Chapter Text
Four years ago: June
The park was empty, save for a young man in an overlarge trench coat slumped on a wooden bench, frowning at the shadows. He gripped a blood-soaked bandage in his hand, staring at it. It was a mix of his blood and… His mind refused to think about it, thinking about the lifeless body now lying on a mansion floor, at the larger man who took him in and now couldn't make him curry or cheer for him ever again.
Oda was dead. He had held his best friend in his arms and watched him go. All that was left was a bandage pulled from Dazai's eye, letting the light pierce him in ways that he would never be prepared for.
Dazai scoffed, clutching the bandage in a white-knuckled grip. Odasaku was an idiot. He didn't have to die. What was Dazai supposed to do now?
Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but saving others is just a bit more wonderful.
How do you know?
I know… better than anyone.
He dropped his head into his hands, screaming in the darkness of the night. It didn't matter, did it? All of the nights in Bar Lupin, all of the times Odasaku had dragged him out for ramen or curry, it didn't fucking matter.
Still, Oda had told him to save people with his last breath. He knew that he should. He was contemplating leaving – he hadn’t yet, he didn’t even know where to start. He wasn’t going to talk to Ango. Ango could die in a ditch for all Dazai cared, if Dazai wasn't the one to put him there himself. One day, he might. For now, the bespeckled traitor was more useful to him alive.
There wasn't really anyone else that he cared about in the Mafia, not fully. Not like-
A flash of red, a glare of narrowed blue-silver eyes.
Well, there was always him. Dazai's partner, more like nemesis. The stupid dog just couldn't be what Dazai wanted, and Dazai found it fascinating, even as he wanted to kill the other. Maybe one day he would. His mouth quirked - Oda was forever harping on him for…
His expression fell and he viciously bit his lip. Oda wasn't here anymore. Oda couldn't-
His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him out of his reverie. He blinked, staring at his surroundings for a long moment before bringing his phone out.
There was a new email, marked urgent, with the ! sign glaring and yellow next to the no subject header. Someone had sent this out in a hurry. He scrolled through the contacts that it had been sent to out of habit. One could usually tell the importance of a message based on the CC list. It was all upper echelon of the Mafia.
The western territories have fallen. All sent there are dead. We will be mounting a counter-attack in the next few days. Be ready.
The western territories… Why was that burrowing in from the back of his mind? His thoughts had been hazy, filled with the feeling of Oda’s blood on his hands, and the-
Hey, shitty Dazai. I'll be off for the next week. Something to do with the western territories. Let's hit the arcade when I get back. Been a minute since we've been there. You owe a rematch, you cheating fish.
Why would I want to? Chibi's too easy to beat.
Stop fucking- give that here, I need to pack it. Dazai. Dazai, I'll fucking kill you.
Do you promise?
You're a real fucking mess, aren't you? I'll see you next week. Don't die in the meantime.
No promises, slug.
I can't deal with you.
Dazai’s eyes widened, and he dropped his phone in surprise, almost as though the device had shocked him. Oda was dead, and now… so was Chuuya. Regardless of how much he had wanted to kill the other boy, he hadn't ever thought that he could die. That… made no sense. Something cracked in him, as though the world was shifting beneath his feet too fast, and bile coated his throat.
He heaved, vomiting over the side of the bench into the grass, chest painful. His fingers still gripped the too-bloody bandage in his hand, the scratchy fabric against his fingertips not enough to ground him as he stared wide-eyed at the mess he had made in the grass, chest heaving.
He couldn’t describe how he felt, knowing that Chuuya was gone – the past two years had been nothing but antagonistic banter and an understanding that they would both watch the other die and kill anyone else who would try. On the back end of reeling from Oda's death as well, Dazai felt something open in his chest. If he were anyone else, he would think it was heartache, but he didn't emote that well. Still, the other teen had been one of the few that had stirred something in Dazai, even if it was smug enmity.
Chuuya always made things confusing.
Dazai’s shoulders sagged. Not anymore, he supposed.
He should wash the blood off his hands. His shirt was stained red as well. He should get a bowl of curry, one for himself and one for Oda. And a glass of wine for Chuuya. He should mourn - or feel something. Emptiness carved out a piece of his insides, right below the ribs as he made his decision.
He had nothing holding him back anymore.
Leaving the phone on the ground, he slammed his foot onto the screen, watching it crack and shatter beneath the onslaught. Heaving, he straightened his tie and began walking towards the center of the city, where the Special Abilities Division was.
They would have someone who could give him an out.
After all, Ango owed him one hell of a favor.