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Chapter Text

Ryuunosuke felt weightless, as if the air around him was passing straight through his molecules like he wasn't there. His eyes might have been open but he wasn't sure; everything was pitch black. It was silent too. Ryuunosuke may as well have been drifting within a black hole, sinking into a void absent of all sight and sound and smell. Perhaps this was death – simply an endless nothingness.

The only confirmation he had that he was still a solid, physical being was a tight grip around his right wrist. "Atsushi?" He tried to call out, but he couldn't hear his own voice so maybe he never said anything at all.

There was only emptiness.

Until the void suddenly collapsed in on itself. Or maybe it happened slowly? Or maybe Ryuunosuke simply fell through a crack?

Whatever way it happened, Ryuunosuke found himself submitting to gravity once again, his back pressed into a smooth, hard surface by a large weight on his chest. Light danced behind his eyelids and the distant sound of birds and car engines trickled into his ears. Something soft tickled his jaw.

Atsushi's hand was still wrapped around his wrist.

Ryuunosuke forced his eyes open, allowing the sun to blind him as he was forced to adjust. Once he'd blinked the spots out of his vision, he was finally able to look down and discover that the annoying fluff brushing his chin was in fact a mop of white hair, and the weight on his chest was none other than the were-tiger to whom he was still attached.

Ryuunosuke didn't breathe. This was far too close, wasn't it? All would be forgiven if he shoved the younger man off of him. It wouldn't even be questioned. It was strange, but the detective almost found himself enjoying the feeling of the closeness. Perhaps that was wrong. After all, the two had been trying to kill each other just six months prior.

Maybe he'd let it slide. Just this once. Atsushi didn't have to know.

"Ryu?"

Ryuunosuke's heart jumped. His face felt warm all of a sudden. A fuzzy feeling like pins and needles took over his body. Oh dear, was he having a heart attack?

Atsushi shifted above him, one hand pressed against his chest while the other remained locked around his wrist. The younger man pushed himself up, using the other's chest as leverage, causing Ryuunosuke to let out a wheezed groan.

Atsushi's eyes blinked open. The gradient of yellow and purple met stormy grey and the two were frozen for a few moments as Atsushi blinked the lingering drowsiness out of his system.

When it finally clicked for the were-tiger that he was lying on top of his once mortal enemy, faces inches apart his face turned pink and he squealed, "I'm so sorry!" As he quickly scrambled off.

"It's fine," Ryuunosuke forced out as he too sat up, ignoring the way his wrist felt cold in the absence of Atsushi's hold. He pulled his gaze away from the blushing were-tiger and directed it to the surroundings.

They were on a rooftop, overlooking a small apartment block, the sea of the Port in the distance, glistening in the mid-day sun.

"Did...did we make it?" Atsushi asked quietly, as if he feared the answer.

"Well," Ryuunosuke began as he studied the surroundings in greater detail, "it's certainly Yokohama."

But definitely not their own. The landscape around them was tranquil to an extent. It lacked the fire and screams and destruction their home had become.

"Then let's find him," Atsushi said, determinedly, his mouth set in a grim line. But Ryuunosuke could see the fear and pain in his eyes.

His hand moved to rest on top of the younger's before he could think to resist. Atsushi turned to him, eyes wide in shock. It was too late for Ryuunosuke to back down though (not that he'd cower from a stupid were-tiger), so he squeezed Atsushi's hand. "It will be fine," he reassured. The secret subtext of 'you will be fine,' went unsaid.

If Ryuunosuke didn't know any better, he'd have thought he saw the shine of tears in Atsushi's gaze – the man was unused to reassurance and genuine kindness coming from anywhere other than his loyal friend Kyouka. Ryuunosuke meant it though. He wouldn't have allowed Atsushi to face the Man in Black again if there'd been any other choice. The were-tiger had been recovering well from the poisonous wounds inflicted on his soul by the leader of the Port Mafia. Ryuunosuke vowed that he wouldn't allow the White Reaper to be drawn to the surface by any one other than the were-tiger himself – especially not him.

After a moment of silence, Atsushi pulled his hand away and stood. "We should be as quick as possible," he said, gaze fixed on the horizon. "We aren't sure if time passes differently between the worlds."

Without waiting for a reply, Atsushi took a running leap off of the building, feline limbs propelling him into the air as his dark grey coat billowed behind him like a cape. Ryuunosuke followed suit, using the tendrils of Rashomon to rocket himself across the gap to the neighbouring rooftop.

Atsushi grinned at him as he landed. "I'll race you to the Agency?" He suggested, the tantalising taunt hanging in the air between them like a carrot on a stick.

Ryuunosuke smirked in response. "If you think you can keep up, Jinko." He didn't stick around to hear Atsushi's spluttered protests at the nickname. The race was on after all. And Akutagawa Ryuunosuke didn't lose to silly, overgrown cats. 

.•°•.

Atsushi hovered by the door, hand raised to knock but not committed to the action. Every muscle in his body had tensed, like the tiger was ready to leap out to enact his fight or flight.

Ryuunosuke hovered behind him, composed, bored even. But Atsushi could see through his partner's stone-faced demeanor. He could smell the nervousness in the air, see the clenched fists hidden in the pockets of his trench coat. They hadn't worked together very long, but they fit together like they'd known each other their whole lives. And maybe they had in a way. No one understood Atsushi's past and fears the way Ryuunosuke did. The two would always be connected by shared pain in a way Atsushi and Kyouka weren't. Not in a stronger way necessarily, just different.

Four cubes of sugar.

This world was very different, certainly, and the two had known that going in. But it was a very different thing to actually experience the differences. They hadn't known what Dazai-san had changed in their universe after all.

The red-haired waitress downstairs had greeted Atsushi with a smile and had huffed when Atsushi returned her greeting with a blank stare and weak wave. She'd commented on his outfit, said it looked dumb, then noticed Ryuunosuke looming in the doorway and practically screamed, raising her fists.

"I know there's a truce Atsushi, but you don't bring the Port Mafia here," she'd said.

"What!? I'd never-" Atsushi dragged the snarling detective out of the cafe and toward the stairwell, calling out apologies over his shoulder as he muffled Ryuunoske's cursing with a large tiger paw.

"Atsushi!?" She called out, sounding slightly mortified.

"Everything's fine!" He yelled as the cafe door slammed shut. It was then Ryuunosuke finally chose to retaliate. The familiar tendrils of Rashomon curled around his biceps and wrists and wrenched him away into the air. Ryuunosuke then pressed him against the wall, hand on his chest and face close enough that Atsushi could see the rings of silver in his eyes.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then his fellow detective blinked like he was refocusing on reality, his pale ears turned pink and suddenly Atsushi was Dr to the floor.

"Don't try to manhandle me again, Jinko," he said, scowling.

"Don't threaten random waitresses," Atsushi countered as he climbed to his feet.

"I'm not with the Port Mafia," he hissed.

"Maybe you are in this world," Atsushi snapped. "We don't know what's different here."

That seemed to throw Ryuunosuke for a loop. He stood there for a minute, seemingly stunned by the revelation. Then he huffed and whirled around, coat flapping behind him. Without a word, he strode away towards the stairwell and Atsushi hurried to catch him.

"You should probably knock," he said, once they reached the fourth floor.

"What? Why?"

"The Akutagawa of this world is clearly an enemy of the Detective Agency. They would most likely not take too kindly to my uninvited appearance," he explained, slipping back into his emotionless monotone.

"But why should I knock?" Atsushi asked. Was it because he would better survive an immediate attack? But Rashomon's shielding ability could hold up well under any number of the Agency's attacks.

"If the woman downstairs was any indication, the were-tiger of this universe is employed at the ADA," he explains.

Oh.

It was only then Atsushi seemed to understand Ryuunosuke strong reaction to being referred to as Port Mafia. It felt like an entire period of his life had been cut out, scoffed at, and replaced.

Still, no use dwelling. So why was Atsushi stuck in front of the door with his fist poised to knock for almost five minutes? Certainly not because he was afraid to face a reality where he was not the White Reaper. No. He wasn't afraid to face a pathetic, weakened happy version of himself. No. Definitely not. He was totally fine. Yeah. Fine.

The door swung inwards.

Atsushi should've been paying better attention really. His enhanced senses should've been triggered by the presence behind the door before it opened. There was no excuse.

Dazai-san would be so disappointed.

Although, no amount of training could've prepared him for the nauseating vertigo that came with coming face-to-face with his double.

The Atsushi in front of him was dressed in a shirt, tie, three-quarter length trousers and a belt with excess that dangled behind him like a mock tail.  His bangs were lopsided (truly an awful haircut, his hair dresser should've been fired) too. The detective's eyes stared straight into his counterpart's as they analysed each other – deep, purple rims that faded to a golden yellow. Kyouka had called Atsushi's eyes beautiful once, and no matter how many times he stared at them in the mirror, he'd never understood. He did now. The eyes set into the familiar face were different from his: they were bright and lively, his soul untainted.

How funny. He'd thought he would be afraid to see the weakness of his counterpart. But in that moment, Atsushi felt irrationally jealous. He searched the other's neck for scarring or a collar and found nothing.

Weak. Pitiful. You feel sorry for yourself? Dazai-san made you strong. He gave you control. Pain means control. Pity makes you weak. Makes you weak to the murderous rage. That's why you killed him. You killed him. You killed him.

The collar tightened around his neck, spikes digging in, slicing into the flesh, keeping the tiger locked away. But it was too tight. It was crushing his airway. He couldn't breathe. Atsushi grasped at the collar but couldn't slide his fingers between the leather and his neck. He couldn't get it off. He was choking. He was going to die. He was going to die. Hewasgoingtodie. Hewasgoingtodiehewasgoingtodiehewasgoingtodiehewasgoingtodiehewasgoingtodiehewasgoingto-

"ATSUSHI!"

Atsushi opened his eyes to see his partner kneeling in front of him, grey eyes swimming in concern, whirling like storm clouds.

He couldn't breathe.

"R-Ryu-" He choked, gasping for air.

Suddenly, Ryuunosuke's hand was on his neck, slipped underneath his own where he was grabbing at the collar.

The scarf...

All he could feel, was the relieving cold of Ryuunosuke's hand on his skin. No leather. No spikes. No blood. The light wool fell away, leaving his neck bare.

He wasn't suffocating.

He forced himself to inhale.

Then exhale.

Then inhale again.

All the while, Ryuunosuke stayed right in front of him: a grounding presence. Atsushi reached up to take the hand away from his neck.

But he didn't let it go.

He held it, finding comfort in the warmth of Ryuunosuke's palm, in the calloused skin, in the fingers that curled around his own.

"Do you know where you are, Jinko?" He asked, his tone level and cautious.

Atsushi hated it. He hated being fragile and broken.

"We crossed through The Book. We're at the Agency," he recalled.

Ryuunosuke nodded, then pulled away. "You're fine then," he concluded with his usual callousness.

Atsushi gave him a smile. He could always rely on Ryuunosuke to not treat him like glass, even after a panic attack. He took his scarf from his lap and draped it across his shoulders (not quite ready to wrap it around his neck just yet). He then quickly rubbed away the sticky tracks on his face and looked up, only to find himself no longer in the doorway to the Agency, but within the office, sat down at Oda's desk watched by the other members of the Agency with varying looks of shock and confusion.

"H-hi?"

Chapter Text

At 10:15, Dazai threw open the Agency door and strode into the office looking very pleased with himself. After all, he was only an hour and fifteen minutes late – just enough time for Atsushi or Kunikida to have picked up his paperwork.

"Hello!" He greeted, cheerfully with a wave.

It was then he noticed the complete silence in the office.

Ranpo was sat at his desk, lollypop hanging out of his open mouth, emerald eyes wide open (for once) in shock. Kunikida wasn't at his desk, but stood in the centre of the room cleaning his glasses like they were messing with his vision. Stood beside him was Atsushi, looking positively mortified with his face bright red. Tanizaki and Naomi were at his desk, completely frozen. Yosano held her cleaver, while Kyouka had her hand around her knife, ready to unsheath it. Kenji, in contrast to the rest, looked quite content, smiling his usual smile while her poured a glass of water for their guests.

And their guests: Akutagawa and another(!?) Atsushi, both dressed in grey trench coats, sat at his desk.

Huh!?

At Dazai's entrance, everyone in the room turned to look at him.

"Dazai-san!" Bizarro Atsushi yelped as he practically threw himself to the floor to kneel.

Dazai recoiled in horror while Bizarro Akutagawa smacked Atsushi gently (Gently? What? What the fuck?) In the back of the head. In response to the guesture, Bizarro Atsushi quickly corrected himself and scrambled to his feet. "I-I mean..." –he took a breath– "Dazai." He extended his hand to shake, shoulders squared and chest puffed out to hide the subtle tremble.

Dazai shook it.

"Okay, I can't take this anymore," Atsushi cried. "What the hell!?"

"Are you two...clones?" Dazai questioned, because truly there was no other feasible explanation. If it were an ability, the Bizarro Atsushi would've disappeared upon shaking his hand.

"No," Bizarro Akutagawa said whilst he glared at Dazai in a way the real Akutagawa would never dare.

"Then what are you?" Kunikida asked, eyeing the two carefully, hands around his new notebook.

"We," Bizzaro Atsushi began, carefully, hands raised in a placating manner, "are from another world."

"Ohhhh." Ranpo nodded as if this made sense and everyone turned to him. "Poe and I theorised that The Book could act as a gateway to parallel realities, but we didn't think it was possible. And yet," he looked at the two strangers curiously, "here you are."

Dazai supposed that made sense. It wasn't a stretch to believe that book that altered reality could hold alternate realities within it. They knew very little about The Book's function. Could it be that it alterted reality by pulling threads from other universes and weaving them into their own universe?

"Y-yeah. I used my claws to cut a gateway to this reality," Bizarro Atsushi confirmed seemingly relieved for some unknown reason. Bizarro Akutagawa even relaxed a smidge.

"Oh-kay," Yosano nodded slowly, ready to skip over that and trust Ranpo knew what he was talking about. "And why are you here?"

In the blink of an eye, a tendril of Rashomon was pointed between Dazai's eyes, an inch away from piercing the skin.

Dazai grinned, eyes darkening. "Do it," he taunted. "Not like you could touch me anyway."

Bizarro Akutagawa seethed then leapt forward and wrapped his hands around Dazai's throat. Dazai let him, curious to see where he planned on taking this while the Agency all jumped forward, weapons poised.

Strangely enough, it was Bizarro Atsushi who shouted, "Ryuunosuke! What did Kunikida say about violence?"

First name, how odd...

"That it is not to be utilised in interrogations," Ryuunosuke answered. Hands tightened around his throat and Dazai gasped.

"And?" Bizarro Atsushi pressed, hand coming up to rest on Ryuunosuke's bicep.

The dark haired man sighed and released Dazai, leaving him to fall to the floor gasping. "When asking for assistance," he finished, sounding annoyed.

Dazai glanced up at the two as he rubbed his neck, watching as Bizarro Atsushi smiled warmly at Ryuunosuke and the other relaxed into the grip on his arm.

A choking noise pulled Dazai's attention over to this world's Atsushi who was watching the entire interaction in disgust. "What the fuck?" He muttered quietly, with a wide-eyed expression that looked like he was questioning his entire life up to this point.

"So, you're here for my help," Dazai surmised, returning his gaze to the two impostors.

Bizarro Atsushi nodded while Ryuunosuke huffed. "The other you left quite the mess behind when he died six months ago."

Dazai felt weirdly indifferent to hear of his counterpart's successful death. He'd have thought the idea would incite jealousy, but it was a nice surprise to find he didn't care all that much. "Oh? And what did he do?"

Dazai hadn't missed the scars that littered Bizarro Atsushi's neck (though they were partially hidden by his shirt collar) or the tie Ryuunosuke was wearing that was an exact match to his Atsushi's. He recalled the earlier interaction, of the were-tiger kneeling at his feet and came to a conclusion that nauseated him greatly. He swallowed it down though. "Did he leave the Port Mafia in pieces, each warring for his previous position?"

He ignored the various gasps of the Agency members and focused on the way Ryuunosuke stiffened and Bizarro Atsushi shrunk in on himself.

"No," Bizarro Atsushi said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what exactly is the issue?"

The two shared a look, communicating in a way that reminded Dazai of himself and Chuuya. Maybe in this universe, his plan to forge the New Double Black was working much better in spite of his death. Maybe that was the push his own Atsushi and Akutagawa needed.

"The Port Mafia, as of two weeks ago, has been decimated."

"What was that?" Tanizaki questioned meekly – one of the only members of the Agency who had truly gone toe-to-toe with the most elite of the Mafia – sounding as shocked as Dazai felt.

"There were a few survivors," Bizarro Atsushi continued. "Kouyou-san, Tachihara, Kajii, Gin, maybe a few foot soldiers. Everyone else was destroyed, along with headquarters."

'Destroyed', Bizarro Atsushi had said. Not killed, but destroyed.

"How?" Atsushi this time, quietly.

Bizarro didn't answer him, he just stared at Dazai, something dark and almost pitiful in his eyes, like he felt angry at and sorry for him at the same time.

No.

"So you've figured it out then?" Ryuunosuke snarked. Dazai must've let his disbelief out audibly then. He shook his head, as if denial could make the truth vanish from the air.

"Fancy Hat," Ranpo concluded, bringing the horrible reality to the rest of the Agency.

(If Dazai had been paying better attention, he might've been amused by the confused faces of Bizarro Atsushi and Ryuunosuke).

"No, that's not right." Strangely, the denial didn't come from Dazai, but Kyouka. Dazai hadn't realised that Kyouka and Chuuya knew each other. Although, they probably connected through Kouyou, having tea parties or something.

Bizarro Atsushi sighed. "You have to understand. Working for Dazai-san...it was like- like being addicted to a drug." Bizarro Atsushi's eyes glazed over as his mind transported him to somewhere else. "He...he made you reliant on him. Made you think that you needed him." His hands went to his neck to grasp at the scars there. "Made you think that pain was the only control." His voice grew louder, more hysterical. "That nothing else can fix you. And all the while–"

He cut off when Ryuunosuke grabbed his hand and wrenched it away from where he was scratching at his neck. The two shared another look, another silent communication. Dazai could decipher this one though: I'm here. Bizarro Atsushi took a calming breath, eyes still fixed on Ryuunosuke. "All the while, you're being poisoned. By the time you realise, it's too late, you're in too deep." He turned to Kyouka then, and gave her a weak smile. "Seven years is a long time."

Dazai felt sick. There was further conversation going on around him but it all turned to white noise when it reached Dazai's ears. Everything he was hearing was just so wrong. Sure, when he was in the Port Mafia and cared very little about morals he would've taken Atsushi in and used him without remorse just like he had Akutagawa. That part he understood, he accepted it.

But Chuuya?

He couldn't fathom the possibility that a version his himself had broken a version of Chuuya so badly that he'd been driven to the point of insanity. It made no sense. Chuuya was far too strong for that. And far too loyal to take his rage out on the Port Mafia. It just didn't make sense. And no matter which way he twisted it, Dazai couldn't see the logical sequence that would cause the downfall of Yokohama.

He was missing something.

And so, Dazai tuned back into the conversation, eyes narrowed at the impostors. What were they not telling?

"So, we need you to come to our universe to nullify Nakahara-san," Bizzaro Atsushi concluded, before turning to Dazai, looking hopeful. "Will you help us?"

There was a weight in the silence that followed, as though the very building had taken a breath.

"No."

And if the silence was heavy before, it was deafening now.

"What?" Bizarro Atsushi's voice was quiet and strangled, like Dazai had told him his pet just died.

The detective shrugged, before he finally stood up from the floor, towering over the white-haired man. "I won't help you. Not until you tell me the full story."

Bizarro Atsushi paled, eyes widening with what Dazai discerned to be either shock or fear (or perhaps both). Ryuunosuke on the other hand, seethed, looking ready to put a dagger between his eyes. As it was, the man leapt at Dazai, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and wrenching him upwards. "Yes you will. This was your fault!" He yelled, eyes glowing with firey rage.

"Ryu-" His partner tried, bit Dazai quickly inturrupted.

"No. It was some other version of me. I am under no obligation to help you."

"Dazai..." It was his own Atsushi this time, questioning his actions. Dazai understood. Atsushi held him to a higher standard than Dazai held himself for some reason.

"This was your fault!"

Dazai smirked at his captor. "You seem pretty insistent on that fact. Of all the realities to come to, you picked this one. You picked me. Why is that? What is it you think I've done?"

There was another hefty silence, one where Ryuunosuke's anger wavered for a moment, giving way to a carefully hidden uncertainty.

Bizarro Atsushi looked dejected. "We...we can't tell you."

That was also a waver in confidence. So, Dazai took that hole in their shells and wrenched it open. "Then I wish you luck."

One second. Ten seconds. Bizarro shook his head at Ryu, who bit his tongue. Twenty seconds. Ryuunosuke's fists clenched and unclenched around Dazai's shirt. Thirty seconds, thirty-five–

"He saw your memories."

There it was.

"Ryuunosuke, no." Bizarro Atsushi tried to intervene but Ryuunosuke had given in to the desperation.

"He saw his friend die and rewrote the universe to change it."

Dazai couldn't keep his shock hidden.

Odasaku.

He didn't notice when Ryuunosuke dropped him and slumped against the desk in defeat, his partner by his side looking equally at a loss.

He saved Odasaku.

That seemed like a world that needed to keep turning.

They certainly hadn't answered everything. There was a dark cloud surrounding Nakahara Chuuya's downfall that hadn't yet been cleared away. But for now, Dazai was content with the information he had. He'd gained valuable insight into his counterpart's motivations, even if the details were still a little foggy. He doubted the two young detectives knew much about Chuuya anyway, he'd have to gather information himself.

Dazai let a sly grin slide across his face. "Alright then, I'll help you save your universe."

Bizarro Atsushi and his partner both jumped up in shock, before he smiled. "Thank you," he said. "And I promise I'll get you bac-"

"But," Dazai inturrupted as he swiped a single finger into the air to punctuate his interjection, "we will require some assistance."

Ryuunosuke frowned at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who?"

Dazai grinned. "Why? What better way to fight a gravity manipulator than with another gravity manipulator?"

Bizarro Atsushi looked at him like he'd gone mad. "That...doesn't seem like a good idea."

"Atsushi, don't you know that my plans always work?"

The were-tiger looked to his partner – who shrugged – then back at Dazai, then just sighed. "Fine."

"Hey! You...you can't just go on a mission in another universe with a Port Mafia Executive!" The all-too-familiar voice of Kunikida screeched.

Dazai flung himself onto Kunikida with a much practiced sigh. "I deeply apologise Kunikida, for leaving you with my paperwork." He ignored the blond man as he trembled with anger and jumped up onto the nearest desk before declaring dramatically, "But the world is in danger and I shall assist where I can!" He posed heroically with hands on hips.

Bizarro Atsushi balked, like Dazai had become unrecognisable, while Ryuunosuke rolled his eyes. The dark-haired man pulled the other toward the door, not waiting for Dazai to join.

Dazai jumped down from the desk and brushed himself down before making a move to follow, when Atsushi grabbed his wrist. "Kunikida's right," he said. "At least let one of us go with you."

Dazai smiled at his protégé. Atsushi's protectiveness caused something warm to bubble in his chest. "Atsushi, I can take care of myself," he reassured, patting the were-tiger on the head.

"Atsushi is right."

Dazai whirled around to see the president standing in the doorway of his office, and the Bizarro duo halted at the exit.

"President?" He questioned, eyebrow raised.

"Take Atsushi with you. An ally will serve you well in a place where you are the enemy," he explained, tone light but leaving no room for argument.

Well, Dazai didn't really have a rebuttle for that anyway. "Come along then Atsushi."

The young detective nodded hastily, like he was still processing Fukuzawa's words. "R-right."

He and Dazai turned to leave with the other two when Bizarro Atsushi shook his head, gaze directed at someone behind them. "Kyouka you can't-"

"Where Atsushi goes, I go," the girl replied, sheathing her knife. She glanced toward Fukuzawa, as if daring him to question her. When he made no move to do so, she strode forward, grabbed Atsushi's hand and led him past the stunned Bizarro Atsushi and Ryuunosuke and out the exit.

Dazai giggled. "Time to go pick up the Chibi," he announced, already buzzing with anticipation of annoying Chuuya. He strode past the other two and after his subordinates.

This was going to be fun.

Chapter Text

Atsushi had never actually been to the Port Mafia headquarters; he'd only seen it from a distance. And now that he was close enough to see his reflection in the onyx-coloured glass, he had to admit it was a lot more intimidating than he'd imagined. The building towered over him and everything else in the surrounding area, like a looming sentinel with four spiked guard posts at each of its corners.

Dazai marched straight in like the place was merely an office block (though for him it probably was at some point), whistling a tune Atsushi didn't recognise. He made a move to follow when he noticed Kyouka hesitated at the entrance. Her face remained impassive but he noticed the way her hand shook.

"Kyouka? Is everything okay?" He reached out and took her trembling hand in his own. She glanced down at the contact, then up at him with a small smile. She nodded and the two pushed open the door.

Behind them, Atsushi could hear the quickened, anxious breaths of his counterpart.

"You don't need me to hold your hand too, do you Jinko?"

Atsushi threw up a little in his mouth.

His counterpart laughed. "No. No I'm good."

The group found Dazai in the lobby where several men stood in a loose circle pointing their guns at him.

"Hey fellas! I'm looking for a short, angry slug, you seen him anywhere?"

There was a rumble of confused murmurs among the men, debating on whether to shoot Dazai, or the identity of the aforementioned 'slug'.

Before they came to any sort of conclusion however, one of them caught sight of Ryuunosuke. "Akutagawa sir," he greeted. "Is this man with you?"

Akutagawa was still for a moment, perhaps unused to having subordinates. But he recovered from his shock quickly, disguising the hesitation with a cough. "Yes. I'm escorting him and his colleagues to see Nakahara. Is he here?"

The men lowered their guns. The one who spoke opened his mouth to answer when he was inturrupted by a tapping sound. It echoed through the room, a steady beat of metal against linoleum floor. Heads swivelled to the approaching noise and the footsteps accompanying it. "Well, I wonder what all this fuss is about?"

Atsushi watched at a figure stepped out of the shadows and into the lobby, tapping the floor with a long, metal cane. He recognised him immediately: Tachihara, ex(?)-Hunting Dog. The man had returned to his usual Mafia attire – jeans and a cropped, olive-green jacket – but with the new addition of a black cloth wrapped around his head that covered his eyes.

Dazai, undeterred by the new arrival, whirled around with a grin (uncaring of the fact Tachihara couldn't actually see it). "Hey, Tachihara, you lived! Congratulations!"

The copper-haired man pursed his lips as he tilted his head at Dazai, confused.

"I was told that you were the Fifth Hunting Dog," Dazai continued. "I do have to say, I did not see that coming. Kudos to you."

Atsushi's ears caught the sound of something being drawn from leather.

He leapt forward and grabbed the dagger out of the air just before it pierced Dazai's right eye. The detective just eyed it with amusement when Atsushi handed it to him.

"Tachihara, stand down," Ryuunosuke ordered, although the look on his face radiated disappointment that the other had not succeeded in killing Dazai.

With only a woosh of air as warning, the group found themselves surrounded by floating knives and daggers of various kinds.

"Tachihara has an ability!?" Atsushi's counterpart exclaimed, eyeing the hovering arsenal in total shock.

"It's a new development for us too," Atsushi reassured.

"You sound just like him, truly," Tachihara said as he stepped closer, accompanied by a guard of floating pistols. "But not quite. Though you must look like him, to have this lot fooled." He faced Ryuunosuke as if he could see through the blindfold. "So who are you?"

Atsushi had never actually faced Tachihara at the Casino. And now, faced with his overwhelming display of power, the were-tiger was quite glad of that.

"Am too!" Ryuunosuke spat, looking outraged by the comment, while his partner (Atsushi gagged) looked mortified at the outburst.

Tachihara laughed. "Now I know you aren't him." The blades danced threateningly in the air.

The sudden appearance of the familiar, looming presence of Demon Snow comforted Atsushi somewhat. However, while he was fairly confident in it and Kyouka's ability to combat the incoming onslaught of steel, he didn't particularly want to put that faith to the test.

"What is all this racket?" Another voice – one that had Atsushi wincing – called out.

Ryuunosuke stiffened behind him and turned to see his counterpart enter the room. "I don't believe this will end well," he muttered. And for once, Atsushi was inclined to agree.

Akutagawa's presence had an unsettling effect on the men – perhaps they recalled vividly the spread of the vampire contagion and its source. The thought left Atsushi shivering as his mind was flooded with images of a sword with purple haze and a white shirt stained with a fountain of blood.

"You damn fool. Hurry up and go."

The ghost of a smile adorns his face as he collapses, lifeless.

Dead.

The phantom weight of Akutagawa's leather trenchcoat was heavy on his shoulders and the phantom ache of his limbs being torn off burned fiercely.

"Ah, Akutagawa!" Tachihara greeted with a grin. "We have an impostor on our hands."

Akutagawa scanned the group, eyes widening as he came across their other-wordly visitors before they eventually settled on Dazai. "What is this?" He asked, as flickerings of Rashomon swirled around his ankles.

"We don't have time for this. We must retrieve Nakahara and leave at once."

Ryuunosuke had a death wish, Atsushi decided. So who was he to get in the way of Akutagawa lashing out at his counterpart? The were-tiger stepped out of the way of a dark spike that sped towards Ryuunosuke, pulling Kyouka with him. Ryu retaliated with his own Rashomon and the tendrils clashed with a loud clap and wave of force that shook the very building.

Akutagawa startled, staring in shock at the bladed fabric that was not his own. "What is this?" He asked once again.

Dazai sighed, apparently bored now the situation had come to yet another standstill. "Akutagawa, we're looking for Chuuya. Have you seen him?"

Akutagawa stiffened at being addressed, almost standing to attention as his focus singled on Dazai, like he hadn't just attacked his doppelganger.

Tachihara spluttered angrily. "That's none of your damn-"

"He's not in today," Akutagawa inturrupted. "He's taken a leave of absence."

Dazai scoffed. "Chibi doesn't take days off. The Slug's a workaholic. He'd have to be comatose or de-" the man cut himself off. His expression flattened to something so frighteningly neutral it was almost inhuman.

"Dazai?" Atsushi prompted, because clearly Dazai had figured something out and it'd be greatly appreciated if he shared that knowledge.

"What's the date today?" He asked, expression unchanged as he glanced at Atsushi.

"W-Wednesay?"

He turned to Kyouka, who rattled off the date. As she did so, her expression turned thoughtful. "Chuuya always took the day off on this day," she commented.

"Yeah," Dazai agreed with a sigh, shoulders slumped. "I know where the Chibi is."

And with that, he whirled around, casual smirk reattached to his face. "Come along kids. We're going on a field trip."

Akutagawa floundered at his back like a gaping fish. "Wha- You- What's going on!?"

"Come and find out," Dazai called over his shoulder as he exited. "Make sure you keep up."

Atsushi's counterpart gave an undignified squeak of protest while his partner (bleugh) spat out a string of profanities.

In any other situation, Atsushi would probably be reacting the same way. However, these two were strangers really. Atsushi couldn't read them all that well, and he certainly couldn't trust either of them. Akutagawa on the other hand...

"Then you... Since we made that promise, you haven't killed anyone?"

"Of course. I keep my promises."

...he could be trusted to watch Atsushi's back. At least until the six months were up.

So Atsushi simply shrugged at his and Akutagawa's counterparts. "I dare you to try and make him stay behind."

Kyouka snorted as the two slumped in defeat and reluctantly followed Dazai out alongside herself and Atsushi with the smug Akutagawa right at their heels.

The lobby was left in confused silence.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?"

.•°•.

Akutagawa was glad to finally be off the bus. The stares the group (particularly the doppelgangers) had been getting from their fellow passengers had truly been starting to aggravate him. And while he was five minutes away from disemboweling someone, the were-tiger (from this universe) looked five minutes away from disemboweling himself.

He still wasn't entirely sure about it – the parallel universe thing. He hadn't imagined that any version of himself could be so... strange? Was that the word? It didn't quiet encapsulate the feelings that Ryuunosuke's presence stirred in him.

The other Atsushi on the other hand, was similar to the point of deja vu. He had the same bleeding heart and wide-eyed naivety Akutagawa identified in this world's were-tiger, even if it was shaded in a looming cloud of anxious darkness. That was familiar to him too, and it was far too close to his own lingering shadows for comfort.

"You brought us to a graveyard?" Atsushi – his Atsushi.

The bus had dropped them on a stretch of pavement that ran alongside a foot-tall stone wall from which a row of black, steel bars protruded. The bars were welded together with other metal pieces forming an intricate fence, and topped with bronze spikes – a beautiful but effective deterent to unwanted visitors. Beyond the fence was wooded hill, containing a plethora of flora including blood-red acers and golden ghenkos all casting dappled shade over the grass.

Akutagawa followed Atsushi's gaze to a lone gravestone that stood alone atop the hill, just visible between some branches. The mafioso was familiar with this place, Kyouka as well. In fact, the other Atsushi also seemed to recognise it, if the way he hung his head was any indication.

It was the burial place of the Port Mafia. Any bodies that were recovered were brought here, given tombstones and left to be forgotten. Akutagawa hadn't visited personally, he had no dead friends to mourn. But Chuuya was a lot more personable than himself, it was no stretch of the imagination to believe the Executive had friends who'd since passed.

Dazai didn't answer Atsushi. He scanned the area with an unreadable expression, before swinging himself over the fence with dexterity Akutagawa wasn't aware he'd possessed, narrowly avoiding being impaled on the row of bronze spikes. Without a word or a glance back, Dazai sauntered off up the hill, hands in pockets.

The group shared questioning looks, however, they had no choice but to follow Dazai's lead, seeing as there was no gate in sight. Both Atsushis hopped the fence with ease, closely followed by Kyouka. Akutagawa glanced at his double, who sneered at him before summoning Rashomon to propel himself over the fence. He quickly followed suit, mirroring the movement.

The group followed Dazai over the hill to a dirt path that weaved further into a thicker part of the wood. They travelled in silence, none of them brave enough to try needling Dazai for answers, or at the very least patient enough to wait until they reached their destination.

They hadn't been walking very long when Akutagawa noticed his energy waning. With every step, his feet sunk further into the soft ground. It was as if the air around them was heavy, and getting heavier, slowly crushing them.

Dazai walked on ahead, unaffected, while the rest of them waded through the thick atmosphere, panting from the exertion. Akutagawa's lungs burned, dry rasps sounding loud in the silent wood.

"What...is this?" Atsushi panted, as he hunched over. "An...ability?"

"Gravity," Kyouka answered, following a deep breath.

Ah. That explained it. They were close.

As if on cue, Dazai turned off the path and led them to a small clearing. In the centre of the clearing, five identical gravestones sat in a loose semi-circle around a young cherry blossom, forming a strange ghostly, audience for the hooded figure sat against the trunk.

"Hey Chibi," Dazai called out in greeting, his voice loud and uninvited to the calm of the space.

The person's head lifted up from where it rested against their knees and Akutagawa caught the bright blue eyes and whisps of red hair under the hood – Nakahara Chuuya.

It caught him off guard certainly. He'd never seen the executive dressed so casually (in a dark green hoodie, leather jacket and jeans). It was quite the effective disguise really.

The executive glared at Dazai as he approached. "What are you doing here shitty Mackerel?" He hissed, fists clenching. Then, Chuuya finally caught sight of the rest if the group.

All of a sudden, the air grew even heavier. Akutagawa was forced to his knees along with the rest of his companions (minus Dazai), as gravity pulled them to the ground.

Chuuya stood, surveying them all, warily. "What the fuck did you do?" He growled at Dazai, revealing...fangs?

"Why'd you assume it was me!?" Dazai cried in outrage, crossing his arms.

Chuuya fixed him with a deadpan glare. "Because it's always you."

Dazai looked like he wanted to dispute that statement, but decided against it. "Well, not this time Slug."

"Well, technically-" 

"Shut up Atsushi. Whichever one of you that was." Dazai waved his hand dismissively.

Chuuya surveyed the group again, eyebrow raised with a completely baffled expression on his face. "What the fuck?" He muttered, mostly to himself.

"Nakahara-san," the other Atsushi inturrupted, before Dazai could start speaking again, "we need your help."

Chuuya's gaze fixed on him immediately. "And you're what exactly? A clone?"

This world's Atsushi perked up slightly at that, gaze drifting to Dazai as something akin to curiosity passed over his face.

The other Atsushi bowed his head (even more than it was already being forced to the ground). "No sir," he answered. "I am Nakajima Atsushi, formerly White Reaper of the Port Mafia in my universe. A world that's currently on the verge of collapse since Dazai-san died."

Chuuya, to his credit, did not immediately react with shock, amusement or complete disbelief. Instead, he stood silently for a moment, eyeing Atsushi with piercing blue.

Akutagawa felt the crushing weight of gravity dissipate and pushed himself to his feet.

Chuuya walked forward until he was stood in front of the still-kneeling Atsushi. Beside him, Ryuunosuke tensed, like he was an attack dog about to pounce on an intruder. Akutagawa prepared to step in.

To both their shock, Chuuya crouched, placing himself in Atsushi's eyeline.

"Your Dazai..." he said, carefully considering his words. "He took a dive in Yokohama river?" A small smirk ghosted his face.

Atsushi snorted, before his expression fell again. "He stepped off the top of the Port Mafia Headquarters. Said his plan was complete."

"And he left the PM scrambling to fill his shoes, huh?"

"He left it to you. I don't think he'd predicted how you'd respond."

Chuuya flinched, startling Ryuunosuke and Atsushi, though the two made no moves to react. His face was blank for a full ten seconds before he scoffed bitterly. "And that's why you're here huh? Fight fire with fire?" He rose to his feet, fists clenched. "Don't like the decisions he's making?"

"He's insane," Ryuunosuke hissed, stepping forward to put himself between Chuuya and his partner. The entire action was completely baffling to Akutagawa. Weren't the two of them enemies? Ryuunosuke continued, "He's destroyed the Port Mafia and half of Yokohama. The rest of Japan will soon follow."

All the aggression seemed to drain from Chuuya in an instant, replaced with wide-eyes and frozen muscles. Fear wasn't an expression Akutagawa thought he'd ever witness from the red-head, and yet, what else could it have been?

A tense silence hung over the clearing like a weighted blanket.

"So, Chibi?" Dazai's voice cut through the tension like a knife through butter as the detective planted himself at Chuuya's side, watching him with calculating eyes. "You ever wanted to kick your own ass?"

Chuuya glared at him with an expression much more comfortably familiar. "You fucker," he snarled, fists clenching Dazai's shirt as the taller man grinned down at him.

"Well?" He asked casually, like the mafioso wasn't about to seperate his head from his body.

A vein in Chuuya's forehead bulged. The tip of Dazai's nose twitched like there was an itch he needed to scratch. The two stared each other down and the group found themselves witness to a silent conversation none had any hope to interpret.

After a minute, Chuuya scoffed and dropped Dazai. "When do we leave? I want to get my hat."

Dazai grinned victoriously. "Ah yes. The Hatrack isn't a Hatrack without his tacky hat."

Chuuya rolled his eyes, muttering obscenities under his breath as he shouldered past Dazai and headed in the direction of the path.

"We'll meet you at the Agency in an hour," Dazai yelled after him.

Chuuya responded with a finger.

Chapter Text

The phone buzzed quietly in his pocket and the red-head startled. Tensing, he reached for his pistol as he glanced around: aside from distant screams, all was quiet.

He relaxed, holstered the pistol and pulled out his phone. "Hey Kouyou-san," he answered, still keeping his voice quiet, as if anyone would hear him over the crackling flames of the demolished office block opposite.

"How's it looking out there?" She asked, never one for pleasantries during missions.

The man glanced down at his notepad that rested against his thigh. "Calm for now. I spotted patrols in the area at 13:00 and 16:00," he read from his notes.

"Same squad?"

The man shrugged. "Kind of hard to tell in the uniforms," he admitted. "But there weren't any discrepancies I noticed, so most likely."

There was a gap in the sound of Kouyou's breathing, most likely as she relayed the information to whoever she was with.

"Any sign of...him?" She asked after a moment.

The red-head bit his lip, biting back the torrent of curses because you can say his fucking name he's not Voldermort he's not a monst– His breath hitched and the man quickly pulled himself together. He couldn't blame Kouyou, not really. He couldn't bring himself to say his name either, to attach his old friend's name to the monster that tore apart their city, that murdered his friends.

"No. No sign of him," he replied.

"Then I'd say we have two hours maximum to relocate before the fighting starts up again," Ranpo's voice interjected (the phone must have been on speaker).

"How-?" He cut himself off. He'd worked with the Agency for a while now, and he still hasn't quite gotten used to Ranpo's genius. The detective was always several steps ahead of everyone, much like his old boss. The man spat a glob of spit onto the rooftop ledge; just the thought of that demon was poison on his tongue. Ranpo was much better than him.

"He's only quiet for five to six hours at a time," Ranpo answered anyway. The man wasn't sure when that information had been confirmed but he chose not to question it. "He was last spotted at 15:32 by Kyouka so we're at least three hours into that window."

"So I'm being recalled?" The man guessed, flipping his notebook closed and slipping it into his jacket.

"We'll see you soon Tachihara." Kouyou's smile was detectable even over the phone, bringing a smile to the red-head's own lips.

"We move in twenty minutes," Ranpo informed him as Tachihara stood from his crouch and stretched, joints crackling in satisfaction. "Will that be enough time for you kid?"

Tachihara smirked. "I'll be there in ten."

The quiet beep signalled the call being ended and Tachihara slipped the device back into his jacket. He surveyed the area a final time, finding no signs of movement. The only change he noticed was the bank of dark clouds rolling in overhead and Tachihara hoped the rain they brought would be heavy enough to take care of the blazes at least a little. Yokohama had been traped in an endless haze of smoke for so long that ash was ingrained in the brickwork and cinders permanently danced through the empty streets. 

There was no tingle on the back of his neck, no eyes he could feel on him, and so Tachihara hoisted himself over the ledge and dropped down onto the fire escape with a dull thud.

He quietly made his way through the empty streets, all quiet aside from the crackling of flames. The smell of ash hung heavy in the air, burning his lungs with every breath but Tachihara pressed on regardless. In the ruins of what was once his city, there was nowhere safe for anyone – especially not anyone travelling alone and especially not ability users. These one-man patrols they sent out were risky, but a calculated risk. Larger teams faced the risk of getting caught, and drew more attention.

Tachihara navigated through a demolished apartment block, ducking under the remains of a plush, velvet couch and clambering over the splintering wood of a half-missing coffee table to reach the alleyway that was blocked by debris. He squeezed through a gap between two slabs of concrete, emerging in a dead-end alley. With one last glance to his surroundings, Tachihara lifted the manhole cover and slipped into the sewers, covering the entrance behind him.

His nose crinkled in disgust when he was greeted by the smell of rot and faeces. Even this far underground, the scents of burning rubble and charred flesh followed him, all the odours combining into a putrid stench. Still, beggars can't be choosers – underground was one of the safest places to be in Yokohama right now, even if the smell was most foul.

With only muscle memory to guide him, Tachihara stumbled through the darkened tunnels, grumbling with every misstep that landed him in a puddle of sewage (or something bloodier). It was ten minutes of stumbling through shadows and waste before he emerged in a small space, dimly lit by candles and battery-powered lamps. It was empty aside from a cheap desk placed near the far wall, the chair behind hidden in shadow and a moth-eaten curtain hanging over a doorway set into the left wall.

"What does my shadow sing?" A voice called from a shadowy spot somewhere to his right.

"Tunes of long-gone summer flowers," he answered.

Kouyou smiled warmly as she approached. "Welcome back."

Tachihara nodded respectfully. "Good to be back," he said, practically sighing with relief as he allowed himself to relax.

"You're late," Ranpo sing-songed from his desk, lighting another candle that sat in front of him to reveal himself.

"By three minutes," Tachihara scoffed as he frowned at the detective. "Plus we're not due to leave for another five."

Ranpo shrugged. "True, but you're messing with Kunikida's schedule."

Tachihara fought the urge to roll his eyes. Every time he saw that man tap his watch he had felt the instinct to shove the blond's face in some sewage. However, those impeccable timings and planned movements were practically one of the only things keeping their little rag-tag team alive at this point, so Tachihara refrained from doing so.

"Is everyone else here?" He asked instead, moving the conversation along.

Kouyou shook her head. "Everyone is packing their things," she said, gesturing to the temporary dorms behind the curtain, "but we're still waiting on Kyouka."

Tachihara didn't miss the twitch of Kouyou's lips as she mentioned the child assassin – a tic which Kouyou made when she was worried or nervous – but he didn't comment.

"She's really holding out for the were-tiger, huh." Tachihara himself had given up all hope of seeing the dynamic duo (Atsushi and Ryuunosuke) again after a couple days of their disappearance into the page, and now, after almost a week, he felt kind of bitter. Perhaps the two had simply decided to jump ship, live in a better reality.

Kouyou glared at him, as if she could sense his thoughts. "She has faith in them. As do I."

"They'll be back," Ranpo agreed, a knowing smile on his face. The light cast strange shadows over him, making his grin feel slightly sinister. "You'll see." 

.•°•.

Boundless. Empty. Silent.

The sensation felt vaguely familiar to Chuuya. He was weightless in a way that was unlike when he utilised For the Tainted Sorrow and yet it felt uncomfortably familiar. He drifted through the endless void pondering the uncanny sense that this wasn't new: drifting through a dark, empty space like a foetus in the womb, like an asset contained within a gravitational sub-dimension. Ah, that'll be the nagging similarity Chuuya had been searching his mind for.

A golden hand reaching through the darkness.

All-consuming black flames.

A lonely child wondering unfamiliar streets in a world he had no memory of ever being part of.

A bright light chased away the darkness as it reached for him. Chuuya stretched out a hand toward it, feeling warmth.

"Rimbaud?" 

Chuuya woke up to the sounds of distant screams and crackling like his hearing was being channeled through an old radio. He registered a hard but relatively smooth surface against his back – probably concrete or tarmac. He was outside too, Chuuya surmised, upon noticing the rain – a cold and icy battering against his body, accompanied by a howling wind that swept his hair around his face.

With a sigh, the red-head sat up, pulling his hat low over his face to block the rain from his vision.

The first thing he noticed, was the fire. Dark plumes of smoke billowed from golden lights as far as the eye could see as half-toppled buildings blazed even in the rain.

Yokohama was barely standing. And it was all Chuuya's fault.

Well, some version of him anyway.

The whole idea was still kind of baffling to him. Sure, alternate dimensions had always been a theory Chuuya considered (though not put much stock in) but what kind of dimension was this? Parallel? Mirroring their own with a few minor differences? Or a few major ones? Some kind of alternate timeline where a single decision caused divergence from their own universe? Or a completely different dimension entirely? Where names and faces were the only similarity?

Regardless, Chuuya felt relatively certain now that this wasn't a convoluted prank from Dazai – even that bastard couldn't pull this off. And so, that brought him back to his original thoughts again: there was a man, with his name and his face and his ability destroying the city he loved. It didn't really matter whether they held any similarities beyond those three because either way, Chuuya planned to stop him.

"Is everyone okay?"

Chuuya glanced back to the rooftop where everyone else was coming to their senses. This world's Akutagawa and were-tiger (who'd elected to go by Ryuunosuke and Nakajima) were stood, watching as everyone else struggled to their feet.

"It appears we survived," Dazai commented, dusting down his coat. "How annoying!"

Chuuya rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore the suicidal maniac. He glanced at Akutagawa and Kyouka, who were now on their feet waiting to move alongside Atsushi.

"ATSUSHI!" Chuuya whirled in the direction of the shout in time to catch a streak of purple as it dashed past him and barrelled into Nakajima who was grinning ear-to-ear.

"Kyouka." The name tumbled from his lips in a sigh of relief as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're okay."

"We're okay," she assured, finally breaking their embrace. She glanced at Ryuunosuke (though Chuuya couldn't see her face so had no idea what she comminicated) and the other returned a small nod of acknowledgement. It was then, she finally turned around and noticed the five others stood on the rooftop.

"Atsushi?" The girl drew a knife from the folds of her violet kimono and leveled it in front of her, poised to attack. "What is this?"

"It's the back-up we promised," Nakajima reassured her with a firm hand on her shoulder. 

"You only mentioned him." Kyouka cast a glare at Dazai, grip tightening around her blade.

"The others seemed to tag along," Ryuunosuke said casually, brimming with annoyance. "They're like those plastic monkeys in that children's game."

Kyouka nodded, seemingly satisfied with that. She relaxed her stance, moving to sheath her blade when her eyes landed on Chuuya.

The executive blinked and suddenly a presence loomed behind him, holding a blade to his neck. Demon Snow. Chuuya decided not to immediately jump into a fight and escalate the situation (an act that he hoped the rest of them appreciated) and instead allowed Nakajima and Ryuunosuke to explain his presence. It was after ten seconds of hushed discussion that Chuuya felt the weight on his neck and the presence behind him disappear.

Kyouka finally sheathed her dagger and turned to the group. "We'll have to move quickly. According to Ranpo we have about half an hour to get to the next base before the fighting starts again." With that, the girl leapt onto the next rooftop and started running, closely followed by Nakajima.

Dazai nodded to Atsushi, Akutagawa and their Kyouka who then moved to follow behind. Dazai then looked to Chuuya, startling the red-head just a little.

"What?"

Dazai smirked. "When was the last time we went on a rooftop run Chibi?"

Double Black's rooftop runs normally consisted of Chuuya leaping tall buildings with gravity manipulation and preventing Dazai from jumping off high objects. It was simply an activity to occupy two 17-year-olds who'd grown tired of Mafia missions. The nostalgia trip was not something either of them needed. So, Chuuya turned away without answer and followed the rest of the pack, leaving Dazai and Ryuunosuke (who Chuuya assumed was bringing up the rear) on the rooftop. 

Chuuya collapsed to the floor panting from exertion, allowing himself to lie on the rooftop as he caught his breath. After a few minutes, another body dropped down next to him with a pained wheeze. Chuuya grinned. Dazai may have the edge in video games, but he didn't stand a chance at beating Chuuya in a race – particularly one that involved crossing three to six meter gaps between buildings.

"Never...again," Dazai panted, weakly bumping Chuuya's leg with his foot.

The two lay there in silence for at least an hour, just watching clouds move through the night sky, content to rest in silence that was only broken by each other's breathing.

"Hey Chuuya, look up there!" Dazai exclaimed, breaking the restful quiet and pointing to something in the sky. Chuuya followed Dazai's finger to the glowing dot in the night sky. "It's a star!"

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "It's not a star dumbass. It's a space station. You can't see the stars from here there's too much light pollution."

Dazai pouted then flopped onto his side to stare at Chuuya. "That sucks," he grumbled as he reached out to fiddle with Chuuya's hair.

Chuuya chuckled. "Yeah. Next time you want to go stargazing we'll have to go out of the city."

"Ooh. Is Chuuya asking me on a date?" Dazai scooched closer, so he was pressed against Chuuya's side to whisper in his ear.

Chuuya's ears burned as Dazai's breath ghosted his skin. "If...if you wanted?" He said, quietly.

Chuuya felt Dazai stiffen beside him. Crap. Had he gone too far? Then, Dazai relaxed. A hand reached out to Chuuya's face and turned his head so Dazai could look him in the eyes. Something there in that deep, red-toned brown, Chuuya saw something sparkle. "Sure Chibi. Take me to see the stars." 

This world's Kyouka (Chuuya decided to keep with the theme and refer to her as Izumi) led them across the rooftops to a three-floor office block about a mile from their original position. She led them through a side door in the alley, partially hidden by a large dumpster which Nakajima moved for them and replaced once they were all inside.

They journeyed through the empty building in a tense silence. Tense because any time any of them had tried to speak on the journey they'd been swiftly silenced without explanation. Chuuya was pretty tired of being left in the dark.

Izumi directed them through a small wooden door, revealing a spiral staircase. Chuuya's hand drifted to the hilt of his knife, ready for whatever they encountered around the corner.

At the base of a staircase was a curtain which Izumi pushed aside to reveal a brightly lit room with a smooth, paneled floor. Along one wall was a line of mirrors and a ballet bar, which only suggested the room was a repurposed dance studio. A couple of desks had been set up against the wall to Chuuya's left, one with an old laptop on it and the other with a box of files and a radio system. Along the opposite wall was a line of cheap mattresses, blankets and sleeping bags.

Chuuya didn't get much time to analyse the space though because next thing he knew every weapon in the vicinity was pointed at him. The blond detective – Dazai's partner in their universe – who'd been sat at one of the desks was aiming his pistol directly at Chuuya's face. The tall woman – the Doctor – beside him lofted a large cleaver and fixed him with narrowed eyes. The red-haired boy – who's name Chuuya had never bothered to learn – had his own gun pointed at Chuuya. The small, blond farmer boy – Kenji, Chuuya recalled – was frowning, but not lofting a weapon just yet. And the Agency president – Fukuzawa – lofted his katana. The most surprising however, was Golden Demon, looming menacingly behind the other group of people in the room: Kouyou – wielding her own katana, Kajii – hand in pocket reaching for what Chuuya guessed to be a lemon bomb, Tachihara – aiming his pistol not at Chuuya but Dazai, and someone who looked like Gin (but couldn't be because she wasn't holding a dagger and was standing slightly behind Tachihara). In fact, the only person in the room who wasn't completely hostile was the detective – Ranpo – who'd spun around in his desk chair and was in fact grinning.

"Welcome back! I knew you'd succeed!" The detective exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "Tachihara thought you'd never come back."

The aforementioned red-head spluttered. "I-I didn't...that's not...fuck off!"

With that, the tension in the room eased a little, but not enough for anyone to lower their weapons.

Nakajima quickly stepped forward with his hands raised placatingly. "These five are from the other dimension. They agreed to help us take down Ch- I mean Nakahara."

Chuuya appreciated the quick correction. He didn't particularly want his name being associated with the psycho who'd decimated Yokohama.

"I thought we'd agreed on you retrieving Dazai Osamu. Where'd these other four come from?" Ponytail questioned (Chuuya should've probably learned his name by this point).

Ryuunosuke huffed as he crossed his arms. "Those three–" he guestured at the three doppelgangers– "refused to let us take him without them. And Dazai refused to come without the gravity manipulator."

Chuuya hadn't known that. Did their plan seriously involve kidnapping Dazai to have him disable Nakahara? What was the back-up if Dazai couldn't get close enough? Or if Nakahara realised Dazai wasn't his own and just killed him?

"That's because even this bastard isn't stupid enough to think he could take me on if I seriously wanted to kill him," Chuuya commented because all he could think was that the main difference in this reality was that everyone was dumbed down.

Dazai, unfortunately, decided to read far too deeply into the statement. He gasped, mockingly. "Chuuya! I knew you didn't want to kill me! You do care!"

The Mackerel reached out with open arms as if to hug him, but Chuuya quickly shoved him away. "Don't touch me jackass."

Suddenly, laughter broke out and all heads collectively turned to Kouyou and Kajii who'd broken out in fits of giggles. "Well that brings back memories," she said with a smile as her gaze drifted toward Chuuya.

"Yeah," Kajii agreed. "Back when things were normal and those two were trying to kill each other."

"So you're here to help Mr Fancy Hat?" Asked Kenji, eyes bright.

Chuuya nodded. "Sure kid."

Then Kenji beamed at him. It was an innocent guesture that Chuuya didn't really know how to react to.

As it turns out though, he didn't need to say anything because at that moment there were footsteps on the stairs. The group turned to find someone else enter the room: a person Chuuya didn't recognise until Dazai let out a startled gasp.

"Odasaku?"

Chapter Text

"Odasaku..."

Dazai's voice came out in a breathless gasp, hardly present and yet it was somehow the loudest thing Chuuya had ever heard. Because Chuuya had never seen Dazai like that: shiny eyes and trembling hands and blinding joy in his genuine smile.

Dazai didn't smile at anyone. He smirked. But he smiled at Oda Sakunosuke. What would Chuuya have given to see Dazai smile at him back then? Or now?

Chuuya felt hollow, like something in him had sunk so deep it left a bottomless pit in his chest, sucking at his lungs like a black hole. He wasn't jealous. How could he be jealous of a dead man?

"You're...alive," Dazai practically whispered. There was an air of question and hesitation to his words, like once he said them the acknowledgement could cause the fragile reality to vanish.

And suddenly it all made sense.

Dazai Osamu tore apart the universe and re-wrote reality...for a dead man.

Chuuya felt sick. And feverish. And disgusted. And terrified. And appalled. And awed. And horrified. And pained. And jealous. And jealous. And jealous andjealous jealousjealousjealous... And all the emotions swirled into a whirlwind so powerful it threatened to send Chuuya into shutdown. A blast of hot fire struck his spine like lightning and Chuuya clung to the familiar feeling like a lifebuoy to keep himself afloat in the storm.

Because mostly, Chuuya was pissed. He was fucking enraged. And he made that known when he leapt at Dazai. He didn't notice the mirrors shattering or the furniture flying or the occupants of the room slamming into the walls in his destructive wave because all he could see in the red haze was Dazai slowly spinning toward him, just in time for Chuuya to punch him in the face as he screamed, "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The crunch of Dazai's grinding jaw wasn't even audible over the blood rushing in Chuuya's ears. 

"YOU FUCKING ASS! HOW DARE YOU!?"

Chuuya kept screaming obscenities of a similar kind as he pinned Dazai to the floor, railing him with punches. Chuuya couldn't even think through the red haze enough to direct his blows. He landed a final, random strike to Dazai's chest which left the man gasping for stolen air before someone tugged him off of Dazai. Chuuya wrestled against the hands around his arms but didn't activate his ability against them; Akutagawa and Atsushi worked to hold him in place as Chuuya glared at Dazai's bloodied form.

Kyouka (since none of the Agency or PM were going to) helped Dazai back to his feet and Chuuya noticed the damage he dealt was pretty superficial. Well, except for the tooth Dazai spat at him.

"What the Hell Chuuya!?" He snapped, fixing the red-head with an icy glare. But Chuuya saw right through it, in the subtle way his nose twitched and his fingers curled against Kyouka's sleeve: Dazai knew exactly what was going on. His entire demeanor screamed anger and betrayal to everyone but Chuuya. His eyes only said not now.

Chuuya gritted his teeth. Akutagawa clutched his bicep tighter, anticipating another violent reaction. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he hissed, eyes narrowed at Dazai in warning: you aren't getting off that easy, bitch.

Dazai's expression was blank. Not here.

Seeing as Dazai wasn't budging, Chuuya figured he'd take the initiative. "You..." He paused, because what the fuck was he supposed to say? How dare another version of you look at your memories and decide to fuck up the universe to resurrect a dead man he'd never even met?

Who was Chuuya even angry at?

He hung his head; the heated anger oozed out of him like someone was pouring cold water into his veins which then flowed out of him as well, leaving him hollow and empty.

Akutagawa and Atsushi let go of him, sensing that the hostility was gone for the minute. But while Atsushi stepped away, Akutagawa continued to hover as if expecting something to set off Chuuya again any minute.

"What the Hell was that!?" Someone – the Doctor most likely, based on the feminine tone – yelled.

Chuuya was suddenly aware of all the eyes on him: pitying looks from the PM and Akutagawa, worried looks from Atsushi and Kyouka, the wary and suspicious eyes of the Agency, and Dazai's all-seeing stare. There was heat rising and Chuuya was suffocating and everything was far too much. He swept around and headed straight for the exit, anywhere but here.

"Where are you going Chuuya?" Dazai's tone sounded bored, but Chuuya didn't believe it for a second, not with the way those eyes bore into the back of his skull.

"For a walk," he spat through gritted teeth.

"It's a fucking war zone out there Chibi," Dazai sounded a little more concerned this time. "You can't just-"

"Watch me," Chuuya snapped back, not bothering to turn around. He couldn't stand to be in the room any longer, not with the Agency's hostility and the PM's wistful glances as they looked for someone who was not him and Dazai's...everything.

There were footsteps that Chuuya ignored until a hand curled around his shoulder. A cooling blue washed over him as No Longer Human disabled his For The Tainted Sorrow, quieting the growing buzz of the singularity in the back of his mind. Dazai forcefully span him around to face him, hands gripping Chuuya's shoulders to keep him in place.

"Look," he said, eyes fixed on him with something most people would believe to be earnesty – an attribute Chuuya was fairly sure Dazai didn't possess. "You can be pissed. Fine. But don't go getting yourself hurt because of something I didn't even do!" Dazai's voice pitched upward in a tone that screamed annoyance.

Chuuya shoved him away. "Then tell me. Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing," he practically begged.

Dazai's fingers twitched where they still hovered in the air from when Chuuya had shoved him away. Dazai stuffed them in his pockets and looked away from Chuuya's stare. "I..."

Dazai could've tried to lie. Chuuya wouldn't have believed him but he half expected hoped Dazai to make a case for the alternative.

Chuuya shook his head in disappointment (at himself for having the slightest faith, at Dazai for being a fucking bastard) as the anger bubbled again. "You'd sacrifice everything you've got," he said, eyes flickering briefly to Kyouka and Atsushi before they fixed on Dazai again. Dazai didn't look back and the anger bubbled hotter. "You'd sacrifice everything for a fucking dead man!" He snarled, voice rising to a shout.

Dazai's head snapped back up and darkened eyes glared at him. "Like you wouldn't do the same to see the Flags again," he spat, voice even but Chuuya knew it to be dripping with poisonous distain.

Chuuya seethed, because how dare Dazai throw that in his face. "No." Chuuya did his best to keep the anger from escaping in a shout. "Because I value what I still have." His eyes drifted to Oda, who was stood beside Ryuunosuke, watching the confrontation with a completely neutral expression. No wonder he and Dazai got along. 

"You brought us here because you knew he was alive," Chuuya realised, belatedly. "You don't care about any of this. You just want to save him." Glowing blue eyes met deep brown. "Odasaku–" Chuuya practically gagged as he forced the name from his throat, choking on the slimy, foreign, loving word– "is dead. This guy isn't the same. You don't know him."

Dazai's shoulders tensed and lips pursed as he bit back what Chuuya guessed to be a long stream of denials.

"He's dead," Chuuya repeated. "Move on."

Dazai said nothing in response. 

.•°•.

Dazai kept his head down as Chuuya shouldered past him, making for the stairs. This time Dazai didn't stop him; clearly, the red-head needed to cool off and it was not at all to do with the fact that Chuuya could still read Dazai far too easily. Had four years apart not been enough distance?

Dazai slumped into a nearby chair, ignoring everyone else suffering with him in the stagnant silence.

"Someone should go with him, right?" Somone – probably Tanizaki – suggested, only to be met with even more silence.

Dazai felt a pair of eyes drift over to him. Without looking up, he waved his hand dismissively. "Yes Akutagawa, you can follow the slug to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

He listened as the sound of Akutagawa's footsteps grew quiet and the door closed.

It was all a mess. Dazai pressed his palms into his eyes as he let out a frustrated groan. If he'd had better control of himself Chuuya wouldn't have caught on so quickly. And why hadn't he vehemently denied the accusation that he would sacrifice his life with the Agency to bring his Odasaku back? Dazai lied like it was easy as breathing. So why was that lie the one he couldn't stomach?

Atsushi wouldn't look at him. Kyouka wouldn't stop glaring from where she stood by his side. And every other pair of eyes was watching him with suspicion or curiosity. The room was suffocating but Dazai couldn't leave because he couldn't face confronting Chuuya again.

There was no sense in dwelling on his failures however. So, Dazai forced a grin on his face and clapped his hands together. "Right then, shall we get to work?"

He was met with blank stares.

"Are...are we really just going to ignore that–" Tachihara waved his hand in wide, frantic circles– " whole thing?"

Ranpo groaned, drawing attention from the rest of the room as he spun around in his office chair. "We don't have time for relationship problems," he complained, sounding bored. "Fancy Hat will come back eventually. Until then, let's focus on our attack plan." Ranpo's spin came to a sudden halt and an emerald eye snapped open to stare at Dazai, seeing far more than Dazai was comfortable with, as per usual – at least something was the same in this universe.

"Ranpo is correct." Ah. Ever the voice of reason. Heads swivelled toward Fukuzawa who had his head bowed in thought as his hands rested on the hilt of his katana like it was a walking stick. Two somethings then.

A small smile played across Dazai's face, slightly more real this time. "Great. Glad we're all in agreement. Now, does someone want to fill me in on what actually happened to Nakahara?"

"You did," Tachihara snapped back.

Dazai bit his cheek as he fought back a groan. They didn't have time for the Port Mafia to air their grievances against their old boss on behalf of their fallen-off-the-deep-end friend, though Dazai should've expected this to come at some point based on the hostility that radiated from their corner of the room.

Against his best interests, Dazai looked at them and was met with three pairs of narrowed eyes and hands on weapons (plus a casually dressed Gin who looked very uncomfortable under his gaze).

"Tachihara," Kouyou said suddenly, glare still fixed on Dazai and hand on the hilt of her sheathed blade, "take Kenji and locate Chuuya. Nakahara will wake soon and we best keep them off the street."

Tachihara's face twitched like he wanted to fight that order. But he sighed – no use fighting Kouyou – then made his way toward the door, followed closely by a smiling Kenji. That was an excellent decision on Kouyou's part, Dazai recognised. Of all the people in this room, Kenji was one of the people Chuuya was least likely to attack on sight (the red-head had a soft spot for kids) and Tachihara wasn't helping in their planning stage with his hostility.

Once the two had left, Kouyou sighed and looked at Dazai with resignation on her face. Beside her Kajii began to casually toss one of his grenades up and down like a juggling ball (and whether the action was meant to be a threat or purely for the sake of fiddling with something Dazai had no idea).

"What do you want to know?" Kouyou asked, her shoulders tense. To Dazai's shock, Yosano drifted subtly closer and to his further shock, Kouyou met her eyes and relaxed. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

Dazai blinked and refocused his attention on the task at hand. "How about I give a rough timeline of events in my universe and you stop me when they start to diverge?" He figured this would be the least painful way (for him at least) to get information about why Nakahara had snapped. Because something had to be drastically different. It couldn't just be Dazai. Chuuya wouldn't go crazy just because Dazai kicked the bucket. Right?

Kouyou nodded and Dazai began to speak. He was suddenly very glad Chuuya wasn't here because he was certain the mafioso would hate Dazai dredging up his past in front of the Agency. He spoke briefly about how he'd recruited Chuuya into the Mafia, Chuuya's time mentored by Kouyou and Chuuya's work in the jewel trade and so far Kouyou hadn't corrected anything. In vaguest way possible he skimmed over Chuuya's first anniversary with the Mafia, briefly mentioning Verlaine, the Flags and Guivre (specifically omitting the moments he knew Chuuya had never spoken about to Kouyou about what really happened in the lab).

Everyone seemed content to sit through Dazai's monologue silently, letting out brief gasps when they learned new information, like how Nakahara was the one to defeat the beast that threatened Yokohama over six years ago and that said beast had a name.

It wasn't until Dazai reached the events of the Dragon's Head Conflict that he realised something must have changed by this point when his eyes drifted over to Odasaku. "You never joined the Mafia, did you Odasa...Oda-san?" He said quietly.

In his universe, Oda was recruited just prior to the conflict. Dazai didn't meet him until some time afterward, but Oda had told him about finding one of the orphans on the final evening of the conflict, when he and Chuuya took down Shibusawa.

"No," Oda answered, tone flat. Beside him, Ryuunosuke stiffened, like such a concept was so awful it hurt to consider the possibility.

"You weren't approached for your skills?"

Oda frowned at him. "A few months before the Dragon's Head Conflict, I met a man who said he was interested in hiring me for my assassin work. He wanted to introduce me to some of his associates."

It appeared that the rest of the Agency were aware of this as none of them showed any visible shock.

"And?"

"When I went to meet them they were all dead."

Dazai hummed thoughtfully as he whirled around in his chair. How interesting. Dazai had thought he'd taken control of the Mafia in this universe to prevent Odasaku from joining and signing his death warrant. However, if he'd already prevented that. Why did Dazai Osamu take over the Mafia? What was his endgame?

"Kouyou, when did he take over the Mafia?" He asked. Maybe a timeline would give him a better grasp over the man's motivations.

"Just after the Dragon's Head Conflict, about a week after Mori made him executive."

Okay, maybe not then.

With little other choice, Dazai turned to Ryuunosuke and Nakajima. "What exactly did he say to you before he died?"

Nakajima looked extremely uncomfortable, shifting back with his head hung low and eyes glazing over, while Ryuunosuke crossed his arms and sneered. "How is this relevant?"

"It's not."

Dazai whipped around to stare at Ranpo – the one person in this room who knew the value of seemingly meaningless information almost as much as him. "What do you mean it's not? Of course it is! If I can't figure out his motivations, I won't know what he did to Chu- Nakahara to make him snap." Dazai forced himself to ignore that slip-up with Nakahara's name. He had to seperate Nakahara and Chuuya very distinctly in his mind or else the whole situation would get incredibly messy.

"It's obvious why he snapped." Ranpo peered over at him with an expression that read: aren't you supposed to be smart?

"What?" Dazai spat through gritted teeth. It almost felt like back when he started at the Agency. When he and Ranpo would constantly butt heads like stags battling for dominance over an intellectual battlefield of their own design. At least, until the detective said something totally and wildly out of Dazai's predicted conversation outcomes:

"He is totally and hopelessly in love with the late Dazai Osamu."

Some horrible choking noise escaped Dazai. "...what?" He squeaked.

"You can waste all our time trying to figure out the reason why Dazai did what he did, but I doubt you'll find it. Even I don't know. Best guess is he saw a threat coming and wanted Yokohama best placed to fight it together."

"And that failed spectacularly," Yosano quipped while Dazai turned the words over in his head. It made sense. From what Dazai had gathered, his alternate self had paired the PM and Agency to work much more seamlessly together in this universe. Having Atsushi in the PM and Akutagawa in the ADA had resulted in a stronger partnership. Atsushi had learned ruthlessness yet kept his compassion, while Akutagawa had learned compassion that tamed his ruthless nature. With these two paving the way, the PM and ADA would've integrated almost seamlessly. Still, that plan – like Yosano had mentioned – had failed spectacularly. Not because they couldn't integrate (that had clearly happened) but because the two organisations had been crippled before they'd had the chance. Any organisation with limited power would be able to take Yokohama if they wished. Surely Dazai's alternate had seen this coming if he spent as much time with Nakahara as Nakajima had insinuated.

As if reading his mind, Ranpo continued. "Perhaps he had no idea that Nakahara would react the way he did. Evidently, this guy is blind when it comes to his own Nakahara." He jabbed his thumb toward Dazai who spluttered indignantly.

"Excuse me?"

Ranpo raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say: you heard me.

Dazai definitely wanted to contest that. He knew Chuuya inside and out, knew his mannerisms, his tics, his habits, his microexpressions. He'd been there for Chuuya's greatest highs and most devastating lows, witnessed his compassion, his rage, his kindness, his savagery. Dazai had even memorised the map of Chuuya's skin, knew every scar and mark and story told upon his body and the taste of his breath. No one else knew Chuuya like Dazai did. No one could say he was blind to anything about Chuuya. He knew Chuuya like he knew the beat of his own heart. And yes, he knew that once, Chuuya loved him.

Did he know if Chuuya had stopped?

Instead of fighting Ranpo's statment however, he conceded to the detective's earlier point – the old Port Mafia boss' motivations were currently irrelevant. "Fine," he sighed, slumping further in his chair as he crossed his arms. "Tell me what I need to know." He didn't need to look over to see the smug smile on Ranpo's face as the older man signaled Kunikida.

The blond cleared his throat and directed his gaze toward Dazai who met the man's eyes to show he was indeed paying attention even as he sulked. Atsushi and Kyouka also looked at him with focused determination.

"Alright. Six months ago, Port Mafia Boss Dazai Osamu jumped off the Port Mafia Headquarters and died." He spoke in his usual matter-of-fact tone that he used when reading case files to the team and Dazai latched onto that familiarity like it was a light in a dark abyss.

"Good for him," Dazai quipped, slipping all-too-easily back into his annoying Kunikida habits.

Kunikida twitched, but otherwise paid him no mind. Dazai pouted and went back to sulking.

"An hour later, Nakahara returned from a mission elsewhere and encountered the body. He sat with the corpse for close to six hours before he began a destructive rampage."

"The one that destroyed the Port Mafia Headquarters?" Atsushi ventured.

"No," Kouyou answered. Ch... He didn't attack the Port Mafia. Even in his semi-conscious state, he never attacked us."

Dazai looked up to see Kouyou shaking minutely; he was glad to see that despite his alternate's meddling, Kouyou was still Nakahara's Ane-san. He was however, slightly nauseated to see Yosano by her side with a comforting hand on her shoulder because what the fuck was that about? Were his sisters into each other?

Dazai pushed the thoughts from his mind. "So, he just destroyed a few buildings?" He questioned instead.

"Nah, he practically blew up half a city block before the GSOD caught him," Kajii jumped in,  looking far too amused by Nakahara's rampage.

"Yes," Kunikida confirmed, hurriedly stealing back the narrative before anyone else could chime in. "The Gifted Special Operations Division cornered Nakahara and eventually took him down with the Agency's and Port Mafia's assistance. He was then taken into custody by the military."

Dazai stiffened. "And you let them?" He asked the question generally, with an air of casualness but fixed his gaze on Kouyou who looked away, ashamed.

"There was no other choice. If we had resisted, he would've been executed on the spot."

"I think he probably would've preferred that compared to what they did to him," Dazai replied, his tone calm but cold.

Kouyou didn't say anything but her fist grasped the loose fabric of her kimono. Yosano glared at him. Still weird, still not going to question it.

"Quit interrupting," Kunikida snapped, which amused Dazai even if it wasn't enough to distract him from the racing thoughts of what the Japanese military would do if they could get their hands on Chuuya again. "As I was saying, the military took Chuuya into custody. Over the following months the Agency and the Mafia declared a cease-fire until Yokohama was repaired and collaborated in reconstruction efforts. Then, three weeks ago, Nakahara reappeared and began a mindless ra-"

"THREE WEEKS!?" Nakajima exclaimed, jumping up from his seat, scaring the life out of Atsushi. "How long were we gone!?"

"Five days," Izumi answered.

"We...how..." Nakajima turned to Ryuunosuke as he spluttered. "We weren't any longer than twelve hours, right?"

"Is this important right now?" Kunikida deadpanned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Nakajima's cheeks flushed. "N-no. Sorry Kunikida."

"It's fine. Anyway, three weeks ago, Nakahara reappeared and began a mindless rampage during which he decimated the Port Mafia along with half of the city. In order to limit damage and minimise casualties, the military erected a barrier along Yokohama city limits to trap Nakahara. Citizens are able to evacuate, however, the barrier is impermeable to ability users."

"So, you're all trapped here," Atsushi concluded.

Kunikida nodded. "The military and military police send regular patrols hunting for any remaining stragglers, intending to evacuate civilians that are trapped." Dazai picked up on the use of the word hunted in Kunikida's statement, knowing the connotations of that to be sinister. Kunikida went on to elaborate, "any gifted however, are to be shot on sight."

"What!? Why!?" Atsushi seemed stricken at the idea of alternate versions of his friends being hunted like wild game.

"Because we're witnesses," Ranpo answered, expression grim.

"They want Nakahara back," Dazai realised, following Ranpo's logic. "And since you can't leave..." He didn't continue, but the insinuation was clear enough.

They had to eliminate disable Nakahara, before any ability user remaining in Yokohama was killed.

Chapter Text

"You're Tachihara, right?"

The petty thief in question spun around with a start, hand drifting to the hilt of his knife as he eyed the person who entered. The stranger was a short, copper-haired man in a navy, three-piece suit, with a long, dark coat draped over his shoulders like a cape and a matching fedora sat snugly atop his head. He was young, perhaps a couple of years older than Tachihara – though he could've very easily been two years younger. Perhaps it was the confidence that swayed Tachihara to the man being older; the stranger exuded surety and power in a way that Tachihara could only liken to the various members of the Hunting Dogs (though the idea that this man would be on par with the likes of Tecchou was laughable).

"Um, yeah," Tachihara answered after he realised he hadn't said anything. "The cute secretary told me to wait here for my evaluation."

The other man snorted as he slipped the jacket off of his shoulders. "Don't let Dazai or Gin catch you saying that," he said with a smirk before he took off his jacket and hung both items on the hooks that were nailed into the wall by the door.

Now, with the blazer removed, Tachihara could see the muscled arms tensing and shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. It was then that the spy got the sense his evaluation had begun. He was going to fight this man, and unless he impressed, the Port Mafia would put him to death and the mission would be over before it started.

Although, something else caught Tachihara's notice: 'Dazai'. The man had called the famed and feared boss of the Port Mafia by his name. Who the hell was this guy?

"Who are you?" 

The man grinned. "Nakahara Chuuya," he answered, flexing his fingers as he studied Tachihara.

'Well shit.'  Tachihara mentally cursed as he recognised the name from the files Jouno had him memorise: Nakahara Chuuya, manipulator of gravity and quite possibly the strongest ability user alive – not to mention the Port Mafia boss' right hand.

Still, Tachihara didn't so much as flinch. "Am I supposed to have heard of you?" He asked, layering his voice with ignorance as he tilted his head with a cocky smirk.

To Tachihara's surprise, Nakahara laughed – a short but genuine chuckle. "I like you kid. You've got nerve." A shadow passed over the man's face as the smile morphed into a sinister grin. "You'll need that to survive the next five minutes."

That was all the warning he got before Nakahara leapt at him, fists raised. Tachihara narrowly avoided the right hook with a sidestep, but failed to notice the sweeping kick that followed as Nakahara spun with the grace of a dancer and nailed him in the gut with his left heel.

Tachihara wheezed as he flew through the air and into the opposite wall. He tasted blood in the back of his throat and his eyes watered. All that power in a single kick. Tachihara may not have had all the extensive surgeries the rest of the Hunting Dogs had, but his body had still been enhanced. A simple kick should not have winded him so much. That was the power of gravity, he supposed.

"You avoided the punch; that's good," Nakahara commended as he leisurely walked closer. "The last few didn't make it that far. You're definitely quick."

Something akin to embrassment twinged uncomfortably within his skin. He was a fucking Hunting Dog dammit! He was not going to let some criminal beat him up and condescendingly compliment him on his survival. With that in mind, Tachihara hurled his knife at the other man with deadly speed, aimed straight for his heart. And without waiting to see if it landed, he jumped from the wall, pulled out his pistol and fired three quick shots in succession – head, chest, gut.

"Damn kid. I'm impressed."

Although Tachihara had hoped his attack would leave a mark, he wasn't surprised to find Nakahara unscathed with his knife and the bullets hovering in front of him.

"You're a decent shot," he continued as he dropped the weapons with a wave of his hand. "And for a scrawny guy you've got a lot of power in your throw."

'Fuck,' Tachihara chided himself. He was meant to be blending in, unnatural feats of strength weren't part of that agenda. If Nakahara was suspicious it didn't show though, in fact, the red-haired man seemed almost excited.

"Let's get a drink," he said, as he adjusted his jacket.

"Huh?" Was all Tachihara could muster in response because...huh?

Nakahara just smirked at him. "It'll be a good opportunity to introduce you to your new squad."

Had...had he just gotten inducted into the Port Mafia?

"New...squad?" He stuttered.

"Yeah. I think you'll fit in pretty well with the Black Lizard."

Tachihara didn't move because how did he just get integrated into the elite fighter squadron of the Port Mafia???

Nakahara rolled his eyes, apparently a little tired of Tachihara's cluelessness. "Let's go," he called as he spun on his heel and made his way to the door.

Tachihara scrambled to follow the golden opportunity that had been bestowed upon him. Drinks with the Mafia boss's second was practically a goldmine of intelligence if Tachihara used it correctly. Hell, maybe this mission would only last a few months instead of a few years. "Of course Nakahara sir," he answered once he reached the man's side and then waited for him to put on his coat.

Nakahara looked at him with saphire eyes, eyeing him with calculating gaze. Perhaps there was more to Nakahara than his famed aggressive demeanor and fighting prowess. Perhaps Tachihara had been made and this was an elaborate trap. Perhaps the man was about to kill him on the spot.

Instead, Nakahara turned away as he put on his hat, hiding his eyes in the shadow of the brim. The building tension like a lead weight in Tachihara's chest abruptly vanished, as if it had never been there at all.

"Call me Chuuya." 

That was the first of three times Tachihara had gone drinking with Chuuya. The second, was a month later when he'd completed his first successful mission with the Black Lizard (where Chuuya had demonstrated his drunken karaoke skills). And the third...was about three months after that. Chuuya brought a bottle of sake to his desk when the Black Lizard had taken heavy fatalities on a mission. The two had drunk and complained for a few hours until the Port Mafia Boss himself had showed up at the office.

Tachihara could count the number of times he'd met the boss in person on one hand; that time had been the second. The moment he'd stepped through the door, Chuuya had instantly sobered up, eyeing the man with wariness. Tachihara could barely remember what words the two had exchanged – if there were any, the two tended to communicate in a strange, telepathic way – but nothing would make him forget the cold, dead eyes of Dazai Osamu when they fixed on him. They were two black holes that seemed to reach into the depths of Tachihara's very soul, then suddenly, they flashed with something bloody and demonic (truly putting stock in the Demon Prodigy moniker). Chuuya then quietly followed Dazai out of the room.

That was the last time he'd hung out with Chuuya as anything more than the man's subordinate. And that, was one of Tachihara's great regrets – that he hadn't seen, that he'd ignored the way the Boss had poisoned his friend with his cold, dead, demon soul.

He wouldn't miss his chance to make things right. He and the rest of the ex-Port Mafia had promised each other they would do all they could to save their friend this time around, even if that meant starting with a totally different version of the man they knew.

He led Kenji upstairs, leaving behind the living tension of the dance studio they were squatting in. He didn't hear any voices follow them up, so perhaps the energy had calmed down (or Kouyou had slit Dazai's throat, who's to say?). Tachihara let it all fall behind him. He had to focus. This Chuuya was apparently feeling pretty volatile, so should be treated with the respect of a wild animal (not that he thought of Chuuya as an animal, just that the man had a tendency to snap at even mundane things when he was feeling ticked off).

Tachihara pushed open the small, wooden door to enter the darkened lobby. The floor-to ceiling windows along the fair wall had been boarded up by the previous tenant (apparently abounded prior to the evacuations) leaving the remaining reception space dark and dreary. Aside from a built-in desk space, the only furniture was two small sofas separated by a long coffee table. It was there, he and Kenji found Chuuya and Akutagawa sat opposite each other, muttering quietly.

After taking a step further into the space, Chuuya lifted his head to look at them, crystal eyes glowing in the shadow of his hat. He looked tired. "If you're here to babysit me, I've already got one," he muttered, waving his hand vaguely in Akutagawa's direction (who gave an undignified huff at the notion).

This Chuuya was apparently in a subdued mood, one Tachihara had never seen on his own version, so this was uncharted territory. Luckily, Tachihara didn't have to make the first move, as Kenji bounded from behind him with a bright grin. "Hi there! I like your hat mister!" He cajoled as he waved enthusiastically (leave it to the kid to be friendly to a version of someone who had destroyed their city).

Chuuya blinked, as he registered the statement, before an awkward smile slipped onto his face. "Uh, thanks kid."

Strange, Tachihara's Chuuya had always shone under praise; this version just seemed a little shocked (maybe because practically everyone downstairs loathed him?).

Kenji apparently took Chuuya's acknowledgement as invitation to sit down and so the boy flopped down beside him on the sofa. Chuuya blinked at him again, but made no moves to stop him. Tachihara remained standing, observing, because up close this Chuuya seemed far more different from his own.

"Why are you here?" He asked. The question seemed to be phrased generally, but Chuuya's gaze was directed to Tachihara.

Tachihara returned the stare, studying Chuuya's face carefully. He looked exactly the same as his own version, but the eyes were different. Chuuya's eyes were far brighter than Tachihara remembered his friend's being. Perhaps the Demon Prodigy had already damaged this world's Chuuya beyond repair before Tachihara had even met him. Maybe he hadn't failed, maybe he was just too late. "I want to save my friend," he answered, after a moment's consideration. "I couldn't help him before, but maybe now I can."

Chuuya watched him carefully as he considered the words, analysing his honesty (perhaps more similar to his own Chuuya than he thought). The man sighed and his gaze fell to the gloved hands in his lap. "Friend, huh?"

"What? Are we not friends in your universe?"

"You're friends with everyone in my universe," he replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"He's not my friend," Akutagawa scoffed, crossing his arms as he turned his nose up at Tachihara.

Chuuya fixed him with a deadpan look. "You're not friends with anyone," he countered, before smirking to himself and adding, "Plus he hits on your sister."

"Tch!"

Knowing his own version of Ryuunosuke, Tachihara decided not to touch that topic with a ten foot pole. He instead took a precautionary step away from Akutagawa and turned his attention back to Chuuya. "So, will you help us help him?" He asked, because it wasn't like he could force any version of Chuuya to do something he didn't want to do.

Chuuya sighed. "I'm here aren't I?"

Whether that meant Chuuya was here to take down Nakahara permanently, or just put an end to the rampage was anyone's guess. But Tachihara hoped for the latter, if there was anything he knew about Chuuya it was that the man cared about his subordinates; it was only a question of whether that care extended to himself.

Kenji seemed pretty pleased with the vague sentiment and beamed at Chuuya. "Thanks Mr Fancy Hat," he cheered.

Chuuya snorted and with a small smile, plucked said 'Fancy Hat' off his head and plopped it on Kenji's. "Don't thank me yet kid."

A lound screech (akin to a microphone screech or amp being plugged in) sounded outside the building.

Immediately, the four of them were on their feet and cautiously approaching the door. Chuuya motioned them all the pause as he took the final few steps and peeked through a crack between the boards of the window.

"I think whoever you guys have been hiding from has found us," he said before eyeing Tachihara over his shoulder. "What did you do to get the military police after you?"

Shit.

Tachihara moved to join the other man at the window. He peered between the wooden slats to see a group men armed to the teeth with heavy artillery (including what looked to be a machine gun set up in the centre) and decked out in thick, bulletproof gear.

One of the men stepped toward the door and brought a speakerphone to his lips

"Ability users," he called, voice crackly and robotic due to his balaclava and speaker. "You have been surrounded; there is nowhere left to run. You have ten minutes to surrender peacefully before we storm the building."

As he'd been speaking, the rest of the Agency and PM had emerged from the basement, though Tachihara hadn't noticed until Ranpo snuck up beside him.

"That was faster than I thought," he said, eyeing the soldiers curiously.

Kunikida frowned at him. "You expected them to find us?"

Ranpo nodded. "I left them enough clues."

"WHAT!?"

"We can't hide forever. If we take out a large faction now the plan will go much smoother," Ranpo explained, as if it were obvious. Tachihara probably should've expected that.

"So there's a plan?" He glanced at Ranpo in time to see the smug smirk stretch across his face.

"Of course." 

.•°•.

"Let's focus on getting rid of these guys before we go over our next steps," the doctor – Chuuya had no recollection of her name – suggested, swinging a large cleaver onto her shoulder.

Chuuya pulled himself away from the window and slipped turned to the rest of the group.

"Going in guns blazing is likely to attract a lot of attention," the blond – Kuni-something – said as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Geez, Chuuya really needed to learn their names.

"Only if we don't do it quickly." Chuuya didn't need to look at Dazai to know he was smirking. The red-head felt the other's eyes on him and something in his stomach twisted. Just ignore him. Just ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore. Ignore, ignore, ig–

"I think Operation Earthern Bridge should do the trick, don't you agree Chibi?"

"No," Chuuya replied flatly. Not because he didn't agree, but because he couldn't- wouldn't... He... Chuuya bit his tongue hard. The taste of blood seemed to settle his whirling thoughts for a moment. Earthern Bridge was a good plan. There were no bystanders to be caught in the crossfire, and half the group was practically bulletproof so he didn't need to worry about cover. See, good plan. But the thought of enacting a Double Black move caused Chuuya to feel sick to his stomach.

Double Black is dead. It means nothing.

Chuuya didn't have time for feelings.

"Fine," he said, bringing himself out of his head and back into the room where Dazai appeared to be concocting some half-baked plan of attack after Chuuya's initial refusal.

Heads turned to him. Dazai's eyes pierced right through Chuuya. Though if they saw something wrong, Dazai didn't make it known. He instead, clapped his hands together with a grin. "Great! Everyone ready?"

"What's 'Operation Earthern Bridge' ?" Asked one of the Atsushi's – Chuuya hadn't seen which.

"Not to worry dear Atsushi," Dazai dismissed with a casual guesture of his hand. "Our only job is to cover Chuuya and not get shot ourselves. He'll take care of the rest."

The various members of the Agency seemd hesitant to put faith in Chuuya (understandably) but the Port Mafia seemed almost excited. Kajii in particular seemed to be buzzing, as of he had a sixth sense for destructive intent.

"Sounds good!" Ranpo expressed (and Chuuya kind of hated that Ranpo's was one of the only names he remembered), which seemed to settle the Agency.

No one else had anything to add, and so, Chuuya shouldered open the door, allowing Dazai to step past him and greet their guests. The rest of the group followed with their hands up in surrender, following Dazai's lead. Chuuya retrieved his hat from Kenji and pulled it low over his head, doing his best to hide his face, before he followed suit.

As Dazai negotiated, Chuuya made his way to the front and crouched low behind Dazai. He sunk his hands into the tarmac and focused on the reach of his ability, allowing For The Tainted Sorrow to soak into the very fibres of the road.

"Any minute now Chuuya," Dazai sing-songed under his breath.

"Let me concentrate," Chuuya hissed back, as he let his eyes close. He sensed the weight of the bodies surrounding the building, the way their mass and equipment echoed the pull of the earth. He'd estimate there were three dozen men and at least three automatic heavy artillery weapons (not that Chuuya could identify them based on weight alone). He drew out the circle in the concrete around the building, feeding power into the ground beneath the soldiers' feet and avoiding the space directly behind him occupied by the Agency and Port Mafia.

"Hey! Who's that behind you?"

Chuuya belatedly realised that the voice was speaking about him, so he supposed his time was up.

Dazai tensed, and that was as good a signal as any. He darted around Chuuya as the first round of bullets struck. He recognised the aura of Rashomon slice them out of the air, while Akutagawa wisely remained behind him.

With a deep breath, Chuuya opened his eyes–

–and let loose.

Chapter Text

Atsushi knew that Nakahara Chuuya was powerful. He'd been told as much by most of his coworkers. Kunikida had offhandedly mentioned one day that there was a reason he'd never warned Atsushi about Chuuya when he'd been warned to stay away from Akutagawa – despite the older man being a prominent part of the PM's attack force. The reason, simply put, was that if their paths ever crossed and Chuuya wanted to kill him, there would be no struggle.

Atsushi had hoped that he'd since grown in his fighting abilities and that he'd at least put up a fight against Chuuya.

That was until the ground beneath the soldiers' feet shook with an almighty rumble. Chuuya, from his place on the ground, screamed as he threw his hands in the air. The tarmac the soldiers were stood on flew upwards, tossing the gunmen several hundred meters into the air from the force. Then, Chuuya split his hands, splaying his arms outward. Under his command, the wave of concrete split and flowed outwards, destroying everything in its path with the force of a tsunami. Yet, the wave was controlled, only tossing away the military forces surrounding them and leaving themselves and the nearby buildings untouched.

It was safe to say, Atsushi stood for a moment shock-still and unashamedly awestruck. It was a comfort to see the various shocked faces of everyone around him – including Nakajima who's jaw had quite literally dropped. In fact, the only people who weren't surprised were Sword Lady, Lemon Bomb Guy and Dazai.

Chuuya pushed himself to his feet with a groan, then swayed slightly. Dazai reached out to steady him, almost instinctively. However, as soon as his hand graced Chuuya's shoulder, the red-head shoved him away, staggering from the movement. " 'm fine," he slurred, even as he stumbled into Akutagawa, head lolling dangerously as his eyelids drooped. " 'm f'ne..." And with that declaration, the Mafia Executive passed out in Akutagawa's arms.

"1, 2, 3 and heeeeee's out!" Dazai declared with a grin.

Akutagawa glared at him, much to both Atsushi's and Dazai's shock (if the way Dazai's eyes minutely widened was any indicator), before positioning Chuuya on the ground so he was sat up against Akutagawa's spindly legs.

"Right then!" Ranpo inturrupted as he clapped his hands together, breaking the awkward silence. "Now that those guys are taken care of, we should be able to move freely for the time being while they reassemble. Although–" he tapped his cheek with his finger pensively– "that gravitational disturbance probably woke Nakahara, in which case, we'll need to alter the plan a bit."

"There's a plan?" Tachihara questioned, running a hand through his hair like he was ready to tear it all out (an understandable reaction when dealing with Ranpo).

"I say we send a small force to distract Nakahara while the rest of us work," Dazai suggested, to which Ranpo answered with a nod.

The entire interaction between the two, and their interactions downstairs, were entirely familiar to Atsushi in a way that made him feel like he'd consumed too much of Kyouka's tofu. The revelation that Dazai would toss them all aside had been weighing on him heavily. He just couldn't understand, mostly because he'd never had anyone before the Agency and Dazai. They all held a special place in his heart. Did Dazai's heart operate on a hierarchy? And this man – Oda – was placed on the highest pedestal? Did everyone have that? One person they'd sacrifice everyone and everything for? Or just Dazai?

Kyouka's hand tightened around his own and for once, the comforting action felt worse.

"Work on what?" Tachihara questioned, slightly louder than last time.

"Agreed," Ranpo answered Dazai, ignoring Tachihara again. "You four take Chuuya and go after Nakahara." He waved his hand in Nakajima and Ryuunosuke's direction. "You're the least likely to die fighting him."

"And the rest of us will split," Dazai agreed.

"Great, everyone clear on the plan?"

"WHAT PLAN!?" Tachihara screeched, literally tugging out a tuft of hair this time. It would've been funny if the situation weren't so dire.

"Shu'up," a quiet murmur inturrupted.

Heads swivelled to see Chuuya blinking himself awake.

"Ah! The Chibi awakens!" Dazai chimed with a grin. "How lazy of you to nap on the job."

A stone expertly nailed Dazai in the forehead. "I said shut up," he growled, blinking away the last of his two minute snooze. Dazai only pouted and rubbed the rapidly forming bruise.

"The plan!? Please?" Tachihara cried desperately, tugging at Ranpo's lapels.

The master detective rolled his eyes and pulled a lollipop out of his breath pocket. "The plan involves three seperate parties," he declared, and Atsushi was glad for it. Between the revelations downstairs and the military attack, he'd completely forgotten the plan Ranpo and Dazai had laid out for them. "The first will accompany Tachihara to the broadcast tower to contact the Hunting Dogs."

Tachihara blinked at him. "W-wha–"

"Cut the act Michizou," Kouyou inturrupted, perfectly manicured nails digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "Our guests have informed us of your prior mission."

Tachihara blanched. "K-Kouyou I... I didn't... I mean..."

"It's chill man," Kajii said. "With everything going on, it's kind of nice to have some part of the government on our side. Even temporarily."

"I never wanted to hurt–"

"Blah, blah, blah! Touchy-feely nonsense. Etcetera, etcetera."

"Ranpo," Fukuzawa chided.

"What? He's the one who needs a run-through on the plan. We don't have the time for this," Ranpo insisted, crossing his arms as he frowned. He then turned back to Tachihara. "As I was saying, you'll need to get in contact with your buddies outside Yokohama."

Atsushi wasn't entirely sure the Hunting Dogs had authority to lower the barrier around Yokohama. Nor did he think it was a great idea to get Fukuchi (and potentially the rest of the Decay of Angels alongside him) involved in what was already a giant mess. However, Atsushi believed in Ranpo; no matter which universe, Edogawa Ranpo's intellect was unmatched.

Tachihara didn't seem to have Atsushi's faith though.  "And say what?" He questioned, eyebrow raised. "Even if they had the authority to lower the barrier they wouldn't."

"No," Dazai agreed, "but they can get us information. It will be easier to take down Nakahara if we know exactly what the government did to stabilise his corruption. Maybe we'll even find a weakness."

"I don't think we're that lucky," Junichiro muttered under his breath, though Atsushi caught it and felt inclined to agree.

Tachihara sighed as he folded his arms. "Fine. Makes sense I guess."

Ranpo clapped his hands together excitedly, grin plastered back on his face. "Great! Team two will go after the remaining military patrols."

Ah. Atsushi vaguely recalled that particular detail. He grimaced. "The ones trying to kill us?" 

"The very same," Ranpo answered, ignoring the obviously rhetorical question. "The third group will have a much easier time if they don't have to worry about getting shot from behind." His gaze drifted over to Chuuya, who merely rolled his eyes.

"And let me guess, team three are engaging Nakahara," the red-head predicted, voice lackluster and monotone.

"Wow! You're so smart Chibi. What a clever doggy you are!"

Atsushi had only seen Dazai behave this childishly around Kunikida, which could only imply that Dazai and Chuuya shared a far deeper relationship than what Asushi had preciously guessed. Chuuya clearly knew Dazai very well (the way the mafioso read Dazai's thoughts downstairs certainly indicated as much). Their relationship was much closer than Dazai had implied when he'd recalled his time spent with Chuuya in the Mafia.

"It's obvious why he snapped."

"What?"

"He is totally and hopelessly in love with the late Dazai Osamu."

"I'm not a fucking dog asshole," Chuuya snapped, growling at the offending brunette (like the dog he denied being), as he glared icy blue daggers into Dazai's soul.

Atsushi shook his head, banishing his earlier train of thought. Regardless of Nakahara's feelings for his boss, it was obvious this Chuuya hated Dazai.

"Ahem!" Ranpo coughed to regain attention from the bickering rivals. "Yes that's correct. Though I'd say you'll just be playing keep-away until we hear back from team one."

"So how are we doing this then?" Asked Oda, seeing as they hadn't had time to discuss how they'd be splitting the teams.

Atsushi looked the man up and down: the person whom Dazai had placed above all others. He seemed entirely ordinary – no different from any other working-class man. He dressed no differently from any other member of the Agency, wore cheap cologne and a five o'clock shadow and had so far shown no emotional response to anything aside from slightly widened eyes when he caught sight of their otherworldly visitors downstairs. Atsushi couldn't understand. What about Oda was so fascinating to Dazai – a man who staved off boredom by eliciting enraged reactions from his coworkers?

Then again, Ryuunosuke seemed very attached to Oda. So there must be something intriguing about him. Perhaps Oda offered a different kind of relationship to Dazai? Were they something more than friends?

"Well, our heavy hitters will be distracting Nakahara obviously," Ranpo answered, pulling Atsushi out of his head and back into the conversation.

"So me, the kid, the Ryuunosukes and the were-tigers?" Chuuya guessed.

Akutagawa glared at Atsushi, communicating some kind of threat that the were-tiger didn't have the mental capacity to interpret.

"Precisely. Although, we'll keep Kenji. He's pretty effective against bullets."

Great. Just Atsushi, his mortal enemy, an overpowered mafioso and doppelgangers of himself and said mortal enemy that were so close it made Atsushi's stomach churn.

"Fucking fantastic." Chuuya seemed as thrilled as he was.

"Great. Glad you're on board!"

Atsushi certainly wasn't.

.•°•.

The air was scalding. It tore at the flesh of his throat and burned in his lungs. Every breath was agony and yet he continued to breathe.

With every movement as he dragged himself out of the crater, his bone cracked and splintered, his muscles snapped and shredded against the bone fragments, his organs shifted.

Every moment he continued to live brought unthinkable pain and wrought unimaginable damage that no human could possibly survive.

And yet, he continued to breathe. He still had a job to do.

He had no recollection of what that task was, if the task had ever been somewhere in his brain originally it had since been lost to the storm. Stray whisps of consciousness crossed the ruins of his mind only for mere moments of clarity before they were swept away in another wave of agony. 

And yet, he continued to breathe.

He crawled out of the crater. Or he walked. Or jumped. There was no way of knowing. His mind could barely process the change in location let alone the method. Not that he needed his thoughts. His body moved on its own, driven through the fire by his innate goal that had long been forgotten.

A scream.

It was not his own, probably. It most likely belonged to the puddle of blood and guts that was splattered before him. That used to be a person didn't it? He wasn't sure.

Another scream.

The air was thick with smoke. It hadn't been a second ago. His feet touched down gracefully on the rooftop. Oh, he'd moved again.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

That was his own. Hands over his ears couldn't drown out the noise from his own vocal chords.

A fragment of consciousness solidified and he held it close. The mission. The goal. He was close. So close. He needed more. Why was he so weak? Why was everything he held dear ripped from him? Was he cursed to wonder through the storm alone? He was so close. But everything hurt. It hurt so much.

The air shifted.

No.

Not the air.

It was as if the spin of the earth wavered for just a fraction of a second but he felt it.

His eyes snapped open and the red flooded in.

Perhaps this was what he'd been searching for.

He would not be weak. He would not fail.

A word spilled out from somewhere deep in his chest, familiar and yet so strange. The name was ash in his mouth, bitter on his tongue and yet his lips curled.

This was for him.

His goal. His mission. His final task.

It was all for him.

"Osamu..."

Chapter Text

Yosano had never met Nakahara. The only knowledge she possessed of him was all second-hand accounts – from those in the Port Mafia who'd known him personally – and long-winded rumours and stories from residents of the city.

Chuuya was decidedly different to Nakahara based on what she'd heard from Nakajima. The tiger had described Nakahara the way one would describe a  diety – with reverence and respectful fear. And while this Chuuya was overwhelmingly powerful and carried himself with all the grace and confidence of an almighty emperor, he was also undeniably human: petty and emotional in spite of his god-like aura.

Nothing like the monster who'd torn apart her home.

Yosano couldn't help but wonder if Nakahara acted as childish and human around the late Port Mafia boss as Chuuya did around Dazai.

"I think we should head in that direction, toward the city centre," Dazai had suggested, once Ranpo's group had left for the communications tower downtown.

Yosano had glanced at Kouyou – the group's unspoken leader – who'd simply sighed (in her graceful version of a nonchalant shrug). It was as good a suggestion as any.

Chuuya, on the other hand, had scoffed, turned heel and strode off in the other direction, hesitantly followed by Ryuunosuke's Evil Twin™. 

Dazai had rolled his eyes and Yosano had thought the man would put up a fight or simply stroll off in the opposite direction. Fortunately, Dazai hadn't seemed all the bothered and followed loosely behind Chuuya, prompting the rest of them to follow.

Which led them to their current route through the red light district.

Yosano wasn't sure why Chuuya had decided to head this way. When Kajii had tried to ask Chuuya simply shrugged and said 'it's stronger this way' – whatever that meant.

Though, as they walked, Yosano started to understand. The air, thick as it was with smoke and ash, started to feel heavy. Her limbs hung like lead weights by her sides and even Kouyou – the image of grace that she was with her perfect posture – he started to slouch minutely. When they came across a large crater in the middle of the street, Yosano finally put it together. The force of gravity was stronger here: Chuuya was tracking Nakahara like a blood hound, only with gravity instead of his nose.

"I believe this is where we should part," Dazai suggested, kicking a loose pebble into the crater and watching it bounce between chunks of rubble.

Kouyou narrowed her eyes at him. "We agreed to split once we found Chu– Nakahara," she reminded him as she glared. Yosano shifted closer instinctively.

Not much could rattle the woman; Kouyou remained the picture of perfect grace and calmness throughout the last six months – an admirable trait it was to remain cool under immense pressure. Yet, Dazai seemed to grate Kouyou's nerves in a way that even Kajii didn't. There was something unnerving about the famed Demon Prodigy. Yosano wasn't sure if it was because he was all too different, or all too similar to her late boss.

Kyouka seemed to agree with Kouyou's sentiment and squeezed closer to her Atsushi, gripping his arm as if Dazai was going to physically seperate them. Atsushi looked an odd mix between flattered and concerned.

Dazai gave a long, exaggerated sigh as his eyes rolled up into his skull in exasperation. "Yeah, sure, and we'll all die the minute he sees us. Thought you were smarter than that Kouyou."

Yosano felt the sudden urge to relieve Dazai of his head. The idea that this glorified stranger could just order them around and disrespect Kouyou didn't sit right with her at all. In fact, it was only Kouyou's hand slipping into her own and intertwining their fingers that kept her from decapitating the man. (She tried not to look smug when Dazai gagged at the action.)

Kajii apparently didn't think much of Dazai's comment either. "Hey! We're not some fucking chumps! We're the Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency." Kenji grinned brightly in agreement.

Ryuunosuke and Nakajima looked at each other, communicating a message Yosano couldn't hope to ever decipher. And Akutagawa glared at the two like their existence personally offended him, absolutely oblivious to their current argument.

Even as Kajii squared up to Dazai and Kouyou broke off to try and mediate, Yosano found her attention drift over to the remaining members of their party. Oda was a few meters away from her, eyes fixed elsewhere with a pensive expression on his face. She followed his gaze to spot Chuuya, who was off to the side, crouching as he studied something on the ground. If Yosano squinted, she could just about make out the grey, squishy mulch and the puddle of red.

"Did you find something Nakahara?" Oda asked. Chuuya stiffened at the sound of his voice, freezing in mid-motion where he was reaching a gloved hand reached toward the puddle.

Dazai scampered over toward Chuuya as the mafioso shook off his hesitation and reached for whatever object he'd spotted earlier.

"Did you find a bone Chuuya?" Dazai teased as he loomed over Chuuya's crouched form.

"Shut up," the other hissed, though there wasn't much heat in it – his attention captivated by whatever he'd found.

"What is it?" Asked Kenji, who'd suddenly sprung up beside the two and was peering at the thing curiously.

Yosano herself wondered closer alongside Kouyou and Kajii, just in time to catch a glimpse of a scarlet orb as Chuuya tossed whatever it was in Dazai's face.

In a flash of blue, the object vanished. Then suddenly, the thick and heavy air dissipated along with it and Yosano could finally straighten her spine.

Dazai made a slow, comical blink. "Interesting," he remarked, though his mouth was set in a grim line.

"The heck was that!?" Nakajima wondered, staring incredulously into the pile of guts on the ground.

"He's not out of his mind," Chuuya muttered, tapping his fist to his chin.

"Apparently so," Dazai agreed.

"What the fuck are you two on about?" Kajii snapped, as eloquently as ever.

"The gravity was strongest here," Chuuya said, waving his hand in a short circle to guesture to the puddle. "It's what I've been following. But..."

"But?" Yosano prompted when he trailed off.

"He's not here. Which means not only is he at least coherent enough to leave a dummy, but he also knows there's a gravity manipulator tracking him."

Oh. That did not bode well.

"And he left a graviton to continue affecting gravity after he left the area," Chuuya continued. Which only left Yosano with more questions because what did that even mean?

"Which means he's at least partially in control of corruption," Dazai finished, looking at Chuuya with what Yosano would believe to be concern if it were anybody else.

"And what does that mean?" Ryuunosuke questioned, eyes narrowed as he looked between the two.

Piercing blue eyes met muddy brown as Chuuya and Dazai had a silent conversation.

"It means," Chuuya said, with heavy resignation, eyes still on Dazai, "that we're fucked." 

.•°•. 

"You shouldn't be so negative Chibi," Dazai uttered reflexively as he processed the new information.

Whatever happened to Nakahara while he'd been detained had resulted in a new-found control over corruption. The implications of that... Well, Dazai didn't particularly want to find out how one would control the equivalent of a god. On top of that, this control had also come with increased power. Chuuya had never been able to maintain his gravitons in his corrupted form – or at least, he'd never really tried – and they definitely didn't hang around after Chuuya had left the area.

Nakahara was more powerful than Chuuya: that's what they had learned from this. Chuuya could not hope to fight and beat Nakahara of his own merit and certainly did not stand a chance without unleashing his own corruption.

"Fuck you," Chuuya fired back with a glare. "You'll be fine," Dazai carried on. "Plus, you'll have these four to back you up." Dazai did not point out that those four would not likely survive a hit from a graviton.

Chuuya, however, had no such qualms, leaving the Atsushis panicked, the Akutagawas outraged and Kyouka pissed.

"They'll do fine," Dazai lied. Well, not really. He didn't believe either Atsushi of Akutagawa had truly discovered the peaks of their abilities, especially when combined. Once fully matured, he reckoned that their power would rival even Chuuya's. Alas, they'd only scratched the surface and at their current level, Chuuya would kick their asses. Nakajima and Ryuunosuke were enigmas to Dazai though. He had little idea how they would fair against Chuuya or Nakahara. Though if he had to take a guess, their partnership would put them at a higher level than Atsushi and Akutagawa.

Perhaps he should've said: 'they'll probably survive'.

"What does this mean for the plan?"

Dazai's breath hitched. He didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing Oda's voice again. As it was, he couldn't decide if he was greatful or not for Ranpo assigning them to the same team. Looking at Oda felt calming and painful at the same time; it was like his heart was being squeezed by something warm and soft.

Dazai blinked and forced his gaze back to Chuuya, who was watching him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. Was he really still angry? Ready to blow up again? Something Dazai had always observed with Chuuya was that although his anger was explosive, once it'd burned out he moved on quickly. It was one of the things Dazai had exploited so often in their youth: driving Chuuya to the point of snapping before running away, only to meet him the next day at the arcade as if nothing had happened. It was how Double Black worked, why they still worked. Chuuya had calmed down enough, right?

"As far as I'm concerned, the plan hasn't changed," Dazai said, continuing to scrutinise Chuuya in an attempt to decipher this new issue. "We find the base of operations and wreak havoc which should draw away the soldiers from the real fight with Nakahara."

Chuuya shifted on the balls of his feet – the way he always did when he was nervous about a fight. The worn leather of his gloves creaked as he clenched his fists.

So, clearly Chuuya agreed with his analysis. He just didn't like it. Figures. Chuuya had always protested his plans when he thought the casualties would be too heavy, even if he knew that Dazai's battle plans were always calculated with the best odds in mind. This was the best option.

"Come on Chuuya," he chided as a sly grin slipped onto his face. "When have my strategies ever failed?"

Chuuya's head slipped, face becoming hidden in the shadow of his hat. But Dazai didn't miss the way Chuuya's shoulders tensed. Right, this is where he stops being in denial and agrees to follow Dazai's strat–

"Shut up."

Dazai flinched. Because never had he heard such a common Chibi saying in such a defeated tone like he'd already lost.

"Why so defeated Chibi?" Dazai questioned lightly, disguising the vague tendrils of concern with a weak chuckle. "We've not even started yet." He ignored the stabbing sens in the back of his brain that warned him his next words would not be well recieved and continued, "And Double Black has never lo–"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Dazai pretended he didn't notice the way everyone (bar Akutagawa) flinched, reaching for any weapons on their persons. He also pretended that he himself didn't flinch either.

Chuuya did notice though, eyeing Kouyou's hand on her weapon with resignation. He sighed, sinking back to the ground from where he'd jumped up. Dazai could practically see the mental dialogue: a reminder that this was not his Ane-san, and that he would never snap and go on a murderous rampage.

"Just...stop talking."

The voice that came out was very quiet and un-Chibi-like. Dazai saw fit to remind him of such, attempting to keep the tone light and skip right past whatever the fuck this was. "Chibi–"

"Stop calling me that!" Against his will, Dazai's jaw snapped shut, leaving him stood in silence as Chuuya continued to yell. "We aren't partners! We haven't been for the last four years!"

Oh.

Dazai didn't have anything to say to that. Fortunately, he didn't have to; Chuuya was on a roll.

"You left without a wor– no actually. You left one: sayonara. And you know what, Dazai? It fucking hurt."

Crap. Crap, crap crap... This was not good. Chuuya couldn't afford to be off his game. And clearly he was, if he was being so open with Dazai (whom he claimed to despise).

Dazai didn't want to confront this now. They didn't have time. He knew he'd hurt Chuuya, that was part of the plan to keep Mori off his back. But Chuuya had to be over it by now. He had to. He had to.

But a quick glance to Akutagawa, who's expression was not one of shock, but of some form of resigned sympathy told Dazai all he needed to know.

Chuuya was, in fact, not 'over it'.

"I..." Dazai's vocal chords felt thick and sluggish. "I am...sorry..." His gaze was everywhere but Chuuya's face "...that I hurt you."

Dazai tried to ignore the prying eyes of their unwitting audience. It seemed Chuuya was having no such issues. His eyes were fixed solely on Dazai, burning straight through him with saphire-blue flame.

"That's great. Fucking brilliant. Doesn't at all make up for the four years of Hell where I was stuck wondering if you'd died, if you'd jumped off a bridge, drowned yourself in a fucking lake someplace because who'd pull you out if not your partner, huh?" Chuuya's nostrils flared, before he settled into something more subdued, head bowed. "Well, guess you got a new partner."

Dazai hated that a flickering vestige of Kunikida superimposed itself beside Chuuya at the very mention of a new partner.

Chuuya's fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly while the group stewed in the awkward silence. His face moved in an odd rhythm as he chewed his cheek. "And you look happier," he said after a moment. "I'm...happy for you, I guess."

And wasn't that a shock? Dazai blinked, as if this entire conversation was a hallucination that would vanish if he blinked the drugs out of his system.

Akutagawa seemed shocked by that revelation as well, if his choked gasp – hastily covered by a cough – was any indication.

"But please..." Chuuya continued. And Dazai was even more shocked that Chuuya didn't even try to retract his statement.

He barely even registered that Yosano and Kouyou had begun to herd the rest of the group away, giving the two an illusion of privacy.

Chuuya gulped as he tried to find the words, while Dazai stood in stiff and awkward silence, listening to the squeak of leather gloves and shaking breaths.

"Please stop re-inserting yourself into my life." Chuuya's gaze dropped, refusing to meet Dazai's gaze any longer. "I...I can't take it. You know me, or at least you did."

Dazai ignored the stabbing pain that little addition sent through his heart. "I can't turn my back on anyone, even the people who stab me in the back." And Dazai knew that. Of course he knew that. The Sheep, Shirase, Verlaine, Mori – anybody Chuuya put his trust in, pledged his loyalty to, had it for life, regardless of how they abused it.

And suddenly, every decision Dazai made on the night he left the Port Mafia was wrong. How the fuck had he not seen this coming? Forget being the genius tactician who could play mind games with the Demon of the North, who could read people so well their actions were as predictable as if they were his own. He'd forgotten how to read the actions of one of the only people he'd ever cared about. Of course Chuuya hadn't forgotten him as soon as he'd turned traitor. It wasn't in the red-head's nature.

He'd messed up. Fuck, he'd messed up.

"So please...stop making me." As painful as it was, Dazai forced himself to keep looking at Chuuya as he tried to decipher his meaning.

Stop making me turn my back on you?

Stop making me betray the Port Mafia because when you tell me to do something, I do it?

As it turned out, it didn't particularly matter what Chuuya had meant with that little plea, because he made it perfectly clear how Dazai was supposed to respond as he raised his head to look Dazai in the eye with steeled gaze.

"After this is over, there will be no more Double Black team-ups, no more Devastating Rivals, no more Twin Darkness. This is the end for us. The end of Soukoku."

The words rang through his head like a demonic echo as Dazai fought the urge to scream. He'd been naive – of course he had –to think he and Chuuya could simply pick up where they'd left off four years ago, that they were still partners in any capacity.

"Chuuya–" He hadn't realised he'd spoken until Chuuya cut him off.

"If I- if our partnership ever meant anything to you, you'll give me this. Promise me, that I won't have to see you again. Please."

Dazai wished he was blind in that moment, only so that he wouldn't have to look into those saphire eyes, hardened and crystallised like they always used to be when Chuuya was fighting back tears.

"Okay Chuuya. If that's what you want–"

"It is," he insisted, quickly – as if he was assuring himself that this was the right decision, as if he was trying to end the conversation before he could second-guess himself, before he could regret it.

"Then okay," Dazai sighed. Chuuya deserved this much at least, after everything. "I promise that this will be the end of Double Black."

"Thank you."

Chuuya turned away and walked purposely towards the others, steps seeming lighter than they had previously, like a weight had been taken from his shoulders.

"You four, with me," he heard Chuuya order to the Akutagawas and Atsushis – not that Dazai looked; his feet were cemented to the floor.

"D-Dazai?" A meek voice called out from beside him. Dazai hadn't even heard the boy approach.

He quickly schooled his expression into an easy grin and turned to Atsushi. "You should get going," he said as he patted his protégé on the shoulder. "Chuuya doesn't take kindly to slackers."

"How'd he deal with you then?" The white-haired boy teased with a nervous smile.

How, indeed.

"I'll see you later," he said, with his best attempt at a reassuring smile, before he turned to the rest of the group. "Ranpo said the Military's base of operations is somewhere East, so I propose we head that way."

He stalked off without further delay, uncaring for any protest that the others might have brought up. He continued to walk away. And just like all those years ago... 

...he didn't look back.

Chapter Text

Chuuya's hands were shaking.

His face was stern, his demeanour calm, his gait steady but his hands were ever so slightly trembling. The movement was so slight Atsushi was certain he only picked up on it because of his enhanced vision.

"After this is over, there will be no more Double Black team-ups, no more Devastating Rivals, no more Twin Darkness. This is the end for us. The end of Soukoku."

Atsushi didn't pretend to know what most of that had meant.

"This is the end for us."

But he understood that. He'd heard the quiver in Chuuya's voice and the unsteady gasps of Dazai's breath. From watching the two interact, Atsushi had gathered that Chuuya and Dazai were tethered to each other by something far stronger than a past occupation. Had Chuuya severed that connection? Had whatever had connected them for the past four years of silence been simply cut away, leaving the two to drift?

"You'd sacrifice everything you've got... You'd sacrifice everything for a fucking dead man!"

Chuuya had sounded so pained when he'd said those words back in the dance studio. Atsushi hadn't understood why Chuuya had sounded so betrayed, like he was hurt on their behalf.

Unless Dazai had done so before.

"You left without a wor– no actually. You left one: sayonara. And you know what, Dazai? It fucking hurt."

Would Dazai do the same to the Agency? Would Dazai leave if Oda asked him to? Would he vanish with only a single note left in his place?

Atsushi's mind was spinning as he followed Chuuya through the rubble. For once, Akutagawa's presence by his side was a comfort. He'd take any semblance of familiarity at this point, even if it came in the form of his murderous rival, whose lanky footsteps beside him were as sure and stubborn as ever.

"A-ha!" The sudden exclamation startled Atsushi from his thoughts and his focus snapped onto Chuuya like a magnet.  "This'll do."

Atsushi followed Chuuya's line of sight to a car. It was honestly a shock to come across any kind of vehicle that wasn't completely demolished. And though the old Suzuki had taken quite a beating – with it's body dented beyond saving and rusted paintwork practically flaking off the car in torrents of canary-yellow snow – it appeared fully intact, perhaps even functional.

Chuuya strode over to car and reached in through the missing front window to open the door, before slipping into the driver's seat. Atsushi remained where he was along with Akutagawa and their doppelgangers, watching Chuuya hot wire the car with practiced ease. (Atsushi wasn't exactly surprised the Mafia Executive knew how to steal a car, but he was a little shocked to see the man was so familiar with it that he'd started the engine in under ten seconds. Wasn't he rich?).

The man laughed victoriously as the engine roared to life, then he glanced at the rest of them with a raised brow. "Stop mooching about and get in will you," he ordered.

Akutagawa immediately followed his superior's direction, though Atsushi noticed the man looked a little nervous. The tiger couldn't help but snort at that. Was Chuuya a bad driver?

Either way, Atsushi didn't think anyone could be a worse driver than Dazai: a man with no will to live and who drove like it.

The were-tiger was quick to slip into the seat behind Akutagawa (who'd elected to ride shotgun), leaving the other two to fight over who'd squeeze into the half seat in the middle. Atsushi was relieved to see the two bicker instead of getting along in that weird, unfamiliar way that made Atsushi sick to his stomach, though he was less than pleased when Akutagawa 2.0 slid in beside him.

The subtle click of Akutagawa putting on his seat belt. Atsushi frowned. Was he really that nervous about Chuuya's driving? The were-tiger followed suit and buckled in, although he wasn't all that concerned: Chuuya couldn't be as bad as Dazai.

It did not occur to him that Akutagawa had most likely ridden with Dazai too.

And yet, as soon as Chuuya turned the key, Atsushi found himself reaching for the handle above the car window. His fingers just managed to scrape the plastic as Chuuya revved the engine – the only warning he had before his stomach was abandoned.

The were-tiger squealed and grabbed tightly onto the handle because Holy shit if Dazai drove like a suicidal maniac (which he was) and had no discernable skill, then Chuuya drove like he was a grand prix driver with the intent to commit vehicular homicide.

If anybody tried to accuse him of finding amusement in the fact that Ryuunosuke was sat in the most dangerous seat of the vehicle with eyes wide in terror as he scrambled for his seatbelt, Atsushi would vehemently deny it.

Once they'd gotten used to Chuuya's psychotic yet incredibly skilled driving, Atsushi was beginning to find the silence a little awkward. If he were with the Agency, there would be some kind of drama or sarcastic commentary as they sped toward imminent death.

Without his permission, Atsushi's tongue became separated from his brain and blurted, "So, as we're all going to die–"

"We're not going to die," Chuuya inturrupted, annoyance evident in his tone.

Atsushi felt that was a little hypocritical as the red-head seemed certain they were 'fucked' less than ten minutes ago. "Probably going to die," he corrected anyway.

He waited for Chuuya to dispute him again, but the man just shrugged so he continued, "W-we should get to know each other." He plastered a grin across his face which he hoped didn't come across as nervous as his voice. "What is it Tanizaki said the other day? Trauma bonding?"

Instant regret fell over him in a heavy cloud as everyone, including the driver turned to stare at him in total disbelief, brows pinched in various stages of confused frown.

"Eyes on the road please Chuuya-san," Akutagawa said hurriedly. The mafioso tutted, but swivelled back around.

"Doesn't us being in this car count as trauma bonding?" Asked Nakajima, whose face was pale and sweaty, as he watched Chuuya navigate the obstacle courses created by rubble and debris. "We're going to die before we even see Nakahara."

And just for that comment, Chuuya yanked the steering wheel and sent the car hurtling around the corner on two wheels. Nakajima's face smacked against the window with an audible crack and Chuuya laughed. Atsushi found himself pressed into the tan fabric and his nose was overwhelmed by the scent of overly-sweetened coffee.

For a second, everything froze. The scent was warm and familiar; it was a comfort he clung to in such a strange world. And it was so familiar because it was the scent that clung to his clothes as well: coffee from the cafè on the ground floor of the Agency building with four cubes of sugar.

The moment ended abruptly with a hand in his hair that tugged him away. And Atsushi realised belatedly he'd been inhaling the smell of Ryuunosuke's coat and promptly flinched away. His face felt hot and under the scrutiny of Ryuunosuke's disgusted face, he suddenly wished Chuuya would crash the car.

Atsushi did his best to quickly forget the interaction, turning away from Ryuunosuke's glare towards the window, only to lock eyes with Akutagawa in the wing mirror. There was an expression on his face Atsushi had never seen before. His eyes were narrowed, but the usual glare was softer somehow and the upturned nose wasn't paired with his charactistic snarl. And for once, Atsushi had no idea what he was thinking, only that Akutagawa's eyes were locked on him.

"Ohhhh we're gonna die," Nakajima squealed, clutching the door in a death grip as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I've already died before. It's not that terrible," Akutagawa muttered, finally pulling his gaze away from Atsushi.

"Off to a great start from Akutagawa! Who's next?" Atsushi prompted, keen to move the conversation before the Port Mafia's hound tried to stab someone (or Chuuya really did decide to kill them).

"Wait, you've...died?" Nakajima seemed to momentarily forget he was terrified and instead gaped at Akutagawa with awestruck eyes. "Are you a zombie?"

"No."

Atsushi couldn't help but snort at the curt, deadpan response. Akutagawa glared at him.

"How'd you die?"

"Either asphyxiation or exsanguination," he answered, matter-of-factly.

"You damn fool. Hurry up and go."

Atsushi heard it. The gurgling, choking, spluttering of blood was loud in his ears and yet the words were cool and clear even in his mind. Atsushi came to the sickening realisation that Akutagawa couldn't have choked to death, but must have bled out instead; he died slowly as the world around him turned back, albeit far less painful than suffocation.

For me. He died for me.

Atsushi swallowed the bile back down and turned his attention to the conversation.

"Yeah but...how?" Nakajima pressed. Atsushi was beginning to think his counterpart had a suicidal streak.

"My throat was slit."

Ryuunosuke scoffed, "Tch. Weakling."

"'Stay down,' you said? I refuse."

"Would you become my pupil?"

"You don't want to kill him? Is his life that precious to you?"

This is trust. It's not us one by one but our power together.

"I don't need words, only actions."

"You damn fool, hurry up and go!"

Something burned in his chest as his pupils narrowed to feline slits. "Hey!" Atsushi yelled, grabbing Ryuunosuke's tie in his fist, surprising everyone in the vehicle including himself. "We defeated the guy like, three times. Not our fault he had a sword that traversed space and time."

Ryuunosuke didn't seem all that impressed, responding with an eyeroll and another scoff. The heat that burned in Atsushi's chest flared brightly, tightening his muscles and charging the air in his vocal chords with something explosive.

"Besides, he saved my life! What have you done that's so great, huh?" He snarled, bearing fangs toward the other.

Ryuunosuke snarled back and Atsushi answered him with a tiger growl that reverberated through the metal vehicle.

"Oo-kay! Let's move on," Nakajima inturrupted hastily, hand on his partner's shoulder in an attempt to settle him. Satisfied Ryuunosuke wasn't about to stab him, Atsushi settled, metaphorical hackles lowering. He once again met Akutagawa's eyes in the mirror and found another strange expression: some hybrid of a curious frown, with the corner of his lips turned upward. Atsushi didn't try to dissect this one either.

"Uh...Chuuya-san?" Nakajima plastered a faux smile on his face, far to similar to Atsushi's own nervous smiles.

"What?"

"W-why do you have fangs?"

Yeah, his counterpart was definitely suicidal.

"Boss glued 'em in," Chuuya stated, flatly, as if that answered anything for their universal counterparts.

Atsushi smirked when he caught the muttered "I have so many questions".

"Back to trauma bonding though," he prompted, not wishing to talk about the vampire contagion of their homeworld.

"How about we discuss relevant information?" Ryuunosuke suggested, snarkily as he bore his upturned nose at Atsushi with a scowl.

"Hm?" Atsushi blinked at him.

"Like what the Hell is corruption?"

Actually, that was a good point, Atsushi admitted, reluctantly (and not aloud). Nakajima voiced similar thoughts though.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow as he watched Nakajima through the mirror. "You don't know Nakajima?"

The counterpart shook his head. "No. Should I?"

Chuuya shrugged. "No idea. But to answer your question..." There was a pause as Chuuya took a moment to take a deep breath. "Corruption is the ultimate form of my ability. For the price of giving up control, I'm able to generate enough gravity to create black holes. It's the most destructive ability I've come across."

Atsushi's eyes widened in shock. "Shit," he breathed. Atsushi already thought Chuuya was ridiculously overpowered, but this was a whole other level; a large enough black hole could completely wipe out the planet, let alone a small city like Yokohama. How had Nakahara not killed them all already?

"Yeah," Chuuya agreed, tiredly.

"But you give up control?" Nakajima questioned. Atsushi shoved down the sudden feeling of flesh caught between his teeth and blood dripping down his chin that matted his fur.

"I go on a mindless rampage until the ability is either nullified or I die from the strain on my body."

And Chuuya had said it with such depressing resignation that Atsushi couldnt help but once again utter, "Shit."

"Then how is Nakahara still...rampaging?" Nakajima wondered, voicing what they were all thinking.

"No idea," Chuuya admitted, biting his bottom lip in frustration before continuing. "The government may still have access to the Arahabaki Project files. When the military gained custody of Nakahara, I guess they just picked up where they left off."

"Arahabaki Project?"

Atsushi pretended not to notice the way Chuuya's grip on the steering wheel tightened, or the way his jaw clenched, or or the way his gaze hardened. "It was a government-funded experiment started during the Great War to imbue people with artificial abilities."

"And they succeeded?" Questioned Ryuunosuke, looking skeptical.

"Once."

Nakajima's eyes widened with realisation. "They made you."

Chuuya let out a slow, shaky breath in an attempt to calm himself: as good an admission as any.

"Shit," Atsushi found himself saying, again.

"Really kid?" Chuuya deadpanned, fixing him with a tired look.

Atsushi flushed as he scratched the back of his neck. "I-I don't really have any other words."

The executive just sighed. "Is my tragic childhood enough 'trauma bonding' for you?"

Atsushi didn't think he'd learnt anything about Chuuya's childhood, but he chose to ignore that fact lest he find himself squaring off against the forces of gravity. "...yes?"

"Great," he deadpanned, pulling the car into a gentle stop. "Because we're here."

"Where's here?" Inquired Atsushi as he stepped out the vehicle, only to realise as soon as he set his eyes on the ruins of four pillars, set in a diamond formation, around the demolished foundations of a skyrise.

They arrived at the Port Mafia Headquarters.

"Now what?" Akutagawa asked, looking to Chuuya.

The man's lips twisted into a devilish grin which Atsushi didn't believe bode well for their survival. "We're going to cause a scene." 

.•°•. 

They'd walked for about twenty minutes when an immense boom like a roll of thunder shook the earth beneath them.

"What the fuck?" Kajii squawked, as he tried to stay on his feet despite the quake.

"An earthquake?" Yosano guessed, clutching Kouyou's arm to keep the both of them steady.

"No. That was Chuuya," Dazai corrected, "trying to attract Nakahara's attention."

As Demon Snow sliced through falling rubble, Kyouka couldn't help but worry about Atsushi. She knew Chuuya's strength; she had seen the power of gravity manipulation up close. If Nakahara was somehow more powerful and had better control than Chuuya, well, she dared not think about it.

The tremors ceased after a few seconds and the group quickly collected themselves. Dazai dusted down his coat before continuing onward. Kyouka had no idea where they were going, but Dazai seemed to be choosing their path purposely. As much as she currently disliked the man, she trusted his judgement so she didn't kick up a fuss. Kenji as well seemed content to follow his lead.

The others however, seemed twitchy, like they wanted to protest but had no better plans so reluctantly followed as well.

"You seem to have a goal in mind," Kouyou alleged, accusation evident in her tone and narrowed eyes. "Have you suddenly figured out where the military are based?"

Dazai smiled tightly. "No such luck I'm afraid, my dear Kouyou." Both she and Yosano turned their noses at that, but Dazai continued unabashed, "However, there is a stop we must make before we continue."

Kyouka's eyes narrowed. If they did nor perform their role in taking out the bulk of the military force, then Atsushi and Chuuya (and the others) would be at even more of a disadvantage.

Dazai's eyes met hers. "This is important, I promise," he assured her, smile vanishing from his face to be replaced by a look of determination.

She knew Dazai wanted this mission to succeed, so Kyouka was willing to trust him for the moment. However, she made it clear with her stare that she was willing to slit his throat if that promise was broken, or Atsushi was hurt as a result. Dazai gave a nod of understanding before directing the group into the nearest building that hadn't completely collapsed.

"Where are we going?" Oda questioned, eyeing Dazai curiously.

Kyouka noticed Dazai stumble before he quickly corrected himself. Without turning around, he answered, "I assume this is still Chu- Nakahara's apartment, yes?" He led them up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

Kouyou nodded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Perhaps we might find something useful here."

Kajii scoffed as they reached the top floor. "He hasn't been in his apartment since before the Boss died. What do you expect to find?"

Dazai pulled something silver out of his pocket and crouched in front of the door. "If Nakahara is anything like my Chuuya, he would've at least sensed Dazai's grand plan – whatever he suspected that was – was coming to fruition. If that's the case, he would've had some contingency plan."

"Nakahara wasn't exactly the planning type," Kouyou criticised.

Kyouka was inclined to agree. Back in the Port Mafia, the few missions she'd attended with Chuuya had often ended in an all-out-brawl (more often than not started by Chuuya himself). Not that this was ever detrimental to the mission; Chuuya could very much handle whatever he threw himself into.

"Yeah, that's why we had so much fun blowing stuff up together," Kajii added with a grin.

Dazai scoffed as nimble fingers fiddled with the lock. "I may be– may have been the brains of Double Black, but Chuuya is no slouch. One can't do complex physics equations in their head in seconds and apply them to the battlefield at a moment's notice if they're stupid, can they?" He turned to eye them all, meeting each one with a raised brow as he dared them to disagree. Immediately afterward, his eyes widened. "No one will tell him I said that." He whirled back around to the door.

"Right," Yosano placated, eyeing him curiously. "Still, I don't know what you expect to find."

"Just indulge me for a moment," Dazai requested. And, with a final twist, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

The detective stood, and without further delay, breached the apartment, leaving the rest of them to follow suit.

The door opened into a small room furnished only with a side table, coat-rack and door mat. Kyouka brushed off the instinct to remove her shoes and followed Dazai through the next door.

This space was a larger space designed to be open plan. To the left was a kitchen – modern and outfitted with sleek, slate-grey cupboards, an induction hob and granite counter tops as well as a small island and glass-front wine fridge. The rest of the space was a living area: a plump, red couch, wall-mounted flat-screen, floor-to-ceiling windows and large coffee table.

Laid out on the table were dozens of books and empty coffee mugs and wine glasses. Most were open to pages filled with post-it notes and annotations in what Kyouka assumed to be Chuuya's handwriting.

Kouyou frowned at the clutter. "He wasn't working on any investigations before..." She trailed off, but Kyouka filled in the blanks herself. If Nakahara wasn't working on any Mafia investigations, what was all this research for and where had it come from?

Dazai wondered over to the kitchen in favour of investigating the notes attached to the fridge by various souvenir magnets.

Oda, also ignoring the coffee table spread for the moment, crouched low over a wicker basket by the door, practically overflowing with scrap paper and sticky notes. He pulled out a crumpled slip and read it, his brow creasing as she did so.

"What is it?" Enquired Yosano, leaning to read over his shoulder.

"This receipt is dated for after the Military apprehended him," he stated, turning the receipt at different angles as if the numbers would rearrange themselves to make sense.

"That can't be right," Kouyou objected, snatching the receipt from his to see for herself. "That would mean they-"

"They let him go," Kajii concluded, entirely disbelieving of his own words.

"Why would they do that?" Wondered Kenji, eyes flicking between his two fellow detectives.

"Did they recapture him after maybe?" Yosano suggested, seeming unsure.

"No." Dazai returned from the kitchen with an orange sticky note that had a single phone number scrawled upon it in handwriting that was different from the writing on the book notes. The expression on his face was more unreadable than usual. "He went willingly."

His eyes flickered to the book sat on top of the pile and Kyouka followed his gaze. Key words highlighted in neon jumped out at her, screaming to be noticed.

Black hole

Gravitational field

Singularity

Bridge

Whitehole

Wormhole

And the last, victoriously circled several times in thick, red marker:

Time travel

"Chuuya wanted power and they offered it to him. They offered him a way to control corruption." Dazai stared at the number in his hands, like studying it would reveal who was on the other end of the line. "And he accepted."

Chapter Text

"–DO YOU MEAN WE STILL CAN'T ENTER!? WE'RE THE HUNTING DOGS DAMMIT! IF YOU DON'T LET ME IN SO HELP ME I'LL–"

By this point, Tecchou had long since tuned out Teruko's incessant barking. Apparently, so had the workers at the front desk, who continued to ignore her – though this only served to enrage her further and cause her to scream louder.

"–AND THEN I'LL DRAG YOUR LIMBLESS BODY OUT INTO THE DESERT AND WATCH YOU SCREAM AND WRITHE IN AGONY AS THE VULTURES PECK OUT YOUR GUTS AND THEN I'LL–"

Tecchou, as he had for the last twenty days, occupied himself with physical activity, which in this particular instance, happened to have been press-ups.

"–AND YOU! I'M GOING TO WRING YOUR NECK! IM GOING TO BREAK YOUR DAMN–"

"...468...469..." Tecchou muttered under his breath as he pushed up and down against the door. He ignored the familiar footsteps that drew closer even as someone sat in the chair just beside him. "...472...473..." He didn't so much as pause when the weight of the aforementioned person's feet settled between his shoulder blades.

"–AND WHEN YOUR SISTER IS WEEPING AT YOUR GRAVE I'LL–"

"She's still going then?" Jouno observed, his tone one of unsurprised disappointment.

"...481...482...I don't think she's stopped to breathe," Tecchou commented. He heard Jouno tut and slump back into his chair.

"–BEYOND RIDICULOUS THAT YOU WON'T LET US EVEN COMMUNICATE! IF I HAD ANY SAY I'D–"

Jouno grunted and Tecchou turned to look at his white-haired compatriot over his shoulder while he continued his exercises. The blind man waved his hand dismissively and Tecchou turned his head back, merely listening as the gloved hand dropped into its owner's lap. He waited for Jouno to voice whatever was on his mind. "It's not like she's wrong," he said after a moment more of listening to Teruko's screeching.

"Hm?"

"It's incredibly strange that they haven't let us talk to Tachihara. And it's even stranger that they hadn't called us in to subdue Nakahara as the government's elite police squad."

"...499...500." Tecchou rolled onto his side and the boots resting on his back fell into the dip above his hip bone. He propped his head up on his arm to study the pinch in Jouno's eyebrows. The flesh in the other's cheek moved oddly, like Jouno was chewing on it: a rare habit, reserved for when he felt particularly stressed.

"And it's suspicious that now we're here, we're denied clearance to intervene."

Tecchou nodded in agreement. Nothing was right about this situation and they were being denied access under the guise of protocols that didn't make sense.

"–YOUR SUPERVISOR! I WANT TO TALK TO WHOMEVER IS IN CHARGE! I AM A RESPECTED MILITARY OFFICER! THIS IS RIDICULOUS! IF YOU DON'T–"

He glanced back at Teruko who was now stood on the front desk screaming in the faces of the workers (who, still, were miraculously continuing their work without so much as a glance in her direction). Her small form was practically vibrating with rage. Like Jouno's frown and chewed cheeks, Tecchou knew Teruko's rage was a form of stress. They were worried about Tachihara – of course they were. Tecchou was worried too; Nakahara was the most powerful ability user they'd ever heard of and Tachihara wouldn't be able to fight him alone. Nakahara was a threat the Hunting Dogs should face and defeat together.

And yet, here they were: camped out in the lobby of the Gifted Special Operations Division headquarters, their Captain off doing who knows what, awaiting any news of their teammate.

"–AND YOU IDIOTS WILL BE BEGGING FOR–"

"That's quite enough Vice-Captain."

For the first time in six hours, Teruko paused in her rant. She spun around, jumping off the desk before she straightened to attention. Jouno slipped his feet off Tecchou and stood as well, though his posture was schooled into something more casual in an attempt to disguise his eagerness. Tecchou jumped up just in time to see their Captain entering, accompanied by a well-dressed man (5'10" by Tecchou's estimate) in a double-breasted, ash-grey suit. He had a greasy bob of mousey brown hair and large, round lenses that reflected the lights of the room so well they might as well have been mirrored glasses. Tecchou couldn't help but think that was intentional.

"Who's this?" Questioned Jouno, sneering at the newcomer.

The newcomer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a single finger and as the lenses shifted, Tecchou caught a glimpse of light brown eyes pointed toward Jouno.

"My name is Sakaguchi Ango of the Special Operations Division," he answered, looking to each of them in turn. "I hear you've been creating quite the ruckus." His gaze was pointedly directed at Teruko, who glared straight back.

"Mr Sakaguchi is here to debrief us on the Yokohama Operation," the Captain explained, bearing his usual, hearty smile (though Tecchou noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes).

Jouno scoffed as his arms folded across his chest. "The Yokohama Operation? That's what they're calling this shit show?"

Sakaguchi shifted, directing his face to the people sat at their desks whom, for once, had paused in their working to watch the confrontation. "How about we discuss this matter in my office?" He suggested, eyeing the desk workers cautiously.

The three Hunting Dogs looked to their Captain, awaiting orders. It didn't particularly matter about their opinion if the Captain ordered otherwise (though Tecchou didn't see a scenario in which the Captain denied their only source of information).

Fukuchi nodded to Ango and they followed the agent past the front desk, watched by the workers, and into the lift where Ango reached for the button to the basement floor.

"Your office is in the basement?" Teruko questioned, frowning at the man. True, it was unusual for a high-level employee to be based on the lower floors.

"Yes," Ango replied, either ignorant of or simply denying an answer to the underlying question. The lift stagnated in the silence.

It wasn't until they'd exited the lift Ango began to explain. "I may have a way of communicating with your teammate, but not through official channels."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Teruko questioned, hand settling on the hilt of her sabre. "Are you suggesting we operate illegally?"

A sharp look from the Captain settled Teruko, allowing the agent to continue.

"The truth is that I am not the one running this operation. In fact, I don't know who is."

Jouno held out an arm to stop Ango in his tracks. Tecchou found himself reaching for his own sabre, alongside Teruko. "Who are you?"

A traitor?

Ango sighed, but did not try to fight them – as was wise.  "There are orders from the top to military units within the barrier. I managed to decipher them."

"And?" The Captain pressed, eyes narrowed.

"No ability user is permitted to leave Yokohama alive."

"WHAT!?"

Ango didn't so much as flinch at Teruko's shout, simply raising his head to meet the Captain's glare. "Regardless of whether or not your agent's cover is blown, he is in danger," he said, in the same monotone voice he always seemed to speak in. "There is something going on in Yokohama someone doesn't want to be seen."

"Something to do with Nakahara, I presume?" The Captain suggested, still defensive but hand moving away from his weapon, directing the rest of them to follow suit.

Jouno removed his hand from Ango and the man fixed his skewed tie before continuing, "Yes. Subject A5158 is officially reported as a KOS target."

Tecchou caught the insinuation. "But unofficially?"

"I believe the true orders are something along the lines of recapture and retrieve."

"And they can't have witnesses," Jouno guessed, scowling.

"Precisely."

"Who's ordering this?" Teruko snarled, ready to pounce on whatever traitor was threatening Tachihara.

Ango sighed again, perhaps the most emotive the man can possibly be. "We don't know."

"We?" The Captain raised an eyebrow.

Ango stepped around Fukuchi and pointed to an unmarked door at the end of the hall, before beginning to approach it. "Myself and a few trusted associates, who apparently aren't trusted by whomever is giving these secret orders."

Teruko grinned, eyes alight with a dangerous spark. "Send me upstairs, I'll make them talk."

"Unlikely, we've all be trained to resist torture techniques. And there's the matter of alerting the ones in charge that we know of the plot."

"So?" The Vice Captain rolled her eyes. "We can destroy them."

Jouno scoffed while the Captain sighed, "Teruko..."

"What? We can!" She pouted, bottom lip jutting out.

"These people were able to apprehend and control Nakahara for a long period of time," the Agent reminded them as they reached the door. "It's likely they've developed some kind of tool for dealing with highly powerful adversaries, including the four of you."

Tecchou eyed the Captain who nodded in agreement. "So what do we do?"

Any answer was inturrupted by the door swinging inwards to reveal a young woman with powder-blue hair. "Sakaguchi, sir!"

"Yes, Tsujimura?" 

"We've recieved a signal from within the barrier." Her eyes flickered to meet Tecchou's before settling back on her boss. "It's for them."

Teruko's eyes widened. "Tachihara!" She grinned, shoving past the woman to enter the room. Tsujimura looked to her boss, who merely sighed as he stepped aside to allow the rest of them through.

"–is Tachihara Michizou of the Hunting Dogs, requesting conference with Captain Fukuchi Ouchi...or anybody. Seriously? Is there anybody there?"

Tecchou watched Jouno's face shift from something stony and tense to something slightly less so – not that anyone without enhanced vision would be able to see the shift in microexpression. "It's him," he confirmed.

It was a wonderful thing to see the tension drain from Teruko's shoulders as an enormous grin alight her face. With slightly more force than was probably necessary, she slammed her fist down on the comm button. "Tachihara?"

There was a beat of silence.

Teruko's muscles trembled beneath her skin. "Tachihara? Are you still there?" Tecchou ignored the slight shake in her voice. "Tachihara?"

Another response of silence.

"Ta-" Teruko's voice cracked. "Tachihara!?"

And for a long, dreadful moment, Tecchou thought there would be more silence.

Until the radio buzzed to life once again. "Hi there! Sorry to keep you waiting," a voice that did not belong to Tachihara spoke, filling the quiet space with a cheerful tone.

It was not someone Tecchou recognised, nor did Teruko or Jouno if there shared frowns were anything to go by.

But the Captain, whose eyes widened minutely in recognition, made his way to the comms unit to stand by Teruko. "Edogawa Ranpo? Is that you?"

A bright chuckle answered him. "Hey old man! How've ya been?"

The Captain laughed heartily, but before the conversation could continue, Teruko inturrupted, "Where's Tachihara?"

"Eh? Oh, he's downstairs dealing with the intruders," Ranpo answered, offhandedly. Tecchou could even picture a man's silhouette waving a dissmissive hand at Teruko's concern. "It's just me and Gin up here. Say hi, Gin!"

"Erm...Hi?" Came the greeting in the form of a quiet, feminine voice.

"Enough!" Snapped Teruko, vein popping in her forehead. "Let us speak to Tachihara!"

Ranpo huffed, "I've already told you, he's b‐" before a low rumble inturrupted him.

Jouno stiffened; eyelids fluttered as his fingers twitched, sensing something Tecchou could not. "An...earthquake?"

That would explain the rumbling, Tecchou supposed.

"No," Ranpo denied. "That's our plan being put into action."

"Plan? For escape?" Fukuchi guessed.

"To subdue Nakahara," Ranpo corrected. "I'll leave the escape plan to you guys. If we take down Nakahara, there won't be much excuse to keep the barrier up or keep the Hunting Dogs out," he reasoned.

"You have a plan to take on Nakahara?" Teruko questioned, dubious, as she glared at the comm system.

"Mm-hm!" Ranpo confirmed, cheerily. "Though it will go much smoother if we had access to Nakahara's files. I trust that you'll send them to us Agent Sakaguchi?"

To Ango's credit, the man didn't so much as flinch at being suddenly addressed. Instead, he merely adjusted his glasses, before answering, "I'll see what I can dig up."

Tecchou could practically feel Ranpo's grin as he spoke, "Great! In that case, I'll..."

The detective trailed off, leaving the line silent aside from the quiet, uneasy breathing of Ranpo whose fingers were still pressed on the call button.

The Captain tensed his jaw as Teruko narrowed her eyes at the silent radio.

"Ranpo? What is it?"

The breaths stopped.

"Oi, Detective, answer him!" Teruko demanded, when the Captain was met with silence.

The radio buzzed, squeaked and went silent. 

.•°•.

Much like Junichirou had predicted, everything had gone terribly.

The group had split from the others, leaving the tension with them, about ten minutes prior to reaching the communications tower with suspiciously little difficulty. They'd only run into one patrol, which they slipped past quite easily with his ability. That was the first signal to Junichirou that something was going to go terribly wrong. The Armed Detective Agency had never been that lucky, he had no belief that their luck would turn now.

Kunikida fashioned a key card from his notebook that granted them access to the building and – surprisingly – still-functioning lift. Second red flag of uncharacteristically good luck.

And their final, strange stoke of good luck, came in the form of an undamaged, powered communication deck with channels open to outside Yokohama.

Junichirou watched while Kunikida, Gin and Tachihara worked to encrypt their signal as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Something had to give, right? They weren't that lucky. They couldn't be that lucky. Something in Junichirou's gut warned him to stay alert, kept his shoulders tense and his fingers twitching and his eyes peeled for...something.

The red-head jumped when the console screeched to life, adrenaline spiking through him. Still, no signs of danger.

"Finally," Tachihara sighed. "I was beginning to think this thing was a dud." His fingers flew across the console, tuning the radio to a certain frequency. "Hello?" He called into the white noise. "This is Agent Tachihara Michizou of the Hunting Dogs reporting."

Silence.

Tachihara hummed and turned the dial to another channel. "Hello?" His jaw clenched. "This is Agent Tachihara Michizou of the Hunting Dogs reporting."

Junichirou watched as Tachihara repeated the process several more times, growing more and more tense as the other grew more and more frustrated. Anxiety stroked a frozen finger down his spine as the nervous tension in the room thickened into a palpable, touchable force around them.

"–is Agent fucking Tachihara and someone better answer dammit!" The man practically snarled into the radio.

Finally, the tension was torn away when an explosion sounded from downstairs. The detective almost sighed in relief as his apprehension was finally vindicated.

Kunikida straightened up, hard line drawn in his face – definitely business as usual for the ADA.

"You three stay here and continue," he ordered, pointing to Gin, Ranpo and Tachihara in turn as he pulled his pistol from his jacket. "The rest of us will head downstairs and run interference."

The president nodded approvingly at the decision and with little fanfare exited the room.

Izumi leapt ahead to the stairwell where Demon Snow appeared in a brilliant flash of light and tore the door off it's hinges. With little more than a cursaory glance toward the ither three, Izumi then hopped over the banister, leaping back and forth between the bars like a monkey as she descended at speed, watched over by her ability. Fukuzawa followed suit, leaving Junichirou with Kunikida.

Kunikida had pulled several pages worth of explosives from his notebook and piled them neatly into the lift. Junichirou gave a low whistle as he admired the man's work of intricate wiring over his shoulder. The blond waved him into the lift and Junichirou stepped in, carefully to avoid the incidiaries dotted around his feet.

"Going down?" He asked Kunikida, with a nervous chuckle, pressing his thumb on the button. Luckily, the joke had earned him a curt smile – as close to a laugh as Junichirou would ever get from the man – as Kunikida stepped into the lift beside him.

The doors slid closed.

...58...57...56...

Junichirou watched the buttons light up as they descended, counting down to their imminent gun fight. His right hand curled around his blade while the other twitched in anticipation.

...35...34...33...

Kunikida switched the safety off his guns with a couple of loud clicks that echoed across the space.

...19...18...17...

"Do it now," Kunikida ordered.

"Right." A sprinkling of light, like green snow, appeared dotted around the space. The bombs vanished and the two detectives with them, leaving an empty lift as it descended toward the ground floor.

...4...

A deep breath.

...3...

A fist tightening around a blade.

...2...

A familiar sound of a gun being cocked.

...1...

A hardened gaze fixed on the door.

...0

The door slid open with a ding and the muzzle of a rifle was shoved almost into Junichirou's face.

He held his breath.

The soldier in black body armour stepped closer, close enough that Junichirou could make out the faint hairs on the man's nose. Kunikida tensed, pointing his pistols directly at the man's skull.

Ka-shink

The lobby erupted with gunfire as a glowing, ghostly presence sliced its way into the centre of the room, followed by Fukuzawa wielding his katana like an extension of his being and Izumi who jabbed each of her opponents weak spots with inhuman precision with her kunai.

The soldier stepped out the lift, joining his fellow soldiers in firing at their assailants. And Junichirou seized his new opportunity to vacate the space alongside Kunikida and didn't release his ability until they'd reached the other side of the room.

Kunikida lifted a detonator out of his pocket, thumb poised over the bright red button.

"Hey," a soldier called. "This thing isn't empty–"

BOOM!

Junichirou jumped on the nearest soldier with a feral grin and jabbed his blade into their neck, slicing open the carotid artery causing blood to spurt out in torrent of scarlet that splashed across his face. He barely waited for them to collapse before he disappeared into his digital realm, moving onto his next target.

He reached out with his invisible blade, catching the next soldier unawares. He slipped the blade between the plates in their leg armour and dragged it downwards in a sudden, violent motion that definitely tore open their femoral artery. More blood gushed out, reaching Junichirou's lips this time. He just licked it off, not so much as wincing at the metallic taste that used to make him nauseous.

He continued to attack from within his warped reality, culling each target with practiced precision. Demon Snow and her master cut down their opponents with skill and grace only matched by Fukuzawa and his deadly sweeps of his katana, hile Kunikida fired endless rounds into the fray, striking vital points as if they were mere cardboard targets.

And yet, in spite of the success, Junichirou was overcome with a foreboding sense of anticipation once again. There was something else looming, vying for the Detective Agency's downfall, cut from the grasps of victory.

Somone grabbed him by the neck and another jabbed a gun into his temple.

Well, he supposed his 'danger-sense' had Bern going off for a reason.

"Drop the knife," the hand around his neck ordered with a threatening squeeze. "I expect to hear the knife hit the floor."

Junichirou made no move to comply.

"Drop the knife!" A new voice – the gun – snarled, pressing the weapon more harshly into his head. Junichirou hissed in pain. "Now!"

Just as Junichirou was debating the chances of stabbing his captor and disappearing before he's shot, a cry of pain sounds ahead of him. His eyes flit upward to Kunikida on his knees clutching a bleeding shoulder while three soldiers stand around pointing guns at his head.

"NOBODY MOVE –" one of them shouts – "or he dies!"

In the silence that answered him, Junichirou could hear his heartbeat in his throat, thumping against the fingers that grasped tightly around it. He wasn't sure if 'he' meant himself or Kunikida but the threat was effective. Fukuzawa and Izumi stilled, the latter dismissing Demon Snow, almost immediately. Someone ripped Junichirou's knife from his hand and he did not resist, while Kunikida's pistols were tossed aside without complaint.

This, he thought. This had to be the other shoe he'd been waiting for.

"H-HEY! LOWER THE FUCKING SWORD!"

Junichirou glanced over toward Fukuzawa and Izumi with confusion, only to find that neither had moved.

Huh?

The soldier who'd yelled was trembling in the centre of the room, shaking aim pointed at...Fukuzawa's floating katana?

He blinked. Huh!?

The grip around his neck tightened until Junichirou was choking and grasping at the hands. "W-wha–"

"Shut off the illusion!" The hands around his neck hissed, squeezing even tighter until dark spots appeared in his vision.

"It's...not–"

Crack!

He was cut off by a pistol whip to the head and his brain rattled in his skull. Blackening vision turned yellow at the edges and his stomach did a flip while he continued to choke.

"SHUT IT OFF!" The hands screamed, as they squeezed tighter and tighter and–

The 'illusion' subsequently slicing off those hands felt entirely justified and all-too-satisfying.

Junichirou tore the limp appendages from his throat and gasped for breath. The soldier screamed at his bloody stumps that were spurting blood like fleshy water fountains, spraying everyone. Junichirou could barely feel the warm liquid pour down the back of his neck as he blinked the dark spots from his vision.

What he did notice with his limited focus however, was the distinct lack of gunfire. He lifted his head and the sight he found had him certain he was hallucinating from the oxygen deprivation or the mild concussion he probably had. Everyone was silent, surveying the scene in shock-horror as every single weapon, every bullet casing, rifle, knife and flashbang hovered in the air, dancing around the heads of the frozen enemy soldiers. And right there, in the doorframe of the stairwell, stood Tachihara, hand on hip and head cocked.

"Hey there fuckers," he greeted. "Hope there's room for one more."

Junichirou blinked and time restarted. Every soldier dropped instantaneously, each with a bullet hole or stab wound through their hearts or heads.

He blinked again and suddenly Kunikida was in front of him. Clearly he was speaking, lips moving in shapes that probably were meant to form words, but Junichirou didn't hear any of it. Even the image of Kunikida seemed distant, violently shaking in front of him. Was everything shaking?

Junichirou blinked, longer this time as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He thought that maybe Tachihara swam in his wavering vision – red hair and plaster over his nose – but he couldn't be sure.

He blinked again and Izumi was in front of him. Red and white and black mixed in a colourful swirl as delicate fingers pressed at spots around his head.

He blinked and the colours began to readjust themselves, ebbing back into their lines as the headache receded. A comforting hand rested gently on the top of his skull and he leaned into it.

His eyes fell closed.

The icy grip of fear enclosed around his spine and Junichirou startled awake with sudden clarity.

Kunikida was yelling, tugging Junichirou onto his feet. Tachihara was cursing, weapons rising into the air with one sweeping movement of his hands. Izumi and Fukuzawa were pressing against him, covering his sides and back as they retreated beneath the flowing robes of Demon Snow.

Junichirou glanced over his shoulder.

The boulder struck with an almighty crack.

Chapter Text

An almighty rumble vibrated through the building and shook Dazai's bones as it passed.

He glanced about the room as he steadied himself, shifting into a wide stance, knees slightly bent.

Yosano clutched tightly onto Kouyou's robes and the mafioso kept the two of them upright by quickly jamming her sword into the ground. Kajii stumbled sideways, falling against the kitchen counter where he grappled to keep himself upright. Kenji, on the other hand, threw himself to the ground and pulled Kyouka with him, shielding her with his body. Odasaku seemed mostly unphased by the sudden quaking (having already seen it coming) and kept himself steadied with a palm against the wall.

The trembling ceased as quickly as it had started.

Dazai straightened up and dusted down his coat while the others slowly gathered themselves.

"Was that an earthquake or...?" Yosano trailed off, leaving the tail of her obvious question to fight for attention through the silence. Dazai recieved it loud and clear though.

"It wasn't an earthquake," he admitted, finding his gaze pulled away toward the door on the far side of the room that had fallen open.

"It wasn't...Chuuya."

Dazai swivelled around to stare incredulously at Kyouka who seemed confused even by her own statement.

"She's right," Kouyou agreed as she tugged her katana out of the floor. "The previous tremors came from that direction –" she pointed – "while these recent ones came from that direction." She flicked her finger in the opposite direction.

Dazai gritted his teeth. Either Nakahara was a lot more coherent than he'd initially thought, or he'd found something more interesting than Chuuya.

Apparently Yosano had the same thought process. Her eyes widened and she bit back a gasp. "The Agency!"

Kouyou gripped the doctor's hands. "They'll be okay," she reassured – although her voice sounded far too shakey to be confident.

Dazai pushed the familiar faces in unfamiliar uniforms out of his mind as his focus was pulled to the half-open door once again. 

Dazai didn't bother with his usual routine of knocking, instead making quick work of the lock and letting himself in. Chuuya wouldn't have heard him anyway.

He pulled the door shut behind him and slipped his coat onto the stand. He normally would've left it on the floor but there wasn't much point if Chuuya wasn't awake to complain about his lack of manners.

The bedroom door was ajar, left open by whoever brought Chuuya back to his apartment. Dazai frowned at it as he walked closer. Chuuya never left the door open.

Dazai's feet seemed to move on their own, bringing him closer to the door.

"Hey! What are–?"

"Oi! We–"

"We've got to–"

Dazai ignored the protests from behind him as he pushed the door open all the way. The voices from behind faded into annoyed murmurs and reluctant footsteps following.

A familiar, queen-sized bed of maple-wood and Egyptian cotton sheets greeted him. The sheets were twisted, the bed unmade and empty; there was only the indent of a small figure in the well-worn mattress. 

Dazai watched the teen toss and turn in the sheets, teeth clenched and whimpering in pain as each movement pulled another stitch loose. His skin was paler than usual, glistening with sweat that soaked into the expensive cotton. Between the pained whimpers, Chuuya muttered in feverish delusion.

Dazai sighed, watching from his place in the doorway, as he wondered what illusions Chuuya's brain was conjuring up. He knew Chuuya didn't dream, but that didn't mean Chuuya didn't have vivid hallucinations in his post-corruption fevers. This time it looked even worse than usual; he could see Chuuya's tear tracks even against the shine of his sweat. Chuuya wailed, just loud enough for Dazai to make out the words this time. "No...please...don't..."

Dazai watched from the doorway as Chuuya's flailing hands reached for his neck and scratched. He raked his fingernails deep, clawing and gouging at the brand beneath his choker, desperately trying to peel it from his skin, voice rising to a strangled scream.

At the first sign of blood Dazai lurched forwards, stumbling across the threshold. 

Dazai stepped into the room, surveying the mess. The bookcase had collapsed, or been kicked one too many times, leaving novels and poems strewn across the floor. 

He scrambled to Chuuya's beside and grappled for control of the other's hands. His hands closed around Chuuya's skinny wrists, fingers against the swirls of scar tissue, and pinned them to the pillow either side of Chuuya's face. 

Dazai walked further, pausing when his foot brushed against a pillow that had been tossed from the bed in a fit of anger. Dazai glanced back at the dent in the wall it had made. 

Chuuya's screams quietened, fading into whimpers and further into shakey breaths as the lingering holds of corruption were washed away by No Longer Human.

Dazai let go of his wrists. One hand drifted upwards, feeling along the lines of Chuuya's palm before he interlocked their fingers. The other hand moved to Chuuya's face to brush away the hair stuck to his cheeks and in his eyes. Dazai left it there, resting against Chuuya's cheek.

He smiled, where the sleeping Chuuya could not see it. "Rest Chuuya," he whispered. "I've got you." 

Dazai blinked. Suddenly he was at the foot of the bed, gaze directed at a small, wooden box nestled within the sheets. He frowned at it; he'd never seen it before and it definitely wasn't something his Chuuya would own. It was plain – too boring to be decorative – and made of a pale wood (perhaps birch) that didn't even match Chuuya's decor. The box was also too small to be functional, only slightly larger than a matchbox.

Apparently, he'd been just staring at the box for too long because Yosano pushed past him and reached for it. Something inside rattled as she picked it up. They all watched with a mild curiosity as the doctor flipped open the lid and tipped a small, metallic object into her gloved palm. She then held the item aloft between her thumb and finger.

"Who keeps a singular bullet in a box?" 

.•°•.

Nakahara Chuuya was many things. Stubborn? For sure. Brash? At times. Aggressive? Yeah. But one thing he was not, was paranoid. As a high-ranking mafioso – and previously head of a street gang – Chuuya had lived most of his life on a knife's edge, expecting any turn to bring about a danger that will end his life. He fully expected to die before he reached thirty. Still, he could hardly consider himself paranoid; knowing a danger could be coming from any angle was very different to expecting anyone and everyone to be a future knife in the back. Knowing people like Mori and Dazai (and Hell, even the Russian bastard) had taught him there would always be things he didn't see coming, no use in agonising over the unknown.

So yeah, Nakahara Chuuya was not paranoid.

But he trusted his instinct. And every nerve in his body was shouting, screaming, at him.

Something was wrong.

He was only proven right when a distant impact shook the city, answering his earlier destructive blow. Chuuya glared at the distant plume of dust that rose into the air.

"I don't believe you've attracted his attention," Ryuunosuke deadpanned, glaring at Chuuya with great distaste. He wasn't really sure what the guy was attempting. Was this really the time to try and rile him up?

Either way, Chuuya didn't answer to the bait. "No," he agreed. "But someone else has."

Nakajima gasped and his hand wrapped around Ryuunosuke's right biceps. "The Agency!" The taller clenched his fists and his coat billowed in a blood-red haze.

"Kyouka and Dazai...are they okay?"

Chuuya blinked in the face of golden and purple eyes, wide with fear. Was...was Atsushi looking to him for reassurance? Chuuya resisted the impulse to rub his eyes just to check the image in front of him wasn't a hallucination. Instead, his gaze flicked to Akutagawa, posing him the silent question. A simple shrug and fond(?) eyeroll answered him.

Chuuya looked back to the tiger, ignoring the annoyance at having to look slightly upward. "The bastard is a cockroach," he said. "He won't die easily. And he won't let Kyouka get hurt."

He hoped it sounded as sincere as he meant it, but he knew his gruff tone sometimes came across as sarcastic. Still, he didn't wait around to watch the words sink in. He needed a new plan.

"Do you catch where that blast came from?" He asked Akutagawa.

"The communication tower, I think," he answered.

Chuuya nodded, fiddling with the rim of his hat as he pondered. It would take them about 15 minutes to reach the comms tower; between Ranpo's genius, Tachihara's power, the illusionists tricks and the general tenacity of the Armed Detective Agency, Chuuya was confident they'd hold out for at least that long. However, racing to the scene would put them at a disadvantage. He didn't want to face Nakahara on foreign ground he hadn't scoped out beforehand no matter how similar it appeared to his own Yokohama. He needed to draw Nakahara out into an appropriate battleground.

This ideal came with two main obstacles though: how he'd communicate the plan to the Agency and where he could get them to direct Nakahara.

He drew a mental map of Yokohama in his head and, as he plotted the most direct course to the communications tower, he found a solution to problem number two. He couldn't help the grin that grew across his face when his new battle plan began to construct itself. 

"Nak- Chuuya-san?"

Chuuya whirled around to the voice with newfound spirit.

"Tiger! How fast can you run?"

Nakajima blinked in confusion. "Uh...f-fast?"

Chuuya raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Faster than you can drive," he elaborated, still eyeing him with furrowed brows.

Chuuya clapped his hands together. "Brilliant! Go to the comms tower, tell 'em to get Nakahara to Yokohama General, doesn't matter how."

"The hospital? Wha...why?"

"Go!" He yelled, waving his hand aggressively which spurred Nakajima to take off in a flash of blue light and white, furry limbs.

With that sorted, Chuuya whirled around, his coat trailing through the air like a cape, and made his way toward the car. He made it only a few steps before his path was blocked by a tall, dark shape.

"What the Hell are you playing at?" Ryuunosuke growled, as tendrils of Rashomon weaved about behind his head like snakes.

Chuuya was a little tired of the attitude from discount Akutagawa at this point. He'd tried to be understanding, really. He was painfully aware of how he bore the same face as Yokohama's current world-ending nightmare; he fully understood that the ADA didn't function on the same superior-subordinate power dynamics like the mafia; he was also completely conscious of the fact that this Akutagawa hadn't been instilled with a healthy fear of authority.

Chuuya had been undeniably and uncharacteristically patient. He reigned in the flare of rage that longed to destroy and to crush Ryuunosuke into a splatter of blood on the patient using a deep and calming breath through his nose. With little more than a grunt, he shouldered past Ryuunosuke.

Unfortunately, this Akutagawa was just as temperamental as Chuuya's own and did not take too kindly to being ignored. Snarling, Ryuunosuke jabbed at him with Rashomon, aiming the deadly spike straight at the back of his head.

Chuuya didn't bother to acknowledge the younger man with so much as a flinch. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he increased the gravity acting on his would-be assailant.

He didn't turn around, merely listened to the grunting and struggling behind him. He briefly heard Atsushi start to mumble what was probably a meek protest but Akutagawa silenced him with a few stern words Chuuya didn't catch.

"Listen up kid because I'm only going to say this once," Chuuya began as he slowly span around to Ryuunosuke, meeting the man's death stare with a steely glare of his own. "I'm here because I've agreed to help you. But do not mistake my generosity for compassion. I am not here to ensure your or your partner's safety; frankly, I don't care whether you live or die tonight." Chuuya crouched down and reached out, grabbing Ryuunosuke's chin in a painful grip and wrenching his head up against the gravity holding him. "However, Lady Luck is not on our side. As such, we'll need to work together to take down Nakahara and for that –" Chuuya grinned, eyes alight with a sadistic amusement – "well, we'll need to have a little faith in each other."

Chuuya abruptly dropped the other's chin, allowing his face to smack into the concrete, before he released his ability and stood. He let a small smirk remain on his face as he watched Ryuunosuke push himself to his feet with trembling limbs.

"Do we have an understanding, Ryuunosuke?"

The detective stared at him for a few seconds, looking down at him with an expression that was something between a sneer and something akin to fear – perhaps it was that healthy fear of authority he'd been lacking.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow as he waited for a response. "Well?"

After a moment of hesitation, Ryuunosuke sighed, head falling in defeat. "Yes."

Chuuya said nothing as he walked back to the car.

Chapter Text

Nakajima had never run so fast in his life. His paws pounded against the ruined pavements and tarmac; his claws tore into concrete and brick as he bounced off corners that he'd rounded at high speed.

The scents of fire and ash were ones Nakajima had grown used to; by this time, he'd already filtered them out, along with the looming odor of death. However, a new scent had been woven into the air: a distinct, metallic tang.

Nakajima sensed fresh blood.

He ran faster as a psychotic laughter filtered into his ears alongside crumbling cinderblock and the creaks of weakening steel. He rounded the final corner just in time to see the communications tower collapse in on itself. Concrete and brick and plaster all slammed into the ground with an almighty crash, leaving a deafening ringing in his ears as the ensuing tsunami of dust and ash swept over him. For a moment, Nakajima was alone in the empty darkness, stumbling blindly in the silence.

Then, there was laughter.

The sound was sickening. It echoed off the ruins and rubble and reverberated around in his skull. It was the kind of laughter that held no emotion behind it; it was something dark and crazed and unfeeling. It was something entirely cold and yet at the very depths of the high-pitched cackles was something that burned. The cackle was an echo of a roaring flame that consumed the very air around it.

The dust began to settle and Nakajima peered through the haze at the figure that hovered above, outlined in a bloody, glowing red. It threw it's head back as it cackled, body trembling as it was racked with uncontrollable screeches of laughter.

The claws of his feet dug into the concrete as he fought with his instinct to not run away. The red figure drew closer through the smoke and Nakajima dove aside to shelter behind a chunk of wall (that he supposed used to be part of a bathroom, based on the garish tile).

The presence still cackled above him.

He could hear eight heartbeats aside from his own that pulsed rapidly in his throat. One was wild and erratic, coming from the same place as the demonic laughter. The others, much to his relief, were steady rhythms, even though they pumped with adrenaline-fueled speed.

They're still alive, he reassured himself even as he remained frozen in the shadow of his former superior.

"Oi! Chuuya!" A voice shouted from the right.

Atsushi whirled around to see Tachihara stood on a jagged, concrete slab where the communications tower once stood. He looked worse that Atsushi had ever seen him. Blood oozed down the side of his face from somewhere just beyond his hairline, effectively blinding him on the right side. The liquid matted his hair, turning it into a muddy shade of brown, and it pooled in the hollows of his face, painting the pale skin red. His stance was unsteady, heavily favouring his right leg as he braced himself with a long, wanky piece of rebar which would've worked as a cane had the end not been sharpened to imitate a bent-out-of-shape spear.

Nakahara flinched, neck practically breaking as his head snapped around to stare. The laughter immediately ceased.

"Yeah," Tachihara continued, shifting to push himself further upright. His heartbeat was far steadier than reasonable as the ex-mafioso stared down Nakahara. "Yeah, that's right. Recognise me asshole?"

Nakahara floated to the ground out of Nakajima's sight. Slow, thunderous footsteps shook the earth beneath him as the red-head staggered toward Tachihara, who hadn't so much as flinched. There were harsh, laboured breaths with every movement, as if the other's lungs were filled with gravel that crunched in tune to the expansion of his lungs.

Nakajima didn't dare take his own shuddery breaths.

Hidden behind the wall, Nakajima listened for the seven heartbeats of his friends, trying to discern them from the thundering of Nakahara's earth-shaking steps. Tiger ears perked up from his skull, peeking through his hair as they strained and twitched.

It took a moment, especially as Nakahara's shuddered breaths became low growls, but he found them: seven heartbeats coming from somewhere off to his left.

Wait...

Nakajima's head swiveled to the right just in time to see Nakahara leap at Tachihara with an enraged scream. The younger red-head dove aside, avoiding the collision by mere inches. But all the while, Atsushi heard nothing. Tachihara had no heartbeat. Either Tachihara had suddenly become a vampire, zombie or some other dead supernatural creature, or that was not Tachihara.

He allowed a relieved smile to slip onto his face as he quietly padded away toward the seven, rhythmic beats he could hear. Green snow glistened before him as he ducked behind a building, and those familiar figures fizzled into existence.

Tachihara looked exactly as his illusion had, right down to the misshapen spear. The man grinned, revealing bloodstained teeth.

Junichirou looked a little worse for wear – there was definitely bone poking out of his shin – but an uninjured Gin was knelt beside him with a pouch of bandages, and the red-head smiled (though it was more of a grimace) so he was probably okay. He was definitely cognizant if he was maintaining the illusion so well.

Kunikida seemed alright, aside from the bandages tied around his left biceps and the shattered lense on his glasses. He fixed Nakajima with a stern look of concern as he scanned the tiger for injuries.

Fukuzawa greeted him with a gentle nod as he fixed a fussing Ranpo's arm with a sling (crafted from a section of his robe). The young detective scowled and pouted, though if it was from the treatment or something else was anyone's guess.

Suddenly, Izumi barrelled into him with force that almost sent the two of them to the ground. Nakajima chuckled as he caught her and pulled her tightly into his arms, breathing the scent of strawberries from her shampoo even beneath the heavy odour of smoke. "Kyouka," he sighed into her embrace, relieved.

It was then that Ranpo finally seemed to notice him and the man's eyes lit up with delight. "Atsushi!" He shoved Fukuzawa away with his good arm and jumped to his feet. "I was wondering when you'd show up! I assume Chuuya has a new plan." He looked at him with his charactistic smirk and a raised brow that prompted response.

"Uh, yeah," he answered, detaching himself from Izumi. "We need to get Nakahara to Yokohama General."

"And?" Junichiro prompted, fixing him with a questioning raised eyebrow.

Nakajima stuttered, "I-I...I don't–"

Kunikida scoffed as he pulled a new pair of glasses out of his notebook and discarded the broken pair. "Does he even have a plan?"

Nakajima nodded vigorously. Although he had no idea what was going through Chuuya's head, his old superior Nakahara had been one of the smartest people he knew. He was certain that Chuuya had a plan.

Ranpo grinned. "Of course he does! We just need to help him out!" He clapped his hands together and winced as the movement sent painful vibrations up his arm. Fukuzawa pushed him back down onto the rock he'd been sat on, while Ranpo continued unheeded: "Junichiro!"

The red-head blinked. "Yeah?"

"Use your ability to distract him," Ranpo ordered as he pulled his own glasses out of his pocket and pressed them to his face, either ignorant or uncaring of the cracked lenses and wonky frame.

Junichirou sighed. "I already am," he reassured, though with a slight annoyance in his tone. "But that won't work forever.

"It won't have to."

Kunikida turned his steely gaze on Ranpo. "What's the plan?"

"Whatever idea Chuuya had to attract his attention failed. But now that we have it..."

"We need to bring them together," Fukuzawa concluded.

"Exactly!"

Ranpo's enthusiasm raised even Kunikida's spirits. "Then we keep Nakahara's attention on us and head for Yokohama General. Kyouka–" The girl straightened at the address. "–do you know the most direct route?"

She nodded.

"Then you lead the way. Myself and the president will bring up the rear. Gin, help Tachihara–"

"I can fucking walk myse–"

"And Nakajima, you take Junichirou," he continued, unbothered by Tachihara's vehement protests.

Nakajima nodded, already moving to scoop Junichirou onto his back, careful not to jostle the makeshift split Gin had crafted from a table leg. Though the other still hissed in pain.

"This is gonna suck," he muttered, adjusting his grip on Nakajima's shirt.

Tachihara laughed as he lopped an arm across Gin's shoulders. "Oh yeah."

And on that cheerful note, the ragged group set off toward Yokohama General, followed by the screeches and screams of Nakahara Chuuya. 

.•°•. 

Akutagawa watched Chuuya kick down the hospital doors with a flare of Tainted Sorrow, before striding into the reception. He followed behind, stepping over the sprinklings of broken glass as he frowned at the elder. As far as anyone was concerned the other seemed fine, but Akutagawa knew better: Chuuya rarely walked around with his hands in his pockets anymore.

Does he think his control is slipping?

It wasn't. Akutagawa hadn't met many people with as much control over their ability as Chuuya had – especially one so powerful. Still, Chuuya was on edge, that much was obvious.

"You have some sort of plan, yes?"

Apparently obvious to everyone else as well.

Akutagawa's double sneered at Chuuya, crunching glass underfoot. He crossed his arms over his chest and his coat blew in non-existent wind.

Chuuya smiled back, the grin not quite reaching his eyes leaving his expression caught between manic and humourless. "I thought we came to an understanding Ryuunosuke," he said, tutting disappointedly.

"And I thought you had a plan," the younger man countered, glaring at Chuuya with dark, grey eyes.

Akutagawa looked between the two, watching as the vein in Chuuya's forehead popped and the knuckles of Ryuunosuke's hands turned white.

A beat of silence.

Then, Chuuya relaxed, brows easing from their frown and fists releasing into loose claw shapes. He looked Ryuunosuke up and down with an almost lazy expression as he sighed. "I have a plan. One that might get us all out of this alive."

The expression he sent Ryuunosuke (one with a raised brow and hard gaze) seemed to imply some hidden message unknown to Akutagawa. But the quick inhale and exhale from his doppelganger confirmed he'd understood.

With that, Chuuya turned to Akutagawa. Akutagawa acknowledged his superior with a cock of his head. "You take Ryuunosuke," he said, "and head to the basement."

"Basement?" Akutagawa questioned, more out of curiosity than defiance. Unlike his counterpart, he trusted Chuuya with his life.

Chuuya nodded. "Yeah. That'll be where the generator is," he elaborated as his hands fiddled with the rim of his hat.

"But there's no power," Atsushi pointed out, startling Akutagawa (though he'd hidden the flinch with a well-timed cough). He'd almost forgotten the were-tiger was there; he'd been far too quiet.

Chuuya blinked – apparently he'd forgotten about Atsushi as well. "All hospitals should have a back-up generator. We just need to power it up." He turned back to Akutagawa. "Can you handle that?"

"Yes sir."

Akutagawa eyed his counterpart with suspicion as he watched the man shift his weight between each foot – like he was debating between staying and going.

After a moment, Ryuunosuke settled, giving Chuuya a submissive nod.

"What are we doing?" Atsushi wondered, peeking out at Chuuya from behind Akutagawa. Akutagawa frowned at him before stepping aside, allowing Chuuya to scrutinise the were-tiger with his saphire eyes.

"We're–"

Anything he was about to say was cut off by a loud bang and the shattering of glass. A small, dark blur whizzed through the air inches from Akutagawa's nose, past Chuuya's ear and embedded itself in the far wall.

All four of them whipped around to the source of the gunfire – a flash of light gave away the position of a sniper on the second floor of the opposite building.

Another bang. This time the shot landed between Atsushi's feet.

Chuuya tore his hands from his pockets, glaring at the newcomers as another shot sounded, landing somewhere out of Akutagawa's vision.

"Get to the generator," Chuuya ordered, waving his hand dismissively toward Akutagawa as he stomped toward the doors. Small chucks of rubble drifted into the air behind him.

Akutagawa knew better than to delay any more. Grabbing his counterpart by the wrist, he tugged him toward the stairwell by the reception desk. The other yore his arm away as if it burned, but nonetheless followed his lead.

He reached the doors just as he heard Chuuya yell to Atsushi. "We'll take care of these guys."

He did not look back.

Chapter Text

Another bullet crashed through the final window as Chuuya yelled to him from across the room.

"We'll take care of these guys."

Atsushi glanced at him, watching as the grin slid onto his face and the chunks of concrete began to circle his outstretched arms. He stepped through the door frame (now emptied of glass), catching several bullets in his rotating blocks, and carving footsteps into the asphalt.

Atsushi followed behind.

Chuuya stopped in the middle of the street and the gunfire ceased. The area became silent, as if waiting with bated breath.

Chuuya's threat was quiet, but in the silence of the street it rang loud and clear, sending shivers down Atsushi's spine: "Which of you fuckers wants to learn how it feels to be crushed by gravity?"

Even the crackles of fire seemed to quieten in response.

A sudden, thunderous boom sounded in the distance. The few heads Atsushi had picked out swiveled around to catch a glimpse of the source. In their distraction, Chuuya whispered, "We have about five minutes to clear the area before they show up." Atsushi warily eyed the distant cloud of dust as he began to pick up on the sound screaming.

Chuuya nudged him with his foot to draw his attention before ordering, "Take out the ones on the lower floors. I'll take the top and we'll meet in the middle." Atsushi gave an affirmative nod in response.

The next round of gunfire spurred Atsushi into action, urging him to leap forward and away from the hail of bullets that rained down over where he and Chuuya had been standing a moment before. Chuuya kicked up from the ground, soaring several metres into the air until he was level with the roof, before launching his arsenal of concrete chunks. Even over the gunfire, Atsushi's ears could pick up on the distinct cracks of bones being shattered.

He forced it out of his mind as he leapt through the open window and into his first assailant. Perhaps it was the tiger's instinct that had him slashing at the first bit of exposed flesh his claws could find, severing the carotid, before launching himself at the next whiff of fresh meat.

Atsuhi swallowed down the bile that crawled up his throat.

He knocked the next opponent out with a textbook right-hook Kunikida would be proud of, following the motion until his fist hit the floor from which he sprung up, kicking the next guy in the face. With the ground floor cleared, he tore out the room, racing for the stairs as thunderous booms crashed in the background like the ominous ticking of a giant clock.

He cleared the first floor as quickly as he'd done the ground, dispatching the two gunmen with practiced ease. He even broke one of the gubs over his knee for good measure.

The boom, boom, booming like giant footsteps grew closer.

The next floor smelt empty, but Atsushi decided to give it a cursory glance anyway. He pushed the door open and stepped cautiously into the room, scanning the shadows for signs of hostiles. He'd finally decided to declare the floor cleared when a loud buzzing caught his attention: a live thrum like the chorus of an insect swarm. He glanced out the window, grinning when he saw the golden lights of Yokohama General flicker into existence.

"Well done Akutagawa," he whispered, as a gentle smile slipped onto his face, before ascending to the third floor. He could hear the clumping of boots from the corridor, carrying on the ashen air amidst the muffled gunshots from the upper floors. With barely a moment's hesitation, he kicked down the door and stormed into the room, diving at the first movement that caught his eye.

He went down in a flurry of limbs, taking a kick to the shin and the barrel of a gun to the face. He swept his tail upward, latching onto the weapon and flinging it aside before he punched the guy and kneed him in the gut.

Foreign arms wrapped around his torso and squeezed in some poor imitation of a Heimlich as they tugged him off the unconscious body below. He threw his head back, relishing in the crunch and accompanying cry of pain. The arms loosened and Atsushi dug his claws in to pull them the rest of the way. He span around and kicked the assailant, sending them into the far wall.

He took a moment to breathe before he whirled on the third gunman. He ran toward them, bloodied claws beamed and growling when a shot clipped his shoulder. It bounced from the tiger skin like a rubber bullet but the impact sent him whirling off-course toward the window. His arms pinwheeled, swinging frantically to keep him from dropping four storeys. After a worrying moment, he regained control over his centre of gravity, bowing low as he found his footing.

The relief was short-lived though, when the ceiling collapsed and he stumbled backwards and out.

For a moment, it was as if time had slowed. He was weightless, floating, with little sensation aside from the wind against his fur. He had only the brief thought that this is gonna hurt before he struck the ground. Hard.

The air was driven from his lungs and Atsushi was left gasping on the cracked concrete. His legs were numb, but the painful tingling of pins and needles slowly encroached over the unresponsive limbs as his ability repaired the severed nerves in his lower spine.

That's what happens when I'm not Full-tiger, he supposed, groaning as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"I thought cats always landed on their feet," a familiar voice taunted. Atsushi rolled his eyes, not bothering to dignify Akutagawa with a response. Though he glanced up, glaring at the raised brow – Akutagawa's best attempt at smugness.

Beside him, Ryuunosuke looked annoyed, fixing his counterpart with a harsh stare, before offering Atsushi a hand. Atsushi stared at it warily, blinking in confusion. Eventually, Ryuunosuke grew bored, grabbed his shirt collar and tugged him to his feet.

"RYUU!" Someone cried.

Ryuunosuke whirled around, relief already soaking into his face as his frown lessened before he'd even put Nakajima in his line of sight. He said nothing in reply, only smiling as his partner leapt into his arms.

Atsushi swallowed down the lump in his throat and could only hope his cheeks didn't look as hot as they felt. Akutagawa, by contrast, had paled, looking positively queasy.

"Good! You lot are still alive!" Atsushi glanced up to see a grinning Tachihara, who waved as he hobbled over, using Gin as a crutch. "That's good."

"Except for the fact that we're all about to die," Junichiro deadpanned, looking uncomfortable in the arms of Demon Snow. The red-head then glared at Nakajima. "You dropped me."

The other were-tiger only gave an apologetic shrug in reply, arm still curled tightly around Ryuunosuke's waist.

Atsushi took a step away from Akutagawa.

An inhuman screech seemed to draw them all back to the matter at hand. "Where's Na- Chuuya?" Kunikida questioned, casting a glance over his shoulder in the direction of the screaming.

As if on cue, the windows of the fourth floor exploded. Shards of glass flew outward and rained over them, falling through the air like crystal rain, when they suddenly froze. Chuuya stepped out one of the empty windows and gently sank through the air. The glass parted before him amd continued to float in the air as Chuuya landed in the centre of the group.

His saphire eyes flickered over each of them before fixing in the direction of the booms and screeches.

"Nice one kid," he remarked with a nod toward Junichiro (who seemed to balk at the sudden praise).

The mafioso made no other acknowledgements as he slipped off his coat and removed his hat. He then gave the hat to Ranpo and ordered, "You lot get out of here. The boys and I will take care of this." He waved toward the car parked down the street.

Ranpo nodded and the group walked away with little argument, leaving Atsushi, Akutagawa, Nakajima and Ryuunosuke standing behind Chuuya as a humanoid figure crashed into the road ahead of them.

The car engine roared to life and the vehicle sped away.

The distant figure moved closer, stumbling and stuttering like a zombie from an old horror movie.

Chuuya shifted into a crouch, like he was preparing for a sprint.

Atsushi caught the sound of feet on the ground – a squadron of footsteps and rattling guns to accompany them. Nakajima whipped around, claws extending.

Rashomon flared to life.

Glass shards moved through the air.

A rifle was loaded.

Atsuhi drew a breath.

A round of gunfire pierced the fragile silence and tore it asunder. Glass whizzed through the air and flew at the approaching figure of Nakahara with the speed and force if the bullets bouncing off Atsushi's fur.

"Take care of those guys!" Chuuya ordered before he kicked off the ground and shot toward his opponent. The two collided with enough force to send a shockwave down that street that nearly sent Atsushi flying.

"Move Were-tiger!" A grating voice hissed as a thick, heavy branch of Rashomon threw him aside, out of the way of an impressively large boulder, and toward a crew of gunmen.

Atsushi fell back into his earlier routine quickly, jumping from target to target with little hesitation. Akutagawa was somewhere off to his left, slicing off limbs and leaving his victims bloody (but alive) and the others two were up ahead. Atsushi whirled between bullets, brushing them off his skin or smacking them out of the air as he fought.

As he struck down another combatant, something glinted on the roof of a distant building – something shiny and reflective like the glass of a telescope. It took a disappointing ten seconds to realise that it was a sniper, by which time the shot had already been fired.

Atsushi reached out to catch the bullet in his palm, only to have the breath driven out of his lungs.

What?

He choked on something warm in the back of his throat as he tried to gasp for air and his chest throbbed like he'd been punched by someone wearing an iron gauntlet.

His hand was bloody. His very human, very much not-a-tiger-paw hand was, in fact, bloody with a gaping hole.

What the fuck?

He continued to choke. Something warm and sticky built up in his chest until he coughed it out, dribbling down his chin and spraying the concrete red.

He was coughing blood, he realised belatedly. And upon that realisation, his legs gave out and the winded feeling quickly gave way to a piercing burn emanating from his chest, just to the right of his sternum. And the burning became pressure – like someone had inserted a balloon into his thorax and begun to pump it full of air, crushing his lungs and other organs.

"WERETIGER!" He heard a distant, familiar voice scream.

Everything just felt so far away. He couldn't feel the ground beneath him or the rumbles of Chuuya's throw down with Nakahara. Even his chest pains had begun to numb.

He even considered that he might have stopped breathing entirely. Maybe that was why his vision blurred and the grey skies were tainted yellow.

The only thing Atsushi was fully aware of was that he was entirely alone. There was not so much as a whisper of the tiger in the recesses of his brain.

The tiger was gone.

It felt like– 

.•°•. 

"–No Longer Human!"

"What?"

"They've weaponised it," Dazai said, looking more on edge than Kyouka had ever seen him: eyes alight with anxious energy as they sprinted toward the most recent quake.

"They've created ability-nullifying bullets," Yosano realised, heels pounding against the concrete.

Despite the running, Kouyou's grip never left the hilt of her sword. "They've had these bullets this whole time and haven't used them against us," she said, frowning.

"Maybe they have a limited number," suggested Oda. "They're saving them for their real target."

"Chuuya," Kouyou realised with a gasp, stumbling. Yosano snagged her by the sleeve of her kimono and they continued as if nothing had happened.

"Then...then how haven't they caught him?" Kajii wondered, his voice shaking and lacking his usual energy – whether that was from the constant sprinting or the nervous thoughts no doubt firing in his brain was unclear. 

There was a beat of silence as they all turned to Dazai. The man kept his gaze ahead, blank and unseeing; the reflections of fire danced in his eyes, making them appear red.

Suddenly, he stopped. They all skidded to a halt beside him, panting as they waited.

"Because he knows," he answered, eyes widening minutely. "He knows to dodge instead of use his ability to block them."

"But the rest of them don't," Oda pointed out grimly.

And the blood in Kyouka's veins turned cold. "Atsushi..."

"Ryuunosuke!" Kenji cried.

"Chuuya," Dazai spoke, voice tight.

The sound of distant gunshots carried over the thunderous booms and the jack rabbiting of Kyouka's heart in her chest.

Atsushi was invincible, right?

Chapter Text

Nakahara Chuuya was human.

He knew that. He had seen the files, he'd studied the smudge of proof carved into his wrist, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was human.

Well, maybe just a little doubt. Because the thing in front of him was not human.

Its skin was sliced in intricate lines, swirls and runes that oozed blood with every movement. Its dull eyes were wide, unseeing, and crazed while its face was stretched in a manic grin that bore bloodied teeth. The gravity around it fluctuated in unknowable patterns, which would've been tugging Chuuya every which way had he not possessed a mirror of the ability.

Face-to-face with Corruption, Chuuya felt sick to his stomach. How could this be human? How could he be human?

Chuuya felt his organs shift away from the fist that struck his abdomen and, in what felt like a gap between seconds, while hunched over the fist, Chuuya locked eyes with the monster.

It grinned.

Suddenly he was flying. And, just as suddenly, his back struck a wall. It was only his own gravity that kept him from flying through said wall and the rest of the building to which it was attached. Still, the man sat in his Chuuya-shaped crater and wheezed.

Just beyond the ringing in his ears, Chuuya heard one of the Akutagawas scream. The single, distracted glance away was more than enough time for Nakahara to barrel into him and knock him the rest of the way through the wall.

Chuuya found himself pinned against the floor with the other straddling his waist. Nakahara wasted no time before whaling him with punches, each one striking his face and chest with the force of several bullets. It took all Chuuya's power just to absorb the shock so his ribs and skull weren't completely shattered and caved in. The constant punches were of a random pattern and yet, they were persistent enough to give Chuuya the illusion of a rhythm. And that rhythm gave him time to think.

The beast was more mindless than Chuuya had expected, considering the hoops he'd had to jump through to even get this confrontation. It'd probably be easier than he'd expected to lure the other into the hospital. However, he'd have to get himself out of his current predicament first.

Chuuya reached out, slowly, imperceptibly, and wrapped his hand gently around Nakahara's thigh. And, in the split-second window between a blow to his right clavicle and a fist geared toward his cheekbone, Chuuya twisted the gravity around Nakahara's muscles causing a near-instantaneous crack louder than a gunshot. 

Nakahara wailed, reaching for his shattered femur. Chuuya bucked, forcing Nakahara off him. The other reached for him, but Chuuya quickly rolled away before leaping to his feet.

Through a tear in the fabric, Chuuya could see the dark shadows of blood pooling beneath the skin around the injury. Had it been Chuuya who'd had his leg shattered, he'd utilise his ability to pull the broken pieces out of the frayed muscle and into place. But that was painstaking work that'd require more focus and patience than Nakahara appeared to possess.

Chuuya stood for a moment, watching the other carefully as he caught his breath. He couldn't say it was a shock when Nakahara just stood up, as if his leg was in any way functioning, and threw himself at Chuuya.

The mafioso threw himself out the gap in the wall and leapt into the air. Just as Nakahara breached the opening, Chuuya threw himself back down at the other, colliding fist-in-face, before he leapt back.

He hated this style of fighting; it was cowardly to retreat after every attack. But it was smart. Chuuya couldn't take Nakahara head-on – their fighting styles were too similar and Nakahara was much more powerful than him.

Chuuya's only advantage was lucidity. He was the only one thinking this through. Contrary to popular belief, while Dazai had always been deemed the brains of their duo, Chuuya wasn't stupid. In fact, he could be quite the tactician when necessary. He just couldn't predict other's behaviour as well as his ex-partner.

He was reminded of that last point quite suddenly when Nakahara – instead of mindlessly leaping at him again – reached behind himself, sunk his hands into the brick of the dilapidated building and threw it.

"Ah, shit."

He ducked, arms flying over his head as the foundations came down on top of him. He didn't bother trying to fight Nakahara's power by lessening the weight of the building, instead increasing his own weight and sinking into the ground.

He waited in the Chuuya-sized pit until the crashing around him stopped. However, before he could move, a hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him out. Nakahara tossed Chuuya overhead like a wrestler and slammed him into the ground for a second time. Chuuya gasped as the force against his back forced air from his lungs. He kicked out desperately, but Nakahara sat on his thighs, pinning him.

Once again, Chuuya was on the ground with Nakahara on top of him. This time however, hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Chuuya scrambled to tear the fingers away as he choked and gasped. Black tainted the edges of his vision while Chuuya tried to slip his fingers underneath the ones choking him (with unfortunately little success). He felt his strength waning, vision blurring, sounds fading, until something cut through the static with startling clarity.

"A-258!" 

Chuuya blinked. The grip around his neck loosened just enough for him to jam his fingers in and tear the hands away. He swung a wild fist, barely conscious enough to feel the satisfaction when it connected with a delicious crunch. With Nakahara still sat on his legs, Chuuya grabbed a chunk of concrete beside him with his other hand and smacked it against the other's temple, disorienting him enough to twist out from under Nakahara and roll away.

Chuuya took a moment to breathe. Wet, gasping coughs scratched at his sore throat as he remained on his knees, a light hand rubbing the reddened skin of his neck. He probably didn't have a minute to take a breath with Nakahara still alive and kicking. Yet, when he glanced aside to where the man should've been, he found an empty crater in the tarmac.

"Huh," he whispered, hoarsely, before rolling over and collapsing to the ground.

He just needed a minute, he told himself, starfished on the concrete staring at the smokey sky as he took in shuddering breaths.

Just a minute. 

.•°•.

They were running out of time.

He had no way of knowing, no data to call upon. And yet, Dazai could feel it deep in his bones: they were running out if time. For who? Not even the gods could know.

Kouyou had taken point, gliding on ahead with the grace of her Golden Demon, Yosano right on her heels and Kyouka flitting between piles of rubble alongside them like a sprite. 

Oda, Kajii and Kenji were keeping up just fine as well. Dazai was pleasantly surprised to find that Kajii could run in his sandals. Which bode well for the others while the group made their sprint through the decimated streets of Yokohama.

Dazai knew someone would need Yosano, he was sure of it. They could only hope they wouldn't be too late.

They were within half a mile of Nakahara's fight when a canary-yellow Suzuki came squealing around the corner. Immediately, the group skidded to a halt and Demon Snow and Golden Demon shielded the group from the incoming crash.

Fortunately, whomever was driving saw fit to slam on the breaks and the car skidded to a halt. Dazai let out a sigh of relief when he saw Kunikida in the driver's seat.

"You're all okay!" Kenji exclaimed with that bright smile of his when everyone started exiting the vehicle.

Dazai wouldn't have described the group as being anything close to okay, but he supposed alive was the standard when you lived in what was practically the apocalypse. Yosano immediately clocked Tachihara and Tanizaki as the serious injuries and hurried over to them, a cloud of butterflies appearing around the three as she slit their throats to treat them. (Kunikida and Ranpo shied away from similar treatment).

Chuuya and both pairs of Atsushi and Akutagawa were missing, which although made sense, did nothing to settle the growing pit in Dazai's gut.

"The others?" Kyouka asked, eyes wide.

"Facing off against Nakahara," Ranpo said, mouth drawn in a grim line. "You should hurry."

Then, Dazai met his eyes, deep and calculating emerald green. Ranpo was concerned. The pit in Dazai's gut grew.

Not wanting to stay to debate logistics with the others, he pushed past Kenji to keep moving when suddenly, his path was blocked by long, sharp tendrils: black within a blood-red haze. He held in the flinch when Akutagawa landed in front of him, holding–

"Atsushi!" Kyouka yelled, racing toward the bloodied bundle of human in Akutagawa's arms.

"Move!" Yosano growled, shoving the girl aside none-too-roughly into Dazai's arms.

He quickly deposited her to the side before whirling on Akutagawa who'd been forcibly detached from the were-tiger by Kunikida and Fukuzawa. "What happened?" He questioned, even if he could probably guess.

Akutagawa didn't look at him, eyes fixed on Atsushi, where Yosano was working on him. "Sniper," he answered, distantly. "It was as if he didn't have an ability at all."

Despite being exactly what he'd expected, Dazai's blood still ran cold at the implications.

"Let's move," he told the young man, hauling him to his feet by the scruff of his coat.

Atsushi would be okay, he reminded himself as he led Akutagawa away. Chuuya needed them more.

When they rounded the corner and Atsushi's unconscious form was out of sight, Akutagawa seemed to come back into himself, shrugging off Dazai's grip and falling into a quick step beside him.

"Chuuya had a plan to deal with Nakahara," Dazai said, more voicing his thoughts aloud than speaking to Akutagawa.

Akutagawa nodded anyway. "He had me restore power to Yokohama General."

Dazai let the idea bounce around in his head a moment before it clicked into place. "Chuuya, you evil genius," he muttered with a grin.

Akutagawa raised a brow at him, but before he could ask any questions, the two turned the corner and met chaos. Dazai hadn't so much as blinked before Nakajima leapt toward them and tackled the two to the ground to avoid three quick shots aimed at their heads. They scrambled for cover behind a chunk of concrete just as Ryuunosuke threw himself over an overturned car and slid into the space beside them.

"The were-tiger?" He questioned through pants, eyeing Akutagawa. The other nodded in response before relaxing a little against the concrete.

"Where's Chuuya?" Dazai asked, as a thunderous boom sounded somewhere behind them and a hail of bullets slammed into their concrete shield. 

Nakajima shook his head with an annoyed expression. "At the end of the street," he said. "But until we deal with these snipers, we can't get to him. Their bullets are..." He trailed off with a frustrated growl. "I don't even know!"

"Then deal with them!" Dazai snapped. Nakajima startled, blinking at him. "Use that damn nose of yours and sniff them out! You're a mafioso aren't you!?"

Maybe that was a little harsh in tone, but as far as Dazai was concerned the point still stood. Nakajima was frazzled, and he needed to get his head back in the game.

He left the were-tiger to his internal monologue. Ryuunosuke looked like he wanted to jump in and say something (probably offensive) but Dazai ignored him and turned to Akutagawa. "We need to get Nakahara to the hospital," he declared.

Akutagawa nodded in agreement. "How?"

Dazai sighed. He had an idea that Chuuya would very much not approve of, but it was all he had for the moment. He whispered the words in Akutagawa's ear, hopefully to conceal them from Nakajima and Ryuunosuke.

Akutagawa frowned at him, clearly confused, but nodded anyway. He didn't need to understand for it to have an effect.

"Ryuunosuke." Dazai forced an authoritative tone into his voice as he turned to the doppelganger. It appeared to have the desired effect when the other stiffened. "You need to draw their fire so your partner can locate and dispose of the snipers." He cast a meaningful glance at Nakajima to ensure he was paying attention.

Ryuunosuke bit his lip, clearly biting back the desire to question those orders. But he didn't. He stood and with little more than a nod from his partner, leapt back over the temporary barricade and into the line of fire, Nakajima swiftly following before ducking into a building.

Dazai and Akutagawa waited for the automatic guns to start targeting Ryuunosuke before they made their move, inching far-too-slowly toward the hospital entrance.

From the shattered doors of the entrance Dazai had a clear view of Chuuya and Nakahara: the situation was dire.

Nakahara had his hands wrapped around Chuuya's throat while the other could do little but writhe and struggle beneath him.

Dazai held himself back from racing in.

This will work, he told himself as he slipped into the hospital, leaving Akutagawa stood in the entrance. "Wait as long as you can," he said, "then get him to follow."

This will work.

Dazai had just opened the door when he heard Akutagawa shout that dreadful number. He silently descended into the basement, ignoring the indignant screech that answered Akutagawa's call.

It has to work.

"I want you to know that this plan was insanely stupid and it is by sheer luck that we won."

Dazai eyed the red-head in the seat beside him, meeting his deadpan look with a smirk. "Ah, but Chibi, when have my plans ever failed?"

"Tch." Chuuya rolled his eyes before turning back to stare out the window, either ignoring Dazai or simply without a counter.

Dazai's smirk faded into something else, something not quite a smile, but certainly relaxed. He looked past Chuuya to watch the clouds below them, touched by the pink glow of the Russian sunrise.

"It's the true power of Double Black," he said after a moment.

"Hah?" Chuuya whipped around to stare at him, confused saphire gaze checking him up and down (for sign of a head injury probably).

Dazai chuckled. Confusing Chuuya was almost as fun as pissing him off. Regardless, he continued, "We always succeed, Chuuya. With my bold tactics and your flawless execution–" Dazai met Chuuya's gaze– "how could we ever fail?"

Chuuya was silent for a long moment, simply watching him, considering the words. Then, after a minute, he turned back to the window with a sigh. "If your 'bold tactics' ever mean I have to dress up as a supernatural creature again, I'll slit your throat."

Dazai laughed.

He took the basement steps three at a time, wincing as the buzzing of the generator grew louder and the white noise filled his brain. A loud crash from upstairs told him he had about a minute before Akutagawa came crashing in with an enraged Nakahara hot on his heels.

He eyed the long loops of cables trailing from the machine into various junction boxes on the walls, pulling out Chuuya's knife as he considered them.

The plan was going to work, Double Black plans always did. Sure, Double Black was being dissolved once this was over, and sure, this was Chuuya's plan which Dazai was executing, but Double Black were still a partnership (for the moment) and Double Black had no failed missions on their record.

This was going to work.

It has to work.

Chapter Text

Atsushi's mat was less comfortable than remembered. In fact, with the way it dug into his back, it felt as though he was lying against a bed of rock. With tremendous effort, he forced his eyes open, only to find the smokey, fire-lit sky instead of his wardrobe ceiling.

It all came back in a series of flashes  and a loud bang seared itself in his memory, accompanied by a throb in his chest. Atsushi had never been shot before, he didn't think it would feel like that. It certainly didn't feel like getting stabbed. (That, he had plenty of experience with).

"Atsushi!" He'd barely sat up when he was practically barrelled over by Kyouka. He sighed contentedly as she sealed her arms around him in an iron ring and brought a hand up to run his fingers through her hair.

He glanced up, spying the various members of the Agency and Port Mafia. "What happened?"

"You were shot with an ability-nullifying bullet," Yosano answered, fussing with bandages around Kunikida's face.

"I was..." Atsushi tapped at his ears as if they'd malfunctioned. "What?"

Ranpo pushed himself off the hood of the car with a dramatic flap of his coat. "They exhumed Dazai Osamu's corpse and used the material to craft bullets imbued with his ability," he explained, in that familiar bored tone.

Atsushi understood that even less. "That's...what?"

"I always thought abilities came from the soul," said Tachihara contemplatively as he absentmindedly fiddled with a coin, weaving it telepathically between his fingers.

"They do," Yosano confirmed.

Tachihara frowned. "Then how-?"

"Who's to say the body doesn't also form the soul?" Ranpo proposed, with an odd uncertainty in his face.

"This is insane," Junichirou sighed, slumping tiredly against Kenji.

Atsushi agreed whole-heartedly. However, he didn't see much point in contemplation over matters beyond human understanding, or even attempting to wrap his head around the science behind ability-nullifying bullets. Instead, his mind moved to a different matter. "How'd I even get here?"

The adults seemed to startle at the sudden change in conversation.

"Akutagawa brought you," Kyouka said, as she began to release him from her tight grip.

And for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes, Atsushi was thrown for a loop. "Akutagawa...saved me?"

Again?

"Yeah, he did," answered the man Atsushi hadn't met before – Oda — with an odd expression on his face, something fond.

"The nullification had worn off by the time you got here though," Yosano jumped in, tapping her hand against her chin while Kouyou watched at her with concern. "Your body was already healing itself."

Atsushi wasn't really sure why that was concerning. "That's good, right?"

"Not necessarily."

Everyone turned to Ranpo.

"It means they have some other way of keeping Nakahara down once they manage to hit him. Something more long-lasting."

Tachihara's face twitched and his eyes grew dark. "So you're saying these bullets are just shitty, lethal tranqs?"

"And painful," Atsushi added.

"Sure kid."

"Maybe they've got something that can be applied intravenously," Yosano suggested. "That would keep Nakahara down as long as they need."

The conversation continued but Atsushi didn't have the mental energy to follow it further. His thoughts drifted back to Akutagawa.

"Run, you fool!"

Something must have shown on his face because Kyouka suddenly spoke, "He was really worried about you," she said.

"He...he was?"

She nodded. "Kunikida had to drag him off of you so Yosano could work. And then Dazai ordered him away to help Chuuya."

Akutagawa cared about him? That whole concept seemed wrong. They were on opposite sides. They'd tried to kill each other multiple times. There's no way Akutagawa cared about him.

Then again...

Didn't he die for Atsushi? Hadn't he sworn off killing people because of a promise to Atsushi?

Not to mention the Akutagawa and Atsushi of this world were partners.

Atsushi couldn't fathom how he hadn't seen it. Besides, didn't he care about Akutagawa in return? Didn't he try to protect Akutagawa too?

Wasn't it him who Akutagawa wouldn't kill under Stoker's influence? And him who even came close to snapping Akutagawa out of it?

Atsushi could still feel the phantom breath on his neck, close and dangerous and yet, not unwelcome.

Wait...WHAT!?

Atsushi's face flushed with a deep, concerning red that spurred Kyouka to check his temperature.

"What the fuck?" He whispered, voice cracking.

What the hell was wrong with him? 

.•°•.

When Chuuya finally regained consciousness half an hour later, the fog was just beginning to clear. In his post-corruption daze, Chuuya didn't have the energy to fight as Dazai tugged him to his feet and helped him limp over to a small section of wall that was still standing just six feet away. The two grunted and groaned as they slumped back against the wall, sliding down into sitting positions side-by-side.

Dazai watched Chuuya breathe – or pant really – from exerting the little energy he had remaining. Dazai probably would've thought Chuuya was about to pass out if he didn't see his eyes – saphire-blue fire that glowed in the dark, bright and alive.

He often thought of Chuuya and fire in conjunction with each other. There was the firey temperament – still as bright and fierce as ever. And there was the firey hair: longer than what it had been when he'd left and thicker and curlier too. It framed his face nicely, contrasted those dangerous eyes most beautifully.

Before he could stop himself, Dazai found his mouth moving, forming the words, "You...you look good Chuuya."

Chuuya choked, tired frown vanishing from his face to be replaced by wide-eyed shock.

"For a dog, that is," Dazai added hurriedly, disguising himself with his signature smirk.

"Tch." Chuuya's familar frown was back on his face in an instant. "Not your dog, asshole," he grumbled.

Then, to Dazai's surprise – a state which only ever seemed to be invoked by the red-head beside him – Chuuya then smiled softly, eyes focused on some distant point, a memory which Dazai didn't share. Chuuya lifted his arm, with little more than a grunt of overexertion, and plopped his right wrist into Dazai's lap. "I'm not anyone's dog," he insisted quietly. "I'm human."

Dazai's smirk shifted into something more genuine. "Obviously Chuu-chuu. I've been telling you that for years now."

Chuuya chuckled, which dissolved into a cough. Dazai patted him on the back gently, ignoring how the movement tugged at the wound in his back. He reached over and wiped the dribble of blood from Chuuya's chin with his sleeve.

"And pray tell darling Chibi," he said as he let his thumb linger on Chuuya's lower lip, "how did you finally come to this conclusion?"

"In the original Chuuya's file, there's details of a small scar on his right wrist," Chuuya explained. Dazai's gaze drifted down to examine the appendage sat in his lap. He picked it up to view it closer as Chuuya continued, "Apparently some asshole stabbed me with a pencil in a fight, left the graphite behind when they pulled it out."

Dazai let a finger drift over the minute, grey dash that marred the skin of Chuuya's wrist. It was nothing in comparison to the other scars Chuuya had; it was quite a pathetic mark really. And yet, in Chuuya's eyes, it was the most precious thing on his body. It was a sign that confirmed something Dazai had already known, a simple fact he'd felt deep in his bones from the moment he'd laid his eyes on the firey red-head in the slums of Suribachi City: Nakahara Chuuya was human. 

Just as Dazai cut the cable, the limp form of Akutagawa came tumbling down the stairs. The man hit the back wall of the basement with enough force to leave an indent in the concrete before dropping to the floor.

A low groan signalled to Dazai that Akutagawa was in fact still alive. Shaking limbs stretched out and pushed the shuddering, groaning mess of a man onto all floors with the help of Rashomon steadying his arms and legs and providing a few extra spindly appendages to hold himself up.

"We have his attention," Akutagawa wheezed.

"I can see that," Dazai agreed. "Good job."

Akutagawa's eyes went wide at the throw-away praise but Dazai ignored it. "Can you stand?"

Spurred by his words, the branches of Rashomon thickened into trunks that pulled Akutagawa to his feet and held him there like spider's legs emerging from his back. He wavered unsteadily, but did not collapse which was good enough for Dazai. He thrust the sliced cable into Akutagawa's hand, uncaring of the naked wires that sparked too close to Akutagawa's face.

There was a rumble like thunder that sounded upstairs. The very room around them trembled with the vibrations and Akutagawa almost fumbled the live wire. Dazai looked to him, with the silent question of what Nakahara was still doing upstairs.

"I think...I saw Chu– Chuuya stand before I was...tossed down here," he answered between coughs.

"Oh Chuuya, always with the save," Dazai muttered, grin crossing his face momentarily as he pulled his gun from his coat. He quickly motioned Akutagawa up onto the crate behind him with a flick of his pistol, before climbing up onto another crate himself.

The fighting upstairs drew closer. Dazai could hear the grunts and screeches echo down the stairwell as the vibrations intensified.

"When I give the signal, cut that pipe," Dazai ordered, pointing to the large, unassuming copper pipe that stood in the far corner.

"Signal?"

Dazai waved the gun and Akutagawa nodded in acknowledgement, sending a tendril of Rashomon curling around the room, poised to strike the pipe.

Thump.

Dazai's finger tightened over the trigger as he pointed the gun at the doorway.

Ka-thump.

Akutagawa coughed quietly, swallowing down whimpers as the coughs racked his aching body.

Crash!

"Rraaaaggghhhhh!" Chuuya screeched as he tackled Nakahara into the room, taking out a section of the doorway as the two tousled.

Dazai fired his gun, Akutagawa pierced the pipe and a water burst out, hitting Chuuya and Nakahara with a high-pressure jet.

"Chuuya, move!" Dazai yelled, readying his wire.

Chuuya struggled beneath the spray, pinned by Nakahara for a third time while the other pummeled him.

"JUST DO IT!" He screamed back, half drowned out by rushing water that was quickly filling the space.

At the shout, Nakahara seemed to gain a sudden awareness. His head lifted up and he locked eyes with Akutagawa, who was brandishing the live wire. Nakahara blinked, glancing about at the pool as if he'd just realised he was getting wet.

Nakahara started to stand, their window was closing.

Chuuya, suddenly free to move, twisted his hips. Nakahara tipped with a yelp and Chuuya three himself on top."DAMMIT DAZAI!" He grunted as Nakahara elbowed him in the side. "NOW!"

Dazai nodded; Akutagawa dropped the wire.

The bright flashing lights across the water forced Dazai's eyes closed (if the screaming hadn't already done so). But Dazai could picture the image of Chuuya twitching and writhing with his mouth stretched open in that unending, agonised scream.

"AKUTAGAWA!" Dazai yelled, once the screams began to die down a few seconds later. "GRAB THE WIRE!" He ordered, hoping his voice carried over the crackling electricity.

The zapping stopped, the bright light dimmed and once again only the lone ceiling bulb lit the space. In the centre of the room lay Nakahara, twitching and spasming, but unconscious. The swirling scars upon his skin sealed themselves shut, as if the electricity had carried Dazai's ability with it. Beside him, Chuuya was face-down in the water, unmoving. Dazai leapt off the crate and into the water, immediately racing to Chuuya. He lifted him out the water and turned him on his back, practically sagging in relief when he started to breathe once again.

"Idiot," he sighed, brushing sopping wet hair from Chuuya's face before his fingers travelled to the pulse point of the mafioso's neck. The strong, steady beat beneath his fingertips was reassuring.

After securing the wire, Akutagawa stepped off his crate, joining him in the water with a gentle splash. "Shall I secure Nakahara?" He asked, Rashomon at the ready.

Dazai nodded. "I'll check his pulse first." He reached over, snagging Nakahara's wrist as Akutagawa wrapped him in his ability.

He'd held Nakahara's wrist just long enough to measure his heart rate when Dazai froze. There was a long, jagged scar bisecting Nakahara's forearm from wrist to elbow. It was a deep and deliberate mark that, judging from the angle, was self-inflicted. Dazai's heart dropped to somewhere in his stomach, displacing acid that spurted up his oesophagus and bubbled in the back of his throat. He choked it down.

Chuuya wouldn't...not for him...

He traced the scar back up to Nakahara's wrist– 

Wait... 

...what... 

...but where's the– 

Suddenly it all made sense. Yet, nothing made sense at all.

"Apparently some asshole stabbed me with a pencil in a fight, left the graphite behind when they pulled it out."

Nakahara Chuuya's eyes snapped open. Dazai was flung across the room, smacking into the wall with a crack that Dazai was sure to feel for weeks to come. Dazai had barely sat up when Akutagawa collided head first with the very same wall, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes, crushing some crates beneath him.

How Nakahara was even conscious, Dazai wasn't sure – though he had some ideas and none were pleasant.

Dazai blinked away the yellow spots in his vision, attempting to focus. He put his hand out to climb to his feet only to slip against the submerged concrete. His chin hit the ground and water flooded his nose.

When he pulled his head out the water, he was met with a hoarse voice.

"Who are you?"

Dazai looked up. Nakahara held an unconscious Chuuya by the neck, pressing him against the wall.

"You're...me?"

Nakahara squeezed and Chuuya groaned quietly in response.

"What is this?"

Nakahara squeezed again and Chuuya began to twitch. Silently, Dazai chambered to his feet and began approaching.

"It's that...that book, isn't it."

Dazai continued creeping forward, while Nakahara continued to speak to Chuuya's limp body. Suddenly, Nakahara let go, keeping Chuuya against the wall with Tainted Sorrow. He ran both hands through his hair, hissing when he snagged on the knots of his matted mane.

"It's always that dammed book," he growled, scratching at his scalp. "I'll destroy it when I bring him back."

Dazai pounced, launching himself at Nakahara. He grabbed his wrist, fingers sealing over the spot where the telling scar should've been. The faint, blue glow of No Longer Human washed over the two of them like a cool stream.

Dazai winced as Chuuya dropped unceremoniously to the floor like a puppet who's strings had been cut. Alas, he ignored him – Chuuya had survived much worse anyhow. He instead focused on Nakahara and on the way he stiffened at Dazai's contact.

It was as if time held its breath. The air stilled, sound faded and Dazai was trapped alone with his hand locked around the wrist of a Nakahara Chuuya who was not his own.

When time restarted, Dazai was falling. Nakahara's wrist slipped from his grip and weights against his shoulders pushed him down to the ground. Dazai hit the water and Nakahara was above him, hands against his shoulders and straddling his waist, pressing their torsos together.

It was almost funny, how pathetically small the differences between this Chuuya and his own were. And in fact, there were only  two that Dazai had even spotted (aside from the changes in outfit and hairstyle): a single graphite scar barely a centimetre long and their eyes. 

This close, Dazai could see a ring of light brown surrounding Nakahara's pupils – a colour not present within his own Chuuya's eyes. It was so slight, the brown layer so miniscule that no one else but Dazai (who'd spent long hours gazing into Chuuya's eyes, studying the saphire colour) could tell the difference. Whether this difference came from the recent experimentation or a mistake in cloning the original Chuuya's genome, Dazai couldn't be sure. Did it really matter? Probably not. But as Nakahara's breath warmed his face, Dazai could focus on nothing else.

"Osamu," he said, with a voice so broken and hoarse it was like he'd gargled with shards of glass.

"Chuuya," Dazai echoed, breathless.

Chuuya's Nakahara's left hand released his shoulder. Dazai hadn't even noticed until it was stroking the side of his face. It travelled everywhere, tracing every bone and crevice and brushing every inch with delicate care that left Dazai's skin tingling.

"You're not mine. You're not him," he said, solemnly, eyes shining with unshed tears. "But I'm going to bring him back." As he spoke, his mournful expression darkened; a shadow passed over his face and his eyes practically turned black. The gentle hold on Dazai's jaw became an iron grip. "He doesn't get to leave me."

Dazai slipped an arm into his coat, unseen, hand closing around a small paper package.

"You're not him," Chu- Nakahara said again. The fingernails digging into Dazai's face began to draw blood.

Dazai fumbled blindly with the string, damped by the pool he lay in.

"You're not-" He paused. Chuuya's Nakahara's eyes grew wide. He stared down Dazai with enough intensity to liquify a man. Luckily, Dazai'd had enough previous experience to not succum to the glare. "What are you doing?" Chuuya growled.

Dazai finally untied the package and grinned. Careful not to touch the contents, he picked up the package by the paper wrapping. "Scheming," he answered with a smirk, meeting Chuuya's gaze with an unyielding one of his own.

Finally, Chu– Nakahara broke their staring contest to look at the object in Dazai's hand and Dazai watched with no small amount of amusement as his dark face of anger made way for a confused frown.

"Is that a b-?"

Dazai cut him off with a bright flash of yellow light as he smacked the book into Chuuya's back before rolling out of the way as it fell through the empty space Chuuya had just occupied.

In the ensuing silence, Dazai lay back in the frigid water and sighed, praying it was over.

Hundreds of feet below, a quiet beep echoed throughout the cavern, signalling another minute lost to the countdown.

00:18:53

Chapter Text

Dazai Osamu was dead.

The wet splat of a fleshy body against concrete played over and over again in Chuuya's mind as the burning lessened to a tingling sensation that left his muscles twitching. He slowly regained sensation – hard surface against his back, frigid water, dull light behind his eyelids – even as the sound of death grew to a crescendo in his skull, echoing between flashes of blood and guts and–

Then, his voice cut through the din.

"Idiot," he said – a distant, quiet (perhaps even intimate) whisper Chuuya shouldn't have been able to hear. But it was him.

Something warm and wet and red splattered across Chuuya's face as he drew to a halt. He blinked, as if the image of the mutilated corpse would correct itself into the familar sight of that cold, dark eye watching him.

He couldn't move. 

The cracks of shattered bones rang in his mind like the echoes of fireworks. The blood encroached further toward him, flowing across the tarmac. 

Flowing like water.

Chuuya was wet, hair growing heavy as it soaked in the cold puddle he lay in. He smelled something else mixed in with the blood – the bitter, burning scent of ozone. Electricity, he guessed — which would definitely explain the twitching limbs and tingling skin.

The image of Dazai's corpse swam before him as he tried to wade through the waters of his subconscious, pushing toward the sensations he was fairly certain were real – the water, the burning, the concrete against his back.

"Will you join me, Chuuya?"

Chuuya stepped back, the sea of blood followed him anyway.

"I swore my loyalty to the old boss."

He stumbled, falling beneath the tidal wave of death.

"You did."

Chuuya succumbed, drowning, choking, dying within the all-encompassing red.

"You're just going to bargain for my loyalty too, huh?"

A hand closed around his wrist.

"Do I have to?"

A cool, familar feeling washed over him as a bright blue light cut through the red sea.

"No, you don't."

Chuuya's eyes snapped open.

"I swear my loyalty to you, Boss."

Something was latched onto his arm. He swung, tossing it away.

"I'm yours."

Destructive urge roared in his mind and gravity struck out in a calamitous wave of intoxicating power.

"Always."

Chuuya's eyes finally focused on reality as Dazai's voice whispered, "I know." And a flash of red caught his eye. Not blood, but something brighter and more copper-coloured. For a brief moment, he thought someone had cut his hair off. He brushed the matted ends with his fingers to confirm otherwise, before walking over to the body on the floor.

He grabbed the limp man by the back of his shirt and dragged him over to the wall where hoisted him up, holding him to the light of the bulb that dimly lit the room.

"Isn't this an interesting turn of events?"

"Who are you?" His voice sounded foreign, even to himself, hoarse and garbled. His gaze wondered over the face as he switched his grip to hold the other's neck and press him into the brickwork. His eyes grew wide with realisation.

"You're...me?"

Was this...? No...he died. Chuuya watched him melt. Were there another? Another like him?

"Don't be silly. We destroyed that place, remember?"

He squeezed, though it didn't garner a reaction of anything more than a groan.

"What is this?"

He squeezed tighter, watching with morbid fascination as the body twitched and moaned. It was funny, that this Chuuya shared so many details, right down to the leather gloves that squeaked as his fingers clenched and unclenched.

"I think you know, Chibi."

"It's that...that dammed book, isn't it," he hissed, squeezing harder. The other Chuuya twitched a final time before going limp once more as Chuuya finally released the pressure.

"You're not alone Chuuya," Dazai whispered in his ear, curling a damp strand of hair behind his ear. "Focus."

Chuuya allowed gravity to hold the other against the wall and ran his hands through his hair, chasing the phantom touch.

"Chuuya, move."

His fingers brushed the cold digits as they ran through his hair and snagged against them before slipping through like the slimy fish Dazai was.

"Fuck off!" He hissed, though the sounds blended together into an unrecognisable snarl. "It's always that dammed book!" He scratched at the ghostly fingers in his hair.

He fixed a glare at the sleeping double. "I'll destroy it when I bring him back," he promised.

Dazai's spectral hand latched onto his wrist and Chuuya felt his heart skip a beat. It felt...real.

"Osamu?" His lips formed the word but he had no idea if any sound escaped to speak him into existence.

"Try again, Chuuya," he answered.

Chuuya's double dropped to the floor just as he became aware of the cool, blue wave passing through him. Something was real. No Longer Human was real.

Dazai? Was he here? Was he back? Had Chuuya done it?

"Have you lost all your braincells to corruption Chuu-chuu?"

He cast a glance to his doppelganger and finally put the pieces together.

Before he could think, he was spinning around, tearing his arm out of the imposter's grip. Without looking, he dived forward, hands landing on the other man's shoulders and shoving him into the ground with a wet plop. But he hadn't thought. He'd thrown his centre of gravity too far forward which he'd normally be able to correct with his ability, however, the copy was far too accurate.

And so, Chuuya fell into the imposter, landing on top of him, just barely able to keep his face up.

Chuuya could see both his eyes. Two dark pools stared at him, instead of one.

But they were so, so familiar.

"Osamu." His lips formed the name again; his tongue swirled around the delectable syllables. He had no idea if sound came out this time either.

"Chuuya," came the breathless echo.

Chuuya watched those lips move around his name, the way they had a thousand times before. He felt the need to touch them, touch him. So he did, brushing the all-too-familiar lines of that face.

Then, he settled on the eyes again. At first glance, he'd thought they were the same. But there was something different. He couldn't tell what it was. The were the same deep brown – almost red – and the same large pools he used to get lost in.

But these eyes, they were looking back at him with warmth.

"You're not mine," he sighed, suddenly with the urge to cry because how was he so close and yet so far. "You're not him."

"You and I, we'll be monsters together."

Chuuya glared at the imposter as he went on to declare, "But I'm going to bring him back." He held the face tightly.

A splatter of guts.

A crackle of bone.

A sea of blood.

"He doesn't get to leave me."

Chuuya watched the red pool beneath his fingernails. It was bright and fluid, not like the thick, dark substance that oozed from Dazai's battered corpse.

"You're not him. You're not–"

A quiet rustling caught Chuuya's attention. The imposter blinked at him innocently and Chuuya's chest grew hot with anger. "What are you doing?" He snarled.

The man beneath him smirked with the same smirk Dazai always used on him. "Scheming," he answered, smoothly. "As always. Can't be trusted."

Brown eyes flickered down and Chuuya followed them, finally noticing the remnants of brown paper wrapping that was slowly dissolving in the water. Amongst them, held up by the imposter's hand, was a small, unmarked book with a red, hard-back cover.

"Huh? I wonder what that's for," Dazai mused. "Maybe it's a journal. Or perhaps he's going to read you a bedtime story Chuu-Chuu!"

Chuuya's brows creased with confusion. "Is that a b-?"

The world disappeared in a flash of golden light, and the imposter along with it. 

.•°•. 

Nakajima was intimately familiar with the taste of blood: bitter iron, like sucking on loose change, with a faint but distinctly salty undertone. After so many years, he's almost grown fond of the metallic tang.

He wiped the warm dribbles from his chin, leaving scarlet streaks in the pale fur of the back of his hand, as he swallowed the salty remnants of the sniper's thyroid. Running his tongue along his feline teeth, he grinned down at the mutilated corpse at his feet, reveling in his victory.

Another bullet was slid into a rifle chamber across the street and Nakajima perked up, ears twitching. His tail swept back and forth behind him as he strode over to the window, crushing the dead man's ribcage underfoot for no reason beyond his own satisfaction at hearing the series of cracks as he did so.

He narrowed his eyes upon reaching the window, fixing his gaze on the fifth and final target in the building across the street.

He watched as the sniper took aim at the street below, pointing his rifle into the spot where the rapid gunfire was concentrated, where wild, razor sharp tendrils waved about in a seemingly chaotic wave of destruction. Nakajima knew better though, knew that each movement was perfectly precise and measured.

A gloved finger slid over the trigger and Nakajima growled, loud enough that the sound was audible across the street even over the gunfire. The sniper looked up, paling as he noticed Nakajima. The weretiger grinned, bearing his bloody canines.

The sniper stood little chance, having no time to even redirect his aim before Nakajima leapt from the window, crossing the street with a graceful leap. He barrelled into the assailant, sinking razor claws into his shoulders. The man howled in pain as Nakajima tore chunks of flesh from the other's shoulders and dove back in again, this time targeting the abdomen.

Nakajima's claw hooked on a part of the intestine and tore it out, sending entrails over his shoulder and into the street below.

A strong whiff of blood hit his nose and the tiger roared. His left hand ripped out the man's sternum, leaving the throbbing, beating heart free for Nakajima to sink his teeth into.

The screaming quietened and the struggling halted just as the last of the muscly organ disappeared down Nakajima's gullet and he moved on to gorge himself on the liver.

On the street below, the last of the gunfire died down while Nakajima busied himself with his dinner. He'd just begun dining on the greater omentum when a voice called out, "Are you quite finished Weretiger?"

Nakajima sat up and picked cartilaginous membrane out of his teeth. "Yeah," he sighed, mostly to himself, before clambering to his feet and leaning out the window.

Ryuunosuke's gaze bore a heavy weight, something that has Nakajima turning away in shame.

A shadow filled the window frame. Nakajima was forced to turn back when a sharpened tendril of Rashomon curled around his neck. Storm grey eyes met his own with an unwavering gaze.

Nakajima inhaled slowly, holding that breath for a moment before exhaling, releasing the Beast Beneath the Moonlight alongside it. A drop of foreign blood dripped down his cheek and Nakajima couldn't keep his tongue from darting out to catch it. He swallowed it, guiltily all the while Ryuunosuke just watched him.

"I...I-uhm–" Nakajima scrambled for the words, but no defence came. He was still the White Reaper it seemed. All that work for the Agency, for Mori, clawing back his humanity piece by piece, only for it to all fall apart at the tantalising scent of blood. "I'm sorry," he whispered, bowing his head with shame.

A cold, pale hand cupped his cheek. Nakajima gasped, breath hitching as Ryuunosuke's thumb brushed the trail of blood from his cheek. He watched, mesmerised, as his partner brought his thumb to his lips and sucked it clean of iron-tasting red. "Why?"

And walls that had remained between the two crumbled along with Nakajima's resolve to keep Ryuunosuke safe from him. He smashed their faces together furiously, searching for the traces of blood still on Ryuunosuke's lips as he sunk sharp nails into the taller man's scalp. Ryuunosuke hissed in pain, but kissed back with equal passion, his own hands scrambling for purchase on the other's shirt as Nakajima drove him back until he collided with the wall. Sharp teeth scraped along his tongue and he could merely groan in response.

Ryuunosuke's blood tasted sweet. Nakajima had never tasted anything more glorious. He wished he could drink it forever, maybe Ryuu would let him.

For the minute, however, Nakajima was content to savour the taste of that moment, as he sunk into Ryuunosuke's arms.

Chapter Text

"Time?" Ranpo spoke as he squinted in the direction Dazai and Akutagawa had left in almost an hour prior.

"Ten minutes," Kunikida answered, glancing at his watch.

Ranpo nodded as though he'd predicted that answer, before turning to Atsushi. "Anything?"

Atsushi strained his ears for a moment before he shook his head. Since the last gunshot, everything had been awfully quiet; sitting around a banged-up car with equally banged-up people all at varying levels of frustration was incredibly tense. Atsushi was feeling particularly twitchy with the inactivity combined with straining his tiger senses. If they didn't do something soon, Atsushi was going to transform and turn the car into a scratching post.

"Alright, they're probably all done then," Ranpo commented, jumping off the hood of the car and onto his feet. "Let's go!" Without a further word, Ranpo strode off and the rest of them scrambled to follow.

The walk was made in the same tense silence they'd been stewing in earlier, only Ranpo appeared to have perked up a bit, breaking the quiet with little mumbles that Atsushi only caught fragments of:

"–wonder how they–"

Once they turned the corner onto the road outside Yokohama General, the ruined concrete grew worse, having been ridden with cracks and bullet holes and the tell-tale divots courtesy of Rashomon.

"Atsushi!"

Atsushi turned his head just as Izumi barrelled past him, knocking him into Kyouka as she ran.

Up ahead, two familiar figures stumbled out onto the street from one of the nearby buildings and Izumi sped toward them.

Nakajima grinned, bearing blood-stained teeth. "You probably don't want to touch me right now," he warned, lightly, as he guestured to his ruined shirt, practically dripping with blood. Izumi hugged him, unperturbed.

His shirt wasn't the only thing dyed red: Nakajima's chin was practically cherry coloured, along with his cheeks and nose. In fact, his face was covered in blood, except for a millimetre's worth of space around his lips.

Yosano stepped past Atsushi, her gaze on Ryuunosuke, scanning him up and down for injuries. His shirt also had splotches of drying blood, all faint, as if they were transferred; Atsushi was certain it was not his own. His face was also stained with red – around his lips especially, as if a three-year-old had given him lipstick. 

Wait...

Ryuunosuke's tie was missing, as was Nakajima's belt.

...no...

Atsushi's eye caught on Nakajima's skipped button and he recoiled. "Oh HELL no!" He found himself up on his haunches, claws extended and fangs bared while he hissed at the pair.

Ryuunosuke blinked curiously at him, while Nakajima grew concerned and reached out. To do what, Atsushi was not sure, but he had an idea where those hands had been.

"Don't touch me," he hissed. Then, he eyed the little girl still latched on to Nakajima's shirt. He quickly reached our and pulled her away. "And don't touch her with your gross hands!"

Izumi looked outraged for a moment, hand slipping to her knife, before she finally got a good look at Nakajima. Her face twisted into a grimace. "Oh."

Somewhere behind Atsushi, Yosano was cackling, making a pathetic attempt to disguise the sound by shoving her face into Kouyou's shoulder. Meanwhile the other woman had a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Ayyyyyy! Nice one Nakajima!" Tachihara commented with a grin as he slung his arm around Gin. "I believe you owe me 10,000¥?"

Gin sighed. "I really thought they'd wait until after."

It was then, that a certain blond detective seemed to catch on. "That is highly inappropriate behaviour!" Kunikida yelled, vein popping on his forehead as he seethed, startling Junichiro who subsequently fell over.

While Kunikida continued yelling, Nakajima and Ryuunosuke grew redder and redder, and Tachihara and Yosano continued to laugh at their expense.

Ranpo, however, had begun to twitch, tapping his foot against the ground impatiently. "I do believe this could wait, Kunikida," Fukuzawa suggested as he rested a placating on Ranpo's shoulder.

"Yes, yes! Yell at them later!" Ranpo agreed. "Or on the way!" He spun around and began marching toward the hospital, practically dragging Fukuzawa with him.

Atsushi sprinted to catch up, refusing to be anywhere near Nakajima and Ryuunosuke any longer.

There was a burning smell that grew stronger as they approached the hospital, one that was distinct from the general fire engulfing Yokohama. Atsushi would almost compare it to the grill he and Kyouka had visited the other week.

Atsushi followed his nose to a door in the corner of the room, where the smell became engulfed in dampness. "They're down here," he informed the others, spurring them closer.

"It would be best if just a few went down," Fukuzawa suggested, nodding to Yosano and Kunikida. "We will wait up here."

Ranpo whined about needing to know something, stamping his feet as he scowled. He was pacified only by Fukuzawa's reassurance that whatever information he was seeking would be made known as soon as they returned. That seemed to placate Ranpo, though it wasn't until Ryuunosuke tossed him a bag of skittles – likely scavenged from one of the gunmen he'd incapacitated – that he settled by plopping himself onto the hospital desk and tearing open his sweets.

At least some things in this universe were normal.

Finally, Atsushi pushed open the door and descended the steps, practically choking on the smell of wet hair and barbecue, with Yosano and Kunikida following close behind. The staircase was treacherous, crumbling in places and with gaps of five to six steps completely ground to dust. He imagined the culprit was likely to be one of the Chuuyas.

When they emerged into the basement, a voice called out from the shadows. "Ah, glad you're here doctor. These two need medical attention." Dazai guestured to the unconscious forms of Chuuya and Akutagawa with a limp guesture, before his arm flopped back to the floor with a splash.

"And you?" She asked as she crossed the room to kneel by Akutagawa. Atsushi pretended not to notice the way she stepped over Chuuya to do so.

"I'm good," Dazai said, practically wheezing.

Atsushi stood over him, fixing his with a disbelieving stare. "And you're lying on the floor, why?"

Dazai looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, pout on his lips. "Because I'm tired Atsushi."

Atsushi could believe that if it were anyone other than Dazai. He was certain the man operated on a different plane from the rest of them mortals. Did Dazai even experience fatigue? That said, Dazai wasn't quite the pinnacle of effortless skill Atsushi had come to see him as. His face was painted with several reddening bruises, stretching from the line of his jaw to his left cheekbone, accompanied by some crescent-shaped scratches that lazily dribbled with blood. 

"Where's Nakahara?" Questioned Kunikida, standing from where he'd been checking Chuuya's breathing.

Dazai pointed to a small, red book lying in the water next to him. "I've no idea what those two put in it, but it should hold him for at least a couple of days."

"Wha-?" Kunikida began to question, before he was inturrupted by a wet thunk accompanied by a crack of bone. Behind Atsushi, a flash of blue light filled the space. He spun around just as Akutagawa sat up.

The two locked eyes for a long, silent second; storm clouds watched the sun set in a purple sky. For a single, fleeting second, Atsushi could've sworn he saw Akutagawa's gaze soften.

Then, Akutagawa doubled over in a coughing fit.

"Oh look, he's alive," Dazai remarked, tonelessly, as he too sat up. Akutagawa floundered under Dazai's gaze, exacerbating his cough.

Atsushi could've sworn he saw the barest hint of a smile flash across Dazai's face before he blinked and it was gone. A familiar mask of blankness settled over Dazai's face.

The detective then glanced back toward Chuuya, who remained unconscious. His brows creased as he pitched forward, as if to examine Chuuya closer. "Oi, Slug," he called. "Nap time's over."

The Slug did not stir.

Now that he was focused on Chuuya, Atsushi noticed the slight twitch of his fingers, the furrowing of his brows, the clenching of his jaw. His tiger's ears caught wind of a breathless whisper: "Who the fuck are you?"

Dazai blinked, as if he were confused. Atsushi wasn't even sure how the man had even heard – Chuuya had barely spoken. And yet, the detective was already shuffling over to the mafioso, coat dragging through the water behind him as he moved to kneel by Chuuya. "Helloooooo? Chuuuuuyaaa," Dazai trilled, dragging out the vowels in some kind of attempt to annoy Chuuya back to consciousness.

"Well that's a loaded statement," Chuuya murmered, sleepily.

Dazai tapped Chuuya on the cheek with his palm. Once. Twice. On the third time, he put enough force into it that the snack could be heard echoing for a solid ten seconds after.

Still, Chuuya slept on, oblivious, caught up in some dream.

Dazai's fist clenched in Chuuya's shirt. For the first time since Atsushi had met him, Dazai seemed worried.

That can't be right, can it? Dazai doesn't do worried.

"Doctor," he said, commandingly. "You need to heal him, now."

Yosano rolled her eyes. "He's fine. He's sleeping."

Dazai's head span around so fast Atsushi was worried he'd snapped his neck. What worried the weretiger even more was the darkness in his eyes, something that screamed with such murderous intent that even Kunikida who was stood behind him flinched.

"What the fuck are you doing? Punch him. At least look at him."

"Yosano!" He snapped, spurring her into action. The sharp clack of her heels against the floor was dulled by the water, but still managed to ring out in the tense silence.

She knelt down, water soaking into her skirt. She pulled out a torch in one hand and opened his eye with the other. Chuuya groaned softly, "And you've made him look taller than he already is."

"He's fine," Yosano announced after checking Chuuya's pulse. "He appears to be dreaming, which is a good sign."

There was a series of rough splashes behind him and suddenly Akutagawa was stood next to Atsushi. His grey eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and concern. As his gaze drifted from Chuuya to Dazai, frowning, who met him with a forcefully blank expression. "He's...dreaming?"

Atsushi wasn't sure why the concept was confusing, but Dazai didn't seem to grasp the idea either. He turned back to Chuuya, head tilted in a way that bathed his face in the shadow of his matted, wet hair.

"Apparently so." 

.•°•. 

Nakahara Chuuya didn't dream.

He liked to imagine that, if he did possess such an ability, he'd experience quite pleasant ones. There had to be a balance somewhere, right? That was more wishful thinking on his part though.

Instead of dreams, Chuuya was often bestowed with sleep deprived or alcohol-induced hallucinations. Over the years, he'd become quite adept at distinguishing them from reality. It was minute details – the colour slightly off, a voice slightly different, someone who is most definitely dead... little things. But never did his hallucinations consist of something or someone that wasn't entirely realistic and based in his memory.

So this was just bizarre.

The room he stood in looked like Mori's office. It had the same wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the port, the same checkered flooring and garish carpet, and even the same plush red chair that faced the window. The room was a carbon copy Mori's office with one stark difference.

Sat at the dark, maple desk, hands clasped together under his chin and propped up on his elbows, was Dazai. Yet, it couldn't have been Dazai because Dazai had never worn bandages over his left eye. He'd never worn a waistcoat, never put his arms through his coat sleeves, never dared adorn himself with the scarf that crowned a person boss of the Port Mafia.

The man sat in front of Chuuya was not Dazai, nor a memory of him. 

"Took you long enough," the man spoke, eyes flicking up.

Chuuya startled. Despite the appearance he hadn't expected the man to have Dazai's voice. Who the fuck are you? He tried to growl.

Instead, different words came out. "It's four AM," he drawled. "I was sleeping."

Against his will, Chuuya found himself approaching the desk while Dazai watched him, his expression betraying no thoughts.

For a moment, the two were silent, watching each other, giving Chuuya just enough time to think, 'what the fuck is this?' before once again, his body moved without permission.

His hand reached across the desk of its own accord to grab the scarf draped around Dazai's neck. He took it gently, stroking the fabric with gloved fingers. "I swore my loyalty to the old boss," he said, as he let the fabric go, allowing it to fall back into place.

Dazai nodded, lifting his head from his hands so he could rest them on the desk. "Yes, you did," he agreed. "To the old boss who tried to recruit your brother as an executive."

Chuuya saw Dazai lean back slightly as his fists slammed against the desk with a suddenness that caught him off guard. He would've flinched if he had any control over his body.

"He was not my brother," he snarled, voice low.

Well that's a loaded statement, Chuuya commented, with little else to do but sit and watch.

Dazi continued on, unperturbed. "You gave your loyalty to the old boss," he said, as he reached for something in the drawer, "who refused to give you this despite how many of his unreasonable obligations you fulfilled." Dazai brandished a thick, red folder and waved it in front of Chuuya's face.

The red-head straightened up. Chuuya's eyes would've widened if they could. He knew what Dazai was placing on the desk, even though the folder was red and not black, sealed with wax and not string, unopened and not strewn across his bedsheets, the title was the same. Emblazoned across the front in golden, bold print was his number: A-258.

He found himself reaching out for it, shocked when his hand indeed reached out to grab the folder from the desk.

Dazai slammed his hand down just as gloved fingers brushed the file. Chuuya wanted to scowl, instead his eyes widened with hurt before they narrowed at Dazai.

"You're just going to bargain for my loyalty too, huh?" The words fell from Chuuya's mouth without permission, in a tired voice that didn't sound anything like him. His head fell down so Dazai wouldn't see his eyes.

What the fuck are you doing? Punch him! Chuuya yelled, though the words didn't leave his head. At least look at him!

Cold fingers bushed against the leather of his gloves. "Do I have to?" Asked Dazai, earning Chuuya's gaze. The lone, black eye bore into him and Chuuya wished he could glare in response. 

Then, Dazai let go, leaving the file grasped in Chuuya's hand. Chuuya felt his expression morph into tentative hope and he seethed. He'd been in the room with alternate Dazai for a little over five minutes and he was already sick of the manipulative crap.

Because of course, this memory, this waking nightmare, wasn't his own. Chuuya mentally kicked himself for taking so long to figure it out when it should've been obvious from the moment he laid his eyes on that cursed scarf. This memory belonged to the Chuuya of this universe. Why Chuuya was living it, he had no idea. He supposed he'd just have to chalk it up to interdimensional bullshit and leave it at that.

The file was probably real, but Chuuya couldn't believe Dazai would just hand it over. There would be strings attached, regardless of what words came out the other's mouth. Chuuya's Dazai had a knack for playing people like chess pieces, predicting their movements and adjusting accordingly.

"No you don't," Chuuya sighed, releasing the file.

His alternate self was either blind or in denial, Chuuya decided. He refused to believe a version of himself would be too stupid to realise the bargain that was about to be made.

Chuuya willed himself to shout obscenities, throw something, jump out the window. Hell, he'd have settled for just remaining standing. Instead, nausea grew as he knelt, lifting his hat from his head and tucking it to his chest.

Fuck's sake! Chuuya snarled as he lowered his head.

"I swear my loyalty to you, boss," he said instead.

Chuuya could only listen to the scraping of the chair and the footsteps as Dazai moved around the desk. It wasn't until a pair of black, polished Oxford shoes came into view that Chuuya looked up.

And you've made him look taller than he already is! Chuuya groaned exasperatedly as he strained to look up.

"I'm yours." Chuuya's rant came to an abrupt halt. "Always."

The nausea grew, accompanied by an encompassing feeling of dread which increased tenfold when Dazai crouched in front of him.

"I know," he said, as his hand moved to rest on Chuuya's cheek.

Some physical entity in Chuuya's chest cracked, as if an ability-user had telepathically snapped all his alternate's ribs at once, leaving him burning with pain. The coldness and scratching bandages against his face was familiar and twisted and so, so awful Chuuya couldn't stomach it. If he could've, he'd have thrown up.

Then, Dazai smiled, something fake and false and so achingly familiar that had Chuuya burning with jealousy anger. "Who else would survive you?"

Fuck. You.

His thumb brushed Chuuya's cheekbone as if he were wiping away a tear. Chuuya wasn't crying. At least, he didn't think so. Then again, Chuuya never felt as though he was in control when Dazai was around.

Maybe he and his alternate had that in common.

His vision swam and suddenly Chuuya was overcome with a vomit-inducing vertigo. The surroundings swirled until they became a muddy brown and Chuuya was thrown about like a sock in a tumble dryer. He puked, probably; it certainly felt like he had. Shadowy spots emerged from the swirling brown, or perhaps his vision finally failed him. As it all faded to black, Chuuya still felt the lingering sensation of Dazai's touch. 

And from the darkness, a familiar voice crawled toward him. Something that oozed and dripped and slobbered as it squeezed into his ear and announced itself with an echoing giggle.

"Sub-level 2, room 13," he crowed, with a grin Chuuya couldn't see but he knew was there. "You'll find your answers there."

"I'll kill them all," Chuuya found himself answering, no longer sure if it was himself or Nakahara.

The rat laughed. "I'm counting on it."

And then Chuuya was gone.

Chapter Text

When Chuuya opened his eyes, he was greeted with a world of muted grey and the pattering of rain against the hood of his raincoat: an unsteady, jittering beat that was impossible to follow.

He was walking, compelled by a conscience that wasn't his own to trudge through a forest he probably wouldn't recognise even if the fog wasn't obscuring his vision. He winced – or at least tried to – as the mossy ground squelched beneath his feet and water soaked into socks, wishing his other self had donned better footwear than a pair of trainers.

In all honesty, it was the boredom that really started to get to Chuuya. He'd thought that being somehow trapped in Nakahara's memories would at least be interesting. Yet, he'd been ambling through the woods for over half an hour with no inkling of where Nakahara was going and only the constant drumming of rain to keep him company.

The man was clearly searching for something; his head swivelled back and forth in constant motion that made Chuuya almost nauseous. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that Nakahara was going somewhere, and was hoping to find whatever he was looking for before he reached it. Or, even more accurately, he knew exactly what he was looking for and where it was, but was desperately hoping to be wrong or to find an excuse to to make it there. Because Nakahara's path was certain and purposeful, even if his gait was unsteady.

Chuuya had become increasingly aware of an all-encompassing ache that he knew with intimate familiarity to be a lingering symptom of corruption. If he could look down at his hands or observe his reflection, he was sure he'd see traces those dreadful, swirling scars, just barely healed.

Chuuya had become so preoccupied with the pain and boredom that he almost missed the tree root he was about to trip over. Unfortunately, him noticing was of no consequence. Nakahara still tripped, stumbling into a clearing and falling flat on his face, and took Chuuya with him.

The mafioso did not enjoy the taste of wet moss and dirt.

There was a minute of lying face down on the ground before Chuuya moved, slowly and painfully dragging his uncooperative limbs underneath his chest to push himself up. He gripped the moss, clenching the flora in his fists to keep himself from slipping as he tried to put his knees underneath himself too, only for his trembling arms to collapse beneath the weight.

Fucking Hell this is pathetic.

There was a tightness in his chest, a quivering lump at the base of his oesophagus that Chuuya tried to swallow down. Someone wanted to fucking cry in frustration and he had no idea if it was himself or Nakahara.

"This is a sight," someone crowed behind him.

Like lightning, Chuuya was back on his aching feet, whirling around to face the onlooker with raised fists.

Mori blinked back at him, looking relaxed. "You seem tired."

"And you seem remarkably well kempt for a dead man," Chuuya shot back as his arms fell limply at his sides.

Mori smiled, giving an amused chuff. "You know Dazai, he liked to have all his pieces on the board."

At the mention of Dazai, Chuuya stiffened and the lump in his chest seemed to swell with every breath that wasn't a scream or sob or wail. "No point keeping all your pieces if you sacrifice the king," Chuuya muttered, quietly, afraid that if he spoke any louder the scream might burst out of his chest like a Xenomorph.

"The chess metaphor only goes so far," Mori admitted with a lame shrug.

"Why are you here?" Chuuya snapped, growing tired of the conversation.

From within his jacket, Mori brandished a plant cutting. From the stalk, a cluster blood-red flowers bloomed, probing into the air with antenna-like projections. "For the same reason you are, I'd imagine," Mori answered, offering the spider lily to Chuuya.

He did not take it.

The corpse flower seemed to mock him; it pointed and laughed at the way he had yet to acknowledge the marble column silently looming behind him. The laugh sounded far too much like Dazai.

"You aren't here to dig him up, are you Chuuya?" Mori asked, casually, after a moment's more of silence.

Chuuya said nothing, which was far more telling.

The look Mori gave him could've been called pitying had it come from anyone else. It was the same one he gave after Chuuya had reported to Mori for the first time after Verlaine's death.

Chuuya balked – or, he would've if he was in his own body. The stray thought had so throughly startled him that he practically tossed it away to scramble for something that was his own internal voice and not Nakahara's.

In his frenzy, he missed Mori's next words and was numb to the movement of his lips that formed a response. The memory shifted and blurred around him before Chuuya finally began to notice.

He blinked and suddenly he was knelt on a fresh grave. Mori was still there – a lingering presence that hovered somewhere behind him – but that was unimportant. He brushed his fingers over the kanji carved into the black marble, tracing the strokes with his cold fingers.

太宰 治

"He left the Mafia to you," Mori reminded him.

"I don't care." And he didn't, Chuuya could feel as much. "Scarf's on the desk if you wanted it." Whatever Mori answered to that, Chuuya didn't notice, or maybe Nakahara hadn't been paying attention.

The rage Chuuya felt wasn't his own, and yet it was. He seethed and trembled and heaved heavy breaths even as he ever-so-gently rested his hand beside that name. That cursed name he found himself uttering, screaming, crying like a prayer and a curse all at once. Where Nakahara ended and he began, Chuuya was no longer certain. The anger, the grief, and the despair all felt so real, so cemented within himself.

Dazai Osamu was dead.

Chuuya felt the fabric of his soul shredding.

Dazai Osamu was not dead.

Chuuya wanted to tear Nakahara's bleeding heart out of his chest, to seperate himself from the anguish that he shouldn't feel because his Dazai wasn't dead.

"I won't let anyone take you from me." The words clawed up his throat, dripping with blood and mirth. "Not even you, Osamu."

"Promise me, that I won't have to see you again."

Chuuya felt sick and he didn't think it was Nakahara. "I'll make them pay."

"I promise that this will be the end of Double Black."

The memory vanished into a vortex of muddied colours once again, which certainly didn't help with the nausea. And, once again, a voice spoke from within the darkness as it overtook him. "That power you seek," someone unfamiliar called to him, "I hold the key."

"What?" Chuuya croaked, swallowing down bile.

"Come with me, and I will show you how to control corruption." 

A hand emerged from the shadows. Long, twitching, skeletal fingers caked with dirt extended toward him, clawing with cracked fingernails...

...reaching...

...reaching...

...reaching...

Chuuya balked. He stumbled backwards, tripped over his own heel, and with a yelp, he fell down into the chasm of darkness below.

There was no impact. Yet, suddenly, Chuuya was lying against a soft fabric surface, head just barely propped up by a cheap, threadbare pillow. He blinked at the white ceiling in confusion.

His head felt fuzzy, like his sinuses had been stuffed with cotton wool and his brain gently massaged with something lightly acidic that was slowly eating away at his brain. His eyelids were heavy enough that he was forced to dedicate conscious effort to keep them even half-lidded.

He couldn't even feel the rest of his body.

It was ten minutes of squinting at the ceiling tiles before Chuuya could comfortably keep his eyes open and another five before he could so much as turn his head. There was a monitor beside his bed, silently displaying a low, regular heart beat; the wires that trailed from it snaked across the small gap to his bed to his chest, worming beneath the hospital robe he was wearing.  There was an IV drip on his other side, pumping his left arm (and the rest of his body) with fuck knows what.

Fuckin' Hell, he groaned. Was he in an actual hospital? How long had he been here?

His eyes widened and his stomach flipped as a thought popped into his head. He tore off the bed sheet in a dramatic flourish, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he didn't find any tubes trailing from beneath his robe. Thank fuck, Chuuya sighed. He didn't much feel like attempting to remove a catheter in his current state: so hopped up on drugs he may very well have been hallucinating everything.

He ripped out the IV.

In the minutes afterwards, just as his head fuzz began to clear, Chuuya finally realised that this was another of Nakahara's memories. With that in mind, he brushed away the last of Nakahara's lingering daze, clenching his metaphorical fist around his growing frustration to focus.

Fuck's sake! He cursed, anger directed at himself more than anything.

Before he could stew in his irritation much more, the door opened and a man in lavender scrubs strode in. A man that Chuuya recognised all-too-well.

Magenta eyes bore into him as dry, scaly skin brushed across his cheek. Chuuya dared not breathe, dared not blink while he let Fyodor tuck a stray, ginger curl behind his ear. He stared at the man's neck. He clenched his toes to keep himself from kicking the rat away – clenching his fists was all too obvious. Then again, weren't the red contacts? They were the type of thing Dazai would notice immediately.

The hand drifted back across his face with the delicacy of sandpaper and Fyodor grabbed his jaw to maneuvere him like a marionette so that he was forced to hold the Russian's gaze.

For someone so powerful, Chuuya had sure grown used to being treated as noting more than a mere puppet, or playing piece on a chess board. He fucking hated it.

"Dazai doesn't utilise you nearly well enough. Not like I will," he crowed.

Chuuya wanted to throw up.

Hell. No. Chuuya hissed. "Wh're you?" He slurred instead.

Fyodor smiled, something broken and icy an inhuman. "I work here," he answered, in a poor mimic of a northern accent, in even worse Japanese.

Nakahara's gaze drifted lazily down the newcomer, coming to rest on polished, leather shoes that did not belong to a nurse. "No you don'," he said, looking back up to the man questioningly.

"Hm. You're not a stupid as you lead others to believe," he cooed, dropping the broken Japanese and falling into English instead, with his Russian-accented lilt that made Chuuya's skin crawl.

"Who are you?" Nakahara questioned, switching to English as well.

"My name is Fyodor Dostoyevsky," he answered easily, stepping further into the room.

Nakahara tensed. Good, Chuuya thought. His instincts aren't completely shot to bits.

"Wha'd you want?"

"My goals are of no concern," he said, dissmissively.

"You appear to me to have been quite utterly defeated," Fyodor declared, his awful smirk carrying in his tone. In his mind's eye, Chuuya could see the Russian relishing in his victory. To defeat the demon prodigy would be a feat that he could wield like a trophy over every criminal organisation in Japan, and probably further.

"Well, you never know," Dazai replied with his own knowing smile, looking right at the camera. "I might say something so absolutely profound and moving in an existential way–" his eyes flickered over to Chuuya "–and then Chuuya might suddenly come back to his senses by the power of friendship."

From his pocket, Fyodor brandished a balled-up handkerchief. "I've brought you a gift." He placed it on Chuuya's lap and stepped back.

Nakahara narrowed his eyes at him, assessing his threat. Kill him, Chuuya urged, glaring at the Demon of the North before Nakahara shifted his gaze to the handkerchief. Cautiously, he reached towards it and picked up the fabric by a loose corner. The bundle unravelled and a bullet dropped unceremoniously into Chuuya's lap.

Chuuya blinked at it. Heh? With un-gloved hands, Chuuya plucked the bullet up, bringing it to his eye. He rolled the cool metal between his fingers with a frown, before looking at Fyodor with confusion. "Wha–"

A cool, blue wave washed over him.

Chuuya paled. "What is this?" His voice was dangerously low, yet barely a whisper. The power that shouldn't be washed over him and he was struck from his drug-induced haze with all the suddenness of a car crash.

"I believe you know," Fyodor said: a non-answer that had Chuuya seething.

Before he could leap out of bed and tear out Fyodor's trachea however, the rat bowed his head, raised his hands, and took a submissive step back. "What I can tell you," he continued, "is that it was manufactured in this facility."

Chuuya's fist clenched around the bullet. He dropped his chin and he let his hair fall in front of his face. Behind the red curtain of greasy curls tears began to burn his eyes. He stared down at the bullet in his hand. "Where?" He hissed.

"Sub-level 2, room 13," Fyodor crowed, with a grin Chuuya couldn't see but he knew was there. "You'll find your answers there."

Chuuya didn't move. He listened to the footsteps as they trailed out of the room, to the door as it swung shut, to the low hum of the monitor.

"I'll kill them all," he whispered, as he choked back the sob building in his chest. He let his eyes fall closed and the tears trail down his cheeks.

Translucent skin stretched over a human appendage dug through the soil, dragging muddied bandages behind it as if it were the hand of a freshly-mumified corpse.

The hand reached out...

...and Chuuya took it. 

.•°•. 

After five quiet minutes, Nakajima perked up suddenly. He tapped both Ryuunosuke and Ranpo on their shoulders – startling the former – and nodded toward the door.

Instantly, Ranpo jumped to his feet, finally released from Fukuzawa's time-out.

Honestly, the whole thing was kind of funny to Tachihara. He hadn't seen this side of Ranpo before, practically vibrating with the intensity of his curiosity. He was too busy being amused by Ranpo's twinkling eyes to even think about why Nakajima had stirred him up in the first place, at least until Kunikida emerged from the basement, followed by Yosano.

The two of them seemed...tense? Tachihara wasn't entirely sure. Tense didn't seem quite right but he wasn't really sure what else to call their stiff postures and hardened expressions that were tinged with slight confusion.

Behind them, emerged Dazai, sopping wet and carrying the air of a kicked puppy about him. His gaze drifted lazily across the room, scanning each of them. Yet, as far as Tachihara could tell, Dazai didn't so much as perceive a single one of them. His gaze was not blank – far from it, actually – but it was distant, focused entirely on some far-away thought Tachihara couldn't even begin to decipher.

Although, he did have a few guesses once Atsushi emerged from the shadows of the stairwell with an unconscious Chuuya hefted over his shoulder. The were-tiger seemed confused by something Dazai was doing, unable to hide the frown he directed at the back of the man's head.

Akutagawa, who came up the stairs last, also seemed confused. However, his confusion was directed toward Chuuya as though he were in disbelief that the man was unconscious.

"You guys okay?" He found himself asking, eyebrow raised pointedly at Atsushi – who seemed most likely to spill what happened.

The were-tiger opened and closed his mouth a couple of times in response, gaze flickering between Dazai, Akutagawa, and Chuuya so quickly Tachihara almost missed it. "I...yes?"

Tachihara snorted, flashing an awkward smile. "You don't sound sure."

"They're pissy because Nak– Chuuya talks in his sleep," Yosano blurted, as she toward Dazai and Akutagawa in turn, sounding vaguely annoyed.

Tachihara blinked. "Come again?"

"Odd," Kouyou commented, frowning at Chuuya as Atsushi laid him down on the floor, bundling the man's tattered coat under his head. "Our Chuuya couldn't have dreams."

Yosano scoffed. "That's not a medical condition I've heard of."

Kouyou frowned at her. "It was a side effect of...well...doesn't matter."

"Oh yeah," Kajii commented, wagging a finger at Kouyou as he nodded. "Chuuya can't dream."

Come to think of it, Tachihara did have a vague recollection of Chuuya mentioning that factoid when they went out drinking that second time. He couldn't say he'd thought much of it.

"Neither can ours."

Tachihara barely suppressed the flinch at hearing Dazai's voice: deep with a low growl that was uncharacteristic of even his own ex-boss. Dazai was angry and Tachihara didn't want to know what could piss that man off.

The room stagnated in that loaded silence for a good minute, before Ranpo finally cracked. He bounced over to the group. "How'd you do it? Where's Nakahara?"

Atsushi tossed him a small, leather-bound book that was as red as the stains on Tachihara's shirt.

Ranpo looked at the book.

Ranpo looked at Atsushi.

Ranpo looked at the book again.

Ranpo looked at Dazai.

"What is this?"

Tachihara wished they were in a situation where he could take pleasure in Ranpo being in the dark about something. Still, he couldn't keep the amused glint from his eye. Gin stomped on his foot.

"Pocket dimension," Dazai answered, lamely. "Present from your counterpart and his boyfriend."

Ranpo choked on air.

Dazai smirked.

Kunikida and (strangely enough) Fukuzawa looked about ready to burst and/or throw up while the other Agency members took to grinning at each other. All the while, Ranpo continued to be unable to breathe.

After a moment's more of resisting, Tachihara and his fellow mafiosi descended into raucous laughter. Even the dignified Kouyou broke into a fit of snorts and giggles. Hell, Ryuunosuke even cracked a smile.

As he wiped tears from his eyes, Tachihara slowly drew his focus back to the room and their other-worldly visitors. He was met with Dazai's dead-eye stare.

"That book won't hold him for long," he announced, sobering everyone up instantly. "We should contact the Hunting Dogs and see if they've got anything for us."

"That'll be easy. It's not like Nakahara trashed the comms tower or anything," Tachihara deadpanned.

Dazai glared at him before sighing. "Then we'll have to find something else."

No one offered any suggestions.

"I might–" Ranpo broke into a fit of coughs before straightening himself up and continuing in a voice that was hoarse from his choking. "The military," he wheezed. "They have to be receiving orders somehow. And I doubt the folks in charge felt like being stuck in here with Nakahara."

"You want us to go out and find the people with ability-disabling bullets?" Atsushi whined as he fingered the bloodied hole in his shirt.

"Technically, he wants us to go out and find the base of operations of 'the people with ability-disabling bullets'," Dazai corrected, sliding a superficial smirk back onto his face. "Which sounds like a great plan."

"I wouldn't say 'great'," Yosano grumbled.

"But it does seem like our only option," Tachihara conceded, already feeling the future bullet wounds riddling his body.

"We're gonna die," Junichirou sighed, voice toned with acceptance as opposed to dread.

"Let's do our best not to!" Kenji cheered, brightening the room with his sunshine smile.

It seemed that they were going to launch themselves right back into the frying pan. Honestly, Tachihara was kind of shocked that it had taken this long. "That's the spirit kid," he said, reaching over to ruffle the blond's hair.

"So what is the plan to find the base of operations," asked Kunikida, opening his notebook and pulling out a pen – Tachihara was impressed with the man's ability to procure writing implements even in the apocalypse.

Again, there was a lull of silence.

This time, it was broken by Dazai groaning.

"I may have a plan," he spoke. His lips quirked as though they were objecting his next words. "But we'll need to figure out what's going on with Chuuya and wake him up."

Akutagawa startled. "You're not suggesting–"

"Chuuya is not going to like this."

Oh.

Forget the frying pan. Dazai wanted to throw himself right into the fire.

Chapter Text

Chuuya watched the grass drift in the light ocean breeze as he rested against Dazai, ear to the other's chest. Chuuya liked to listen to Dazai's heartbeat when they were like this: pressed against each other, skin to skin, with only the insulation of a warm blanket. It was the only time Dazai ever seemed to relax, let his guard down enough to let his heart beat in a natural rhythm.

"Dazai?" he whispered, absentmindedly picking at the bandages that crossed the man's torso.

"Hm?" Dazai acknowledged, twirling stands of Chuuya's hair between his fingers.

"Do you think there are other universes out there? Ones like ours?"

Strangely, Chuuya felt Dazai's heartbeat falter. It wasn't obvious. In fact, the rhythm felt steadier than before, as if Dazai were regulating it consciously once again. "What makes you say that?" He asked, casually, scratching at Chuuya's scalp.

The red-head relaxed into the touch, into the rare instance of Dazai being gentle. "Maybe there's somewhere out there where we're happy."

Dazai paused. His hand moved to Chuuya's cheek to turn his face so that he could look Chuuya in the eye. His gaze felt both  pitying and mocking.

"Aren't you happy, Chuuya?" Dazai's hand was still on his face, thumb caressing his cheek.

"Can I be?"

"Up and at 'em Fancy Hat."

'What?'

The golden light had long since faded, yet purple spots still lingered behind Chuuya's eyelids. There was a background ringing in his ears but, for some reason, it was quieter than Chuuya was used to. He had a sense that something was missing, something he couldn't quite identify.

"Mr Fancy Hat," the lilting voice called again, dragging out each 'a' in a way that grated on Chuuya's nerves. He was tempted to ignore it. However, either curiosity or annoyance won out, as Chuuya found his eyes blinking open. He winced, facing a new bright light that seared his vision. This one was cool and white, projected from a square within a grid of white ceiling tiles.

A hand waving in front of his face pulled Chuuya's attention into the room. It was a clean, blank space – clearly some kind of hospital or clinic – with a few other beds like the one Chuuya found himself on, each with their own pull-around curtain. Beside each bed was an IV stand (some empty, some not), a small set of drawers, and a cheap, plastic chair.

In the chair beside Chuuya's bed, sat a man in a wool cap and cloak, smirking at him. Already, Chuuya didn't like him.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man grinned, brightly. "I am Edogawa Ranpo, the world's greatest detective," he proclaimed with a dramatic flourish of his hands. 

"Detective?" Chuuya muttered, as his mind was drawn back to a file he'd seen open on Dazai's desk over a year ago.

The Armed Detective Agency.

Ranpo was already drawing back when Chuuya reached out to grab his neck. "Nuh, uh, uh, Mr Fancy Hat," he chided, scooching the chair back in a way that created a piercing screech of the plastic legs against the hard floor. "You don't want to do that."

Chuuya glared at him. "And why not?" He growled.

"Because I haven't told you how to get out of Ed's novel yet."

The insult Chuuya had been preparing died in his throat, giving way to a confused "huh?". It took a moment before he remembered how he'd ended up in that bed.

"That book. You're behind this?" He hissed, eyes narrowing in a way he hoped was intimidating and not just blatantly confused.

Ranpo sighed. "Well, in part anyways. It's my Poe's ability, used against you by my Dazai, under my direction."

'My Dazai?'

This time, Ranpo couldn't move fast enough to escape Chuuya. The detective squirmed in Chuuya's hold, writhing against the iron grip around his throat, making gasping choking noises that tempted Chuuya to squeeze harder just to shut him up. He didn't though; Chuuya eased his grip just enough to allow Ranpo to speak, interested in what the detective planned to say to worm his way out of this.

"I see... you've mis- misinterpreted me," Ranpo choked out, hands that had previously been clawing at Chuuya's went limp as the detective gave up on trying to pry him off.

Chuuya only raised an eyebrow in response, prompting further explanation. Ranpo obliged. "You're... a physicist," he wheezed. "I shouldn't... have to explain... the multiverse theory... to you... yes?"

Chuuya thought back. The false Dazai, the other clone – a parallel world certainly served as an explanation for that. And the book... Of course that was how a reality-altering ability functioned; everything has to come from somewhere.

Chuuya released Ranpo after a moment's consideration. The man immediately dropped to his knees, coughing as he rubbed his sore throat. "So you're from another reality?" Chuuya said, watching him.

Ranpo nodded as he sucked in lungfuls of air. "Technically," he wheezed.

"Technically?"

"I'm a figment of Poe's novel. I act how the real Edogawa Ranpo would act," Ranpo explained. He narrowed his eyes at Chuuya disapprovingly. "So killing me would not only leave you stranded here, it would achieve nothing."

"It would bring me enjoyment," Chuuya countered, taunting smirk on his face.

Ranpo sat up and smoothed down his cloak with a disdainful huff. "And, you would be stuck here," Ranpo reminded him, crossing his arms.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Fine. How do I get out of here?"

Ranpo grinned, jumping up as if the last five minutes hadn't even happened. "Well, Mr Fancy Hat, you have to–"

Chuuya resisted the impulse to smack the man. He wrung his hands by his ears, as if he were fighting the urge to wrench his hair from his skull. "Why do you keep calling me that?" He growled.

Ranpo's gaze flickered pointedly to the top of Chuuya's head. Chuuya pulled the offending headwear he hadn't yet noticed he was wearing from the top of his head and looked at it.

The hat was a black pork pie with a small chain that would presumably hang over the brim but was currently caught on the simple, red band. It was not his hat – navy with a darker red band that had gold trim – and he hadn't worn said hat in a long time. However, Chuuya realised as he looked down at the rest of his outfit, none of the clothes he was wearing were his own. A cropped blazer? Really?

Ranpo must have noticed his confusion because he gave a nonchalant shrug. "I don't know what you usually wear so Ed and I just went with what our world's Chuuya wears."

"Right. Sure. Whatever." It didn't really matter anyway, even if the idea of wearing his alternate's outfit was off-putting. He shook it off. "How do I get out of here?"

"You have to solve the mystery."

"Wh- what?" Chuuya frowned. "What mystery?"

If it were possible, Ranpo's grin grew and split his face even further. He pointed to the door. "Through that door, you'll find Poe's recreation of Yokohama, complete with its population of approximately 3.7 million," he explained, sounding far too smug for Chuuya's liking. He crossed his arms and jutted his chin out, proudly. "Among them, is one murderer, who killed the man just beyond that door."

Chuuya felt his skin grow hot. "You're saying–"

"That you must find the killer among 3.7 million suspects," Ranpo confirmed, with a bright grin and a sparkle in his eye. "That ought to keep you occupied until Dazai's ready." He then giggled, like a child. "And did I mention your ability doesn't exist here?"

Well, that at least explained the uncanny quiet Chuuya was experiencing. He glared. "I won't need it for this," he snarled.

Ranpo grinned even as Chuuya snapped his neck.

.•°•.

Oda Sakunosuke was a simple man. He liked spicy curry, had tickle fights with his rambunctious kids, he worked in an office, and he wanted to write a novel.

Simple, right?

Only, he was also a man with the supernatural ability to see into the future, his previous career was as a child assassin, and – for some reason beyond Oda's comprehension – in another universe he was best friends with Dazai Osamu.

Oda couldn't understand it. Dazai Osamu, the infamous boss of the Port Mafia, the Demon Prodigy, a man who was barely human and had painted himself in the blackest of humanity's blood. Dazai was a man who kidnapped Ryuunosuke's sister, left the boy on the streets to die, and called it a lesson. A man who tortured Atsushi and called it training. A man who held Yokohama in the palm of his hand and called it protection.

Oda knew all of this and yet, he couldn't help but think back to the boy in the Lupin. Because yes, he was a boy, wasn't he? A single large eye glistened with tears, aching with betrayal when Oda pointed the gun at him.

"Odasaku," this Dazai had whispered, breathlessly, like the name was a prayer, a promise, and a confession all at once – all in memory of a friendship that the Demon Prodigy would sacrifice the happiness of everyone in Yokohama for, including his own.

Looking at this Dazai, the one from another world, the world in which they were friends. Oda still couldn't see it. Sure, Dazai was undoubtedly human, Oda thought as he watched the man pace back and forth next to Chuuya's sleeping form, muttering to himself. However, Dazai's demeanor seemed false, like every aspect of his personality was carefully crafted to blend with another version of the ADA. Oda could still see the Demon Prodigy, plotting to use one of the only people he has shown care for in his next scheme. Dazai still seemed dangerous.

But Ranpo trusted him.

Oda sighed. That would have to be enough for now, he supposed.

"We could try shocking him again?" Akutagawa suggested, looking midly uncomfortable with the idea. "It is what put him to sleep."

Dazai snorted, almost reflexively, before attempting to hide the reaction in a cough. "We should try and avoid that. Chuuya would not be happy." Dazai winced, as if Chuuya was already seeking a violent vengeance. That was probably true, if Dazai's mumbling of "something worse than being spun around this time" was anything to go by.

"I could try using my ability on him," Yosano offered in a nonchalant tone that did not match the way she ran her finger along the edge of her cleaver and licked her lips in anticipation. "It might jump-start his system."

Dazai pursed his lips, considering it. "That might–"

"I don't think any of these will work," Ranpo inturrupted, face still tinged pink as he fiddled with the book in his hands. He waved it at Dazai. "Whatever is happening to Chuuya, is connected to Nakahara. I'm sure he'll wake up when Nakahara is released."

"You're not saying we should release that...that monster are you?" Junichirou objected, paling as he rubbed his previously-broken leg.

It was quick – hardly perceptible, even – but Oda saw the darkness that momentarily overcame Dazai's eyes. The man spun around, his wet coat smacking against his ankles, to face Junichirou with a manic grin. "You know, there are people in the world who would see your ability as monstrous, Tanizaki," he said in a light tone, even as his hands curled into fists and his eyes narrowed.

To Junichirou's credit, he didn't so much as flinch under Dazai's glare, meeting him with a hardened look. "My ability can't level cities."

Dazai's nostrils flared. "It could definitely kill. Or drive a person mad."

"Oh, as if you'd even need an ability for that Man in Black," the red-head hissed, firing the title at Dazai like venomous spit.

When Dazai's hand drifted to his gun, everyone followed suit, all except Oda. He was confident he could pull out his own firearm and shoot Dazai before the other shot Junichirou if the man was going to kill the boy – five seconds was more than enough time.

In any case, Oda would never know if this Dazai was the kind of man who'd shoot a child for insulting his friend, because as soon as the hostility ramped up, Tachihara leapt into the fray.

"Oo-kay! I think we've gotten a little bit sidetracked," he said with a tinge of nervous laughter. He placed himself between Dazai and Junichirou, palms outstretched to both of them like a traffic controller. "Let's all calm down."

Suddenly, as if gravity was reversed, everyone's weapons were pulled from their hands, waistbands, and scabbards and slammed into the ceiling. Oda took note that his own gun was left within his trenchcoat. 

When it was clear to Tachihara that no one was going to make any sudden moves – and after a quick glance in Oda's direction to confirm – he let his hands drop to his sides. "Okay." He turned to look at Junichirou. "Tanizaki, I understand your concerns. I was there. But we need Chuuya, and to wake up Chuuya, Ranpo says we need Nakahara."

"Yup," Ranpo confirmed, plucking a lollipop out of thin air and shoving it into his mouth.

Tachihara nodded, glancing around the room. "There's enough metal in here for me to bind Nakahara," he mused, whirling around to Dazai. "If you keep hold of him, he won't be able to get out."

Dazai gave a shallow nod of agreement, like he was reluctant but knew it was the best idea.

"When he gets out of the pocket dimension, will his... corruption... still be active?" Kunikida chimed in, eyes narrowed at Dazai, watching him with scrutiny.

Dazai shook his head. "I nullified it before I trapped him."

"So, we'll be fine," Tachihara surmised, smiling reassuringly at Junichirou and Kunikida.

"Great. But how does Nakahara get out of the book?" Yosano questioned.

Dazai perked up. His hair drifted from his face, letting the dim light of the room brighten up his eyes; his posture slumped and his muscles relaxed. Oda couldn't say whether it was the mask of the 'Demon Prodigy' that had fallen away or the mask of 'Dazai of the Armed Detective Agency' that had been replaced over his true darkness. Oda didn't really want to know though. Dazai was a man conflicted, and Oda wanted no part of it.

"Well, my dearest doctor," Dazai began, with an almost musical tone, "Nakahara just has to solve the mystery Poe has written for him."

At the appearance of Dazai's brighter demeanor, Atsushi and Kyouka seemed to both perk up as well, a small smile sliding onto the formers face – even Akutagawa relaxed a little.

"However," Dazai continued, with a flourish of his hand before he dramatically scrunched  up his sleeve, "I suppose we could cheat."

And with that, he skipped over to Ranpo and touched the book with a single finger.

A golden light took over the room, replaced with an even brighter and even stronger blue light that even Oda couldn't see through.

However, through the screeching metal amd various shouts of shock, Oda caught a single shout...

"–RE'S THE BOMB!?"

Chapter Text

Chuuya was really fucking tired of Nakahara.

He was reeling from the last memory – a particularly graphic moment that definitely should've remained soley between the Port Mafia Boss and his number two – that left Chuuya feeling hot, uncomfortable, and violated beyond belief. He was choking down the bile rising in his throat when he realised the swirling colours had settled into a new memory.

Chuuya was back in the hospital gown, bare feet cold against the concrete and energy drained due to recovering from corruption. He was walking – hobbling really – down a long corridor, where everything was blank and silent. The walls were made of plaster, painted in a dark grey, stretching as far as he could see with no markings whatsoever – not even a piece of peeling wallpaper or crack. It was all perfectly smooth and unmarked, like the concrete floor. The ceiling was the same colour and design – never-ending, smooth plaster – only broken up every few meters by evenly spaced fluorescent beams, projecting ice-white light into the space.

It was unnerving.

He spun around, only to find himself faced not with more endless corridor but with a door. It was windowless, composed of smooth steel and marked by a small engraving: 十三

'Thirteen, huh?' He thought to himself, remembering Fyodor’s hint from several memories ago.

He pushed gently on the door, unsurprised when it didn't so much as squeak. A quick, methodical search of the doorframe revealed a hidden keypad and Chuuya groaned. 'There's ten thousand combinations this could be. And that's assuming there's only four digits,' he complained, mentally, before Nakahara rolled his shoulders and cracked his fingers. 'Guess we're not doing this quietly.'

He pressed his hands against the door again and took a moment to feel its immense weight of two thousand kilograms, before he pushed. Gravity was altered; the door folded in on itself and crumpled to the floor like it was paper mache. Chuuya stepped over the remains and into the room.

The light from the hallway barely pierced the darkness, leaving him to fumble along the wall looking for a switch only for his motion to trigger an automatic industrial light just above the door. The fluorescent white dispelled the shadows. Suddenly, more lights were flickering on: a cascade that emanated from the entrance further into the room, revealing more and more of the space.  The final light was suspended from the ceiling, shining over a large cylindrical container of cloudy liquid.

Chuuya stared at the stasis chamber in horror. 

Suspended in the green-tinged liquid within, was a fragile-looking boy with curly, red hair. A face he saw in the mirror was reflected back at him in another...person? What the fuck is this? Chuuya thought to himself, unable to keep from reaching out and placing his hand against the glass.

"What is this?" He whispered.

Behind him, N let out a quiet chuckle.

"You."

Suspended in the green-tinged liquid within, was a broken-down body, a lanky, stick-figure of a man. Curling around from behind were thick scars of peeling skin, revealing torn flesh and fragments of bone. Chuuya didn't want to see what the back looked like; even from the front he could see the outline of a shattered spine, causing the corpse to bend unnaturally in a zig-zagged pattern.

His skull was caved in.

The bandages were gone, the usually pale skin was practically translucent, his right arm had been surgically removed just above the elbow. Still, the body looked remarkably well-kept considering it had taken a swan dive off of one of the tallest buildings in Yokohama. Chuuya almost wanted to laugh.

'What the fuck is this?' He thought to himself, unable to keep from reaching out and placing his hand against the glass.

"What is this?" He whispered.

Behind him, there was a quiet chuckle.

Chuuya spun around, reaching for the intruder to grab them by the collar of their shirt. His hands brushed against a soft, wollen fabric and he seized it in a tight grip. With as much force as he could muster in his current state of recovery, he slammed the other against the wall with an audible bang.

It took Chuuya a second to realise two, major issues with what had just occurred.

1 – Chuuya had been entirely in control of his actions in that moment, not Nakahara.

2 – The man Chuuya had slammed against the wall was, in fact, dead.

Chuuya blinked. "What. The actual. Fuck."

Dazai chuckled again. "Hello Chuuya," he greeted, with a grin so wide that the left corner of his mouth disappeared beneath the bandage. "I was hoping we would finally meet."

"You're...dead," Chuuya spat, though it sounded more like a question even to himself.

Dazai nodded in agreement. "I am." He cocked his head lightly, sighing as he gave Chuuya a wry smile. His greasy bangs flopped into his face, casting an insidious shadow over his features. "But there's no rest for the wicked, is there, Chuuya?"

Chuuya pulled the man forward and threw him back into the wall, reveling in the echoing smack of Dazai's head against the plaster and the cracks that grew outward from the impact. "What the Hell is this, you bastard?" He hissed, scrunching the scarf tighter in his fists. "Where the fuck are we?"

Dazai pursed his lips, blinking with faux innocence as his expression shifted into something almost contemplative. "I've been affectionately referring to it as Purgatory, or Limbo."

So he didn't know, Chuuya realised, cursing the man under his breath. He quickly composed himself, refusing to give this stranger anything he could use. "And what's your working theory?" He questioned, because even if Dazai didn't know for sure, he always had some idea of what was going on.

Dazai's lone eye twinkled, like Chuuya had just given him exactly what he wanted, like Chuuya had played right into his hand. Dazai had always taken pleasure in predicting Chuuya's actions.

Chuuya slammed him against the wall again and repeated the question.

"Such an aggressive d–"

Chuuya released the scarf and put his hands around Dazai's throat in warning. "I wonder if a dead man can die again," he pondered, lightly squeezing as he spoke the word 'die'.

Dazai slumped, pout on his lips due to his game being ruined by Chuuya's diminished capacity for bullshit. "Fine," he surrendered. "I believe we're in a plane of reality that exists between the pages."

It took Chuuya a minute to work his way around Dazai's riddle: 'Purgatory', 'Limbo', 'between the pages'. Chuuya's eyes widened with the realisation. "A space between realities, outside of existence," he spoke. "What kind of bullshit...?"

Dazai grinned. "I didn't create this, Chuuya. I didn't write the Book."

Chuuya barely resisted the urge to put Dazai through the wall. "But you used it," he snarled. "You're the one who made this mess."

"Try to use that brain of yours for a second," Dazai deadpanned. "How could I use the book? My ability has no exceptions."

"Well, maybe the book isn't an abilty, like Lovecraft," Chuuya countered.

"A possibility," Dazai agreed, "but not the case here."

"And how could you possibly know th–" Chuuya cut himself off, answering his own question instead. "You've seen it."

"Seen it, touched it, almost destroyed every reality by doing so," Dazai confirmed in a nonchalant tone.

"And instead, you created a singularity which allowed you to share memories with my Dazai. Like I've been seeing Nakahara's memories."

"You were always smarter than anyone gave you credit for, my darling," Dazai said, as he reached up to cup Chuuya's face.

Chuuya dropped him, immediately putting a metre's distance between the two of them. He looked away, pointedly ignoring the red flush that painted his neck and ears and the heat that buzzed beneath the skin Dazai had touched. "I'm not 'your' anything," he spat, clenching his fists.

"I'm sorry." Dazai raised his hands in surrender, not sounding 'sorry' at all.

 "How did you bring me here?" The faster the conversation moved, the quicker it could end.

"I seized an opportunity," Dazai said, in as much of a non-answer Chuuya expected. He accepted it, figuring that was all he'd get for the time being.

"Why?" He asked instead.

"To protect my reality," Dazai answered, simply. "But you don't appear to be getting the message so I figured I'd deliver it in person."

"What message!?" Chuuya snapped, on the verge of hysterics. "How toxic you are? How fucked up this reality is? How you've shattered Nakahara's psyche!?"

"I couldn't exactly control what memories I showed you," Dazai shot back, crossing his arms. "The more I tried to push you toward certain things, the more resistant you were."

"You're blaming ME!?"

Dazai rolled his eye. "We don't have time for this. Fyodor planted a bomb beneath Yokohama large enough to create a sinkhole that will decimate the entire city."

All Chuuya's thoughts came to a sudden, violent halt.

He blinked. "Come again?"

"Rat. Bomb. Ex-plo-sion," Dazai sounded out one syllable at a time like he was teaching Chuuya how to spell.

Chuuya didn't have the energy to dedicate to being annoyed at him though. "Why? What's his game?"

"He wants the Book. And I refused to tell him where it was."

"And burying Yokohama will achieve what exactly?"

"It'll be the only thing that survives."

The knowledge was dizzying. Every thought in Chuuya's head warred for attention building to a cacophony of screams. Arahabaki hissed and screeched at him. Destroy, destroy, destroy...

"So all of this – orchestrating Nakahara's escape, encouraging corruption by showing him your corpse – it's all just a distraction," he said, wincing from the headache building behind his eyes.

"So no one will notice he has the Book until it's too late," Dazai confirmed.

Chuuya's heart pounded in his chest. His gut churned. All his life, he'd only ever been used as a weapon. He supposed it made sense that would be the case across all realities.

But he wouldn't be the weapon that destroyed Yokohama. Not if he had any say.

"Where is it?" He questioned through his clenched jaw.

"The Book?"

Chuuya seethed. "NO! THE BOMB, YOU IDIOT!" He yelled, storming toward the other.

But just as his foot slammed against the ground, reality was torn open. Golden light pierced through the jagged cuts in the air around him, each announcing themselves with a roll of thunder.

Chuuya pressed on regardless, hopping between the crevices with all the grace of an angry goose. With a final, desperate leap, he landed upon Dazai, sending both of them through the crumbling wall and into the next room.

The two tumbled into a standing plant, knocking it over and landing in a scattering of dry soil. Chuuya choked on the dust, blinked through the muddy brown, but through the ear-shattering chaos, he kept Dazai's lapels in an iron grip.

When Chuuya's vision cleared enough to see more than an inch in front of him, Dazai's dark, cavernous eyes blinked back at him. The bandage over his left eye had apparently torn in the scuffle, leaving Chuuya in full view of the man's scrutinising gaze. Dark brown pools threatened to suck Chuuya in with strength even gravity couldn't help to overpower. It had always been that way really; Chuuya couldnt resist. A hint of blood red glinted in the light of reality tearing itself apart around them, something other's had always seen as demonic but Chuuya had often found himself entranced by.

Chuuya shook his head, pulling himself out of the fog and back to the task at hand. Thunder boomed in his ears as the schisms grew closer. "Whe–"

"Chuuya," Dazai breathed. "Tell him something for me."

Chuuya's brows creased in confusion, but just as he moved his lips to give voice to his question, Dazai jumped up to meet him.

Chuuya grunted in alarm, Dazai bit his lip, a hand slipped into his hair 

Dazai's empty eyes and sardonic smirk were the last things Chuuya saw as the brightness took over.

'No. NO! I JUST NEED A SECOND! ONE MORE SECOND! WHERE IS IT!?'

"WHERE'S THE BOMB!?"

.•°•.

All Atsushi's senses were completely overwhelmed. A cacophony of banging, clanging, and shouting left his ears ringing. The competing blue and golden light was so bright it pierced through his eyelids and burned impressions into his retinas. He could smell the panic in the air, like something burning. He could even feel the thundering pulses of rapid heartbeats vibrating through the floor despite the low rumbling of every object in the room. A small hand clasped his own while another grabbed his shoulder; Atsushi dug his claws into the floor while a whirlwind whipped around the room, threatening to send them all flying.

It lasted forever. Yet, it was over in less than a minute: the wind died down, the light fizzled out, and the noises ceased.

"Everyone okay?" Someone – Tachihara by the sounds of it – called out, in sync with Kunikida's "Is everyone alright?".
There was a chorus of "think so"s and "yeah"s in response. Atsushi found himself muttering some type of agreement as he opened his eyes.

The sight that greeted him was akin to that of a tornado or bomb site.

Around the room, everyone was clambering to their feet, smoothing down windswept clothes and adjusting their grip on their weapons while they attempted to avoid the various hazards created by debris. Kyouka still had his hand in a tight grip, and Akutagawa – who'd been stabilising himself on Atsushi's shoulder – withdrew his hand in a quick, violent motion like Atsushi was burning hot. The were-tiger flinched away with equal fervor.

In the centre of the ruins, was Dazai, Tachihara, and two Chuuyas. Tachihara looked slightly haggard, as if he'd just run a marathon, bent over and panting as he rested his hands against his thighs. Dazai, by contrast, looked fairly composed. The wind seemed to have dried his coat and hair, though his brown locks were upturned and chaotic. He was stood just in front of Tachihara, eyeing the man with some strange sort of respect, with his hands outsretched to grip each of the Chuuyas by the scruffs of their necks.

And the Chuuyas... they looked pissed.

The two of them were bound on their knees with their hands behind their backs by bands of scrap metal. Each of them had their saphire-blue glare fixed on Dazai, as if they could burn holes into Dazai's skull through sheer force of will – honestly, Atsushi wouldn't have put it past them.

The first Chuuya (Nakahara, Atsushi guessed, based on the tatters of a navy jacket, burgandy shirt, and longer hair) was breathing heavily, like he'd run that marathon with Tachihara. Atsushi was just thankful that the guy didn’t seem all that set on escaping, seemingly content to just stare at Dazai and grind his teeth.

On the other hand, their Chuuya was struggling vigorously against the confines Tachihara had placed on him, snarling curses at Dazai. The metal creaked and groaned around him and, for a moment, Atsushi was convinced Chuuya was about to break out with pure human strength.

Atsushi, with his enhanced vision, also noticed the minute trembling of Chuuya's muscles and the slight flickering of his eyes that were to wide to be anything other than fearful. Whatever had happened to Chuuya while he was under had left him reeling, Atsushi could tell that much.

"Let go of me you bastard!" He hissed at Dazai, attempting to twist his head around almost 180° to bite the man. "We don't have time for this!"

After a noticeable beat of hesitation, Dazai took his hand from Chuuya's neck. Almost immediately, Chuuya was up on his feet and the metal binding him was sent to all corners of the room (Atsushi had to duck under a piece that flew at his head).
Before anyone could react, Chuuya was advancing on Nakahara. Dazai reached out, snagging Chuuya by the arm, but it didn’t make a difference to Chuuya who stomped on Nakahara's leg. Hard.

Nakahara screamed, Atsushi winced at the almighty crunch and series of crackles that followed.

"Chuuya–"

"Shut up," Chuuya hissed, shrugging Dazai off before he focused on Nakahara once again. He reached out, grabbing the other by the roots of his hair and wrenching his face upwards. Dazai scrambled to keep hold of him.

Nakahara glared at Chuuya through teary eyes, biting back cries of pain with every throb of his shattered femur. "You pleased with yourself asshole?" Chuuya snarled at him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I...know..." he spat between dry heaves. "Yoko...hama–"

"–Is going to be destroyed!" Chuuya snapped, dropping the other with a tut.

"It's already destroyed?" Kajii pointed out, eyeing Chuuya with a curious head tilt.

Chuuya shook his head. "Not yet. And if we don't find this bomb in time, there won't even be land to rebuild the city on."

"Wait a second," Junichirou inturrupted, frowning as he tried to comprehend what Chuuya was saying. "There's a bomb?"

"Yes," Chuuya snapped, growing tired of their ignorance. "That damn Russian rat planted an explosive somewhere that's large enough to create a city-wide sinkhole. And all for that FUCKING BOOK!""Fyodor," Atsushi found himself muttering, closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the flashes of blood that splattered across his memory. Kyouka squeezed his hand.

"How did you find this out, Chuuya?" Asked Dazai, apparently the only person who'd processed the horrific news of a bomb and Fyodor.
Chuuya clenched his jaw, as if he were biting back the answer.

"What happened when you were under?"

Finally, Chuuya looked up to meet Dazai's gaze with a cold expression. "The Boss told me," he said. He then prodded Nakahara's broken leg with his toe. "He says hi, by the way."

Nakahara let out a sound somewhere between a whimper, a gasp, and a sob. "He...does?"

Chuuya scoffed. "Well, not in so many words," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Atsushi noticed something flash across Dazai's expression – something cold and dark that sent a shiver down his spine. The change was sudden and gone in an instant; Atsushi would've thought he'd imagined had Akutagawa not also tensed beside him.

"Just gonna ignore that last bit," Tachihara muttered before turning to address the rest of the room. "What’s the plan now?"

Ranpo tapped his fist against his chin as he frowned. "While the bomb is a pressing issue, it doesn't change our original plan. If anything, communicating with the Hunting Dogs is even more of a priority." He turned to Dazai. "Can he go back in here?" He asked, nodding toward Nakahara as he held up Poe's book.

Dazai merely wiggled the fingers of his free hand in reply.

Ranpo sighed. "Then you’ll have to stay here with him. The rest of us will locate the military camp and open a line of communication with the Hunting Dogs."

"And the bomb?" Chuuya questioned, just as his counterpart voiced his own objections:

"Stay…here!?" He spat, with obvious distaste.

"Don't you think you have done enough damage?" Kunikida said, dismissively.

Nakahara straightened up, hissing in pain as he subtly shifted the bone fragments in his thigh. He stared Kunikida down regardless. "My head is clearer now. Let me look for the bomb," he implored through gritted teeth. "I'll stay out of combat, and I'll stay with the Dazai look-alike."

"Look alike!?"

Kunikida looked to Ranpo, who looked to the President, who studied Nakahara a discerning gaze. The silence of anticipation bore a physical weight on Atsushi and the others as they awaited the President's decision.

After a long, silent wait, the President bowed his head. "Let him go, Dazai, Tachihara," he ordered.

The two of them shifted with visible shock. "Wait, really?" Tachihara questioned, eyebrows ascending to his hairline. Dazai's eyes flitted between both the Chuuyas.

Fukuzawa nodded once again. "Yes."

The metal bindings fell away from Nakahara, and Dazai released his hold, though neither of them took more than a step away.
Nakahara flexed his wrists once, before allowing his hands to fall into his lap. He nodded gratefully toward the President. "Thank you," he said, quietly.

"Yosano, if you would please heal him."

Yosano's face split in a wicked smirk as she spun her cleaver around her finger with practiced ease. "Yes, sir."