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Multiple gunshot wounds really aren’t how Dazai would choose to go out, if he had complete control over his death. Unfortunately, somebody, or a few somebodies, decided they had to have their say.
It’s unfortunate. He knows where Yosano should be right now, and it isn’t anywhere near the street he’s bleeding out on.
Pain fades, as numbness takes over.
Gradually, Dazai becomes aware that he really shouldn’t be conscious for this long, and also his limbs don’t feel as heavy any longer. He waves a hand in front of his face, then pushes himself off the ground and out of his body entirely.
Ah. Ghosts.
Alright then.
Dazai actually doesn’t have any contingency plans for what to do if he becomes a ghost after death. Part of his obsession with suicide is the assumption that it would end his boredom and dissatisfaction with life, not… make it even harder for him to find something to interact with that would entertain him.
So it’s with a sigh that he meanders out of the alleyway. He isn’t paying attention as he wanders, and he ends up walking directly into a small child. Oof.
...Wait, didn’t he just establish that he was a ghost? Don’t those traditionally pass through people?
The boy looks up at him for a moment, turns, and yells behind him, “Uncle Dazai walked into me!”
“He walks through us all the time,” a slightly younger girl says, unimpressed as she pokes her head out of a doorway.
“No, I mean he’s dead!” the boy insists. “He bumped right into me, so he’s gotta be!”
“Dazai is-” That gets a face Dazai would recognize anywhere to appear.
Odasaku has changed not at all from the moment of his death, except he has less blood on him. He’s in the same clothes, and the expression he gives Dazai is one Dazai’s seen on him and only him: honest concern for Dazai’s wellbeing, the ‘I know you can handle this on your own but it worries me that you have to’ look.
“Odasaku,” Dazai breathes, which strikes him as ironic since he no longer has to breathe.
“I would have found you earlier,” Odasaku replies, “but I try to keep the children from seeing fights. Sorry about that.”
There are a million things Dazai wants to say to him, a million he’s refused to consider for more than a second before this because of impossibility, and he doesn’t know where to start. So instead he chooses one that has never occurred to him before: “‘Uncle’ Dazai?”
It’s rare to see Odasaku legitimately embarrassed, but the sudden flush on his face and the way he averts his gaze suggests so. “...They started calling you that on their own, since we spend a lot of our time checking up on how you are. It’s something I didn’t think I’d have to worry about your reaction to for a while.”
Ah, that’s right. Odasaku wanted him to live on the side of justice, and that necessarily meant living. If he’d died here so foolishly, then it’s certain-
“You did so well, Dazai. You accomplished more good in the world than I ever imagined.”
Dazai can’t doubt the sincerity of those words. Not from his dearest friend.
“...It’s only because of you,” he says.
Odasaku smiles. Around them, small children are clamoring to talk to one or both of them, but Dazai hardly notices. It’s been such a long, long time since he’s seen that smile, and he didn’t realize that it was what he was waiting for until this moment.
“Thank you,” they say, at the exact same time.
“I’d offer you a drink, but I haven’t figured out how to drink anything yet,” Odasaku says.
“That’s fine. We can catch up without it.”