quickly dodging any paths their co-workers take. It’s not like he can’t trust them - they just don’t understand Dazai the way Ranpo does (Atsushi is yet to realise Dazai means it whenever he tries to take his life - he likes the kid, but God, is he dense). And Dazai did ask not to tell anybody; so Ranpo makes a few clever turns, makes sure there’s no tails on him, and skips towards the fancy tower that houses Dazai’s apartment.
(Well… it’s less Dazai’s apartment and more Dazai’s husband’s apartment, but oh well, same difference. What’s Dazai’s is his and vice versa, or something like that.)
He leisurely walks across the lobby, paying no mind to the guards stationed here and there, and takes the elevator, having long memorised the access code to the apartment. The actual ride up, he spends eyeing the security cameras - there’s two in the elevator itself, which is a bit excessive, but the building is ridiculously lavish, so no wonder they’ve got enough money for pointless cameras like that. Once that’s done, and it does take a while to climb up to the highest damn floor, he strolls to the penthouse - he lets himself inside without bothering to knock; Dazai never brothers with answering the door. Nakahara is likely inside, so Ranpo would just rather walk in and have the upper hand of being already inside immediately.
As he thought, Nakahara is home, sitting at the kitchen island with a book in hand, looking far too baffled to see Ranpo in his house. Not that Ranpo thought Dazai would tell him he invited someone - it’s Dazai.
“Uh,” Nakahara stammers, furrowing his brows. Really, Ranpo doesn’t think Dazai has a bad taste in men, but it’s a shame Nakahara always seems to be pissed off - the wrinkles on his forehead aren’t very flattering. “Hi, Edogawa?”
While Ranpo doesn’t think they’ll ever even be on a first name basis, they do see each other occasionally. Ranpo is the only one in the Agency that’s aware of Dazai’s marital status, and it’s usually he that ends up summoning Nakahara when Dazai needs to be taken home, either after a failed attempt, a lead-up to an attempt, or just a shitty day overall. They’ve sat together by Dazai’s hospital bed enough times by now that it pretty much could be called their thing.
“Nakahara,” Ranpo exclaims happily, toeing off his shoes, without bothering to put them away. He doesn’t miss how Nakahara immediately twitches at that. “Don’t you have something to do today? Not here?”
“This is my house,” he scoffs. Ranpo rolls his eyes, throwing his coat and hat on the couch once he’d taken them off.
“Yeah, sure, I know, but you and I also both know why I’m here,” Ranpo grins, enjoying the way Nakahara’s eyes darken. He is quite fun to tease - no wonder it’s Dazai’s favourite pastime. “And I promised to keep it private! So, shoo, off you go.”
“He’s my damn husband-”
“He still has a right to privacy,” Ranpo walks towards him, his tone of voice as light as he can muster without straight-up telling Nakahara to fuck off. “I don’t know what he wants from me, but he asked to speak alone, and so you’re gonna be a good little mafia-man and run off for an hour or so while we do our thing. I promise we’ll keep the gossip about you to a minimum.”
Nakahara doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but then he scoffs and gets up, slamming his book shut. Ranpo watches silently as he dons his jacket, shoes and hat, and turns to Ranpo once again. His face is guarded, as always when speaking with Ranpo, but he can see a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.
“He’s not been feeling well,” is what Nakahara ends up saying after a bit of time. “He’s been sick, I mean.”
Ranpo narrows his eyes. Nothing he hadn’t suspected.
“Physically?”
Nakahara nods. “Some sorta stomach bug, I think. That, and-... it looks like another episode creeping up. Dunno which bothers him more, but- just so you know.”
“I already knew, of course, but thanks.”
Nakahara rolls his eyes at him - the gall, really; but he gives Ranpo a stiff nod, and wordlessly leaves, grabbing his house keys from a hook near the door before he disappears behind them. That’s one thing ticked off the list.
With that taken care of, Ranpo slowly makes his way through the open-floor living area, towards the hall, once again entering without waiting for permission. As he’d expected, Dazai is in bed, still in his sleep clothes, hair tousled and clearly not brushed, likely not even washed. His arms and neck are bare, but Ranpo is familiar with the gallery of scars and marks Dazai has on his skin. He spares a second to check if he sees anything new, but, thankfully ruling against that, he zeroes in on his face instead.
Dazai looks, well… terrible. Not as in about-to-keel-over-and-die, but definitely sick. He’s pale, with a thin layer of sweat on his skin under the unkept mop of hair, sweaty and sticking to his forehead. That, and he’s laid in a foetal position, curled up on his side and cradling a pillow to his stomach. There’s a - thankfully empty, cause Ranpo gets squeamish embarrassingly easily - bucket by the edge of the bed, aligned with Dazai’s head, probably put there by Nakahara. Dazai doesn’t even try to lift his head as Ranpo waltzes inside and sits down on the foot of the bet, careful not to jostle him.
“You could’ve just asked Nakahara to phone in sick for you,” Ranpo starts off, knowing very well that, not unlike a feral cat, Dazai needs to be coaxed into the conversation. “At least that way Kunikida would stop cursing your name every hour that you’re not in the office.”
Dazai smiles at that - a small, careful smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and drops as quick as it appears.
“This might last for a while,” is what he replies, voice tired and raspy - his throat must be burning, which means he had been throwing up a lot; likely food poisoning, then. Maybe a nasty stomach flu. Hopefully not an actual poisoning (though Ranpo doesn’t rule it out just yet). “I’ll come in eventually, once the worst of it’s passed.”
“You haven’t been to a doctor.”
It’s not a question - both of them know the answer, after all. Dazai has to be dragged kicking and screaming to Yosano, yet alone seeing a regular GP.
“You should talk to Yosano, at least,” he continues out loud. “She could make sure you’re not halfway to dehydrating to death. And she’d get in touch with someone to adjust your antidepressants.”
Dazai narrows his eyes just a bit. Ranpo does the same.
“I know you,” is what he says. “I see when you start to feel bad. I know you think you’re so almighty and trained that you can hide it, but I see it, so you don’t have to act with me,” he says, in what he hopes is a comforting tone. “Is that why you’ve not phoned in?”
Dazai shrugs, nuzzling his face into the bedsheets. He sighs before turning his head to Ranpo again, his expression no longer carefully neutral - rather than that, there’s just a touch of a grimace to his mouth.
“I’ve stopped taking the medication.”
Ranpo freezes, eyes fixed on Dazai’s face, looking for some kind of reason as to why the fuck he’d do something like that. The whole ordeal hasn’t been easy, Ranpo knows - he’d been there by Dazai’s bedside after a failed suicide attempt too many times.
But Dazai had been making progress, even if he himself can’t see it, Ranpo sure can. He’s been happier, his bad days weren’t so severe, and even if he had depressive episodes, they were manageable - he was doing good. And, sure, medication isn’t everything, but it certainly won’t help when Dazai just decided to cut himself off without talking to anyone.
“I hope you have a good reason,” Ranpo chokes out, feeling his hands trembling. “Why the hell would you do that?! Those help you, you idiot! I know you can’t stomach them right now, but you’ve been acting off for longer than this! I don’t know what’s going on in that damn head of yours but these are good for you! There’s no way tha-”
“I’m pregnant.”
-well.
That wasn’t exactly on the hypotheses list.
It makes sense, though, once Ranpo has a second to think on it. The vomiting and nausea (and now it makes sense, why Dazai had been vacating the office so often - to run to the bathroom once no one could see him), the initial fatigue, the way he’d been so distracted. And the medication-
“Right,” Ranpo mumbles. “Those aren’t safe to take when-”
“Yeah,” Dazai replies numbly, now tracing shapes on the bedsheet with his finger. “I stopped taking anything when I found out.”
“But you didn’t see a doctor.”
They’ll have to drag him to one now. Yosano might have some general knowledge, definitely more than Ranpo or Dazai, but she’s not an obstetrician. There’s a thousand things to consider for when they’ll have to start looking - not a train of thought for right at the moment, though.
“I took a test.”
“How long ago?”
“Two weeks, give or take. I’m two months at most. Probably less.”
No damage was done, most likely, not in such a short time. Ranpo isn’t exactly an expert on these things, but he has enough general knowledge to assume it’s fine - Dazai knows the proper way to cut himself off any medication, too, so he doesn’t have to worry about that, either. It’s the shock and withdrawals that would’ve caused the most harm.
Ranpo breathes in, and crawls forward on the bed, now sitting next to Dazai’s head. He nudges him until Dazai lays his head on his lap, his forehead pressed against the soft of Ranpo’s pants, squished into it a little bit, but still breathing comfortably. Ever so slowly, he starts to brush his fingers through Dazai’s hair, content to, for a moment, sit in silence, let Dazai soak in some comfort.
“I’m 22,” Dazai says quietly. “This is-” he cuts himself off.
“You’re far too young,” Ranpo mumbles, just as quietly. “There’s options. If you don’t want it.”
“I want it, I think,” Dazai answers, gripping the fabric of Ranpo’s pants tight in one of his hands. “It’s not- obviously we haven’t been planning it, or even talking about it. I never imagined- …But I- not going through with it- it’s not an option. I can’t do that.”
Ranpo nods, and keeps threading his fingers through the fluffy strands of Dazai’s hair, letting him collect his thoughts in silence, save for an occasional hum of some song he’s heard on the radio lately.
“‘s just… Chuuya’s with the mafia. I have so many enemies. The work we do is dangerous on a regular day, not even mentioning the amount of times someone’s almost levelled the whole town. How do people like us take care of children?” Dazai laughs. “How does someone like me do it?”
Ah. So it’s not just about the actual dangers. Dazai is being an idiot again.
“You’re just as capable of it as anyone else.”
Dazai scoffs, distangling himself and sitting up, eyes hardened. He’s not so easily moved, but the emotional severity of this and spike in his hormones might be why he looks that damn close to snapping already. Ranpo’s glad, in a weird way. Who, in the whole world, can say that Dazai is comfortable enough around them to act like this?
“I’m not a good person,” he hisses. “The shit I’ve done-”
“Is in the past,” Ranpo cuts in. “You’ve changed. You’re not who you were then.”
“I tortured people!” he keens, as if trying to justify to Ranpo that he should be executed, or something. It feels heavily like what he’d been like when he first joined the Agency. “I killed, I manipulated, I did the worst of the worst!”
“You were a kid!” Ranpo exclaims, now also raising his voice. “It was awful! It was immoral, and terrible, and you weren’t a good person - but you were fourteen, and manipulated and abused for years. You did what you had to to survive. It was self preservation, and you’re not there anymore. You’ve changed, you’re doing good now, you don’t hurt others and we both know you never wanted to hurt others. You’ve been working every day since you’ve left to atone for the past.”
“I barely want to live,” Dazai chokes out, and, shit, he’s crying. God, Ranpo never does well when Dazai cries- “When I’m on medication it’s not so bad but I can’t take them anymore! How can I keep this up for so long and not hurt them because I can’t stomach the idea of just keeping myself alive?”
Ranpo takes Dazai’s hands, anticipating that he’ll start scratching his scars anytime now, squeezing them tightly, hoping for at least some of the tension to melt off his frame.
“Osamu,” Ranpo says gently, smiling when Dazai meets his eyes. “You and I both know it’s not gonna be easy. You won’t just magically feel like everything is okay. It won’t cure you, but, just maybe - maybe it’ll give you a little push. Enough of a reason to keep going, just until you can go back to taking your medication. And even if it doesn’t, even if you still feel like you’re on the brink, we’ve got you. I’ve got you, Nakahara has got you, Fukuzawa and Yosano’ve got you. We’ll all be there, every step of the way.”
It’s enough to have Dazai start shaking with silent sobs - and that’s enough for Ranpo to pull him into a tight embrace, rubbing Dazai’s back, holding him securely in place, letting Dazai cry himself out. They sit there for twenty minutes, maybe more, as Dazai’s sobs taper off to occasional sniffles and hiccups.
“You’ve not been eating much, have you?” he asks, quite pointlessly, though he hopes it’ll be enough to let Dazai calm down without much embarrassment.
“Can’t keep anything down,” he croaks out with what Ranpo thinks is a grimace. Good. Complaining and whining is good, if at least to make Dazai feel a little bit more normal.
“Well, I did throw your husband out, but he should be back soon. How about we look up something that you might be able to actually stomach and then bully him into cooking?”
“You just want an excuse to stay for dinner and bicker with Chuuya.”
“Guilty as charged,” he grins. Eventually, Dazai pulls away - and he does look a little better. There’s tear tracks on his red cheeks, sure, but at least his posture seem a little less tense, and his eyes feel more honest.
“Ranpo,” he starts, only to cut himself off, gazing towards the door. Ranpo grins at him, kicking himself off the bed (careful not to step into the bucket on the floor).
“I’ll stay when you break the news,” he replies, although Dazai hadn’t even asked.
The soft smile he gets in return makes his heart clench. The upcoming months won’t be easy, but they’ve got it, Ranpo thinks. And if he spends the next few days at work crafting a list of baby names, well- that’s for no one else to know.