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Honestly, when Dazai came into the armed detective agency’s office building while singing to himself and supporting his weight on two crutches, no one had been surprised. The bandage-covered man had a knack for coming in with a bruise on his cheek or cuts all over his face, so it had become routine for his coworkers. With a quota of at least one suicide attempt every two days, it was normal for one or two to go awry and the detectives at the ADA had realized that very quickly.
Well, except Atsushi.
The young man had never truly adjusted himself to the sight of who he considered his mentor always being hurt of injured. Of course, he was aware of the many suicide attempts that Dazai did on a daily basis but, by some sort of miracle, the man had never broken a bone from all of those. (Yes, there was this one time he had willingly been involved into a car crash, but that was calculated so it didn’t count.)
“Hi, everyone~”, Dazai cheerfully said, moving towards the couch he usually laid on with a little bit of difficulty. It was quite obvious that the man had never needed to use crutches before, despite his previous occupation before the armed detective agency. With a little huff, the executive turned detective let himself fall on the green couch, eyes closing immediately and mind apparently slipping off to dream land abnormally fast. Again, nothing new to see here. Insomnia, nightmares and obsessive thoughts plagued nearly every single worker at the Armed Detective Agency, so having a good night of rest was nearly unheard of in the workplace. That was also the main reason why there was a couch in the office in the first place. Of course, falling asleep that face wasn’t too normal, but Dazai was the complete opposite of a normal person so nothing to see here either.
Meanwhile, everyone else continued on with their day. Ranpo continued on with his teasing, Kyōka and Atsushi continued on with their conversation, Kunikida continued on being the only one who was truly working and so on. It was a normal day in the office, for now.
***
As the week unraveled, Atsushi’s worries towards Dazai considerably grew.
The other man didn’t seem to get better. Actually, he was slowly starting to look more and more like he was on the verge of passing out and said look didn’t have its place on the face of a man who prided himself in always being a thousand steps ahead. After all, wouldn’t being ahead of all others mean more time to take care of oneself ? By Dazai’s book, definitely not. Scheming such complicated and twisted plans took time, after all, even for someone who seemed like a genius who’s brain ever stopped working (except Ranpo. Ranpo needed stimuli to work, but he was still smart.)
The calculative, cunning Dazai had made place for the paler than usual, seemingly always sleeping one. The man was still going around with his crutches, but he looked like he was having more and more trouble using them. The usually jovial and teasing expressions made place for more emotionless and strained ones. What Atsushi had dubbed “the deadpan stare” was getting more prominent too. The usually neat and stark white bandages that littered Dazai’s body looked a few days old, like he hadn’t changed them for a while. Every now and then, Atsushi swore he could see a little bit of crimson on his saviour’s back, but it’s not like he was going to go and check. Everything seemed too out of place, so much unlike Dazai that Atsushi found himself wondering how no one had asked the man if he was alright yet. One day, when the injured man called to ask for a day-off (as if he needed to), Atsushi and Kyōka finally approached Kunikida about what was plaguing their mind (mainly the weretiger’s) for the past few days.
“Kunikida-san, have you noticed something... odd about Dazai-san ?” Atsushi asked, voice coming off a little unsure and shaky. After all, Kunikida had known the man for way longer than Atsushi. Who knew ? Maybe this was just one of his phases and it would wear off eventually.
“He has been acting a little odd these days, but I bet it’s because he’s tried another one of those damn mushrooms...”, Kunikida answered under his breath, eyes focused entirely on the piece of paper in front of him. The subject had been abandoned as quickly as it had been brought up, unsurprisingly so since the man they were talking about liked to take a dive into the river and let himself drown every now and then.
“Still...”, Atsushi sighed when Kyōka and himself walked away from Kunikida. “Dazai-san has never looked this bad...”
The easiest way to know would of course be to ask the man himself, but Dazai was Dazai. When it came to avoiding questions about his well-being or his past in the Port Mafia, the older man was a professional and probably world champion. The duo would just need to wait and see how everything would unfold and hope for the best.
***
In the blink of an eye, days transformed into weeks and Dazai was showing no signs of getting better. Worse, he looked more and more fragile as the days passed. If some people told him that he looked like a doll before, mainly because of his unhealthy body shape, he certainly looked like one now. A sick, very fragile and already damaged doll.
Dazai was still going around with his wooden crutches, his body leaning so heavily on them that it looked like they were bending. Despite his rapidly deteriorating condition, the man hadn’t missed a single day of work since that time two weeks ago. Surprisingly, that day off had had the opposite effect on Dazai.
Instead of getting better, the detective had come back from that rare day of vacation with a huge slash on his cheek. No bandages had been applied on the cut and, by the looks of if, it hadn’t been treated properly too. When asked when he’d go see Yosano, Dazai simply stated that he could take care of himself with one of his signature fake smirk. He also absolutely refused to explain the origins of the injury to anyone, dancing around the issue each time it had been brought up by Kyōka or Atsushi. Meanwhile, the other members of the armed detective agency didn’t seem to be bothered by their coworker’s rapidly deteriorating state, probably deeming it normal for the suicide manic. The slash was most likely another attempt gone wrong, just like all the other times.
On the other hand, even though he had known him for the shortest amount of time out of nearly all his coworkers, Atsushi was getting more and more worried for the man who helped him find his place in society. Sometimes, when he was in a bad mood or when he let his mind wander off too far, Atsushi would wonder about what would’ve happened to him if he hadn’t met Dazai that fateful day. “The Port Mafia would’ve most likely captured me, especially with that huge bounty on my head” was usually the answer he came up with every single time. But it hadn’t happened and, as ironic as it sounded, Atsushi had been saved by a former executive of the organization that wanted his head. Maybe that was why the young weretiger worried so much about the older male. The man had shaped him into who he was today.
Each day, the young detective would hope that his saviour would come in the workplace without any new injuries in vain, since it never happened. Dazai’s face was now riddled with scars, slashes, bruises and hastily placed band-aids. A lot of the slashes weren’t even covered by anything, which was abnormal for the man who covered his whole body in bandages everyday. Said bandages didn’t look too fresh either, most likely not changed much since Dazai needed to focus on his real wounds. And that was only those on his face. Who knew how many injuries Dazai was hiding under that heavy coat and these not-so-white anymore bandages ? The thoughts of a person close to him dying wasn’t something Atsushi wanted, but they kept plaguing his mind and he couldn’t get them out of his head. What if his mentor suddenly didn’t show up one day only to be found dead somewhere ? The guilt of not having acted upon his suspicious would literally eat Atsushi away, leaving nothing but regrets and disappointment towards oneself behind.
However, what worried the weretiger even more were the abnormally huge dark circles that were growing under the suicide maniac’s eyes. It seemed like the naps he was constantly taking instead of teasing Kunikida weren’t helping him at all. Dazai always looked tired, that was a fact, but he would give up and sleep before burnout. Sleeping in the middle of a confrontation wasn’t ideal and even if the man desperately wanted to die, he wanted to do it with a beautiful woman by his side, not a scummy ability user.
“Dazai-san, are you ok ?” Atsushi asked on one of the rare days where the older man didn’t come in and go straight for the couch. Instead, he was currently sitting on said couch, heavily leaning on the cushion with a strained expression on his face. His crutches laid abandoned on the side of the couch while the book he had brought for the day (most likely about suicide or something related) laid closed on the man’s lap. Obviously, he had no intentions of reading the thing, but keeping up appearances was one of Dazai’s speciality so of course he was going to bring something useless everyday like he usually did.
“Mmmh ? I’m fine, Atsushi-kun”, the older male answered, grin spreading across his face as fake happiness took over. A cracked mask, something Dazai rarely displayed over a perfect facade. His barriers were falling, just like he was.
That made the weretiger worry even more. The situation suddenly seemed way more serious than he previously thought.
What if his mentor was dying right now, right in front of his very eyes, and he had no clues ? Keeping things a secret was one of Dazai’s best ability, if not his best one, and he used said ability to his advantage very often. Even if one of his wicked schemes involved someone’s life, he wouldn’t tell. So why would he tell when it involved his life ? After all, the man had been longing for death for so long...
“Erm... Sorry to have bothered you !” Atsushi quickly apologized, bowing before fleeing back to his own desk. Anxiety, deeply rooted self-hatred and doubts had yet again killed his resolve, nothing new for the poor orphan.
Dazai just smiled, his expression becoming more and more strained and fake as the young detective returned from where he came. Wincing slightly, the ex mafioso laid down on his back, injuries from not too long ago throbbing against the hastily placed bandages. The edges of his vison blurred a little, but the man quickly blinked it away. No, he had even through worse. Nothing could beat Mori and his punishments when a mission didn’t go as planned. Petty and undertrained ability users wouldn’t be able to get rid of the demon prodigy, that Dazai would make sure of it.
***
How had all of this started and why ? Dazai had a clue or two, but he’d need to be 100% sure before deciding which party was responsible for his recent misfortune. Everything fell too perfectly; the attacks were too precise and clearly targeted his life and his life only. Not many organizations had so much manpower that they could afford to throw ability users at their target so mindlessly. The people sent weren’t trained enough, didn’t have enough experience for their death to impact their organization. So, who ?
Two organizations had both the manpower and motives necessary to be able to pull such hellish plays. It was either the Port Mafia, which seemed highly likely, or that one organization that the ADA had taken down recently. What was their name again ? Dead Men’s Wonder or something ? Dazai couldn’t even remember. It was only another drop of black in an already filled vase.
So how could such a miserable group cause this big of a ruckus in an ex-executive of the Port Mafia’s life ? Dazai wondered and pondered, information he had collected on the organization to bring them down flooding his brain. Who was Dead Men’s wonder ?
An insignificant group was the ultimate answer to the cunning and logical part of Dazai’s brain. Their strength, as futile as it was, did not rely on smarts, but on number and the “bigger army” policy. Their strategy, because they really only had one, was to use this impressive number of members to threaten people into submission, either to sell them or to forcefully recruit them. Nothing the Port Mafia hadn’t done already, but with a name like Dead Men’s Wonder, you couldn’t expect too much originality. Also, the organization did not focus on building loyalty, apparently certain that fear was stronger in any situations. So, no wonder it took a small attack on the headquarters for the whole thing to crumble. The number of people that deserted on the spot was even bigger than Dazai imagined. The only redeeming factor that Dead Men’s Wonder had going for itself was that it acted silently, hidden in the shadows, well, most of the time at least. They had been a little more reckless these days, and it had costed them the whole organization.
As the number of ability users getting snatched out of nowhere brutally rose, so did the curiosity from both the ADA and the Port Mafia towards the group. Dead Men’s Wonder had really shot themselves in the foot with that one, add the cockiness of leaving a rose as crimson as the pins their members wore, and they were done for. The sudden combined attention of groups much stronger than them must’ve been quite the surprise.
And so, before the Port Mafia’s subordinates came in their hideout to blow all their heads out, the ADA had made their move first. Atsushi, Dazai, Kyōka and Kunikida were dispatched to take care of the organization as quietly as possible but, in a city like Yokohama, where blood was thicker than water, words spread like wildlife and so did rumours.
So, either the Port Mafia was pissed at the ADA (wouldn’t be the first time) for making the first move and arresting potential new members so they decided to kill off the brain of the operation or some ability users from what used to be Dead Men’s Wonder were fucking with him. Either way, it was getting painfully annoying very, very fast.
The first attack had been elaborate, quick and most likely lethal if Dazai wasn’t who he is. In the dead of the night, without making any sort of sound or error, an assassin with overflowing dark clothing came to put a knife to the ex-executive’s throat. Before the other man could slice the detective’s neck, Dazai’s perfected and trained reflexes kicked in (one of the few things Dazai was grateful for that were from Mori) and, in one quick and precise movement, that assassin had his own knife in his left eye socket. Letting out a blood-curling scream, the assassin crashed into the opened window, tumbling down to the ground with a sickening crack. Good riddance.
But then, all the attacks after this one became more and more choppy. So choppy, in fact, that it destroyed any possibility of the Port Mafia being behind this whole disaster and left only one possibility : remnants of Dead Men’s Wonder.
They were unorganized and it was so painfully obvious that it made Dazai laugh each time one went tumbling down his window. Instead of the first assassin that prioritized silence and sneakiness, the other ones were slow on their feet and loud. In their target’s eyes, they weren’t even worthy of the tittle “assassin”. They were more like a bunch of disorganized muscle heads that wanted to avenge their organization but didn’t knew how. And, to make it worse, they all had abilities.
One that could turn anything into gas here, another one that could multiply there and Dazai had had enough. Despite being easy enough to defeat and scare off, the small fights in his apartment were still taking a toll on his body. His apartment had already been disorganized enough beforehand, now it looked like a war zone 24/7. Plus, it was only a matter of time until one of the neighbours complained to the landlord about the noises. The situation was terribly annoying to Dazai because it was out of his grasp. Getting the ADA involved in this wouldn’t solve anything (the rag tag group didn’t need their permission to send assassins, after all) and he couldn’t afford to just disappear out of nowhere to go investigate now that he had an apprentice under his care. Atsushi had a talent to get himself involved with the wrong people and the ADA couldn’t afford to lose a powerful ability user like him. So, each day, Dazai dragged himself on his crutches to the office, throwing himself on the couch as soon as he arrived and pretended to sleep as he monitored the conversations that were happening around him. Not having an absolute sense of control over everything that was going was something Dazai loathed. If he already knew everything that was going to happen, the possibility of a mistake being made was smaller.
One slip-up could be fatal...
…
…
…
Was. It was fatal.
Not anymore... Mistakes weren’t punished severely now. He was done with that, escaped towards the light just like Odasaku had wanted…
Dazai shook is head a little, darker thoughts once again filling his head without him noticing. The man focused again, chasing away any thoughts related to either Mori or his own years in Port Mafia. His past was unimportant now.
If a mission that involved the Port Mafia or any remotely dangerous organization was pushed towards Atsushi, the older detective would drag himself out of the office to the designed destination before the weretiger did to monitor it. In this situation, the ADA couldn’t allow any errors of fatal injuries, especially after taking down Dead Men’s Wonder and pissing off the Port Mafia. If Dazai could sacrifice a little bit of himself to protect the kids, then it was worth it. This was, in a sense, his own way of caring for the people he appreciated.
But, of course, all of this was such a pain in the ass, especially after that one assailant had thought that gas would surely kill the ex-executive. Jokes on him, Dazai keeps a gas mask under his bed at all time (take that, asshole !). After leaving quite the mark on the unknown man’s body, aka making him inhale his own gas, the detective had realized that he had breathed some of the darned poison, but most likely not quite enough to kill him (how sad). As a result, instead of suffering from a slow and painful death, Dazai had started experiencing troubles with breathing and, as a result, moving around with his crutches had gotten even more tedious. Seriously, these attacks needed to stop.
The only positive point to this whole situation is that his leg was getting better (he set it himself !) and he would soon not even need the crutches to move around anymore. That’d be one burden taken off his body, that is if no one broke his other leg.
Or if he didn’t break that one all over again.
Suddenly, a conversation between Kunikida and Atsushi dragged Dazai out of his thoughts.
The remnants of an organization, mmmh ?
“I need you to go and investigate a warehouse recently turned headquarters approximately fourteen kilometres away from here”, Kunikida said, eyes serious as he stood in front of Atsushi and a retreating Kyōka. “We took down the main base a few weeks ago, but it seems like who we thought was the head of the organization was just a figurehead.”
“The name’s Dead Men’s Wonder. They’re a drugs and abilities trafficking ring, nothing too big but still a threat to this city. Now that their main base got destroyed, their reputation and influence are crumbling and I guess they’re using their dying breath to cause as much havoc as possible.”
“The only thing you’ll need to do is take out the remnants and call the cops”, Kunikida finished, pushing his glasses up with his finger before adding a “got it ?”.
The pair of younger detectives nodded, already making their way towards the door before Kunikida could add anything to his speech. Dazai sighed before pushing himself up too, crutches in his hands as he directed himself towards the door too. Atsushi eyed him without saying anything, worry splashed across his face.
“What’s up ?” Dazai asked, facade back on his face as he tried to make his tone as teasing as he possibly could. “I just want to go to the bathroom, wanna go with me ?”
Atsushi snapped out of his trance, apologizing profusely before going through the door and making way for his mentor. Dazai smiled at him, said smile immediately slipping away as he made his way towards the bathroom. Of course, yet another excuse to let the duo go ahead as he would follow them from the shadows. As usual, the detective would not intervene if he saw he wasn’t needed, just overlook the battle and maybe fire a shot or two at the people that got too close. Or throw a well-aimed punch if he didn’t find any guns, which seemed unlikely.
Just from that small trip from the couch to the bathroom, he was a little out of breath. Yes, he wasn’t the strongest person in the ADA physically speaking, but still...
Man, I feel like I’m ten-thousand years old...
One trip on his crutches to that warehouse awaited him right after, and that certainly wouldn’t be pleasant. What a beautiful day this was.
One minute, two minutes, five minutes passed...
Dazai was gone from the bathroom.
***
One taxi drive later and the ADA duo was standing in front of the warehouse. They had gotten a worried look from their driver, the destination being a dangerous area and all, but Atsushi couldn’t care less. What was in his mind, what had occupied it for weeks now, was his mentor’s condition. Lost in thoughts, Atsushi didn’t even realize his legs starting to walk by themselves towards the warehouse.
From outside, the building simply looked a little wore down, but operational. There was an eery silence that surrounded it, which was kind of abnormal for a functional looking building that was currently housing the remnants of a criminal organization.
“They noticed us, or already knew we were coming”, Kyōka said out loud, effectively snapping Atsushi out of his daydream. He needed to focus on the situation at hand.
“Let’s just bust through the wall opposite of the door”, Atsushi suggested, the tiger already ready and growling in excitement at the inevitable fight. “Let’s try intimidation, then we’ll take them out if they resist.”
“Understood.”
“No aiming for any vital organs, we take them out, ok ?”
“...Yes”
With a boom, a huge white tiger busted through the wall of a warehouse in broad daylight.
***
Despite having cut the length he needed to travel by more than half by taking a taxi, Dazai was still struggling to get to the damn warehouse. Sweat was pooling against his forehead as his tired and sore muscles cried in pain against his will. He was getting a lot of looks from passerby, but he couldn’t give a shit right know. If Atsushi and Kyōka had truly been sent to fight against the organization that had been harassing him for more than two weeks, he knew things could only go wrong. Despite the high number of ability users he had kil- incapacitated, the strongest ones would obviously stay with the real leader in fear of the ADA attacking again.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Dazai and his reopening wounds, the form of the wicked warehouse appeared. From afar, he could see smoke coming out of what looked like a gaping hole in one of the walls of the building. The man smirked; this couldn’t be mistaken as something else than Atsushi’s handiwork. He quickened his pace, nearly tripping one or ten times as his arms screamed at the strain. Dazai could now feel the blood dripping down his back, arms and legs, seeping through his hastily placed bandages as the crimson liquid stained his clothes. His lungs cried and cried again, apparently very frustrated with their owner. Oh well... Step after step, huff after groan, Dazai made his way towards the pierced wall.
Before him now stood a hole and inside said hole stood a total of maybe twenty people, minus Atsushi and Kyōka. Dazai hid himself behind the part of the wall that hadn’t been completely destroyed, deciding to gather as much information as he could before acting upon his impulses. But, by the lack of blade clashing against steel and roars of a majestic tiger, things didn’t look too good for the young detective duo.
Instead of a huge tiger clawing his way through waves of men, a defeated Atsushi laid on the ground, spear impaled through his shoulder as the young man did his best to get the man holding him still off him. Blood was also seeping through his usually white shirt in different spots, injured Dazai noted. Just in case, the weretiger was also surrounded by at least ten men armed to the teeth, a kick or punch thrown at the already defeated boy here and there. Kyōka, on the other hand, was also surrounded by what looked like ability users, Demon Snow protecting her with its sword to the best of its capability. All men had their attention on something, either Atsushi or Kyōka or both. The boss himself was overlooking the whole process, wicked grin stretching from one ear to another at the thought of the money he was soon going to make.
Across the warehouse, piles of boxes were stacked up high, their content unknown but certainly not legal. Guns were also not hidden from plain sight, a stack of them resting in the left corner.
As he finished analyzing the warehouse, Dazai ditched his crutches and, as quietly as he could, ran towards the left corner of the building. His leg screamed at him, but it didn’t matter right now. His two goals were simple and as clear as day :
- Get revenge on the people who made his life a living hell for the past two weeks.
- Save the kids.
The man quickly ducked behind the pile of boxes, grabbing a gun or two as he did so because why not (free and easily accessible guns ! Who would say no ?). It quickly became very apparent that the remnants of the gang weren’t very professional and experienced when it came to taking prisoners, guarding their belongings and just being mafiosos in general. The best of them had probably gotten arrested, Dazai concluded as he loaded his new possessions and clicked the safety of one off. His first target should be the man pinning the weretiger down. If Atsushi couldn’t activate Beast Beneath The Moonlight, it meant that whatever was holding him down was either cancelling or weakening his ability. The next target would be the nearest man after that.
Dazai raised to his feet as instincts took over his body, adrenaline rushing through him as years of experience came rushing back into his system.
BANG
***
The attack had succeeded until it hadn’t.
The sudden appearance of a huge tiger busting through a wall hadn’t surprised the men as much as the pair of detectives had thought. The men had frozen for a second, as planned, but hadn’t stayed like that for long. Before he knew it, Atsushi had been surrounded by at least ten men without a clue of what he should do next. He couldn’t just claw through them, Kunikida had clearly instructed him to take them out and call the cops, but he couldn’t just let Kyōka and himself be captured either.
The tiger roared, paws flailing through the air and teeth barring towards his assailants. Men started flying, thrown accros the room by the tiger before getting up like nothing had happened and throwing themselves back into the melee. Kyōka, on her side, had let out Demon Snow, cellphone tightly clutched into her hands. She mainly focused on hitting the men with the blunt of Demon Snow’s katana, the order to not kill resonating inside of her head.
As the fight continued and the men kept on coming, a scream, or rather, a roar, pierced the air. The huge white tiger exploded in a burst of light, young man with silver hair falling to the ground as a black spear pierced clean through his shoulder. The pain was unusually bright, the healing factor of the tiger failing to at least stop the blood flow.
This spear... what is this ?
Pinned to the ground, Atsushi let out a yelp as a boot was brusquely brought down against his back, crushing his bones underneath its weight. Said yelp registered to Kyōka’s ears, the moment of inattention costing her her advantage in the fight she was currently partaking in. In the blink of an eye, she had been surrounded, guns pointed at her from all directions as Demon Snow placed itself behind her, blade drawn protectively.
Another scream tore itself out of Atsushi’s throat as a myriad of punches, kicks and stomps fell upon his body. The poor man instinctively protected his head, losing consciousness was not an option right now ! He couldn’t abandon Kyōka...!
He-
BANG
A gunshot resonated throughout the warehouse, effectively gaining the attention of every single person in the building. Before any movements could be made, the man on top of Atsushi crumbled, screams tearing themselves out of his mouth as blood started seeping from the wound on his kneecap. With deadly accuracy, the bullet had gone inside of said kneecap from behind, shattering the bone and rendering the man useless. Before a movement could be made to help the man, another gunshot resonated, followed by a myriad of said gunshots. One aimed at the boss who had been trying to use his ability, a few at the crowd that surrounded Kyōka and more at the one that surrounded Atsushi. Multiple men went down as the younger detectives took the opportunity to get out of their tight spot, the scale now tipped back in their advantage.
Atsushi, with a grunt, tore the spear out of his shoulder, healing factors immediately kicking in as he let the spear clatter against the ground. The beast inside of him growled, not very happy to have been overpowered. With an inhuman screech, claws and teeth pierced through shoulders and legs, no mercy left in the tiger’s mind.
Kyōka’s Demon Snow took the opportunity to slash at the men in a circular motion, blade not going too deep in but enough to leave them a whimpering mess on the floor. The entity continued its attack, quickly going back to hitting people with the blunt of its sword.
Dazai himself ran as fast as he could, leg nearly giving in under him as blood from reopened injuries dripped to the ground. He aimed his gun again, this time at the nearest man he could see, aiming for the kneecap or thigh. Years of experience with a gun certainly came in handy in these types of situations where killing a target would land him straight into prison. Careful as to not hit any artery, Dazai took his time to aim as he ran around like a madman to dodge his opponent’s bullets. His body was straining at the effort, bruises, cuts and burns overpowering the initial rush of adrenaline. Throwing himself behind a box, Dazai wheezed, air refusing to get into his lungs. His vision had started to blur, eyelids fluttering from the effort of staying awake. He needed to end this, quickly.
Dazai’s eyes drained of any emotions as he quickly decided on what to do, mindset switching back to his Port Mafia self that he had never truly lost. The men that had been targeting him weren’t shooting at the box anymore. That meant something, or rather someone, had directed their attention somewhere else. From the roars and growls he could hear in between a scream and a gunshot, the tiger had come out to play again. With all the chaos going around, stray bullets were common. Now was his chance to take the killing shot. As quickly as his defeated body could, Dazai raised to his feet and aimed.
BANG
There went the boss of Dead Men’s Wonder, bullet lodged in-between his eyes.
There also went Dazai’s clothes as a piercing pain made itself known towards his side.
The bullet hadn’t lodged itself in his side, but it had definitely hit.
As the boss of the organization went down to the floor, blood pooling from his forehead, so did Dazai.
The noises surrounding the older detective became muffled as he vaguely heard a roar of anger from a familiar white tiger. Falling onto his side, Dazai’s vision completely blanked out, ears only picking on distant noises of an ending battle.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, dead silence made itself known.
Checkmate
***
As the last few men still standing were brusquely knocked down by Demon Snow, Atsushi rushed to their saviour’s side. Amongst all the chaos, the duo hadn’t yet taken a glance at who had shot the first bullet, too preoccupied by the opportunity said bullet had given them. Now that the dust had settled down and everyone was either bleeding onto the concrete floor or unconscious with an ugly bump growing from their head, the weretiger could finally take a proper look and identify the person. As the tiger settled down inside of his chest, Atsushi made his way towards the man before freezing in his track.
The brown coat, the bandaged hand weakly clutching a gun while the other did its best to apply pressure to the wound...
“DAZAI-SAN !”
The ex-mafioso was lying on his uninjured side (well, not truly uninjured, but the one that wasn’t actively bleeding out), gasping and wheezing as his body completely burnt itself out. Without even being able to see it, Atsushi knew the wound was ugly. Bright red against far too pale skin, Dazai couldn’t even muster the energy to breath as he felt blood gather beneath him into a puddle from all the cuts and bruises that had reopened. The ugly gash from an ice peak that had been thrown at him three days ago had reopened itself yet again, crimson blood pouring out like a cascade. The cuts, the bruises, the burns, all of them felt like they were being brutally reopened and slammed against a hot iron. His stomach also grumbled in pain, the last of his reserve burnt out from the fight. Exhaustion was also catching up with him, dark bags even more prominent now that they were contrasting against his skin that was getting paler (if that was even possible) by the minute.
Blood loss is truly a bitch...
In his dazed state, he could feel hands push against his wound, the pain radiating from it suddenly way, way worse. Dazai choked down a whimper as he tried to wiggle his way out of the pain. His mind was going numb, his ears were truly starting to completely shut down and his lungs were on fire.
I’ll just go to sleep real quick...
With a bit of luck, I won’t wake up...
...
...
...
***
Finally, after two weeks of straight hell, the remnants of Dead Men’s Wonder were finally arrested. Kyōka and Atsushi fled the scene with Dazai on the weretiger’s back, the older man’s survival more important than explaining to the cops what had unfolded. They’d need to figure out the logistics of the hole in the wall and all the claw marks that littered the ground by themselves.
Without missing a beat, Atsushi called Kunikida for help, knowing that bringing Dazai to an hospital was too risky of a move for both his and the ADA’s safety (after all, being involved in a gunfight wasn’t a very good thing reputation-wise).
For two days straight, Dazai slept without even moving a finger. After having examined him, Yosano had concluded that most of the injuries that littered the man’s body weren’t very recent. The dots had been quickly connected by the rest of the agency and guilt started choking half of them.
“A broken leg, a gash most likely caused by an object with a spiked end, bruises caused by a myriad of blunt weapons, a broken rib or two, burns and callouses most likely caused by fire... if my ability worked on him, I’d probably be able to fix him without even cutting a limb”, Yosano had concluded after leaving the infirmary for the first time after the trio’s sudden arrival.
“He’s stable for now, resting will help him recover faster”, she added, the underlying threat of loosing a limb if anyone went and bothered her patient very much present and strong. Atsushi, who had raised to his feet to go and visit his mentor, immediately threw himself back down, expression contorting into a mix of fear badly hidden by a smile. He’d need to learn a bit more from Dazai until he’d be able to pull a perfect facade like his mentor did. For now, the man deserved a good rest.
***
Recovery wouldn’t be hard, they said. Little did they know that keeping Dazai down was an impossible task.
The man, despite having been told a thousand times by Yosano that his wounds would heal faster if he stopped fucking around, kept on whining and escaping the infirmary. How ? No one even knew how the hell Dazai’s mind kept coming up with plans on how to exit the infirmary, but it sure happened, and it was getting unbearable. Everyone in the ADA knew Dazai loaded any sort of place that remotely resembled an hospital, but they didn’t think it was that bad. They also had no clues as to why he loaded a medical environment, blissfully ignorant to the existence of Mori in Dazai’s shielded past. Mistakes and trauma that, even after all these years, hadn’t quite registered yet kept the man going and fueled his will to just get out.
Dazai had even started to use work as an excuse to get out of bed. The papers that had been resting for months on top of his desk had disappeared, now completed and handed to the necessary person. It seemed like getting stuck in an uncomfortable bed was the ultimate motivator for the suicide maniac.
And, as Yosano predicted, the injuries that littered Dazai’s body took even more time to heal. Most bruises and minor cuts had faded away, the major injuries hidden under layers of bandages that Dazai had applied on himself. Even when Yosano had tried to strip him of the white fabrics, a weak but firm hand had grabbed her wrist. From beyond consciousness, Dazai’s troubles stayed the same.
Who knew what lied beneath the ton of bandages that were changed daily ? Just like the man’s previous job that had been given away by Akutagawa long ago in front of Atsushi, what was under the bandages was another one of the ADA’s great mysteries.
It was intriguing, how far one was willing to go to hide something in plain sight. Dazai had his mysteries and secrets, but he was always subtle about it. He often manipulated the situation to his advantage whether someone asked him about his past, either turning the question against the asker or boldly lying to their face. Whatever lied beneath the fabric was apparently something that was worth additional weeks of pain and suffering.
Dazai’s own state, on the other hand, hadn’t improved much either. His cuts and bruises were healing nicely, and his broken bone had finally healed, but what had been damaged couldn’t be repaired by modern medicine. The more days the detective spent sequestered in the infirmary, the more silent he became as the ex mafioso gained back his deadpan stare. Apparently, his body had finally reached the point of no return : Complete and absolute burnout. Atsushi had tried his best to help his mentor get out of this weird mental prison, but his lack of knowledge on said man’s past and what even haunted him in the first place played against him. The only one that could help Dazai recover was himself.
The man only needed time.
***
“Dazai-san, are you sure you’re alright ?”
Maybe asking this question while the duo was perched just above a group of armed men and their boss wasn’t the brightest idea, but who cared. It had been a few weeks since the incident with Dead Men’s Wonder and Dazai had apparently made a complete recovery. During his burnout that had stretched over two days, the man had just stayed on his back, occasionally going to the bathroom and often collapsing as he tried to go back to his infirmary bed. But, after these two days, the man was literally beaming. He looked better than ever; the two days of rest apparently having done wonder to his body.
“I’m fine”, Dazai responded, hand hovering over the hidden gun in his coat. Small dark bags could be seen under his eyes as he smirked and let himself fall onto one of the men, leaving a confused and screaming Atsushi behind as he too dropped to the ground.
Again, the question had been avoided. It would need to wait for now.
Or until the next burnout.