Chapter Text
Sometime before nightfall, Dazai wakes up and Chuuya fights him to take a few bites of food.
After being forced to back down to Chuuya in their argument for Dazai to go to sleep, Dazai was even less inclined to lose the battle this time.
And he wasn’t for a while. He was successfully denying eating any of the food while the slug’s patience got thinner and thinner. It was a waiting game, and those were Dazai’s favorite.
Though, it got to the point that Chuuya just walked out. Went out of the room to god knows where before something or someone broke. He stayed out there for five minutes.
Chuuya being mad at him for the rest of the night was decidedly, a bad thing. With meeting the rest of the vigilantes tonight, Chuuya ignoring him was not the best course of action.
When Chuuya walks back in and crosses his arms, standing strong. Dazai despises admitting defeat right now. He scowls just to prove his point and ever so reluctantly takes a few bites.
Chuuya sighs, satisfied enough and Dazai mentally marks down another thing he needs to get Chuuya back for.
The soft knock at the door was almost drowned out. Dazai, lounging behind in the bed with his legs crossed, barely glanced up. Chuuya sat across from him, doing something on his phone again.
He’d been tinkering with one of the gadgets he’d “borrowed” from the room—some kind of fancy pen that, with the right twist, extended into a sleek blade. It was no armed grenade disguised as a pocket lighter, but it was charming in its utility.
"Come in," Chuuya looked up as Dazai called lazily, flicking the blade back into its pen form and setting it in his pocket.
The door opened to reveal Alfred, the butler who somehow managed to radiate quiet authority while carrying a tea tray. Dazai didn’t trust people who seemed that well-balanced.
"Master Dazai, Master Nakahara," Alfred said, his voice as composed as always. "Master Wayne requests your presence."
Dazai swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "C’mon slug,” he looks over his shoulder. “Let's not keep Gotham’s finest waiting." Chuuya scoffs but also gets up, positioning himself in his guard spot like a good little doggy!
Alfred inclined his head and gestured for them to follow. They walked down the dimly lit corridor, Alfred leading with a steady, measured pace. Dazai followed, a hand hidden by his black coat toying with the pen. Chuuya trailed beside him, looking like he wanted to grumble about something.
Oohh~ time for a test! “ Ready for the meet and greet, Chibi~? ” He rolls out in perfect Japanese. Chuuya only grunts in response, some anger from their brief argument probably still left over.
He looks at Alfred and only sees the back of the man’s head. He makes no action to suggest that he understood what he had said.
‘Hm, I’ll try again later. ’ Dazai thinks.
The house was a labyrinth, every corridor revealing another layer of wealth and secrets. Dazai’s eyes wandered, cataloging details: the subtle differences in decor, the faint scent of wood polish, the strategically placed cameras—though half of them were almost imperceptible.
It wasn’t long before Alfred led them to a corridor they hadn’t ventured into before. This part of the manor had a strange, almost austere quality. It wasn’t as grand or overtly decorative as the rest of the house. It was functional.
Alfred stopped in front of an unassuming grandfather clock. ‘ How cliche..’ is all that crosses Dazai’s mind.
Reaching out to adjust the hands to what appeared to be 10:47. With a quiet click , the clock slid open, revealing a hidden passageway.
"Ah," Dazai said, his lips curving into a grin. “Don’t you say a word, you smug bastard.” Chuuya glares.
“Shall we?” Alfred asks smoothly.
They descended into the darkness, the air growing cooler with each step. The staircase was carved into stone, its edges precise and calculated. Chuuya pressed against his sightless half, his hand brushing the hilt of his knife, clearly uncomfortable in the confined space.
Dazai almost giggles at Chuuya hyperactivity. "I have to admit, the melodrama suits him." Dazai said, his voice echoing faintly.
Chuuya half scoffed and half laughed. "Focus, idiot."
As they went deeper, the narrow staircase opened up into a sprawling cavern. The first thing Dazai noticed was the sheer scale of it all. It wasn’t just a cave; it was an underground fortress.
Monitors, computers, and tech stations lined the walls, interspersed with weapon racks, mechanical suits, and a vast array of vehicles that gleamed under the dim light.
Dazai’s eyes immediately landed on the black car with the bat theme. It was even more ridiculous in person—a sleek, monstrous machine that practically screamed, I have unresolved childhood trauma.
"Fancy car," Chuuya muttered, eyeing it with mild disdain. Perhaps he was thinking about the way Albatross would’ve started fanboying over it if he was here.
"Think he lets people take it for a joyride?" Dazai asked, tilting his head.
"Don’t even think about it." Chuuya glared at him. “Knowing your luck, you’d crash it and survive , like a goddamn cockroach.”
Alfred cleared his throat politely. "This way, gentlemen."
They passed through what appeared to be a research station. Dazai’s fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to grab one of the glowing gadgets scattered across the desks. He had no idea what half of them did, but that was part of the fun. The moment his steps faltered even a little bit Chuuya would smack him. Yeah, an angry Chibi was not the best sightseeing companion.
Then his eyes landed on the super computer.
It was magnificent—an enormous screen filled with data streams, maps, and encrypted files. The keyboard alone looked like it could launch a spaceship. Dazai could almost hear the hum of information coursing through the system.
He imagined what kind of intel it stored. Criminal profiles, city schematics, communication intercepts… If he had access to that for even five minutes, the things he could uncover
"Dazai," Chuuya snapped, bringing him back to reality.
“Hm?”
“Stop drooling over the computer.”
“The Chibi just doesn’t see the merit such a unit could have!”
“Huh?! Of course I can!” He shrieks, “but it’s not what we’re focusing on right now. Move it!”
They finally approached a central table, where Bruce Wayne and another man were hunched over a series of maps and documents. Bruce looked up as they approached, his expression as controlled as ever. Beside him, Dick Grayson—Nightwing, Dazai reminded himself—stood with his arms crossed, his demeanor far more casual but no less sharp.
"Ah, the cavalry arrives, " Bruce said, standing straight. He offered a hand, first to Dazai, then to Chuuya. "Thank you both for coming on such short notice.”
Chuuya hesitated for half a second before shaking Bruce’s hand. “Mori didn’t tell me much, except that he would send people to take care of it.” He sighs at reciting the vague words.
“What might your names be?” He looks between the duo.
“Osamu Dazai.” He dips his head slightly. “Chuuya Nakahara. You can just call me Chuuya.” Bruce nods. “I’m sure you both will want to wait until the others arrive until we start debriefing?”
Dazai nods, “if it’s not too much of an ask. We would prefer to not have to repeat ourselves over and over.” He says with masked politeness.
“This is my oldest son, Dick,” Bruce introduces the other man. “Sup. Codenames Nightwing.” He says simply.
“While you're waiting, please feel free to look at some of the information we’ve gathered,” Bruce gestures to the table.
Chuuya blinks at Dazai before Dazai nods affirmatively. They move past the older man and start glazing over the documents.
Dazai reached for the nearest document on the table, his sharp eyes quickly scanning the pages. There was something about the mix of Gotham’s blunt style of intelligence and the absurdity of what they were up against that made it almost endearing. Almost.
The first sheet he picked up was an incident report written in clinical detail. It described a man’s strange behavior after attending what appeared to be a mundane poetry reading. He’d wandered the streets muttering incoherently, claiming the words of a "howl" were inside his head. Within hours, he’d devolved into madness. Soon after, he was apprehended while trying to destroy a school office that was known for corruption and neglect for their students.
“He— she—?” Dick started to speak, but couldn’t decide on the right pronouns. He sighs, “they’ve been causing destruction from the inside out. Very rarely are they spotted, but even our local pains-in-the-asses are having trouble with occasional sporadic radicalization in their groups.”
“Normally, we would just add it to the list,” Bruce shrugs, “but this enemy is fast and cunning. And taking that first steps to stop them are proving difficult.”
Dazai hummed, processing their words. The victim ended up collapsing from what medical examiners could only call "neurological overload."
“Oh, lovely,” Dazai murmured, turning the page. The next document showed crude sketches of symbols—the kind that left a faint glow burned into witnesses’ retinas.
“What color did they glow?” Dazai asked aloud, directing the question at no one in particular.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Dazai tapped the paper. “The symbols. Was the victim conscious enough to answer, or were there witnesses that mentioned what color his eyes were?”
Bruce looked mildly taken aback “Does it matter?”
Dick rolled his eyes at his dads stupid question. If it didn’t matter, the kid wouldn’t be asking.
Chuuya let out a low sigh, clearly irritated by Dazai’s theatrics but knowing where this was headed.
“The name of every ability is unique, and yet, very rarely explains what the ability does.” Dazai speaks like it’s a simple matter. “I’d even bet that if me and the Chibi told you the names of our abilities, you would have trouble guessing them without seeing us use it.”
Dazai drawled on, “and even then you wouldn’t know much about any limitations or exceptions.”
“That’s why knowing the color is an important piece of the puzzle back home.” Chuuya bursts in swiftly.
Dazai spoke again, though his tone sharpened as he continued. “Red indicates aggression—abilities designed to provoke, disorient, or outright destroy. Green usually means manipulation or control. If you were standing in that room, you’d be able to feel it pressing on your nerves, like the weight of static electricity that’s suddenly alive. But, ah…” He tapped his temple. “Only ability users can fully interpret the feeling. I’d explain further, but I wouldn’t want to confuse you.”
Dick let out a snort. “Yeah, thanks for that. Sounds like I’m back in English class analyzing symbolism.”
Bruce, however, wasn’t laughing. His gaze remained fixed on Dazai, calculating. “And what do you mean by ‘pressing on your nerves’?”
Dazai shrugged. “Hard to explain if you haven’t experienced it. Imagine being trapped in a maze of words and concepts that aren’t yours, but they’re being shoved into your mind like they belong there. The glow of the ability? That’s just a warning sign—like a red light on a train track. What comes next is the crash.”
Bruce exchanged a glance with Dick, who looked a little less amused now.
“Creepy as hell,” Dick muttered, flipping through a nearby file.
Dazai picked up another sheet, his expression brightening as he scanned it. “Ah, and here’s the fun part. This poet of yours— the Resonator, correct?—the ability, Howl , doesn’t just disorient the mind.”
He smiles like it’s a whisper under his breath. “I think it’s designed to imprint itself. Temporary, of course, but damaging. Words worm their way in, clawing at your thoughts, planting ideas like a devil on your shoulder.”
Chuuya crossed his arms. “Also, it sounds hallucinogenic.”
Dazai nodded cheerfully. “Right. You’d either be drooling in a corner or clawing at your own skin in a desperate attempt to escape yourself. Charming ability, really. But subtle compared to what some can do.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened. “And you’ve encountered something like this before?”
“Not exactly,” Dazai admitted, setting the document down and grabbing another. “I don’t even know if what I’m saying is correct.” He shrugs, “But there are always patterns. Abilities don’t exist in isolation—they’re shaped by the user’s personality, their history, their desires. This Resonator fellow? They’re clover, someone who knows how to wield confusion as a weapon. Can’t say much more about it though until I see it in person.”
Chuuya frowned. “Great. So we’re up against a lunatic with a god complex.”
Dazai grinned. “Sounds like someone we know, doesn’t it?”
Chuuya shot him a withering glare. “Don’t even start, mackerel.”
Dick leaned against the table, arms crossed. “So, these glowing symbols—are they the ability itself, or just a byproduct?”
“Depends,” Dazai said. “I should probably save that for when others show up.”
Chuuya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here we are,” Dazai replied cheerfully.
The Batcave remained eerily silent except for the soft hum of machinery. The tension in the air wasn’t just from the topic of discussion, but from the anticipation of the rest of Bruce Wayne’s so-called family arriving.
Dazai lounged against the table, idly flipping through a document, his fingers tracing the lines of information. Chuuya, meanwhile, leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, eyes constantly scanning the room.
“Do they always take this long?” Dazai asked casually, glancing at Bruce, who was still focused on a digital map displayed on the Batcomputer’s massive screen.
“Not all of them operate on Gotham Standard Time,” Dick replied with a chuckle, leaning against a nearby wall. “Jason, for instance, operates on whatever time he feels like.”
“Wow, sounds like someone I know,” Chuuya muttered, shooting a glare at Dazai.
Before Dazai could retort, footsteps echoed from one of the upper tunnels. They were loud, deliberate, and had an almost impatient cadence.
“Speak of the devil,” Dick said, straightening up.
A figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a red helmet under his arm and a black leather jacket. Jason Todd strode into the Batcave with an air of confidence that was hard to ignore.
“Alright, I’m here,” Jason announced, his voice carrying just the right amount of irritation. His sharp green eyes flicked between Dazai and Chuuya. “Who’re the guests?”
“Jason,” Bruce said, his tone a touch more commanding than casual. “This is Osamu Dazai and Chuuya Nakahara. They’re here to assist us with the current case.” Dazai sighed internally, feeling like this introduction would just keep going.
Jason raised an eyebrow, giving the two a once-over. “Great. Outsourcing now, are we?”
“More like calling in specialists,” Bruce replied calmly.
Dazai smirked. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Helmet.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, we’ll see how nice this meeting is.”
Before anyone could respond, a much lighter set of footsteps sounded from a different direction. This time, a boy no older than thirteen appeared, dressed sharply even out of uniform. Damian Wayne, Bruce’s youngest, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes assessing the room.
“Tt. You’re the supposed experts Father has brought in?” Damian asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.
Chuuya stared at him for a moment, then turned to Bruce. “Why did the boss baby just enter the room?” And Dazai has to use everything he has to hold in a laugh.
Though Jason burst out laughing, while Damian’s scowl deepened.
“You dare insult me?” Damian snapped, taking a step forward.
“Don’t take it personally, kid,” Dazai said, waving him off. “Chuuya insults everyone. Even himself sometimes.”
“ HUH?!” Now that was a piece of information that the room full of new faces didn’t need to know. Chuuya glared at Dazai and Dazai just glared back.
“Enough,” Bruce said, his tone cutting through the impending banter. “Damian, this is Dazai and Chuuya. Treat them with respect.”
Damian huffed but said nothing more, taking a spot beside Bruce.
As the tension in the room began to settle, another figure arrived, this time a young man with an almost bookish aura. Tim Drake, the third Robin, entered with a laptop tucked under one arm and a cup of coffee in the other.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tim said, setting his coffee down on the table. His eyes quickly darted to Dazai and Chuuya. “Are these the new consultants?”
“Consultants, huh?” Chuuya muttered under his breath. “We’re getting downgraded already.”
Tim gave a small smile. “You must be Chuuya, then.”
Chuuya blinked, caught slightly off-guard. “Yeah. And you are?”
“Tim Drake,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
Chuuya shook his hand, appreciating the lack of hostility compared to the others.
“And this is Dazai,” Tim continued, turning to Dazai.
“Oh, you’ve heard of me?” Dazai asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Not yet,” Tim replied, sitting down and opening his laptop. “But I’m sure I will.”
Dazai only replied with a sharp and smug smile.
Moments later, two more figures entered together—a young woman with jet-black hair and a quiet demeanor, followed by a blonde who seemed to radiate energy.
Cassandra Cain moved with an almost predatory grace, her dark eyes scanning the room. Stephanie Brown, on the other hand, walked in with a bright smile and a curious gaze.
“And the gang’s all here,” Dick said, clapping his hands together.
Cassandra nodded silently in greeting, while Stephanie tilted her head at Dazai and Chuuya. “So, you’re the ones who are gonna help us figure out this ability stuff?”
“Among other things,” Dazai replied, his tone teasing.
“Great,” Stephanie said, plopping down in a chair. “This is gonna be fun.”
Bruce stepped forward, his presence commanding the room’s attention. “Now that everyone’s here, we can start piecing together what we know.” He nods to Dazai.
Dazai claps his hands together. “Alright, class. The lecture is in session!” He says with a pleasantly fake smile.
Chuuya just knows that this is going to take a while.