Chapter Text
After marriage, comes purpose. Dazai realizes what he wants: he wants to make a difference. Make a change in the world that he can physically step into.
“I want to open an orphanage,” Dazai states, one morning over breakfast, a couple of weeks after their blissful wedding, and Chuuya looks up in surprise.
“Where did that come from?”
He shrugs, looking away from his husband.
“I just want to help people. Kids. The ones who need help now and from the war. There are so many parents dead and so many kids who need help.”
Chuuya gives him a soft look.
“For Atsushi?” he asks, knowingly, but to his surprise, Dazai shakes his head.
“For everyone. Yes for Atsushi, but really for all of the orphans. For you and I. Kosuke, Katsumi, Yu, Shinji, and Sakura. The Flags: Lippman, Pianoman, Iceman, Albatross, and Doc. Sigma. Gin and Akutagawa. Aya. Tokika. Kyoka. Naomi and Junichiro. Every kid that became an orphan during the war and every kid who was an orphan because of the war.”
He looks across the room at Chuuya, the bittersweet taste of nostalgia trickling through his mind.
“There’s been so much pain already. I just want to make some people’s lives better.”
The money isn’t a problem, not after everything the two of them have done. Acquiring a large house and assets for care isn’t a difficult task. It’s the task of rounding up kids that really leaves them struggling.
But one day, Chuuya discovers a little girl on the side of the street, shivering, crying, and hiding in the shadows. Instantly, he offers her refuge to which she nearly denies. Still, he wears her down until eventually she lets him pick her up and carry her back to their house.
Her name, he’s told, is Masami Shinohara, and she’s five but she could pass for much younger. Through quiet words, she explains that her parents recently died and she didn’t know where to go, wandering her way into District Twelve. She’s been hiding for months, unable to locate help.
Yosano has taken up work in a local hospital and begins to send children their way, for short periods of time. She calls it foster care, but the kids come in and out, as she brings them along.
They’re willing to adopt them, take legal care of them if necessary, but Dazai doesn’t quite care. He just wants to help someone. After all the pain and death that he’s inflicted on the world, he’s pleasantly happy with this change in pace.
At first, Dazai is terrified of getting close to the kids. He’s too broken, too damaged, too dangerous, to be able to parent these kids. But Chuuya does it with ease and helps him through it, showing him how to gently pick up the little ones and how to talk to them without scaring them and suddenly, Dazai is teleported to a land of carefree youth. The kids are bright and friendly and sweet in a way that he never expected. Many of them haven’t understood the pain of the war or the Games.
There are several who do know who they are though, teenagers who recognize them and ask questions. Dazai is honestly more comfortable around them than the kids, however. At least they aren’t as fragile.
Chuuya tries his best. He honestly does. Kids aren’t exactly his strength but he’s not unwilling to try. When he watches a small squad of kids try to steal the youngest child’s toys, he does his best to step in.
“Don’t touch that shi-stuff. That stuff. It’s not yours,” Chuuya stumbles as Dazai snorts in amusement. “Oh, fuck off, asshole.”
When he realizes what he said, Chuuya throws up his hands in defeat.
“I give up. I’m not cut out for this children thing,” he laments.
“Can’t keep a clean mouth around them, can you?” Dazai teases.
It feels genuinely light and sweet between them. Chuuya has never seen such genuine joy. But these children are pure light. They deserve good things and they’re so appreciative and kind. They take joy in the very thing that Chuuya fears: his own Ability. He hasn’t been able to use it since he killed Fukuchi. It nearly consumed him at points, but now, it simply hurts too much. Every usage seemed to ache of memories until now, when he’s found a new purpose.
Chuuya gently scoops up the young girl with his Ability and she giggles, delighted as she floats through the air.
“Me next!” They’re so innocent, so pure, so special. “Me too!”
They laugh and tug at his arms and plead as he gives them everything they need. Here, Chuuya is needed and wanted and accepted. The kids don’t need anything more than a parental figure, protection from the world, and safety.
Even if they know of the Games, they don’t know the true horrors. There’s a youthful glow to them and Chuuya admires it as they see his Ability as a gift, rather than a heavy burden of his Victory.
◉◈◉
Somehow, amidst all the chaos of their slowly growing house, Dazai begins to find peace. At any given time, they have six to twelve kids of various ages running around the house. Yosano shows up at least once a week, either to check in with them, drop off a new kid, or take one to an adoptable family.
They don’t know who he is. They haven’t heard of the horrors of the Demon Prodigy or the terrifying Victor of the 89th Games. To them, he’s just Dazai, just the man taking care of them. It’s a level of innocence that he both appreciates and worries about tainting all together.
“What are these?” A nine-year-old boy, Chimon, who’d been there for a little over a month, asks, pointing at Dazai’s bandages. “Are you hurt?”
For a moment, he doesn’t know how to breathe, as the thoughts of sheer self-loathing come crashing down on him like a dam that’s been suppressed for far too long.
“Chimon,” Chuuya calls from across the room, his tone clear with warning. “Remember people’s boundaries.”
Dazai shakes his head, forcing a little smile to his face as he looks down at the young child in his lap.
“It’s alright. That’s a good question to ask.” Dazai swallows down his fear and reminds himself where he is now. He’s safe. He’s at his home. He isn’t alone and he isn’t in that kind of pain anymore. “I was hurt. I used to be hurt. But I’m okay now.”
“If you used to be hurt then why do you still wear them?” His curiosity doesn’t waver and Dazai finds himself at an uncomfortable loss for words.
“I wear them to hide myself,” he eventually says, but the words are barely a whisper.
He doesn’t realize what he’s saying until the words are out. It’s so instinctual to cover his skin with bandages at every opportunity. His body tells horror stories of pain, of self-inflicted cuts, of tortured blades, of burned flesh, and so many scars that he can’t even remember where they all came from.
Chimon tilts his head, looking up at Dazai with a funny expression.
“You don’t need to hide yourself.”
The words from the small child are a punch to the gut and Dazai is once again left speechless. He stares down at his bandaged arms as Chimon eventually grows bored of his silence and jumps out of his lap to go play.
“Hey.” Chuuya’s voice breaks through his thoughts as he places a gentle hand on Dazai’s shoulder, making him flinch at the surprise contact. “He’s right, you know. You don’t need to hide yourself.”
“The kids don’t deserve to see that,” he mumbles back, his nails beginning to tug at the ends of his bandages.
“Hiding it from them won’t make it any easier later on. They’re going to grow up and understand the war, Dazai.”
“I showed my arms to the entire world to save your life, once,” Dazai says softly. “And it was worth it but I can’t do it again.”
“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” Chuuya leans down and places a small kiss on Dazai’s cheek. “But you don’t have to hide yourself like this. You still have a choice.”
It’s weird and wrong and uncomfortable all at once. He sits in their living room for a long while, until he finally finds the courage to leave. Chuuya doesn’t call after him, doesn’t ask him to come back. He just nods and gives Dazai the space he needs.
In the privacy of their own bedroom, alone, Dazai takes a slow breath, carefully sitting down on the bed. The air buzzes within his ears, drinking up the sight of the overlapping bandages. For a few long moments, he just breathes, in and out and in and out, until he can find it in himself to move again.
Slowly, Dazai begins to unwind his bandages and he stares down at the flesh beneath the soft white fabric. It’s mottled with scars, twisting across his skin in disapproving lines. For once, he just looks at them, not bothering to cover them as quickly as possible. A tentative finger reaches out and slowly begins to trace the lines, his eyes glued to the action.
His scars tell a gruesome story of a young boy, abused, traumatized, and lost. Pain is built up between each one, a different memory associated with each scar. Individually, he’s lost many of the memories of the true pain, but his mind struggles to resurface them. It sickens him to be aware of all the pain that he went through as a young teenager but he can’t place exactly what happened. Protectively, his mind threw him into shock and the memories are unfathomable.
Eventually, Dazai rewraps his skin and decides that it isn’t time to retire his bandages. Not yet. He’s not ready yet. This isn’t going to work for him and that’s okay. It’s okay for him to do that. It’s fine to take time to heal.
And it takes a lot of time.
Several months pass within their steadily growing orphanage and Dazai doesn’t regret a thing. It’s a house of joy and comfort and safety, where the kids know their next meal will be on the table and they’ll have a roof over their heads.
They’re sweet. They really are. They draw pictures for him and then beg him to hang them up, until their walls of the living room are covered in messy drawings made by little kids. Dazai teaches several of the youngest the basics of reading, going through letters and helping them along when they fall behind. Each and every one of them looks up at him with a joyful adoration in his eyes, and he finds a renewed purpose to keep going.
But of course, things look up, and they also fall down. It’s inevitable, unavoidable, and Dazai knows it’s coming.
The day rolls around and he wants to be sick. Everybody else celebrates because this is the anniversary of the Port’s rule ending, but he can’t celebrate. Not knowing that Atsushi has died on this day and he isn’t here to take care of him.
This orphanage, named after him and built for kids like him, exists, and Atsushi isn’t here to help. He doesn’t come visit, doesn’t live with Dazai or even Akutagawa, doesn’t get a future with younger kids, because he is dead.
Dazai tries to get through the day. He really, truly does. There are people that depend on him, children, and he can’t just abandon them. So he does his best, putting on a fake grin as he lets the kids do as they need around the house. However, there’s an increasing pull of overwhelm that creeps through his veins, threatening to overtake him at any moment.
The thrum of possibility floods his body, again and again and again. He can’t escape the sprawling anxiety or the horrible echo deep in his mind, the one that refuses to let him leave that darkness that he’s learned to live in.
He knows he’s panicking and he knows that he can’t escape it either. Dazai is flailing, drowning in this menial sadness that means so little, yet it suffocates him completely. It’s been a long time coming, something chasing him that he’s been struggling to leave behind, but he knows, horribly, that he is hitting his limit, and then shoving past it.
Every breath aches, so deeply and intrinsically, that he thinks he’s going to choke on it. It’s not a panic attack, not like breathing is painful, but it burns deep in his chest, as if punishing him for his life. They could burn, all the way, in and out, lungs incarcerated and burning to ash.
He’s going to choke on his own heartbreak. Grief settles, so thickly across his soul, that he loses the battle to it. Every little bit floods his body, viscerally cruel and aggressive.
It’s the dishes that break him. The children put their plates in the sink and he walks over to wash them before sheer exhaustion breaks through his mental dam. With so much strain, he feels himself beginning to break down and he tenses as his breathing picks up speed. Turning away so that his face is hidden, the memories flash through his mind and he doesn’t know how to breathe. Tears form in his eyes and fall before he can block them as frustration boils through his body.
Teeth gnash against each other within his mouth as tears spill from his eyes, refusing to slow. With trembling hands, Dazai reaches out and turns on the water, grabbing the sponge from the side of the sink as he begins the methodical task of washing the dishes. As he runs water across metal plates, it begins to heat up, growing hotter and hotter as he continues to wash the various cutlery, cooking supplies, and dishes that have piled up all day. Bit by bit, his hands tremble underneath the splash of ridiculously blazing water and he can barely hold them beneath the stream for more than a couple of seconds.
He tells himself he’s doing the dishes as well as he can, with the hottest possible water because he’s trying to be clean, but he knows it isn’t true. Still, he doesn’t stop himself.
Minutes tick by and Dazai’s hands are beginning to turn red with the pressure. Each time he presses them against different dishes they turn white with searing pain and droplets of water fly out, burning tiny holes through his bandages and his clothing, splashing them with water. The ache continues to grow and he craves it, forcing his hands back underneath the heat as soon as the initial pain fades, never letting it heal. By now, his teeth are tightly gritted to prevent him from making any noise, whether it be from the pain in his hands or his mind. The tears have dried against his face as all emotions seem to blur away. Every part of his mind twists down to the singular point of washing the dishes, ignoring the blaring alarm sounds of the pain in his hands and the way his breath continues to drag each and every time he tries to make it through another set.
“Dazai, how’s it going?” Chuuya asks and he doesn’t know where his voice has gone but he can’t find it. Instead, he continues washing the dishes, more frantically this time, shoving his hands beneath the cascading stream of hot water and then yanking them back when agony sears his tender flesh.
A tiny sound escapes his mind as he struggles to sud a cup, the water pooling in the dish as he sticks his hand into it as it builds and he can feel the edges of his bandages become soaked with the action. It doesn’t stop him from scrubbing against the metal that rapidly heats up beneath the steaming water.
His fingers ache and are turning colors he didn’t think was possible. They’re tender to the point of tiny sparks of electricity jumping across his flesh and threatening to burn him alive if he doesn’t pull them out. Instead, Dazai gives them maybe three seconds before they dive back into the soapy water, seizing up with pain as he tries to keep going.
“Are you ignoring me, Mackerel?” Chuuya continues, good-natured and completely unaware of Dazai’s plight. “Hello? Anyone home?”
He reaches out to take the dish from Dazai’s hand and then yelps, releasing the metal plate and yanking his hand back to his chest.
“What the hell, Dazai? Why is that so hot?”
Without waiting for a response, Chuuya reaches over to turn the knob away, to cool the temperature, and Dazai panics, reaching out to pull it back towards him and let it heat once more.
“What are you doing? Stop that, Dazai.”
He doesn’t. He can’t. His fingers twitch beneath the hot water and god, they burn, but god, he loves the pain. He loves the relief that it gives him from his mind, forcing him to focus on something that isn’t the horror that seizes his thoughts from his head. It’s one thing to stop cutting himself and another to stop harming himself.
Chuuya slams the water off with one hand and catches both of Dazai’s tender wrists with the other. Another sound escapes his lips at the contact against his shaking hands and Chuuya pulls him closer, forcing him to look down.
“What are you doing?” he repeats, looking intently into Dazai’s eyes. “Why are you washing the dishes with water that’s practically boiling?”
There isn’t an answer that he can find and Dazai stares, unresponsive. Without the pain, his eyes glaze over with empty tears filled with no feelings and he doesn’t move, unable to find his answer. He just wants the pain. Isn’t that obvious? Can’t he just have the pain?
Still holding onto his wrists with one hand, Chuuya uses the other to grab the towel from the side of the sink and gently pats Dazai’s hands dry with them. The red is prominent and they’re beginning to get wrinkly from the effects of the water as he stays as still as a statue. Chuuya is as gentle as he can be but he eventually puts the towel down, refusing to let his hands go.
“What is this about?” he asks, quietly. “Is it about Atsushi? The war?”
“The dishes.” Dazai chokes out the incomplete, incorrect answer and Chuuya shakes his head.
“It’s not and we both know that.”
He doesn’t want to answer. All Dazai wants to do is collapse. His hands ache with heat and he’s suddenly completely drained.
“He’s dead.” The words are coming out and he doesn’t know why he’s so weak. “Chuuya, he’s dead and I can’t get him back.”
All of his resolve is crumbling and Dazai has truly fallen so low. He’s never this stupid, this foolish, this useless. But Chuuya only nods and pulls him into a tight hug.
“I know,” he murmurs, one hand running softly up and down Dazai’s back. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I did this for him but he’s not coming back. It should’ve passed by now. Why does it still hurt?”
Hearing the words makes him feel like a child again, not an adult, but Dazai truly can’t find it in himself to care. The mere memory of Atsushi makes him want to vomit his soul up until he has nothing left in his stomach.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Chuuya encourages, gently helping Dazai towards the door.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
He does. The entire war, the world shattering, Dazai has inflicted so much into the world and he doesn’t think he can ever undo those effects. He’s killed and murdered and failed to save people, and no amount of raising children will ever undo the damages that he’s done.
They return to their bedroom and Chuuya lets Dazai curl up on the bed.He sits there and he stares. Every year, the pain hits him like it never left. Dazai doesn’t want to be suffocated by this and he lives in constant terror of being sucked back into his dark depression.
“Dazai.” Chuuya’s voice breaks him out of his stupor and he looks up to see his partner looking down at him. “You’re not alone.”
His words pierce through Dazai’s pain like a beam of light in the deepest depths of his soul. Somehow, he didn’t even say anything but Chuuya knew what to say. Not only did he know what to say, it’s true. It’s a fact that he’s known but Chuuya vocalizing it brings so much relief that he almost forgets how to breathe.
Instead, he stares at his partner and Chuuya understands the look. He gives Dazai a soft smile and nods. Without another word, he sits down next to Dazai and carefully rests his head on Dazai’s shoulder. It’s a silent reminder of what he still has. He has Chuuya and he has all the children of the orphanage and he has a life that so many other people have lost.
◉◈◉
Chuuya loves working with kids. He takes to them more naturally than he ever expected. It’s like falling into a familiar pattern with them. They’re complex, as children are, but at their core, they’re simple to please. All they’ve been looking for, really, is a home. A family. Someone to care about them.
He lets Dazai cover any learning the kids want to do. Math, reading, and writing isn't his thing, but Dazai does it well. Chuuya is more of the fun parent, the more playful one, with supervision.
It isn’t too bad. He’s doing better. They still meet with Haruno once a month, although Chuuya has drifted out of his individual sessions. He’s finding himself.
“What are you drawing?” Chuuya asks, pulling up a chair next to the children.
“A farm!”
Messy scribbles have been drawn across the paper, resembling something shaped like a barn and a cluster of animals.
“What animals are those?” he asks, pointing, and the kids begin to clamor for his attention in excitement.
“Those are pigs!”
“I drew cows.”
“Well I made the barn.”
“And those are the sheep!”
For some reason, the words leave Chuuya tense and for a moment, he’s struck with abject fear. His entire body goes tense and he hesitates, losing his breath for a temporary moment. As he sits there, surrounded by the young children, memories rush through him, of Shirase and Yuan and the little kids that they took care of. Although he searched, all traces of the kids were gone. It was likely that they were casualties of war but it’s just another reminder of someone else Chuuya failed to save.
The children around him tug at his arms and it takes all of his resolve not to lash out at the contact, shoveling his Ability under his control as he finds his breath.
“It’s nice,” he mumbles, trying to get his tone to sound energetic but it comes out strange. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s weird how quickly things just shift. The kids have no idea how much weight they hold or how much he’s thrown back into the Games. It’s so easy to fall into what hurts, and so hard to avoid it.
Dazai follows him as Chuuya steps away, upstairs. He falls in next to Chuuya and places an arm around him. Chuuya speaks, the words coming out quickly, tasting like ash as he spits them out, desperate for an escape.
“I thought things were getting better,” he mutters, feeling impeccably guilty. “It’s been years and I can’t get them out of my head.”
“Trauma lasts, Chuuya. It can’t just go away.”
Dazai’s right. Of course he is. Chuuya wants to grow and it’s hard, but he’s willing to work at it.
“I miss them.” It sounds ridiculous the moment it exits his mouth. “They were so young, Dazai.”
Shirase was twenty-two and Yuan was twenty-one. Chuuya is twenty-seven at this point. They’re imobile in death and he’s left behind without them.
Living can be lonely- especially when their loved ones are gone. The ghosts haunt them in their daily lives. Some days are worse than others. Others are better.
Kids show up and leave every day. Chuuya takes it in stride.
“I want my mom,” the little boy, Yuko, says, as soon as Yosano leaves.
Chuuya kneels down in front of the boy, giving him a gentle smile. It’s careful and reserved but he nods.
“Do you know where she is?” It’s a question to see what he knows, what’s in the file that he and Dazai were given.
He hesitates, clutching his backpack to his body as he eyes Chuuya with more suspicion than a six-year-old should ever have. After a long moment of staring him down, Yuko pulls his gaze from Chuuya to the floor.
“Yes.” It’s quiet, nervous, and Chuuya stays seated. “She’s in the hospital.”
“That’s right. My name is Chuuya. You’re going to be staying with me and my partner, Dazai, for a little bit, until your mom is better.” He offers the boy another smile and Yuko gives him a tiny one back, with just a crack between his lips to display two missing front teeth. “Does that make sense?”
He gets a nod in reply and then begins to stand up, just a touch.
“Can I bring your bag upstairs for you?”
Yuko holds it out to him and Chuuya’s Ability jumps out to grab it. Immediately, his eyes widen with excitement and he looks up at Chuuya with awe.
“You have an Ability.” The words are spoken in a hushed whisper and Chuuya nods.
“Gravity manipulation. I can make things float.” It’s a heavily simplified term but the kid just nods. “Wanna try?”
“Can I?”
His trepidation melts away as Chuuya scoops him into the air and lets him float up the stairs, dropping him onto the top bunk of one of their rooms. The other three beds are occupied, but Yuko drops into place with the other boys in his room.
So yeah. Chuuya is learning to handle every day. The kids are sweet, if a bit much most of the time, but he wants them to have a good childhood. The life he wished he had, without the Games, without the Port, without growing up on the streets of Ten before he was adopted. All the missing bits from his childhood that were stolen are things he wants to give these kids.
They had their pain. This is their peace. Chuuya, Dazai, and their open home to anyone in need.
He couldn’t ask for anything else.
◉◈◉
There’s one kid that Dazai will never, ever forget, for the rest of his life. One boy that walks into their lives and changes everything in this haven that they’ve built together.
Over a year into opening their little orphanage, foster home, whatever anybody wants to call it, they have a run-in with the local authorities. The two of them, having left Paul and Arthur in charge at their house, are in the market, picking up supplies for the house. It’s a rather comforting act that they make sure to make time for, at least once a week. Just the two of them and their little life.
“Stop! Thief!”
Immediately, Dazai’s head snaps up, completely uninterested in the shelves of clothes in front of him as his eyes go to the front window, and he’s discarding the shirt he was choosing for one of their newer kids. He doesn’t even hesitate before he’s moving, Chuuya not far behind, straight out the door, to catch the scene.
Several yards outside of the bakery is the local baker, holding a boy roughly by the arm. He’s shouting while the boy, an older teen, looks unphased, but furious.
“I’ll turn you in. You’ll be going away again. I told you, if I ever saw you-”
“Excuse me, sir,” Dazai says, striding up to the pair and his charm flips on, like a second nature. “Can I ask what’s going on?”
The man instantly recognizes Dazai and hesitates, a little taken aback by seeing him here.
“This boy has been stealing bread from my cart for months and I’ve just caught him. I intend on turning him into local authorities.”
“I’m not-” He’s cut off as the baker wrenches his arm again and there’s fury in his eyes, glaring daggers at both Dazai and his captor.
“He’s young,” Dazai points out, being careful with his stance. “Surely, we could settle this. You and I?”
Without another word, Dazai pulls out his wallet and, not-so-subtly, pulls out several bills, waving them at the baker.
“I’m sure that this will suffice?”
There’s a brief moment of hesitation before the older man nods, letting go of the boy and taking the money.
“I better not see you around here again,” he warns, before returning to his shop.
The kid, now freed, glares at Dazai and Chuuya, who comes up behind his husband and nods.
“I don’t need your help.”
“Didn’t look that way to me,” Dazai replies, easily.
When they get no response, Chuuya tries his own luck.“What are you doing on the street?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Do you have a family?”
He shakes his head.
“Do you need somewhere to stay?”
“I’m not a fucking orphan,” he snaps. “I’m almost eighteen. I don’t need parents.”
“But you do need a roof over your head and we can provide that. Nobody said we need to be your parents,” Dazai replies. “You think we haven’t been in this same situation ourselves?”
It takes a long while of this reasoning, before they finally convince the kid to come with them, under the bribe of food and shelter. Begrudgingly, he gives up his name- Asota Maskai- and eventually agrees to stay at their orphanage.
From the very start, it’s an immediate power struggle. Everything seems to be a battle with Asota, but it doesn’t bother Dazai. The challenge is a good distraction from everything else in the world.
“Don’t yell at the kids,” Chuuya snaps when he blows up at Yasui and Sora, four-year-old twin girls, for running into him one day, and Dazai watches as his partner is turned on with flashing eyes.
“You’re not my parents. Don’t tell me what to do!” Asota shouts back, not willing to back down from his stance.
He’s rough around the edges but who wasn’t? Dazai grew up a thief on the streets and Chuuya was an absolute menace in the Districts. Each interaction just pushes them to work harder to convince him to stay.
“I watched you in the Games,” Asota says, practically out of the blue, and Dazai freezes at the words. He’s been here for two weeks and has hardly addressed them at all, until now. “You know I saw you kill people. I saw you cut apart a man and torture him because-”
“Shut up. Stop talking.” Dazai’s voice is ice-cold, bitter and cruel as he shoots to his feet in front of Asota. In an instant, the Demon Prodigy returns in pure defense.
“Why? Ashamed that the little kids are going to find out who you really are? A killer? A murderer? Mori’s Demon Prodigy?” He taunts the words, flouncing them in Dazai’s face, looking for a challenge. “You’re not a savior, like they all think you are. You’re a devil.”
Dazai physically restrains himself from threatening the young man, before grabbing him by the wrist and hauling him towards one of the bedrooms.
“Anything you want to say to me can be said without the other kids,” he says, firmly.
He locks the door behind them and turns to the other, watching as Asota scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking away. Dazai’s anger is roasted by a touch of fear, a desperate hatred to escape the past that he can’t lose.
“You’re not a good person, you know that?”
“I’m aware.”
“You play the hero but you’re no good in the end. I saw you kill Ango and Q and Fyodor in the Games. I saw your broadcasts to the Districts.” There’s an edge to Asota’s voice and Dazai meets his gaze, before recognizing the flicker of emotion in his eyes.
Asota is provoking him, looking for a reaction.
“You were Mori’s Demon Prodigy. You would’ve taken over the Port someday. All the scars on your body? Those are from him, aren’t they? You-”
“What are you trying to do, Asota?” he asks and there’s an exhaustion to his tone from it. “What do you want from me?”
The question takes the boy by surprise because he hesitates, pausing long enough to try and figure out what kind of trick Dazai must be playing.
“You want me to get mad. I can tell. But why, Asota? Why do you want me to be angry?”
He layers down the pressure, not cruelly, but necessarily. Dazai takes a step forward and Asota takes one backwards, his persona starting to crumble under the weight of the words. Through all of this, he isn’t trying to hurt Asota, but he’s looking for answers, for ways to help.
“Do you need something else from us? What are you looking for, with all this anger? If you need someone to yell at, you can yell. If you need something, we can give it to you, but you need to communicate it.”
Dazai doesn’t want to scare him but he steps forward again and Asota scrambles back, pressing against the wall and finally, his internal barriers dissolve. There’s a shine to his eyes and he ducks his head, unable to look at Dazai any longer.
“I’m here to help. Let me.”
“I can’t!” The words are laced with defiance but below all of that, is fear. Pure, strangling fear that creeps up his tone. Immediately, Dazai steps backwards, giving him space as Asota doesn’t move, his back still pressed against the wall.
Silence stretches through the room for several beats and Dazai lets it, before quietly continuing.
“Why?”
“I don’t trust you.” All at once, the truth starts spilling from Asota’s lips, like he’s desperate to get them out before Dazai can get mad. “They all leave in the end. Everyone does. Nobody actually cares about anyone else and I’m sick of you pretending like that isn’t true.”
When pulling back, Dazai can see far too much of himself in Asota. The young boy’s sharp, desperate defiance and heavily misplaced trust in the world, before the age of eighteen. In a world littered with death and murder and war, the struggle for survival has turned children into soldiers of pain.
“So why don’t you stop pretending like you actually want to help and just leave already?” Asota asks, the words coming out in a rushed exhale. “Hurt me. Scream, hit me, it doesn’t fucking matter, just prove that you don’t actually care about me already.”
His breathing is shaky, terrified beneath the surface, and Dazai nods, trying to get his bearings. Asota’s views on the world, the perspective of growing up in the environment that Dazai simultaneously ruined and changed, have twisted him into a deeply distrustful soul and for that, he’s sorry that he hasn’t done more to fix things.
“We aren’t the enemy, Asota.” Dazai bends down to meet Asota’s eyes, squatting on the floor because he’s looking down and catching his gaze. “We’re here to help you.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“If you don’t have anything else to say, then get out,” he snaps, his vulnerability cleaning and immediately replaced with defense.
Dazai would like to help. If there’s ever been someone who reminds him of himself, it’s Asota. Yet at the moment, remembering how he was in the past, he doesn’t know how to help right now, besides giving him the space he requests.
“Okay,” he finally replies, keeping his voice level and calm. “I’ll go. But you can come to us at any time. I don’t care what it is. You know my secrets. I can know yours.”
Asota gives a cruel laugh and it twists something deep in Dazai’s heart.
“Those aren’t secrets,” he says. “Everybody knows about them. Everyone knows what you’ve done.”
Dazai knows this is true but it still hurts like hell to hear. But instead of trying to argue or reason with the other boy, he simply nods and walks away. He, more than anyone, understands how Asota feels. The boy is clawing at the ground, waiting to be damaged so that he can blame them for their sharpness. There’s an eerie similarity between himself and how Dazai used to be.
The weeks pass in chilling similarity. Asota has nowhere else to go and he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he spends long hours shut up in his bedroom. Chuuya and Dazai had to move the other boy out of it, because of his aggression, and now he locks it most of the day, rarely coming out.
“I’m not your goddamn friend,” Asota snaps at a nine-year-old boy, after he tries to give him a little gift of a pretty rock he found outside. For this one, Dazai has to take him upstairs to his room, closing the door behind them.
“I don’t care what you do, but you can’t be cruel to the other kids like this,” Dazai says.
“They need to see that the world is cruel.”
The words are achingly akin to Dazai’s from his past. He grew up that way, taught Atsushi that way, and believed it for so long.
“It can be,” he says, carefully relenting his words as he chooses them, each one precise and sharp. “But it doesn’t have to.”
“You should know, better than anyone, that all life is, is pain. And the sooner they learn it, the better.” His voice twists with fury and grief, accumulating into a sense of warped fear. Dazai recognizes it, and he wants to help, so desperately. However, after all this time, he knows that he can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. He’s been the person helped and the one helping. He sees it so clearly, yet he wants to do more.
“Asota,” Dazai says, quietly. “You can be happy.”
Looking back at him are dark eyes, questioning so much. Asota fights Dazai’s gaze, grinding his teeth as he looks up.
“If you don’t have anything else to say, then leave me alone.”
Dazai strains for any undertone of a lie, and he’s normally good at finding them, but he doesn’t. There’s genuine distaste and slightly begging to be left alone.
After a long beat, he nods, relenting slightly.
“You can always come talk to me,” he reminds, before leaving, shutting the door behind him.
It takes three days, before another… incident.
“Dazai, Asota locked himself in the bathroom and he’s been in there for over an hour,” Yasui complains, tugging on his arm.
He follows her upstairs, to where the bathroom door is still locked.
“Everything alright in there?” he asks, carefully.
There’s a long time with no response and he sighs.
“Come on Asota. You can’t stay in the bathroom this long. There are other people in this house,” Dazai says, exhaustedly. He knocks on the door several more times, but there’s no response.
“I need to pee,” Yasui whines and he nods.
“I know. I’m working on it,” he comforts. “Asota, please. Let’s talk about this or if you need to be alone, can we choose another place to do it?”
It’s silent behind the door and his frustration is growing with a touch of worry. He can’t figure out if Astoa is trying to scare him or if the boy has fallen silent for some other reason.
“I’m not trying to invade your privacy and I want to support you, but I can’t have you locked up in here all afternoon.” Asota says nothing. Dazai runs a hand through his hair, wishing Chuuya was home right now to help him. “I don’t want to do this but if you don’t open this door, then I’m going to have to pick the lock.”
He hates threatening and he most certainly doesn’t need to break into Asota’s privacy but Yasui tugs at his hand and he sighs.
“Last chance,” he warns.
After counting to five, slowly, Dazai slips back to the kitchen, grabbing a paperclip, already hating these actions. Wiggling the tip against the lock, he carefully presses his way through the door lock, working through it until finally, it clicks. Pushing the door open, he nudges Yasui out of the way, slowly peeking through the side of the door.
His eyes don’t comprehend the image fast enough. Throughout his life, Dazai has seen hundreds of corpses, taken dozens of lives, and welcomed death so many times.
Asota is on the ground, cleaning products surrounding him. The scent is overwhelmingly gross and Dazai stares at the limp body on the ground in front of him.
“Oh god.”
Dazai doesn’t know how it happens, but his knees go weak and he crumples to the ground, hands scrambling for the younger boy and finding no pulse.
Death by suicide. It’s a fate that Dazai has wanted for himself for so long and yet, seeing it actively playing out in front of his own eyes is sickening. The guilt slams through him, fear crippling himself once more.
He didn’t stop this. After someone who has gone through so much, understood death and suicide so viscerally throughout his life, he didn’t stop Astoa.
His heart seems to drop through his chest, resolve shattered and broken. That rush of pain, built up and festering, crashes down once more. Dazai can’t handle this. He can’t be a guardian to these kids, not when he’s so broken and failing to help them, when that’s exactly his job.
“What’s happening?” Yasui asks, pressing against the door but Dazai can’t get her words to make sense in his mind.
Cowardly, Dazai presses against the door, the image of Asota’s body seared beneath his eyelids. A gasping breath and then he shoves his way out of the small room, pushing the little girl away and slamming the door.
“Don’t-don’t go in there,” he manages, before he runs.
He stumbles through to the kitchen and then fumbles through the utensils, wincing as metal scrapes against metal, before he manages to pull out a knife. There might be kids watching him but he doesn’t know. All Dazai knows is that a child has died in their house and he didn’t save him.
Just like that, he’s in he and Chuuya’s room and the knife plunges through his skin, not even bothering to unwrap his bandages. Pain flashes through the lines as he shreds through the cotton that covers his skin. He doesn’t even think about where the blade falls, simply concerned with putting him through that pain once more.
Broken sobs exit his mouth, entwined with whimpers of pain as he draws red lines across his body. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but he doesn’t know what it is, physical or mental. It just hurts.
That body in the bathroom could’ve been him. It should’ve been him. Dazai fears that fate and craves it, all at once. Everything feels so unbelievable yet he knows the truth, deep down in his bones. Asota is dead.
Dazai, after spending so long trying to heal, wants to die once more. He’s thrust down the tunnel of pain once again, thrown to the waves, unable to find which way is up as he drowns in the water.
Isn’t it funny how you can be clean for so long, and just like that, it’s gone? Maybe that’s why it’s an addiction. It never leaves him- ever.
It’s Chuuya who helps him. It’s Chuuya who cleans the bathroom and takes care of the arrangements for Asota’s body. It’s Chuuya who handles Yasui’s accident. It’s Chuuya who tells the other kids what happened and comforts them over the issue.
Dazai spends his time remembering how to breathe.
Death comes for all of them and refuses to come for him. Dazai has known this for far too long. Somehow, he’s surviving, and that’s all he can do at times. Innocent lives are stolen each and every day and Dazai is the one who scrapes and claws his way through life.
◉◈◉
Chuuya has no idea what to do. It feels like all of the progress they made with Dazai has gone out the window with Asota’s death. He’s completely quiet and barely alive.
He does what he can, cooking meals, feeding the kids, taking care of them. But he hits a brick wall trying to explain what happened to Asota. Several of them remember the Games but many can’t grasp the concept of death. For them, the Tributes were gone, but they weren’t real people. They were just on a screen and then vanished. Barely any of them understand what death is.
Trying to explain that Asota isn’t coming back but not because he doesn’t care for them is an experience that leaves him hollowed out afterwards. The kids pepper him with questions, with whys, and sometimes, he’s at a complete loss of what to do.
Instead, he takes them to Asota’s grave and shows them what’s happened. In their garden, they grow flowers together, and start laying them next to his grave. It’s a horrible way to bond but it’s all that Chuuya can do alone.
Of course, he doesn’t blame Dazai for tapping out mentally. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him, but he’s also helpless in that regard. What can you even say when the world around you has crumbled? When you’ve tried to heal and have now failed to save? More than anything, he wants to help, but he can’t.
Dazai is little more than broken glass, welded back together time and time again. Chuuya has held the torch but he lacks the skills to mend the cracks.
Finally, one night, when he absolutely can’t do anything, not even strong enough to pull Dazai’s blood-soaked hands away from his bleeding arms, he concedes defeat and calls Yosano.
She’s at their door within two minutes. With expert hands, she wraps his wounds and holds him down as he tries to fight. There’s nothing unkind about her actions, just firm and comforting. Finally, with Chuuya’s approval, she gives him a sedative through a needle. Dazai fights it and Chuuya hates himself for doing it, but he lets it happen because it’s necessary.
With immense strength, Yosano scoops Dazai over her shoulder and takes him away. Chuuya watches, hating the idea but knowing that he has to for the better of all of them.
Everything seems to come crashing down around him. Chuuya’s husband is grappling with life once more, and he has to stay behind to take care of their children.
Some of them cry, some of them don’t understand, some of them just go on as if nothing has happened. Chuuya helps them, delicately. He teaches them to mourn, he holds them when they cry, and he waits for Dazai to get back from Yosano’s.
◉◈◉
Dazai is staring at Yosano, barely able to breathe. Why is he here? Grief crushes him and Dazai wants to curl up and refuse to breathe until he chokes to death.
“Dazai. Get up.” Yosano’s words are sharp and clear, breaking through his stupor.
He tries to turn away but she places a hand on his shoulder and yanks him back around.
“You can’t stay here forever.”
She’s not being mean for the sake of being mean. She’s being mean because it’s the only way that Dazai can get up. He knows this and he hates this.
Dazai knows she’s right but he can’t verbalize the words to explain it. His entire chest aches with the effort of breathing.
“Get the hell up, Dazai. Is this who you are? Lifeless? You survived the war and two Hunger Games and Mori’s control twice. You’re better than this, goddamnit.”
Somehow, her words spill through the barrier in his mind, breaking that heaviness that crushes his chest and threatens to have him break. It starts with anger and he glares at her, lifting his head up to scowl and she grins.
“That’s right. Get mad. Lash out, but get up.”
Yosano steps away, throwing open curtains that practically blind him with bright lights and he winces, trying to shield his eyes.
“You’re alive in the fucked up world so use that and live. You’ve battled depression before and Dazai, you’ve beat it time and time again. So stop letting bad things pull you down, look around, and get back on your feet.”
There’s something so scrutinizing about her words, yet truthful and he wants to listen because she’s right.
“People died for you, Dazai. Don’t waste that.”
He finally finds his words. “I didn’t ask for that-”
“You did. You rallied the Districts, you overthrew the Port, so now you’re going to beat this. Up.”
She takes him by the hand and tugs him. Dazai resists for a mere moment, and then gives in, following her to his feet.
“You’re the strongest goddamn person in this entire world and I will not sit by and watch you lose your mind again. Look at me, Dazai.” He does. “I have never met anyone who is as strong as you are, so don’t you dare sit around and let yourself rot anymore. You have done so much good for this world.”
“I don’t want to-”
“That’s too damn bad. You’re doing this you don’t want. You do it every single day; I know you do. What is it going to take to get you out of this?”
“It’s not worth it.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” Yosano slowly pulls back on her aggression, watching him carefully. “Look me in the eye and tell me that things haven’t gotten better in the world because of you.”
“I should’ve stopped him,” he deflects and Yosano completely ignores his attempt.
“Tell me.” When he’s quiet for a long while, she nods. “You can’t. Because not everything is your fault, Dazai. It can’t always be your fault.”
“I need to blame someone.”
“Why?”
“Because-” The words are stifling and sick and Dazai feels them clogging up his chest as he spits them out, the ash needing to escape his lips. “I need to act on it. I need to make someone pay. I can’t keep watching people die as if it doesn’t affect me.”
“Look at you, Dazai.” She’s gotten quiet now, gentle almost. “You’re affected. You’re grieving.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Your pain is enough. You need to feel it and you need to grow from it. You can’t punish yourself
for that or you’ll never be free from it.”
After that, he begins to take an upward stagger. It isn’t good by any means, but it’s better. Yosano sends him back to Chuuya after a week and he walks through the front door. Immediately, he’s stormed by six kids, all aged thirteen and under.
Wordlessly, he exchanges hugs and fake smiles, before he sees his husband.
“Dazai.” Chuuya’s voice is gentle and careful as Dazai can feel his own mask begin to crumble. It weighs on him with a cold yank towards the grave.
He lets himself fall into Chuuya’s arms with a hug. Dazai lets himself fall and then lets Chuuya catch him. He’s too tired to care anymore. He’s too tired to keep trying.
It all feels so hopeless.
“I failed him,” Dazai whispers, letting Chuuya hold him tightly. “I should’ve known.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“I should’ve.”
It’s all that Dazai can feel. He was once Asota, the boy who had nothing and nobody. But something in his mind wanted to be optimistic, wanted to believe that things would work out. He thought that if he kept trying, if he was there for him, then things would end up being okay.
Hope is a cruel thing. It offers peace and then yanks it away in a moment, without a flicker of hesitation. The moment that things seem good, they crumble. It happens, again and again and again, without a single ounce of sympathy for those it takes from.
Asota is buried next to Atsushi. Dazai and Chuuya visit them every Saturday. The silence stretches out as they stare at the graves, silent in their memories.
They didn’t know Asota for very long but he left a lasting impact on Dazai’s life. Isn’t that how everything is, though? You learn and you grow over time.
That’s true for other people too.
Four months after Asota’s death, there’s a knock on their door. Dazai assumes that it’s a child looking for somewhere to stay, hearing about their home, but it’s not.
“Hello,” Akutagawa says, very quietly.
Dazai stares at him. He’s paler than ever, extremely thin, and absolutely exhausted looking, as he stands there, wavering between staying and going. He opens his mouth to speak, then falters, fumbling over his words until something comes out.
“I heard you take in orphans.”
“We do,” Dazai says, a little cautious and barely daring to hope about Akutagawa being here. “Chuuya and I.”
There isn’t any anger left in Akutagawa’s gaze. He’s just tired and sad. Dazai understands this. Almost three years have passed and Akutagawa stands in the doorway, clearly struggling through his words.
“Can-” he pauses before trying again. “Can I come in?”
He doesn’t hesitate for a single moment before inviting the other boy inside. They sit down at the kitchen table as Dazai pours them each a drink, adding a splash of hard whisky to both of their coffee’s. They’re going to need it for this.
The silence between them is long and agonizing as Dazai stares into his mug, occasionally taking a gentle sip.
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry,” Akutagawa finally says, several minutes after he’s seated. “Because I’m not. But I won’t lie to you and say that I am, either.”
“That’s fair.”
Looking down at the younger boy, Dazai is crushed with regrets. Akutagawa is twenty-three now, older than Dazai was when he entered his first Games, yet it feels impossible. But he isn’t a child anymore- and maybe he never was, in Dazai’s eyes. He doesn’t really know anymore.
“I hated you for a long, long time,” Akutagawa says, quietly.
“I know. I hated me, too.”
“It was selfish and cruel but you know what? I think I still do. I don’t want to, but I do.”
Dazai just nods. There’s nothing else that he thinks he can do.
It’s all fair, in his opinion. Maybe not the most sensible, but it’s fair. The sheer levels of complication between them lack a bit of common sense and they do whatever they can to make it through.
Akutagawa squeezes the mug between his hands, eyes darting around the room with nervous energy. He can’t meet Dazai’s gaze, so uncomfortably worried about everything. It’s a sense of shame, mingled with guilt, and it covers both of them with an aching guilt.
“Do you want to see his grave?” It’s an offer Chuuya made when Dazai was struggling, and it’s one that Dazai makes for his former mentee.
Akutagawa nods.
Dazai lets Chuuya know what’s going on with very simple words, and then takes Akutagawa out to the graveyard. The air is starting to cool down outside and they walk in silence, Akutagawa trailing just slightly behind Dazai.
They enter the cemetery together and Dazai takes him through the headstone and rocks until they arrive. When Akutagawa sees the grave, he just crumbles, staring down at it.
“Gin never got one.” The words escape his mouth before Dazai can react and he takes a cautious step back, watching Akutagawa carefully. “I thought I lost them both.”
Akutagawa lost his younger sister and the boy he tried to love. Dazai can’t imagine that kind of pain and he’s suddenly ridden with guilt that he wasn’t there for him. Realistically, it would’ve been impossible. The two of them would’ve fought and screamed and maybe physically attacked each other in their pits of gloom and grief, but he wasn’t there for Akutagawa.
When Akutagawa cries, Dazai can feel it, a knife in his soul, twisting around his body. He should’ve done something.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, the words quiet but potent. “I wasn’t there for you after everything that happened.”
Dazai looks between the two graves, a boy he knew for years against the boy he knew for months. Two young souls that he failed to save. Two people that he gave new life to, before unceremoniously ripping it away.
He feels guilt, yes, but guilt isn’t a word big enough to engulf his feelings. They choke him and threaten to flood his lungs with tears unless he does something to end the pain. But nowadays, Dazai lets them try to drown him and then swallows them down, forcing himself to breathe, even when his entire chest is a cavern of fire.
Asota and Atsushi. He wishes they could’ve met each other. He wishes they both had more time in a world that Dazai has tried to escape so many times. He wishes for so many things that cannot come true.
But there is someone left behind, a third person in the equation who Dazai wants and can be there for. Ryuunosuke Akutagawa. He’s still here, still fighting for his life even now.
So Dazai stands tall and holds out a hand and lets Akutagawa come back. He’s past trying to escape the other boy’s wrath, and instead, chooses to work through it, together.
They don’t talk about it that day. Or the day after that, or the day after that. But every single day for an entire week, Akutagawa shows up and visits Dazai. He entertains the kids, if a bit awkwardly, and he smiles at them when he can.
It takes time, but eventually, he joins them. Akutagawa finally moves in, taking up the same cause at Chuuya and Dazai. It isn’t a fully healed wound, but it’s a step in the right direction, and that’s all that they can really do right now.
They try. Through all the struggle and the fight, the anger and the pain, they keep going. Akutagawa and Chuuya and Dazai. They’re all there for each other.
Dazai has seen it all. The good and the bad. The war and the aftermath. The Games and freedom. The Port and the Districts. Dazai has lived a thousand lives in a singular one, and he’s the ultimate Victor. He’s the one standing at the end of countless battles, and with it, he’s learned to grow.
Death haunts him. It follows everything, every relationship that he has. But ultimately, he and Chuuya have grown together. From their first meeting, to now, they’ve learned from each other.
They deserve to be happy. Chuuya and Dazai have sacrificed nearly everything to get here. Friends. Family. Each other, several times. The world has crumbled around them, yet they’ve learned to help each other up from the ashes, time and time again.
Things aren’t good, not by a long shot. There’s miles of grief and misery and exhaustion that trails between them all but inside of that, there’s light. Through each and every trial that they’re pressed through, they’ve lost so much in their lives, yet they have each other. They’ve found each other and they’ve found a way to survive. And really, that’s all they can ask for anymore.