Work Text:
blood baths
“ oh, grantors of dark disgrace, ”
chuuya mutters, peeling off his leather gloves and watching them fall slowly to the ground.
“ you need not wake me again. “
and there is nothing, nobody around him. he is standing here alone, now only partially conscious as arahabaki’s screeching slowly seeps into his ears, a deafening and inhuman sound, as he stares out at the clearing he stands in.
there was no reason he activated corruption; he was just tired of being unable to dream.
tired of being inhuman.
——
for a moment, there is silence, only the hushed sounds of the wind, before there is screaming. he doesn’t know what’s happening at this point, but his throat hurts, and his body feels sore.
.
.
.
a familiar warmth wraps around his wrist, and a chilling feeling washes over his body as he’s brought back into consciousness. there’s an ache in his head and his body runs cold, unusually cold as he stands staring down at the bloodied and broken soil beneath his feet. one moment, he is standing, lifting his hands and staring at the ragged burn scars wrapped around his wrists. something wet is dripping down his forearm, blood, maybe? his vision is blurred. corruption always takes a terrible toll on his body.
his legs give out under him, and as he braces himself for the fall, bandaged hands close around his underarms, holding him up.
with the last ounce of his strength, he looks up at the figure holding him.
dazai.
…
wait, what the fuck?
if chuuya wasn’t fully aware before, he definitely is now.
first of all, dazai wasn’t supposed to be here- how did he find out that chuuya was going into corruption? how did he even know where chuuya was? nobody was supposed to know about the situation, and second- chuuya was not supposed to be breathing right now. dazai was not supposed to show up. this is not what he planned to happen. chuuya doesn’t believe in alternate universes, but right now he silently hopes that this is just a rip in reality and that he’ll eventually return to his universe- the one where his attempt at suicide worked and mackerel didn’t show up to put his stupid fucking scaly fish fins on him.
chuuya coughs, weakly lifting a scarred hand to his mouth- his throat is sore from the screaming. he brings his hand away only to find blood on his palm. he dabs the blood on his shirt- it’ll get washed anyways.
“that’s disgusting, chibi- wiping your gross slug slime on expensive clothes? have some manners, will you?” dazai teases, but his tone is anything but teasing. for a reason chuuya can’t place, dazai sounds upset. he sounds hurt and angry, the same tone of voice he harbored for a while after losing odasaku.
…oh right, he also has to explain to bandages why he decided to run his ass into a random clearing in a forest on a saturday night just to activate a self-destructive ability all alone, knowing the consequences.
he looks up at dazai, not quite meeting his eyes.
dazai tucks a hand underneath his lower thighs and the other around his back, picking him up bridal style. chuuya would normally protest, but when your entire body burns like you just went for a long soak in a volcano, it’s pretty hard to care about anything else.
dazai looks down at him, eyes as dark as ever beneath the dim moonlight. “i don’t exactly know what reasons you had for doing this, but i’ll just tell you one thing,” he pauses. “you are an idiot, chuuya.”
chuuya coughs out an adrenaline laced laugh, body falling limp in his former partner’s arms as he blacks out.
————————————
when chuuya comes to his senses, he’s laid out on a couch, and from the looks of it, this is an ADA provided apartment- specifically dazai’s. he knows it’s dazai’s, because dazai’s cat is curled up at his feet- a ten year old fluffy black cat, zetsubō. chuuya may not like cats- or girls, but zetsubō has always been his favorite.
his body is still in pain- there is still some dried blood on his face, and his throat is still sore. his head is pounding; but at least the pain’s eased up a bit. he turns his head towards the furry animal at his feet, reaching down to stroke her dark fur; wincing as a sharp pain rushes through his chest. he lets out a pained moan, settling back down onto the cushions of the couch and squeezing his eyes shut.
in another room, he hears the sound of a faucet running; most likely the sink. he feels zetsubō stand up, before she hops off of the couch and patters away, paws softly smacking the floor.
…
‘he’s alone,’ is what he thinks.
then dazai comes waltzing into the living room like he owns the place- well, he does, but who really cares.
“chiiiibii,” he singsongs. “the bath is ready for you! no bath salts, cause the slug would dry up and die. you awake yet?” he says, as he pokes at chuuya’s cheek.
chuuya blinks his mismatched eyes open. “..quit it, mackerel.” he mumbles, as he slowly sits up, groaning in pain. his spine aches, as he’d been laid in an awkward position on the couch.
dazai laughs as he watches chuuya struggle to find his footing. “does chibi need help standing up too? what’s next, will he need me to feed him slug food as well?” he taunts, though he immediately shuts up when he sees the obviously pained expression on chuuya’s face. he rushes to chuuya’s aid, steadying him on his feet as he helps him into the bathroom.
the taller allows him to sit on the closed toilet seat as he turns around to check the water’s temperature. he looks at chuuya, then back at the soapy water. “do you think you’ll manage undressing and getting in the tub on your own?” dazai asks, only to be met with silence.
“chuuya?” dazai speaks, tone laced with worry.
“huh?.. yeah- yeah i.. i’ll do it myself,” chuuya responds.
when chuuya gets into the bathtub, the silence becomes unbearable. dazai opens his mouth to speak as he gets the washcloth out from the cupboard but is cut off by chuuya.
“i did it because i was tired.” chuuya says.
“i know, chibi.”
“uhm.. how did you know that i was.. there?” he questions.
dazai chuckles. “ane-san kouyou worries about you lots, chuuya. she reached out to the president and had me keep watch over you this week, so when she contacted me saying that according to a ‘mailman,’ you went off to a random forest clearing on your own, i knew something was up. it wasn’t hard to pinpoint your location- after all, slugs leave their slime wherever they go.” he says, picking up the washcloth from it’s spot on the floor and gently massaging circles on chuuya’s elegantly scarred arms.
“ane-san kouyou?” chuuya questions, shifting around so that dazai can scrub at his shoulders.
“as for ane-san, i don’t exactly know how she knew. you’ll have to ask her directly about that- but i do have a few theories. chuuya does tend to be quite expressive!” dazai says, but he fondly sighs at the last bit, pouring water over chuuya’s soapy shoulders. “doesn’t this remind you of when we were fifteen, chuuya?” he says.
and it really does remind chuuya of when they fifteen. it reminds him of every post-corruption moment they shared, when dazai would cherish chuuya as though he were a deep dark secret that nobody else knew of besides him. he would even spoon feed chuuya if corruption had gotten too out of hand, leaving chuuya’s hands aching with burns and blisters. dazai would wrap itchy gauze bandages around chuuya’s wounds, and when dazai would ramble about things he was interested in- suicide, chuuya would listen. he’d listen, and he’d have that stupid look on his face, the one where he forgets what he is- a god, a vessel, human skin encasing raging black flames brought on by the god of calamity, arahabaki.
“do you understand, chuuya?”
verlaine once told him,
“your soul is artificial. you are made up of 2,383 lines of code,”
and maybe verlaine was right. maybe chuuya isn’t human.
..even so, his brain still functions the same as one. his heart still beats. his eyes still blink, and his lungs still greedily take in air.
chuuya nakahara may never be able to verify his humanity. he will never be able to understand himself, but still; he can’t help but feel so human- so alive underneath dazai’s touch.
he’s gentle- uncharacteristically so, when he reaches for the bottle of shampoo and works a fat glob into chuuya’s fierce orange hair.
“..osamu?” chuuya whispers.
dazai’s eyes widen a bit, not quite used to being called by his first name- especially not from chuuya of all people.
“yeah?” he hums, filling the basin with water and rinsing the redhead’s soapy hair. chuuya flinches for a moment, before settling back down in the water.
“..am i…. human? do you think i’m a human?”
the redhead whispers.
silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment.
“chuuya, you are such an idiot,” dazai says. “you are so human- even when there is a literal god dwelling inside your heart, you’ve been desperately clinging to your humanity ever since arahabaki began to torment you. i don’t care if you can’t dream, chuuya. i’m so fucking jealous of you, i’m jealous of the way you seem to cling to humanity whereas i am entirely human myself and still, i feel like a monster when i look in the mirror. you are so, so fucking stupid.” dazai rambles on, and suddenly chuuya is being forcefully turned around to face dazai. there are two hands on his cheeks now, and dazai is tilting chuuya’s head up to look him in the eye.
“why do you think you aren’t human, chuuya?” dazai asks, staring intensely into the redhead’s eyes, searching. “why do you wish to suffer? you were graced with one thing, chuuya- being unable to dream. do you know how long my dreams have plagued my mind?” dazai says, and his tone is steady, unwavering.
chuuya averts his gaze down to the bloody bath water that he’s sitting in.
“i don’t know. i don’t know anything, osamu. i don’t know my parents, i don’t know if i’m human, hell- i don’t even know my real name! i’m just- i’m just a vessel, a lab rat. i can’t remember anything before the age of eight, all i know is that i’m just some government experiment- that i’m just 2,383 lines of programming. osamu, my entire existence is artificial. my personality was written into a program. i have burn scars that constantly remind me of what i really am, so even if i try to ignore arahabaki, the scars of corruption still haunt me. i just want to be human. i just want to be normal, i could be an AI like adam frankenstein and i wouldn’t even know it, osamu.” chuuya mutters, eyes hollow and glassy.
dazai stares deeper into the redhead’s mismatched eyes. “look at me, chuuya,” he says quietly. “look at me, chibi. we may not be like other people, chuuya, but we’re still human.” he brings chuuya’s scarred hand up to his chest, allowing the redhead to feel his heartbeat. “i am a strange person, chuuya. i can control the beating of my heart. i have sent messages in morse code using my vitals, and you were once a lab experiment. but still, chuuya, you are human. if you were anything else other than human, your heart would not beat the way it does.” he says, and he pauses.
“you are human. i know it, because i can see it. i can see it in your eyes, chuuya. you are so expressive- so human, and i just love that about you- no, i love you. from the moment we met, chuuya, i always knew i could love you.”
dazai whispers, and he presses a kiss to the redhead’s wet hairline. for a moment, chuuya thinks that his hair is dripping water onto his face, but then he tastes salt, and he realizes that dazai is crying.
“i love you, chuuya,” he whispers, “please, stay with me. and don’t you ever think of attempting to off yourself by unleashing corruption in a secluded space, because i will find you, and i will make sure you suffer the consequences of your own stupid actions. you don’t know how fucking worried i was, chuuya. i thought you would never wake up, laid out on my couch with zetsubō like that- i thought you were going to die, just like oda- just like everyone- because fate is cruel to me, chuu. everything i want always ends up leaving me.” he mutters, and he holds chuuya close.
chuuya finds that his own eyes have begun to water, and he reaches his own wet arms out, wrapping them around dazai and sobbing into his chest. dazai doesn’t even care that his shirt is getting wet now, not when chuuya is mumbling ‘i love you’ over and over into his chest.
“i love you, osamu.. i love you.” he says, and it’s wet like his arms, wet with bloodied water as he sobs uncontrollably into dazai’s chest.
when he pulls his head out of the brunette’s shirt to look him in the eye, dazai thinks back, to the time he was caught with the razor blade in hand by the redhead, to the time chuuya dragged him by the ear and forced him to sit at chuuya’s kitchen table while he’d cleaned and bandaged dazai’s scarred arms. he thinks of chuuya’s teary eyes, as he muttered insults over and over, all bark and no bite.
dazai thinks back to the time chuuya pulled him out of a river, eyes laced with worry and mouth barking out insults left and right.
he thinks of the rope.
the pills.
the cough syrup.
the knife.
the gun.
and chuuya.
chuuya loves him, of course he does- and they have saved each other countless times. they are bound by soul, and they will endure as many bloodbaths as it takes if it means they will stand side by side again.
‘stay,’ chuuya says, and dazai hugs him tighter, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“i won’t leave you,” dazai says, and this time he means it. he will stay by chuuya’s side for as long as they live.
—