Chapter Text
“I wanna see.”
They were sitting at the dinner table, a Friday evening. Dazai hadn’t gone into work that day as he’d felt ‘ill’ but Chuuya had a feeling the lazy bastard was just slacking off, or one of the so‑called ‘episodes’ Oda said he gets. Tch. Whatever. All Chuuya cares about is the fact that the bandages the boy across from him is wearing, have spotted stains of red. That dark crimson is undeniably blood. Dazai looks up at Chuuya’s words, clearly pulled from whatever trance the depths of his soup had him in. The boy had looked as if he wasn’t breathing for the last minute, either a head full of thoughts or that static silence Dazai sometimes claims to get.
“See what, Chuuya?”
Bastard. Damned bastard.
“We both know you know exactly what I mean, don’t take me for a fool, mackerel.”
Dazai sets down his spoon, still as clean as when the table was first laid, and forces that weighted, deep gaze on Chuuya. If Chuuya was more of a pussy he would’ve squirmed under the heavy stare. But he isn’t. So he doesn’t.
“Why?”
It’s a simple response in hindsight, but Dazai has a way of shielding his true meaning with layers upon layers of bullshit that Chuuya has to rifle through just to get a goddamn straightforward answer! Chuuya drums his nails on the table, not the only hint of his growing frustration, but a good telltale sign that he is at least trying to keep his composure. Not that that will do much.
“The hell you mean why?! ’Cause I can see fucking blood, Dazai!”
The boy gestures to Dazai’s bandaged arms, the wave of his hands coming across as violent and irritated. Dazai not so subtly brings his arms to fold on his lap. Under the table and out of sight. Dazai meets Chuuya’s eyes again with that same goddamn stare that just ticks him the wrong way. Why is Dazai so damn irritating this evening?!
“It’s hardly anything, Chuuya—”
“Hardly anything?! That’s the bullshit you decide to throw at me today?! You’re fucking bleeding, jackass, that’s not nothing. And before you say you’ll deal with it, we both know you won’t. I’m not stupid.”
Chuuya gets to his feet and Dazai watches him rise, he can feel the anger radiating from the short boy like a small fire. And Dazai knows well from experience that that fire will continue to grow until it ends up burning him. And yet it’s so fun to poke the flames… Dazai exhales wearily, as though the whole conversation is too bothersome to engage in.
“Chuuya—”
He’s hardly surprised when he’s cut off yet again, but he did picture himself at least beginning the sentence.
“No. You show me right now, Dazai. If you don’t, I’ll rip them off your ass, I don’t need an ability to do that much.”
Dazai stands up, shockingly without an exasperated sigh, he’s decided Chuuya is dangerously close to snapping and tearing the bandages right from his own flesh. This hasn’t happened before, of course Chuuya’s asked to see what’s underneath, but every time previously he’s reluctantly respected Dazai’s boundaries. Yes, he’d expressed his unwillingness, but he’s never threatened to force Dazai into showing him something so personal. Perhaps the prospect of potential danger is enough to push Dazai’s wishes aside. But why would that be? Dazai is hardly worthy of such feelings from another human, let alone Chuuya. He’s dragged from his thoughts when Chuuya speaks again, his voice laced with barely contained venom, the words hissing with spite behind his teeth.
“I’m giving you 10 fucking seconds to unwrap them, or I’ll shred them to bits.”
“And what will you do if you get them off?”
“Treat whatever is causing so much damn blood, idiot!”
Chuuya exclaims, every word dusted with frustration, his tone sprinkled with annoyance. Of course Dazai knew he would want to do that, he has no doubt Chuuya will take any opportunity to see his vulnerability and use it against him. God the chibi is predictable.
“10…9…8…”
Dazai returns to the moment. Chuuya is currently counting down as if Dazai is a misbehaving toddler. How childish of him, it almost makes Dazai feel foolish. Almost. Dazai carefully slides his eyesight from Chuuya’s fuming face to the comforting shape of an escape route: the door to the bathroom, reinforced with a lock. Dazai doubts the 16‑year‑old has the guts to break the door down so for the time being it’s a failsafe plan. As long as he can make it there in the first place.
“5…4…”
Dazai is careful to keep his posture relaxed, although he doesn’t take Chuuya as the particularly observant type, it would be stupid to be caught in such a way. The odds are in his favour of making this successfully as long as he isn’t predictable, and that should be easy enough.
“2…1…”
Before Chuuya can even move an inch, Dazai springs into action at the last possible moment, firstly ducking swiftly to the right, just enough to trigger Chuuya’s movement, before abruptly switching to the left. Chuuya is not fast enough to see this coming, perhaps he should take Dazai’s advice in being more watchful…especially of somebody such as himself. He rushes past with the agility of a cornered animal given the taste of freedom, and Chuuya makes a less than graceful sound of frustration.
“Damn it Dazai! Get back here you fucking bastard, there’s nowhere to even go!”
That’s where Chuuya’s wrong, he should not underestimate Dazai’s success rate at avoiding less than convenient situations. He reaches the bathroom door just as Chuuya begins to rush after him, stubbornly set on not accepting defeat, and Dazai manages to pull it open with an air of infuriating nonchalance and slip inside. Click. Locked. Safe. Dazai exhales the built up pressure in his lungs just as Chuuya’s angry fist connects with the door in a loud slam. Dazai still does not believe he’ll actually try and break it down, that boy is all bark and no bite…usually anyway.
“Open this damn door, mackerel, or I swear to god I will drag your skinny ass out with my bare fists!”
Comes Chuuya’s angry growl from the other side of the door, which is still perfectly intact. Expected. The slug really is so predictable.
“And how do you plan on doing that? Last time I checked you can’t just phase through solid objects. Unless I’ve really overlooked your ability, that is…?”
Dazai feels the lock begin to turn in his palm, no doubt Chuuya has begun to attempt to manipulate the lock with his gravity control. Too bad Dazai already suspected he would try such a thing, and so he holds the lock carefully in place with a cold fist. He hears a string of curses from the other side of the door before the tension on the lock falls away. Silence. Movement. More silence. Then…
“Dazai, if you don’t come out in the next 10 seconds— and no I’m not fucking counting aloud this time— I’m gonna do something you really, really, won’t like.”
Intrigued, Dazai stays quiet. The redhead is usually oh so very predictable, and Dazai has made it in his best interest to let the boy know such a fact. And this is why it piques his curiosity that Chuuya speaks as if he knows something that Dazai does not, as if he actually believes whatever it is he plans on doing Dazai has not already guessed and planned out. And so that is why he remains silent, pent in on listening to any movement or general sounds that follow. Dazai believes he has the upper hand, but he isn’t stupid…he knows when to learn from his opponent and when to shut up. A short period of silence stretches between them, Dazai can feel the energy radiating from the other side of the door, he has no doubt Chuuya is working himself into quite the strop. Such an angry, angry dog.
“You leave me no choice, dickface. I’m calling Oda.”
Dazai’s breath falters. That is…unexpected. Chuuya’s gonna call Odasaku? Damn it. He didn’t even know Chuuya had the man’s number, let alone would actually think of calling him. That reason must be because of Dazai, yes, he can picture it now. Odasaku giving Chuuya his number, warning him to call if Dazai gives him any shit or endangers himself. This situation most definitely ticks both those categories. Dazai partially believes he’s bluffing until the unmistakable sound of a dial tone meets his ears. Crap.
“Chuuya, come on, Odasaku won’t want to be disturbed over such a trivial—”
“Oda? Can you hear me?”
Shit. A brief pause.
“Yeah, it’s Dazai. He’s bleedin’ and hidin’ in the bathroom. Refusin’ to come on out, stubborn bastard.”
Another pause.
“2 minutes? Yeah yeah that works. Alright.”
A beep indicates the call ended. An unsettling weight lays in the pit of his stomach, guilt? Nerves? It hardly even matters, but Oda is definitely on his way and Dazai wouldn’t put breaking down this door past him.
“I’m assuming you’re not too goddamn deaf to have missed that? Oda’s on his way, and the guy didn’t sound all too happy.”
That tinge of smugness in Chuuya’s voice is…immature. He thinks he’s won, that’s why. But him winning insinuates Dazai lost. Dazai doesn’t lose, not at anything. Especially not something about his own body, not something like this. Dazai silently gets off the door, careful to keep his movements quiet. If that window is unlocked he could quite easily slip out, considering his slim figure and reckless behaviour. He’s met with a sudden sharp pain, shooting up both his forearms in such unison it feels like a planned ambush, rather than a plea for help from his body. He was so engrossed in winning the contest of stubbornness, he momentarily forgot what it was all about. He’s injured and bleeding. Under his soiled bandages are deep, hate‑fuelled slashes. As deep as he could get them, really. He had kept going until the sight of muscle was so unnerving he had to cover them with thick gauze. He then bled through said gauze…and his clothing…and on his bedsheets…and his floor, like now. The blood is dribbling down his exposed hand, soaking from the bandages as if they’re being wrung out, and pooling on the cream tiles below his bare feet. God can blood look pretty at a time like this, so much nicer out than in. The ringing of his mind is interrupted by the firm jangle of a doorbell. Right. Chuuya, Odasaku. Great.
“Come right in.”
Chuuya calls out down the hallway, not leaving his spot outside the bathroom door. He’s smart enough to suspect Dazai will attempt to run if he does. The front door opens and two sets of footsteps enter the house. Two…that isn’t right. Didn’t Chuuya only call Oda?
“I’ve got Ango here with me, Chuuya.”
Comes the steady voice belonging to no other than Odasaku. Just Dazai’s luck.
“Yeah alright, the bastard’s just locked himself in over here.”
The fall of approaching feet meet his ears. To be completely honest, Dazai finds himself panicking a little. His blood‑covered hands have an undeniable tremor and his heart is beating faster than ideal. Oda being here is one thing, and Ango?! Chuuya must really hate his guts, huh…
“Dazai?”
A firm, yet not unkind knock. One two three.
“It’s Oda. I hear you’re hurt? Can you open up?”
“It’s nothing, Odasaku, just the dog being dramatic again.”
Dazai stifles a snigger as he hears Chuuya growl, really living up to the name.
“I can smell the blood, Dazai.”
Okay, that’s not as funny. Dazai can smell the blood too, of course. It’s running down his fingers and onto the floor in little streams, meeting and breaking up at his knuckles, not that it matters as they all form one puddle on the floor anyway. It’s addictive to watch.
“I can handle it. It’s only a small amount.”
“What caused the blood?”
Ango asks in a tentative voice, but all four people present know the answer to that question. In fact, it’s so blatantly obvious it could be interpreted as mocking.
“The damn asshole was cuttin’ at himself again.”
Cheers Chuuya. Such an insightful one.
“Dazai…if you don’t open up this door I will have to break it down. Your safety is important, you’re only 16…I can’t just leave you to sort out what could be multiple wounds in need of stitching.”
The logic is present in the statement, which is why Dazai doesn’t grace their ears with a response. He doesn’t know how to answer without sounding like a stubborn child, a fact he has no doubt Chuuya would point out. What a joke.
“You’ve—”
“Let me guess, Chuuya. I’ve got ten seconds?”
His sarcasm is met with an irritated scoff, no doubt who it belongs to. A tense, suspenseful silence falls over the group, it seems to stretch on and on…waiting to be broken by action rather than words. Dazai’s eyes are yet again drawn to the blood pooling on the bathroom tiles, they make him think of a hospital. Hmm…when did the pool of blood get that big? It could almost make him giggle, he’s been so distracted by those outside he didn’t even notice…why is the room moving like that? It’s irritating, it is not that difficult to remain stationary. At long last, the tedious silence is broken by an annoyed exhale from Chuuya and the words, ringing with finality.
“He’s had long enough.”
Dazai slowly steps away from the door, if it’s to be broken down it would be a good idea to not be leaning against it. Or maybe that would actually be the solution to this problematic situation, he could probably reach a decision if the room would just stay fucking still. He stumbles backwards, nearly slipping on the mess of blood on the floor. Wow. That’s much more than previously, in fact…it’s almost concerning. Almost. The thought is dismissed from his mind to be replaced by the agitated voices on the other side of the swaying door. What a pretty door, has he noticed that before? Too bad it’s about to be kicked in.
“Dazai, step away from the door.”
Dazai grins to himself, he’s always two steps ahead, even of Odasaku. He unsteadily walks back further, leaving bloody footprints, he must have been stood in his blood for a good while now. Eugh. That’s when he’s once more drawn to the situation at hand, the unmistakable sensation of Chuuya’s ability flickers under his skin. Of course, the second he steps away from the door, Chuuya will simply unlock it like his original plan. So damn predictable…and yet he didn’t anticipate that move? The blood loss must really be getting to him. Click. Slam. The door is flung open with such aggression Dazai physically recoils. It’s fine…Dazai just needs to keep them away. Simple. His legs shake.
“Dazai.”
The breathy voice of Ango…ahh, they’re in the bathroom now, looking at him with so much concern he wants to scratch the feeling off his skin, rip it from each molecule. Dazai looks wearily at each one in turn, why is it suddenly so damn hard to read their body language? It’s like everything is jumping out at him at once, every little detail demanding his full, unwavering attention. That is something he simply cannot deliver. His gaze falls to the bloodied floor, a feeling of defeat that he knows none of them will recognise. They won’t realise that he just lost that small advantage, his composure slipping further from his grasp, as though it’s slick with blood.
“Dazai…”
The man starts again, though his voice has lost that hint of shock, replaced with an unyielding grip of full‑blown panic.
“What have—what have you done?!”
He takes a step closer to Dazai’s defensive posture and he responds by slinking further into the corner of the room. Pitiful. Pathetic. Like an injured animal…well, is that not exactly what he is? Even Chuuya looks worried, what Dazai would do to have the embodiment of anger rain full force on him instead. God, it hurts so much less.
“Okay,” breathes Odasaku, clearly expertly taking every element into consideration. He should never underestimate that man, noted.
“Dazai, I know you don’t want us to, but you need to let us treat whatever is causing this much blood. It’s clearly deeper than any of us initially thought…and if you don’t let us, we’ll make you.”
There is no room for argument. It isn’t a suggestion, or even a thought. It is a fact, a simple analysis, on Odasaku’s part, of what exactly is about to take place. How mortifying. Since when does blood loss cause one to lose their ability to manoeuvre their tongue into forming proper sentences? All he can force out are broken down slurs of speech.
“No…you stay…back, no…way I am…no.”
“Dazai,” Chuuya snarls,
“This is not up to fucking debate. I’ll restrain you myself if I must, but you’re not bleeding out for your goddamn pride!”
So very typical. Of course Chuuya does not at all understand the logic behind Dazai’s choices. Not that he expects him to, somebody with a simple mind to this extremity, blatantly cannot fathom such complex thoughts. Dazai keeps his revolutions to himself, though, he imagines it is probably not the best response at the current time. Like it’s a new habit of his, he is yet again brought from his interlinked thoughts when the group around him take a step closer. He spews the first protest that comes to mind.
“Stay b-back! I…said n-no. You—you won’t…”
He trails off…Dazai Osamu does not stutter. He has never once in his life, as he always interprets it as a sign of stupidity. Speech impediment this, anxiety that, somebody in complete control of their thoughts can easily convert them into coherent and logical sentences. Though, Dazai ponders, he is hardly in control…yes that must be the explanation.
“Dazai, we aren’t going to hurt you. We’re here to help, you know this. We’re well acquainted, no? Friends, even? Have a little trust…”
Odasaku is a wise, wise man. But he’s wrong