Work Text:
Pandemonium
/ˌpandəˈmōnēəm/
noun
wild and noisy disorder or confusion; uproar.
"pandemonium broke out"
+++
The reaction was instant. Blood splattered over the wall, caused by a gunshot from an unknown location.
No. No. No!
People rushed, searching for Fyodor, but all Kunikida could do was run towards Atsushi. The boy’s eyes were trained on something in the distance, and before he could reach either men, they had started running.
Akutagawa and Atsushi were focused, determined, and their ability to work together had only gotten better. All Kunikida could do was watch as they chased after the man who was now Fyodor.
But would it even matter?
Say they captured Fyodor. Then what? Someone kills him again, and the cycle repeats?
He was so tired. His limbs ached and trembled, still getting used to being alive. But was Atsushi not suffering in the same way? And what about the Mafia’s lad – Akutagawa? Surely their bodies ached like no other. They constantly fought with open wounds, bleeding and crying and screaming and dying. Yet Kunikida just stood there, staring off into the distance like a fool.
Never in his life had he felt so utterly useless. So completely hopeless.
He felt his legs begin to shake, and he didn’t fight it. The rubble barely stung as his knees hit the ground.
“Kunikida? Kunikida, are you injured!?” A familiar voice called to him in the distance – Yosano’s. He should get up. Brush himself off, tell her not to worry. But as she rushed over, checking him for injuries, he wondered what the point was.
“You need to get up.” Despite being directly next to him, her voice felt far away. He had no response for her, and his eyes barely moved when she crouched in front of him. “Can you hear me?” Yosano’s tone was flooded with concern, and she placed a hand on his shoulder squeezing tightly.
She had no time to spare, though. It pained her to stand, to leave her friend in such a state. But people were yelling for help – people with treatable injuries – and when she looked over to Ranpo, the look on his face told her to go.
Kunikida vaguely wondered why she had wasted her time in the first place.
Fighting was useless. Fyodor would not be taken down. Not unless–
Unless…
He had tried not to dwell on Dazai’s absence. Sometimes, he was able to ignore it so well that he found himself reaching for his phone so he could check up on the man. There had been no time to think, no time for something as trivial as missing someone who would soon return.
It was moments like these, though, that he could not suppress his longing. Moments of hopelessness, where he knew only one man that could think of a way out. He missed the wordless communication, the feeling of ease when they stepped onto the field together.
He missed Dazai’s annoyances too – something he never thought he’d say. Now, though, he had begun to understand their true purpose. Distracting those around him, sometimes his words were the only thing keeping Kunikida from drowning in stress and sorrow – even if only by giving him an outlet for his emotions.
He missed fleeting touches, warm and unexpected, but never unwelcome. A brush of the knees as the two sat for dinner, fingers loosely wrapped around one another after a grueling mission, the feeling of a body pressed against his in the dead of night when Dazai couldn’t sleep or Kunikida’s mind wouldn’t stop spinning. No words were spoken, and perhaps that was his biggest regret.
More than anything, Kunikida missed his levelheadedness. Despite everything he may say about the man, Dazai was reliable when the situation called for it.
But now he wasn’t here.
A shadow was cast over the man, and it took him far too long to realize someone was standing in front of him.
“Stand up, Kunikida.” The voice was firm and clear, and far colder than he remembered. But it didn’t matter, because somehow, Dazai was there. Kunikida scrambled to his feet, and for a moment, he was able to forget about the chaos happening around them. The man was injured, the most obvious sign being the makeshift cane he had.
Kunikida’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. All he knew was that his vision was getting blurry, and Dazai was getting closer, and suddenly Kunikida had wrapped his arms around the man. He didn’t react for a moment, and when he did, it was brief. Just a light squeeze, and then he gently pushed him off. Not now.
“Kunikida-kun. Listen to me,” Had he not known better, Kunikida would’ve thought Dazai sounded angry. In reality, he was thinking. Calculating. There was no time for jokes or distractions – he needed to say what he needed to say without any sugar coating. “You need to pull yourself together. Crying won’t help anyone. It certainly won’t help Atsushi-kun, and he needs to be as focused as possible.”
And now there was hope. Hope that people could be saved, that somehow, they could win. Because Dazai was there. Kunikida nodded firmly, wiping his eyes once before taking a deep breath.
In years past, he had sometimes found himself hurt by the coldness of Dazai’s tone when they fought together. He wondered if it was the man’s way of showing he didn’t truly respect Kunikida. As they had grown, though, he came to associate that tone with a plan. His partner would not always share everything, but Kunikida trusted him, even if that trust could not always be returned in full.
In later days, his resolve would break once more. Perhaps he would find himself entangled with Dazai, words he had held back for far too long spilling out against his will. It would be an otherwise quiet moment, probably over something seemingly mundane.
Maybe Dazai would pull away. But if this all went well, maybe he would hold Kunikida tighter, and maybe a few confessions of his own would slip out.
For now, though, Kunikida could think of no one else he would rather face the pandemonium of a war with.