Work Text:
Dazai covered his mouth with his elbow and coughed into the rough fabric of the prison robe, making his way through the flooded corridors of Meursault. He dragged his feet in ankle-deep heavy water, each step accompanied by flashing security lights. Steam escaping from broken pipes clouded the passageway and blaring sirens made his eardrums feel like they were about to burst. Nevertheless, Dazai persistently kept going. He had an important job to do.
“Hold on, chibi,” he whispered. The further he went, the more apprehensive he got. Splashing water, sirens and hissing steam sang together in a nightmarish cacophony, but there was one integral element missing.
He couldn’t hear the sounds of Arahabaki wrecking everything in its vicinity anymore.
The noise from the god of destruction stopped abruptly several minutes ago. Why did it stop? His stomach churned at the thought that something irreversible happened and he gritted his teeth. “I’m coming, just hold on a little bit longer.” Dazai tried to push away the grim scenarios playing out in his head and increased his pace.
A few months ago
Chuuya closed the door behind him and put his hat on the rack. “Get the fuck out of my apartment,” he said into the darkness.
“This is not the way to greet your old partner, don’t you think, Chuuya?”
He scoffed, taking off his shoes and genuinely considering throwing his Oxfords at the dim outline of the mackerel’s head.
“You might want to leave at your own will while I’m still feeling benevolent. Unless you’d prefer to fly out of the window, of course.”
The dark figure leaped from the couch. Chuuya heard the sound of hands clasping together. “Really? You would put me out of this misery? I always knew you were secretly a good person!”
Chuuya flicked the light switch. Dazai, who was now wincing at the light, looked particularly scruffy. His hair stuck out in every direction, his shirt was crumpled and the lapels of his trench coat had coffee stains on it. That only meant one thing.
“Are you plotting again, shitty Dazai?”
He smirked. “Observant, as usual.” His eyes glinted like they did in his Port Mafia time — but only for a moment.
Chuuya marched straight to the wine cabinet. Seeing the mackerel after a long day at work called for countermeasures.
Dazai plopped back onto the couch, humming some stupid made-up song. Chuuya poured himself a glass of Château Margaux and leaned against the counter, looking at Dazai expectantly. Dazai smiled and blinked like a puppy. Chuuya savoured a mouthful of wine. If Dazai needed something from him, he could speak first.
No one said a word for a good minute.
“So, you’re probably wondering why I invited you here today,” Dazai chirped.
“I live here, you fucker,” Chuuya replied automatically, observing the swirls of burgundy red in the glass against the ceiling light.
“I am going to take Dostoevsky down,” Dazai said, his tone suddenly serious. Their eyes met.
“He is already in prison, isn’t he?” Chuuya said after a pause. “What’s the point of bothering with him?”
“He’s got an ace up his sleeve. He’s still dangerous, imprisoned or not.”
Chuuya took a sip of wine, never dropping his gaze.
Dazai continued. “In order to do that, I’m going to get myself arrested. This way I’ll end up in Meursault with him.”
Chuuya cocked his eyebrow.
“Of course, someone like me is not fit to rot in prison for the rest of my life. That’s where you come into play.”
“Am I supposed to take you out of prison, shithead? How am I even supposed to do it? No one escapes Meursault.”
Dazai took a deep breath. There it was - the point in conversation he dreaded. He knew how precious the idea of being human was to Chuuya. He’d seen him struggle back in the day, when he didn’t know if he was a real person or an artificial string of code. He knew that no matter what, Chuuya couldn’t let himself be robbed of his humanity.
“There will be a vampire epidemic. You have to get yourself bitten.”
Chuuya put his glass on the counter and folded his arms. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Dostoyevsky will use you against me and drag you to Meursault to get him out.”
“What makes you think so?”
“My predictions are never wrong.”
Chuuya sighed and plopped on the couch next to Dazai. “I could easily avoid getting bitten by a vampire, so you better have good reasons as to why I should do it. Fire away. Tell me your plan, otherwise I’m not doing it.”
Dazai smiled faintly. He knew that no matter what, ultimately Chuuya would agree to help - he always did. Chuuya was too selfless and Dazai was always afraid it was going to be his downfall. Dazai took a deep breath and turned to Chuuya. He owed him some honesty for once. He explained how Meursault’s security systems worked. He explained how he is going to trap both Chuuya and Fyodor in the corridor, activating the prison’s security systems. He explained how he predicts drowning in heavy water will trigger Arahabaki’s survival instincts and the god will take over Chuuya’s body, effectively driving the vampire infection out with Corruption.
“So, in short, you blow up the gates with Arahabaki. By then, Fyodor will have drowned. Then I come for you and nullify Corruption, and we escape from Meursault with a bang, Soukoku-style.”
Chuuya stared at him with a disapproving look on his face.
“Might even consider not playing pranks on you for at least a week after that,” Dazai added, smiling, feeling his guts twist in worry. His plans never failed, but this one was too risky.
“So, let me get this straight. You want me to get bitten by a vampire, get caught by Dostoevsky’s cronies, break into Meursault, drown in heavy water assuming that Arahabaki might hypothetically fight back, and then wait for you to save me?”
Dazai nodded.
“Will I even have any control over myself this entire time?”
Dazai hung his head instead of an answer.
“You’re insane if you think I’m going to agree to this shit.”
“This is the only way this plan is going to work.”
Chuuya stood up and came back with the glass of wine he abandoned a while ago. He downed it in one go and put the empty glass on the coffee table. “There are so many things that can go wrong,” he finally spoke. “How do you know Arahabaki is not going to destroy the entire building, burying us all under the rubble?”
“I will stop you on time.”
“What if you don’t?”
“Haven’t I always?”
Chuuya sighed and slumped against the back of the couch. “You better save me, motherfucker. I don’t plan on dying young helping you execute another one of your crazy plans.”
Dazai smiled. “Just trust me, partner,” he murmured, feeling worry seeping into his skin and bones. He put his hand over Chuuya’s, squeezing it lightly and smiling at the warmth. Chuuya leaned toward Dazai and touched his cheek. “I mean it,” he growled, lips lightly brushing against Dazai’s, “if you let me die, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your miserable life.” Dazai looked into Chuuya’s fierce eyes, so bright it felt like looking at the sun. He is the epitome of humanity, Dazai thought, trying to count his pale ginger eyelashes, so much willpower and selflessness. Dazai leaned forward and gently kissed Chuuya, savouring his taste and committing it to memory.
“I will never let you die,” he whispered out of breath when they pulled apart. The knot in his stomach only got tighter.
***
Dazai approached what was left of the thick metal gates that used to seal the corridor filled with water. Metal fittings bent in weird shapes were sticking out of the broken gate. He peered into the dark and stopped in his tracks. A small figure was lying motionless in the red security alarm light.
He froze.
Suddenly, it felt like he was crushed with gravity. His vision tunnelled and the only thing he could see was the body on the ground.
A loud puff of steam from a fractured pipe yanked him out of his trance.
“Shit,” Dazai hurried toward the figure, “shit, shit, shit!” He dropped to his knees and touched Chuuya’s shoulder. He was lying on his side in a puddle of — what was it? Water? Blood? His arms were bent in unnatural angles and purple bruises covered most of his body. Security lights painted everything crimson - walls, floor, Chuuya’s face and hair, even Dazai’s hands looked like they were painted red, as if soaked in blood. The grotesque sight made him dizzy. He couldn’t hear neither the sirens, nor the water splashes anymore - loud ringing in his ears drowned every sound around him. His breath caught in his throat.
“Chuuya,” Dazai whispered, his voice cracking. He brushed his hair out of his face and his stomach dropped. “No, no, no,” he pleaded, wiping the blood flowing out of the corner of his mouth, but the steady red stream refused to stop, adding to the puddle on the floor. Dazai let out a loud sob and cradled Chuuya, holding him close to his chest. He was like a rag doll, broken arms limp, head dropping to the side. Dazai held onto the back of Chuuya’s head and buried his face into his neck, rocking from side to side. He didn’t have to check his pulse or whether or not he was breathing. The way he was limp in his arms, still and silent, cheeks lacking their usual warmth was telling enough. The way he felt something snap in his soul was telling enough.
He was too late.
Dazai held him tight, whispering apologies into Chuuya’s ear. He didn’t make it on time. He let Chuuya down yet again. Chuuya trusted him, waited to be saved from the reign of Arahabaki, and Dazai broke the promise yet again. He said he will be there for him as usual, but he wasn’t.
It was another realisation that made Dazai lose it, his wailing drowning in the omnipresent blare of sirens.
Chuuya wasn’t human when he died.
Once the mindless vampire curse broke, his soul was overtaken by Arahabaki. He was stripped out of his humanity - the thing Chuuya held so preciously on to. The thing Chuuya valued more than anything else.
He was robbed of it and used for somebody else’s gain again.
“I’m so sorry, Chuuya. I’m so sorry,” Dazai chanted, holding Chuuya tight.
“Oh, how heartbreaking.”
Dazai froze. He was so preoccupied with Chuuya, he didn’t even register that Dostoevsky’s body was nowhere to be seen. He shut his eyes and held Chuuya’s body tighter.
“Seems like your genius plan didn’t work after all.” Fyodor smirked and approached Dazai, Nikolai bouncing happily behind him.
Dazai stared at them, holding Chuuya against his chest, as if trying to protect him from the two smirking men.
“So sad how your little friend didn’t make it. Bet he was desperate for you to show up, but you never did. Bet he felt abandoned, just like that time when you left the Port Mafia.”
Dazai gritted his teeth. How did Dostoevsky know about his past? How did he escape the flooded corridor? “Shut up,” he grumbled through clenched teeth. “Shut up!”
“How rude. You are so arrogant, really, thinking you can play me. Looks like being called a prodigy from such a young age makes people overestimate their abilities.” He walked up to Dazai and yanked him upward. Chuuya’s body tumbled to the floor with a thud. “You never had a chance against me,” Fyodor whispered into Dazai’s ear. He tried to yank himself out of Dostoevsky’s grip, but his body did not cooperate, legs feeling like cotton. He dropped on the floor, gaze never leaving Chuuya. Absentmindedly, Dazai reached for his hand, hoping to feel one last bit of warmth. It was cold.
“Such a disobedient leech,” Fyodor croaked, “Kolya, help me drag him out of here.”
Dazai felt another pair of hands grabbing his arm and yanking him up. Chuuya’s hand slipped out of his and fell on the floor.
He kept glancing over his shoulder as the men were dragging him out. Chuuya’s still figure kept getting smaller and smaller as they went further away, until it disappeared in the dark completely.
Dazai hung his head. His shoulders shook as he sobbed.
All hell could break loose now.
He had just lost everything.