Work Text:
Ryuunosuke's body trembled. Stupid, weak body. He covered his face with an open hand and coughed. The insides of his chest felt as if they were set aflame. Bronchioles burning like a forest fire, forcing his ribs to the edge of cracking and his heart to ache, crushed by the metaphorical smoke.
The boy rolled into a ball, almost as if he tried to seem as small as possible. The world was cold, cruel, and everything hurt. The lights and the colors made his head ache, and every sound echoed through his skull.
At that stage, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, age twelve, accepted that he was done for.
He had a short life. It was rather shitty. He had fresh chicken a few times, and three times he managed to steal a handful of figs. He liked figs. He didn't like dogs and cold. He wondered if Gin would remember that after his demise.
And then the door to the abandoned warehouse, where he managed to huddle up covered in a thin layer of old clothes and scraps of material, creaked open, and familiar footsteps echoed from the concrete walls.
Ryuunosuke squeezed his eyes, hoping he was mishearing things. She should not have come here. He would like to raise his voice and tell her that, but his throat was too sore, and the only thing that left his dry, cracked lips was a pained, incoherent whimper.
Gin approached him almost as if she didn't care at all whether whatever sickness was gnawing at his frail body was contagious or not. Ryuunosuke reached his hand, waving at her not to come any closer, but she ignored it.
He could see that she was holding something, but he couldn't focus his eyes for long enough to see what it was until she sat down on the floor of the warehouse, right beside the pile of scraps he buried himself under in a foolish pursuit of warmth. A bottle of medicine.
"Why did you get that?" he demanded, putting all his strength into those words, but to his own disappointment, they came out laughably weak.
"Isn't it obvious?" Gin asked in return, unscrewing the cap and pouring the thick, dark syrup into it, careful not to spill even one precious drop, "Drink it, brother. Drink it so you don't die."
Ryuunosuke reluctantly sat up and allowed Gin to force the medicine down his throat. It tasted bitter, but not quite as bitter as the awareness of his own weakness.
It was foolish of Akutagawa to show up to the Port Mafia headquarters with his usual attire accentuated with a pair of cheap sunglasses in bright red frames. Especially when they didn't even manage to hide the entirety of the bruise sneaking out from behind them like an ugly watercolor painting.
Now he just hoped that no one would question it too much. That no one would find out that it was his own mentor who had done it. Even Akutagawa himself couldn't quite figure out why it felt so important to hide that. Maybe it was embarrassment, because if he had done better, then he wouldn't have deserved it. Maybe it was fear that for some reason someone would take his master's cruelty as anything more than a necessity, a consequence of Akutagawa being inadequate.
The hallway was nearly empty, other than Chuuya resting on one of the couches leftover from remodeling the lobby with a music player resting on his chest. Still, the very moment Akutagawa was about to pass him by, he raised his head, looking at Akutagawa with eyes that seemed just a little too piercing.
"Oi, kid! You alright? Your coat's all messed up."
Akutagawa froze like a deer in the headlights, sending a ripple and Rashoumon through his coat and forcing his ability to smooth out his look as he respectfully bowed his head.
"I apologize for that."
Chuuya let out a quiet groan and lifted himself up from the couch. Akutagawa didn't manage to stop himself from flinching. Stupid. Chuuya wasn't Dazai. And Chuuya was perceptive enough to easily spot Akutagawa's reaction.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
For the briefest moment, Akutagawa was torn between admitting that he was beaten and bruised everywhere he could think of or trying to act tough. Chuuya took that choice away by putting his hand on his shoulder and causing him to flinch once again, biting down on his lower lip to hold back a hiss of pain.
"You're not," Chuuya said, his voice low with something Akutagawa could only interpret as anger.
Almost instinctively, he felt his muscles twitch, and in return, the expression on Chuuya's face nearly softened.
"It was Dazai, wasn't it?"
Akutagawa shook his head, even though he didn't believe even for the briefest second that Chuuya would buy into his lie. The way he clenched his fists and bit down on his lower lip only proved that he was right about it.
"I need to go. I am to meet him, and I'd rather avoid letting him down," Akutagawa said, trying to keep his tone as flat as he only could.
Chuuya ignored his words and firmly wrapped his hand around Akutagawa's wrist.
"You're going with me. If Dazai wants something, he can try his bullshit with me."
"But-"
"No buts, kid, let's get you patched up."
Akutagawa put his hand behind his back and straightened his posture. Maybe he seemed a little too stiff, but walking into Mori's office still filled him with a sense of dread. The Port Mafia's Boss had a similar air around him to Dazai, but there was just one difference between the two. Dazai would hurt him, would maim him, but he wouldn't kill him. One wrong move in this room and he would be dead.
He approached the massive desk with an impassive expression on his face. The Boss welcomed him with a familiar sly smile.
"Good to see you've made it in one piece," he said, and even though Akutagawa tried to find a threat behind those words, he couldn't.
Maybe there was even some chance they were genuine. No, he couldn't be foolish like that.
He respectfully bowed his head.
"Thank you, boss. I've just come to report that the Tamagawa gang has been dealt with," he said in a monotone voice.
Of course that meant they were all dead, torn to shreds by the jaws of Akutagawa's ability, their mangled bodies left as nothing, but a gruesome reminder for Port Mafia's enemies. The smile on Mori's face widened.
"Beautiful, young Akutagawa, just perfect."
There was a genuine undertone to that praise, but it still wasn't the acknowledgment that carried any meaning to Akutagawa. Still, he bowed his head to show gratitude, and that was exactly when a cough tore its way out of his throat. He immediately covered his mouth with his hand, but that wasn't enough to erase that sign of weakness.
Except Mori just looked a little concerned.
"Would you like a cough drop?"
"A cough drop?" Akutagawa tilted his head to the side.
Mori slid one of the drawers on his desk open and pulled out a very unremarkable box of cough drops, which he pushed across the desk, his dark eyes not leaving Akutagawa for a moment.
"This organization is the closest thing to family that scoundrels like us will ever have, and family takes care of one another. Take a cough drop."
The way Mori was looking at him felt crushing, and for some reason, the little blonde girl took her eyes away from the drawing she was working on and stared at him with the same intensity.
It was a lie. Port Mafia wasn't like a family. He wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't believe family had anything to do with what he felt in his stomach every time he watched Gin leave for another mission that could kill her.
He took the cough drop anyway.
Akutagawa had been working with Higuchi for exactly three months, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand her behavior. She was quite a nuisance, and he wasn't sure why the Boss assigned her to work with him. Still, he was just the Mafia's humble hound, and he needed to follow the orders, so he didn't question it much.
His job still looked pretty much the same - kill whoever there was to kill and hope that maybe Dazai, wherever he was, would notice his efforts. He didn't expect anything to change.
And yet the very first thing that happened once he entered the building was Higuchi wrapping her hand around his wrist with the kind of enthusiasm he didn't think anybody had shown him before.
"Is there an emergency?" he asked, trying to catch a breath.
Higuchi pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head, but that didn't stop her from pulling him through the hallways. Of course, Akutagawa probably should have torn his arm from her grasp and scolded her for disobedience, but he didn't do that.
He didn't think there was a way he could justify himself. Maybe it was because her actions took him by surprise, or maybe it was because he didn't bother eating breakfast that day (he should've finally made eating daily into a habit, damn it). He couldn't decide which of those sounded more pathetic.
Higuchi opened the door to one of the many closets (Akutagawa should have questioned the layout earlier, now he didn't have time for that), and with a proud look on her face, she gestured inside.
It took a moment for Akutagawa to realize what he was looking at. A pullout table set with several dishes, several healthy, homemade-looking dishes. He looked at Higuchi, narrowing his eyes.
"Do you believe it to be poisoned?"
She raised her hands with a high-pitched squeak.
"I would never! I promise! I just-"
"You just?" he let out a growl.
"I just noticed you often look as if you haven't eaten before work. I can't allow you to neglect yourself like that," she said, a smile appearing on her lips.
Akutagawa looked towards the dishes again, noticing a few figs peeking out from behind a bowl of fresh rice.
The Weretiger was his unworthy replacement. The Weretiger was a pathetic coward. The Weretiger was his rival. The Weretiger was the trial Dazai put in front of him. The Weretiger was the one stable element in all the chaos. The Weretiger was someone Akutagawa had slowly learned to appreciate. A companion. More than just a companion.
Akutagawa showed up in front of Atsushi's apartment at midnight. A bad omen. A black dog in the night. He shouldn't have expected the Weretiger to even open the door. And yet he did so right before stepping aside, no words exchanged, no questions asked.
He stepped in, engulfed by the warmth of the apartment, his tired legs wobbly and weak with exhaustion and his eyelids heavy.
"Hey, you alright?" he asked, firmly putting his hand on Akutagawa's shoulder.
In response, he nodded, ignoring that his had felt like a boulder attached to his neck. He spent a week on a back-breaking solo mission, plucking out the scoundrels who tried to break into one of the Port Mafia's safehouses while the Vampirism been chewing through their ranks. He barely got any sleep during that time, eager to prove himself after failing back at the boat.
Atsushi allowed him to lean on him, almost as if he could see that he wasn't honest.
"Okay, fine. Let's say I believe you and you won't fight back when I try to prepare a futon for you."
Akutagawa pushed himself away from him, now letting his body lean against the wall, his faint eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
"A futon? What kind of a fool are you?"
"Ranpo said I should have a spare one ready in case you dropped by," he shrugged in a tone that made him sound as if he was saying that he brought an umbrella because the weather forecast said it was going to rain.
It still didn't manage to satisfy Akutagawa, still baffled by the Weretiger's behavior.
Atsushi put two fingers against Akutagawa's lips, a gesture of foolish bravery that anyone else would pay for with getting their hand slashed clean off.
"Ryuunosuke," Atsushi said, and Akutagawa straightened his back at the sound of his own name, "Can't you just accept that somebody could be good to you?"
For a moment, Akutagawa just stared at him, almost as if a single missing piece fell into its place.
Getting used to the things in his apartment not being exactly the way he had left them was hard and for the first week or so, every time Ryuunosuke returned home, he felt Rashoumon ripple through his clothing, ready to attack.
And there was no aggressor. Just a little girl lounging on the sofa watching something on her phone or hunched at the table over her homework. She was no danger to him. Maybe even the opposite. He was there to protect her. That was the promise he made to Bram, and if there was one good thing to say about him, it was that he kept his promises.
That day, however, the very first off thing he noticed was the smell. He sniffed the air again, the remnants of heightened, vampiric senses easily picking up everything. Chicken noodle soup. Under-seasoned.
Ryuunosuke kicked off his shoes and headed straight for the kitchen. He probably should have asked Aya what she was doing, but the moment he saw her, pale and nearly swaying on her tiny legs.
"Hey, kid, better go to bed, I'll take it from there."
Aya looked at him, her face pale and her forehead shiny with sweat, and shook her head with the most damn stubborn expression.
"No way, Aku. I'm only a little sick, but I can handle myself," she said, her voice equally as hoarse as confident.
Ryuunosuke shook his head.
"Go to bed, I'll finish cooking."
"But-" she stomps her feet.
"Bed, now," he said in a flat voice.
Aya's shoulders slumped, but in the end she gave in. She had to already learn that Ryuunosuke was much too stubborn even for her. Ryuunosuke finished the soup, poured a portion into the bowl and carried it to Aya's room, finding the girl lying in the bed with a sour expression on her face.
"I could have done that myself," she said when he settled the bowl next to her bed and gently pressed his hand against her forehead.
Ryuunosuke clicked his tongue.
"You have a fever, stay in bed and rest."
For the briefest moment, flashes of the past flashed before Ryuunosuke's eyes. Gin with a bottle of syrup, Chuuya tending his wounds, Mori with his cough drops, and Higuchi with the food she had made.
Ryuunosuke, can't you just accept that somebody could be good to you?
He clicked his tongue again. At first, this girl seemed nothing like him. Idealistic and starry-eyed. Ironically, she had his stubbornness, she had his drive, she had those same individualistic tendencies that had nearly gotten him killed countless times.
"Aya, can't you just accept that somebody could be good to you? Fighting everything alone won't get you far no matter how strong you get."