Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Red marks stretch across his body. The glowing has long since faded, immediately after Dazai touched him. But it can take hours for all of them to disappear completely. 

Not that Chuuya cares at the moment, he has other priorities. 

Like not even being able to support his own body weight. Or throwing up blood. 

He doesn’t know when he slipped, but it must have happened sometime after he’d activated corruption, maybe while he was being dragged home by Dazai. 

Hunched over the toilet seat, retching scarlet red into the porcelain bowl, all he knows now is the stabbing pain pulsing through his body. Mackerel said it wasn’t so bad this time, not enough to need a hospital; his advanced healing would make getting patched up at home suffice. It doesn’t feel like not so bad.

Gentle hands rub his back in an obvious attempt to soothe. “…‘samu, pl’se, hurts, hur’s lots,” he chokes out, trying to get his breath back under control. Dazai is so smart, he always knows what to do, but even he seems helpless right now.

“I know, Chibi, I know it hurts. You’re so brave. It’s going to be alright, okay?” 

“Fix it?” There are hot tears streaming down his face. He wants Dazai to make it better, please. 

His partner sighs. “I can’t fix it right now, I’m sorry, Chuu. I can give you something against the pain later, okay? Do you think you’re done for now?”

Chuuya almost cries harder at the prospect of medicine. Dazai can’t make it better. Still, he nods because he doesn’t feel like he’s going to throw up anytime soon anymore. 

“That’s good, at least.” With that, he’s carefully picked up by skinny arms, making his stomach roll again. Fortunately, he’s set down again almost immediately on the now-closed toilet lid. 

There's not much to be done about injuries caused by Corruption, seeing as they are mostly internal and Arahabaki causes them to heal by themselves to a certain degree. It just takes some time. 

But there’s still an open wound on his arm. It’s not even that big, though deep enough to continue bleeding sluggishly, staining the bathroom tiles. He didn’t even notice when it happened. “I’ll take care of your arm real quick, okay? It’ll be over before you know it.” Dazai encourages. 

Tensing, Chuuya whispers, “St’tch?” 

“…Yes, Chuu, I’m afraid so. But it’s okay, I’ll numb the area. You won't feel a thing, okay?” Kneeling in front of the medical cabinet, the brunet retrieves the stitching set along with some bandages. 

Panic starts to creep up his spine. Suddenly, there are hands crawling all over his skin, picking and prodding. No. Everything already hurts so much. He doesn’t want that needle near him. Backing away as far as he can, he grips the sink and weakly kicks his legs. “No, no, don’ wanna,” he whimpers, shaking his head.

Dazai rubs his thumb over Chuuya’s wrist soothingly. “I’m sorry, but we have to. We can’t just let it keep bleeding.” He replies, gently but decisive.

“No, no, stop, pl- pl’se. Stop now?” At this point, he’s almost begging. Rationally, he knows he’s just being a baby, they have to treat an injury like this, but the fear is closing up his lungs and kind of ruining a rational mind’s efforts. 

The grip on his wrist doesn’t loosen. Sobbing, he squeezes his eyes shut. 

“pl’se,” he tries one more time. No success.

A hand touches his cheek instead, wiping away some of the tears. “That’s right, Chibi, don’t look, okay?” The hand retreats.

He can feel the cool numbing cream on his skin until most of the sensations disappear. He’s not sure if that’s making it better or worse.  

It takes another few gasps to get his words back. “Os-…’samu…?”

There’s no answer. Dazai’s gone. He had been so focused on managing his rattling breath, he didn’t even hear the bathroom door open or close. 

Dazai left you.

Sometimes, a kind of terror grips Chuuya’s heart. A deep-rooted, though irrational and wholly illogical fear that he’s been imagining all of his life up until this point. That he’s still and forever stuck in that lab, surrounded by people who didn’t even bother giving him a name. That any moment now, scalpels will slice him open and needles will prick his skin. 

Dazai’s absence does nothing to quell this fear. 

Maybe there’s no Dazai. Who knows if you just made him up in a pathetic attempt to try and be a real person?

Dazai is gone and the bleeding won’t stop but he can’t open his eyes because then he’ll have to look at the wound and if he sees that needle one more time he’s probably going to faint and that would leave him unbearably vulnerable for-

“Look, Chuuya, who I found~” a voice suddenly announces right in front of him. 

Chuuya screams. 

But he can’t open his eyes he can’t open his eyes he can’t because then he will have to look and Dazai said not to-

Something cups his face and he recognizes the familiar feeling of bandages and the cool touch of No longer human on his skin. Aharabaki stops whispering mean things. 

“Oh my god, Chibi. Yes, I can see that that was a terrible choice of words, now. But it’s just me, yes? It’s Dazai! Everything’s okay!” 

Just to make sure, Chuuya reaches out his hands. He finds unruly hair and the tell-tale feeling of mackerel’s bandaged eye. Sagging in relief, he takes his arms back, choosing to anxiously grip his legs instead. 

Without further comment, something soft is pushed onto his lap. Touching it, he can feel the well-known outline of Lola. Reflexively, he tries squeezing her against his chest, but something seems to be gripping his injured arm. His sloth plushie may have almost distracted him enough to forget, but not Dazai. 

Already, he’s starting with the stitches, ignoring Chuuya’s fruitless attempts to squirm away, whimpering. 

“…’samu, pl’se,” By now, he doesn’t even know what he’s pleading for. His whole body hurts so much. His fingers creep into his mouth again, though he doesn’t have the willpower to pull them out, this time. “p’ease?” He just wants to go to bed and sleep for a really long time. 

“You’re almost done, Chibi. You’re doing so well.” Dazai mumbles, absentmindedly trying to reassure the redhead while he concentrates on the injury. 

He further hides his face in Lola’s fur, already soaked in tears, until finally, after what feels like an eternity, he can feel Dazai’s pat his other arm. “No more stitching, slug. I’ll just put some bandages on it, and then you’re aaaall done, okay?”  

Undeterred by his only response being a pitiful sniffle, he wraps Chuuya’s arm in white, to make sure he won’t see the stitches and panic again. Speaking from experience, that wouldn’t end well. 

“It’s over, alright? You can open your eyes again!” 

As the smaller teen still blinks against the harsh bathroom light, he’s carefully lifted onto his partner’s arms, mindful of his battered body. “You’ve done so well, slug, being such a brave Chibi~”

Even though there’s no more perceived threat, he still can’t seem to stop crying. Hiding in Dazai’s shirt, he can feel mackerel slightly swaying him while walking out the door through the hallway. For a moment, Dazai stops in front of a drawer, then the fingers are pulled out of Chuuya’s mouth, “That’s icky, Chuu~” and his paci is pressed against his lips. Sniffling, he accepts. 

As an immensely delayed reaction, he has to confirm. “O’er?” He mumbles behind the pacifier. 

“Yes, Chibi, all over!” Dazai’s voice rumbles above him, and Chuuya goes limp as a rag doll with its strings cut. The adrenaline, keeping him awake and jittery, starts to wear off. He can feel his exhaustion closing in while he’s carried back into the bathroom.

He almost doesn’t notice Dazai wiping a wet cloth over his face or helping him brush his teeth or picking him up again. 

A few minutes later, he’s set down on what seems to be his bed. Dazai turns to the closet and pulls out some soft sleeping clothes. Smiling at Chuuya, he turns back and ruffles his hair. 

“Time for bed now, hmm?” Patiently, he helps the redhead put on the clothes, even if his sluggish and pained movements cause them to take a lot longer than usual.

He’s ready to keel over by the time they’re done, but Dazai seems lively as ever. As Chuuya tries more or less successfully to keep himself from nodding off, a pill suddenly appears in front of him. Alarmed, his head whips up and is met with an apologetic stare of maroon eyes. 

“It’s for your pain, Chibi. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise!” 

He’s torn. He is in a significant amount of pain. Currently, his body is still trying to fix multiple internal injuries; he would barely be able to stand up, let alone walk or work. But he hates pills. He’s already feeling queasy again. 

A hand pushes a loose strand of hair out of his face. “I know you don't like it, but you’re such a brave Chibi, aren’t you?” Chuuya feels sick. More tears are already threatening to well, another sob trying to make its way past his lips. He’s so tired and scared and he doesn’t have the energy for this, neither for a fight nor a pill.

Dazai sighs, and it’s the worst sound in the world. Chuuya has just made him mad, all because of something as insignificant as this, even if he didn’t mean to. He doesn’t want Dazai to be mad. He really doesn’t. 

Abruptly, the pill is ripped out of the bandaged hand and he has swallowed it before he can think about it any longer. For a second, Chuuya fears he might throw up again. He doesn’t.  

Immediately, his partner’s demeanor changes, and he beams, clapping his hands. “Good job!” Some water is handed to the redhead, to rinse the disgusting aftertaste down.

With that, Dazai climbs up into the bed with Chuuya and sits himself down right next to him, cross-legged, then starts gently brushing through Chuuya’s curls.

Sighing, the redhead finally relaxes and closes his eyes, melting in his slouched position, even though he knows his hair will be all over the place tomorrow. Over time, he starts leaning into Dazai’s chest until he’s practically lying down. 

After all of his curls are disentangled and roughly in their supposed place, mackerel even tucks him into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. 

When he turns to leave, though, scraped hands weakly reach out, grasping at nothing. Chuckling, Dazai takes Chuuya’s hand in his and kneels down next to the bed again. “I think I’ll stay for another few minutes, hmm? Until the Chibi is in the land of dreams~” 

Squeezing Dazai’s hand, Chuuya nuzzles into his pillow.

In seconds, he’s asleep. 

Chapter Text

Any moment now, Dazai will be back.

Chuuya hasn’t seen him in some time. In fact, Chuuya hasn’t seen his partner more than once since he had found him unconscious in the bathroom and made him throw up most of the swallowed pills and kept shaking him awake while calling Mori because he’s not allowed to send for a regular ambulance and waiting for someone, anyone, to come and help him and staring after the medically-equipped van they dragged a weakly kicking Dazai into as it rounded their block’s corner, out of his sight. 

Mori had refused more than one visit in the clinic because Chuuya still had work for two to do and Dazai just had to learn that not everything can go his way all the time. 

The one time he’d hurried through the white hallway under overly bright neon lights and with a panic-inducing smell of hospital in his nose, Dazai still wore the same accusing look of betrayal he’d had on his face while getting shoved into that car and downright refused to talk to him. When Chuuya wasn’t overly impressed with it, he changed tactics and pretended to be asleep until left alone. After almost two hours of this charade, Chuuya was annoyed enough to finally stand up and leave the hospital as quickly as he had appeared. 

As if Chuuya was the asshole for not letting him die on those stupid ceramic tiles.

Stubborn as ever, there was not a single message from Dazai over the last three days, but Mori called today and told him. The mackerel was still on bedrest, but to be sent home and continue his recovery in their shared apartment. 

Since then, Chuuya felt uncomfortably jittery, even if he didn’t know why exactly. Pacing around, he found the apartment to be mostly void of food and snacks, which wouldn’t do. Dazai will have to eat. Aware he’s swaying on the edge of headspace, shopping would be a dreadful affair. Sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, anxiously twisting his hands, he tries to think of a solution.

Chuuya doesn’t get the chance to make a final decision, however, when he can hear sounds from the stairwell. Before the bell can ring, he’s already in the hallway and rips open the door to find Dazai standing on the doormat, in company of some kind of bodyguard, probably. She’s standing right behind him, trying for a professionally blank face, but wearing the clear expression of someone who’s not paid enough to put up with the mackerel of all people, paired with obvious relief at the prospect of finally dumping Dazai on someone else. 

His eyes dart back to his partner, who mainly looks bad…like, worse than usual. The already lanky teen seems to have thinned out even more, dark bags under his eyes a sharp contrast to pale skin, and he doesn’t even attempt one of his stupid fake smiles.

Instead, he rips his arm out of the woman’s grip - she probably dragged him up here - and marches straight past him, purposefully bumping into Chuuya’s shoulder on his way in and disappearing into the hallway before the redhead even gets to say some kind of greeting. 

A little lost, the bodyguard and Chuuya stare at each other for a moment. Then, he gives her a quick, grateful nod, which she reciprocates, and closes the door. 

Following Dazai’s steps, Chuuya slowly opens the door to his room to find his partner already lying in bed, having dragged the blanket up to his shoulders and intentionally looking the other way, out the window. It’s like Chuuya doesn’t even exist, nothing more than a ghost wandering about.

He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it. No matter how he tries, no words make their way past his lips. Dazai’s hostility hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating, forcing every letter back into Chuuya’s throat. 

As if the anger is physically pressing down on him, he feels small, and trapped, and stupid for it.

Wordlessly, he slinks out the room back into the hallway, stupidly feeling as if he’s about to cry. Coward. As if he’s the one who had his stomach pumped after an overdose and stared at white hospital walls for days. Even through the blanket, he could see the mackerel’s bony figure. He probably didn’t eat a lot during that time.

Right. Food. He has to make something to eat for Dazai.

He makes his way back to the kitchen. He’s aware there’s not much food left, even though he didn’t eat a lot these past few days. Too prominent the picture of Dazai’s reproachful stare in his mind. It reminded Chuuya of his early days with the Sheep, when he’d still had a lot to learn, his place nearer the bottom of the hierarchy. 

Back then, it had been much easier to punish him for misbehaving, mostly by withholding food for a day or two. The simplest solution, really, since less for him meant more for the others, and there wasn’t ever enough at that time. Sometimes three. And food was a privilege to be earned, not some kind of given. Very rarely, four days. Chuuya didn’t know, so he had to be taught. It was for his own good. Even if he sometimes cried out of hunger, writhing on the floor because his stomach wouldn’t stop hurting. After all, they couldn’t tell a seven-year-old how dependent they were on him.  

Since he had skipped most meals, he forgot his usual grocery check-up, and going shopping may have fled his mind, too. Not like he could go now, feeling like a child with a head full of cotton. It would just end in disaster.

After searching through the entire kitchen, opening and closing pantries, cupboards, fridge and freezer, as well as having a little cry at the kitchen table, Chuuya has scraped together enough to make a simple meal for Dazai. Even if not, he always has a stash somewhere, just in case. Nothing but two eggs and some rice, since the mackerel probably still has a sensitive stomach which will disagree with anything remotely spicy. Chuuya could probably kill him with a dab of wasabi.

It takes much longer than normal, the rice is going cold as he finishes scrambling the eggs - supposed to be light on the stomach - and he burns more than one finger in the process, the hot stove sizzling away at his skin. The grumbling of Chuuya’s own stomach harshly echoes through the otherwise quiet room, almost drowning out the muted sound of the tea kettle, but he has long unlearned the actual feeling of hunger. When he turns around to retrieve spoon and fork, a wave of dizziness catches hold of him so suddenly, he goes to steady himself on the kitchen counter, grasps at nothing and finds himself on the ground. 

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he tries to breathe through the frustration building in his ribcage. He wills his lips to stop quivering and wipes a few stray tears away. This is not the time. 

When he has calmed himself down enough to pick the dropped cutlery up from the ground and get a new set, Chuuya finishes preparing Dazai’s tea - chamomile, easy on a still upset stomach - and makes his way out of the kitchen; plate in one hand, mug in the other. 

Overall, he just hopes not too many tears drop into the food.

Only as he reaches Dazai’s room does he choose to let the teacup float beside him while he opens the door and enters. The mackerel is still hiding under his blanket, but had turned towards Chuuya by now. Maroon-colored eyes follow the smaller teen’s every movement, squinting.

When they spot the floating cup and the plate in Chuuya‘s hand, though, they snap open, suddenly alert. He can still feel his hands tremble a little, even if his partner hasn’t done anything outright hostile.

“Uhm…” Chuuya starts because Dazai shows no other reaction, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I-…I thought you might, uh, be h-hungry…” He has the sudden urge to run away. He doesn’t act on it. “n’ I made you…somethin…” 

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he presses his lips together and waits for Dazai to do anything, really. 

And he does. 

Dazai suddenly shoots up from the bed with seemingly newfound energy, letting the blanket fall off his shoulders with the movement. His eyes are burning into Chuuya’s, making the smaller teen automatically shrink down on himself. He’s made some terrible mistake, it seems.

“Can’t you- Why can't you just leave me alone for once? Take a fucking hint, Chuuya, I-I don’t want your stupid food.” Dazai seethes, the facade of indifference now entirely fallen. His chest heaves with anger. “This is all your fault! I should be-…you should’ve…” 

He never does finish that sentence, but horrid images of the mackerel lying on that bathroom floor force themselves into Chuuya’s head, cold, pale, eerily still, and he physically recoils.

The mug goes flying. 

He only barely catches it before it shatters on the floor, hot water spilling over the rim and onto the floor and him. He doesn't have time to dwell on that; before Dazai can utter another word, Chuuya is out the door. 

He doesn’t remember how exactly, but he ends up in the kitchen again, where he carefully puts the untouched food on the dinner table. He doesn‘t know what he’s supposed to do with the unwanted meal. Should he just eat it himself? A pair of eyes oozing betrayal and a voice telling him a privilege, not a given eat on his muddled brain. He has no right.

While cold water pours over his red fingers and wrist, Chuuya contemplates what to do now. Dazai obviously doesn’t want to see him, but he will have to eat at some point. The tea is mostly gone. Should he make another cup? He doesn’t know. He doesn't know anything. 

Just for a moment, he sits down at the table, staring at the plate in front of him. He’s taking a really short break, nothing more. He doesn't know where all those tears come from so suddenly, or what is causing this sniffling sound. He doesn’t.

As he buries his face in his arms to stifle some of the louder, shaky gasps rippling through him, Chuuya realises there really is not much of him without Dazai’s mastermind. As soon as left to his own, he’s nothing but a scared seven-year-old who’s just discovered what bread is. Unlike genius and brilliance, brutal force is found everywhere and easily replaced. 

He can’t even help someone who’s just tried to kill himself. Instead, he turns the whole situation upside down until he suddenly acts as if he were the victim, wanting hugs and cuddles and comfort for nothing in return. 

Until the sobs die down on their own, Chuuya bites into the fabric of his sleeve to mute them. His head starts to ache. His stomach grumbles. He wants Lola. He doesn’t get up to take her out of her drawer. Because he has other things to do. Just this once, he will have to deal with not everything always being about him.

So, the redhead gives his best to get tears and snot off his face and make himself look a little more presentable, trying very hard to take deep, calm breaths. When he has managed the most he can do, he stands up, waits for the dark spots to fade, and spends the next minutes making a new cup of tea and staring at Dazai’s plate through the window of the microwave. 

He doesn’t know how long this little tantrum of his went on, but when he opens the door to Dazai’s room, as slow and quiet as humanly possible to peek inside, Dazai seems to have actually fallen asleep. 

His lanky frame drowning under the blanket drawn up to his neck, expression peaceful and breath even, the mackerel doesn't look as threatening anymore.

Just exhausted. 

Well, Dazai still has to recover, and sleep is the best medicine, as they say. So it’s a good thing the insomniac actually gives in to it for once. He also won’t notice his little visitor this way. 

If Chuuya sets down the plate and cup on the nightstand and leaves, the mackerel won’t have to see and deal with him, though he may be more agreeable to eat something. Quietly, he puts down his bringings and slinks back out the room, using his ability to lighten his steps. Only when he’s standing in his room does the red glow around him dim. 

Because Chuuya is selfish and spoiled, he takes Lola out of the drawer and hugs her close as he makes his way back to Dazai’s door, sinking down on the hallway floor next to it. He will just sit here and keep guard for a bit because one never knows with his partner. He’d have to stop him from doing anything stupid, even if Dazai would yell at him again and Chuuya really didn’t like that. He almost wishes Dazai would’ve just hit him and been done with it, but those words reached their mark and would stay where they are for quite some time, he thinks. 

His stomach grumbles, he pets Lola’s fur and he waits. He doesn’t remember dozing off into a restless drowse, but he does wake up at some point and it’s significantly darker in the hallway.

Rubbing his eyes, he stands up and stumbles two steps through the dimness towards the door. After the dizziness subsides, Chuuya peeks inside Dazai‘s room. The mackerel is still in bed, turned away from him; if he only pretends to sleep, he plays it well. The plate Chuuya brought, lying on the nightstand, would look as if no one bothered to touch or move it away a little, its position on the exact spot Chuuya left it, if it wasn’t completely empty. 

Relief surges through him. Empty means eaten, which means that Dazai got some food into him. Finally. Now, Chuuya can let the mackerel sleep in peace without fearing possible starvation. 

When he goes to pick up the plate, standing next to the bed and staring down at his partner, the redhead gets an idea. Maybe…without giving himself more time to think about it, he sits Lola down on the mattress. Dazai may need her more than Chuuya. He’s dealing with a lot right now. So, Chuuya deposits her next to the mackerel for him to find her when he wakes up next. 

As the smaller teen more or less floats out the room, hands full of plate, cutlery and mug, his arms feel strangely empty anyway. 

Back in the kitchen, he puts the items into the dishwasher, along with the ones he has used for cooking earlier. Then, he sits down at the dinner table, again, to take a little breather.

He doesn’t know why his limbs feel so over-exerted with so little movement, and why he feels this exhausted if he just had a nap. Without Lola, he feels alone and his arms empty and he’s unsure of what to do now. He carried out his plan, and now Dazai doesn’t want to talk to him; there’s not much he can think of.

So Chuuya sits there, and waits, and his stomach grumbles.

Chapter Text

Happily swinging his legs, Chuuya sits on the kitchen counter while he munches on a cookie and listens to Dazai babble about something named Animal Crossing. Dazai made him some more porridge with cinnamon earlier, and gave him real sweets for the first time. Chocolate chip cookies are a great invention. Chuuya is unsure why, but Dazai is extraordinarily nice today. The fuzziness is making it a bit hard to understand what’s going on, but he tries his best.

“I’m just saying, isn’t it a little strange that I can acquire pet accessories, but not pets? What would I need a cat scratching post if there are no cats? The only pet I can get is a stupid hamster, which doesn‘t do anything! Nothing, slug, nothing!” By now, Dazai’s gripping the redhead by the shoulders. “It’s an unbelievably useless hamster. Do you even get my pain?”

Chuuya stares blankly at him.

”Just nod, Chibi.” 

Chuuya nods. 

At that moment, Dazai’s phone, lying on the kitchen top, lights up with a quiet ping, indicating a new message. 

Frowning, mackerel turns to look at the screen, eyes moving over the text listlessly. When he looks back up, his eyes have taken on a carefully blank look. “It seems I’ll have to pay Mori a little visit. I’ll be back…soon?” It comes out more as a question. “You just wait here for me, okay? Or go to bed. Don’t break anything. And no more cookies, alright? You’ve had three already.” 

Oh. Okay. Well, he still has Lola to keep him company. 

Chuuya nods again. “…no breakin’…an’ no cookie…” he mumbles.

Mentally already elsewhere, Dazai nods along with him, if more to himself. Then he puts the phone into his pocket and turns to get his coat from the wardrobe. 

To be honest, Chuuya feels a little worried. He always gets a bad feeling in his stomach when he thinks about Mori for too long. He doesn’t like it. 

“Don’t die, Chibi!” Mackerel calls out from the hallway. Chuuya waves. The apartment door opens and closes.

The time until Dazai’s return goes by without problems. Chuuya is used to being and spending his time alone, he did that all the time before his partner had found out, and sometimes he still does. He can’t bother Dazai all the time, especially when the boy is dealing with his own problems, so sometimes he’ll just stay in his room, as long as possible, at least. 

He manages to turn on something on Disney+ and sits down on the couch after he gets himself a comfy blanket. Snuggled up in and Lola safe in his arms, he gets through almost 45 minutes before he starts dozing off. 

Caught in this haze of not-entirely-conscious, Chuuya hears the apartment door open. Blinking his eyes open, he starts to unwrap his blanket-cocoon and stumbles in the rough direction of the hallway. 

The way his partner stalks through the corridor and stiffly gets rid of coat and shoes doesn’t sound very promising. He also doesn’t greet him. The bad feeling is back in Chuuya’s stomach. 

Toddling towards the kitchen and dining room, where mackerel often sits down first after he gets home, the redhead notices the cookie jar - yes, an actual glass jar, for aesthetic reasons - still on the counter. Maybe a cookie would make Dazai feel a little better, he muses.

So he takes the jar in hand and, after unnecessarily struggling with the lid, manages to open it. Right as he’s about to grab one of the sweets out of it, a voice cuts through the silence.

“I said no more cookies, Chuuya. I’d guess that was pretty clear wording, don’t you think?” It takes all of Chuuya‘s willpower not to immediately drop the jar. That doesn’t sound like Dazai at all.

When he turns around, Dazai’s face seems completely void of any emotion. Chuuya tries not to grimace. It seems the meeting with Mori didn’t go over well.  

Still, the cookie isn’t for him, though. He tilts his head. “But-”

“Leave it, Chuuya. I’m not stupid.” Dazai interrupts him, face unmoving. “I said-…no, I’m not dealing with this right now. Call it a time-out or whatever.” With that, he turns and briskly leaves the room. 

Oh.

The glass shatters on the floor. 

Chuuya can only stare at the empty space left behind. 

This is the moment Dazai is officially tired of him. Tired of his antics, of the crying and the tantrums and the overreactions and the fact that Chuuya always gets everything wrong. Obviously, Dazai didn’t want a stupid cookie.

It’s weird how he can be so surprised when he always knew this was going to happen. 

What’s a time-out? A distant voice pops into his head. It must be something bad. Dazai left him. 

For some reason, he feels kind of detached. He’s not happy, of course, but the hole in his stomach is more empty than painful, he thinks. Maybe that’s because he’s not a real person. A vessel is not meant to be loved, or to be devastated by simple such facts of life.

Is he floating farther away? No, he’s not. He blinks. He’s on the ground, knees on the floor, clumsily dragging his hands through the glass, trying to fix the mess he caused. Dazai left him. He can’t feel anything, but there’s blood pooling around his fingers. He’ll leave stains like this. He can't fix it.

He blinks again. Or does he? Now he’s in the bathroom, water running over his hands and washing some of the blood off. He doesn’t remember coming here. Dazai left him. There are still pieces of glass buried in his fingers. He doesn't know what else to do, so he turns off the tap and stares at the sink. He’s floating away again. 

The next time Chuuya comes to, everything’s dark around him. His thoughts are like syrup. He just slinks back into unconsciousness. 

When he wakes up, he’s back in his bed. There’s sunlight peeking in through the window and dried blood on his sheets. After he changes them, he picks the remaining glass shards out of his hands and goes to clean up the mess in the kitchen. 

Chapter Text

Dazai’s saying something. Chuuya can see his mouth moving, but nothing seems to reach his ears, even though they’re sitting directly across from each other. Nothing more than the dinner table separates their faces from each other.

Currently, all of his concentration is focused on keeping himself from grimacing. Or scrunching his eyes shut. Or crying. Arahabaki is being mean today, it feels like someone’s gouging his eyes out from the inside. With every heartbeat, a wave of pain pulses through his head. Briefly, a thought of taking a knife from the kitchen block to end said beat crosses his mind. He shakes it off.

His walls have thinned significantly lately. Must be the stress or something. 

The screeching sound ringing through his ears makes it unbelievably hard to try and listen to what Mackerel’s saying, and it feels as if the light shining into the window right behind the bandaged teen is actively stabbing his eyes. 

He’s pretty sure he’s soon to drop or already well on his way, but Dazai can‘t know that. He still vividly remembers the last times. He has not dared to bother his partner with it since then, but he fears other people are starting to notice him slacking off, the lack of contraction and his usual diligence at work. He knows Dazai doesn't like this version of him anymore. Doesn’t like him anymore. Or never liked him at all and finally lost his patience. 

Can’t blame him for that, could you? 

Something has to show on his face; a shudder, a twitch, a frown, anything. No matter what it is, it does not manage to escape the other’s eye. Dazai doesn’t exactly fall silent, but he pauses his dramatic speech for just a second, and the unbandaged side of his face turns to look at Chuuya a little more precisely than before, obviously looking for a clue as to what exactly it is that he hasn’t noticed up to this moment. 

Aww, you’ll manage to get him to make fun of you again in no time, isn’t that what you want? Sure seems like it, why don’t you just start sobbing now to speed this up a little? 

He doesn’t even know if they are Arahabaki‘s words or his own, fueled by the pain and swirling emotions caused by the entity roaming in his head. What he does know is that he cannot deal with this, not right now. Neither Arahabaki’s taunting nor Dazai’s knowing smirk and his teasing - or worse, another incident. 

He just can’t.

With an unpleasant screeching sound, the chair is pushed away from the table and Chuuya abruptly goes to stand up, only gripping the wooden edge for barely a second before he takes off in the direction of the door to the hall, with the clear intention of getting to his own room as fast as possible. There, the redhead can sulk all he wants and maybe even hope to get some sleep until the migraine wears off, at least partially. 

The universe never works in Chuuya‘s favour.

The smaller boy doesn’t even make it to the hallway. Must have stood up too fast - before he even crosses the kitchen’s threshold, a wave of dizziness spreads through him, making his legs feel frail and shaky. 

Stumbling a few uncoordinated steps in a fruitless attempt to steady himself, he feels his vision darken, then everything’s closing up around him. 

When Chuuya comes to, he’s lying on the ground, though he feels rather than sees it. His spine and the back of his head throb where he must have hit the floor, and the lightheadedness hasn’t subsided, even though he probably hasn’t been standing up for a while now. 

Behind his closed eyelids, Chuuya can still make out some kind of light above him, so he tries to turn his head to get away from it. Another wave of pain flashes through between his temples, and he groans. 

The movement must have alerted something - or someone - of his regained consciousness, seeing as it starts rustling right beside him. It takes a few tries against the stabbing pain, but eventually azure eyes flutter open, flickering around the room until they meet maroon-colored ones. Even though the redhead’s vision hasn’t fully cleared, he notices the bandaged mackerel sitting beside him and…touching his arm?

Dazai is, indeed, actively holding Chuuya’s wrist in his hand - the cool touch of no longer human radiating off of him - and has now lifted his head to stare at the smaller teen, already putting on the perfect imitation of a radiant grin to cover up the slight frown half a second ago. 

“Oh!” he beams. “Chibi’s not dead yet. I wanted to feel for a pulse, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to begin first aid on a dog~”

There’s not much to say to that, so Chuuya just silently nods, albeit very slowly. He’s not dead. But, he is in a considerable amount of pain and cotton is spreading through his head, so he would very much like to get up and into his bed now. 

He just has to stand up, first. Keep his balance. Drag his legs into his room. Not trip over anything, since he cannot really open his eyes without risking another rapid expedition to the floor. The light is unbearable. 

As soon as he does so much as lift his head, though, the world starts blurrying and a shooting pain throbs through his whole head. A whimper escapes his mouth. Everything hurts and and everything’s spinning and he just wants to sleep a little but nothing works and now he will have to stay on the floor and-

Dazai lets go of his hand, and Chuuya almost screams. No longer human must have suppressed some of Arahabaki’s rage, and it has just returned with full force. 

It feels as if he has suddenly lost control of his ability and the weight of the whole world must be crushing his skull. His stomach lurches. Violently pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, Chuuya turns around and curls in on himself, still on the floor. The pressure hurts, but not as much as everything else does. By now, there’s nothing to stop the pained sobs from ripping out of his throat, nothing to hinder tears and snot from flowing freely down his face now. 

He just wants the pain to stop, please please please anything he’ll do anything to make it stop

Right when he thinks he’s about to faint again, the worst of it subsides, leaving only the dull throbbing of before and a bone-deep exhaustion behind. The cause of this unexpected relief isn’t clear to Chuuya, until he feels bandaged hands reaching for him, slowly propping him up and gently lifting his own hands away from his face, which is pressed against something soft, plunging him into darkness once again. Dazai’s shirt. Chuuya could cry of happiness. Maybe he does.

The sensation of no longer human is more of a comforting blanket than a cool tingling now, draped over him protectively. Too tired to move, the smaller teen just sags against his partner’s chest, still hiccuping. He’s so done.

Dazai seems to have other plans, though. Grabbing onto Chuuya a little tighter, he goes to stand up, groaning dramatically all the while. Out of habit, shaking fingers grab on to his partner’s shirt to keep his balance.

“My, my,” he whines, “who knew such a tiny slug could stick to the ground so stubbornly?” It’s not any louder than his usual voice, but Chuuya’s senses feel overly heightened and the sound is grating on his ears, painfully.

He whimpers. Quiet. It has to be quiet. Lucky for him, Dazai’s grip is tight enough to not send them both tumbling down to the floor when he lets go, lifts his hands back up to his face - to press them on his ears this time and drown out what’s going on around him. 

Now that Chuuya neither sees nor hears what’s happening, he can only feel mackerel moving about, though he cannot make out the direction they’re taking. The world hasn’t quite stopped spinning yet. Instead, he focusses on getting his breathing back under control and the sick feeling in his stomach at bay.

With no warning, he’s ripped out of his exercise when one of his hands is suddenly taken away from his ear. 

No! 

Reflexively, he lifts his head to protest and regrets it the same second. But before he can squeeze his eyes shut again, he pauses. There’s no bright light blending him, nothing to cruelly stab at his eyes or clasp his head in a tight embrace of agony.

The room around him is dark. Confused, he turns his head around, blue eyes owlishly blinking a few times, just to make sure. Nothing. It does not make any significant difference on the pain scale whether his eyes are open or closed. 

Chuuya doesn’t really get to contemplate why Dazai actively chose to run around in the dark when that inevitably makes every single thing very much more complicated than it has to be because now, he’s set down on something soft. Since his hand has snatched back to his ear, he can’t use it to feel around and make out where he is, but he’d guess it’s his own bed.  

Again, bandaged hands grab his own, undeterred by his struggles to keep them right where they are. Almost the same second, though, they’re replaced by something else and the world seems to have become a lot quieter suddenly. When Dazai lets go of his hand, Chuuya reaches up to try and find out what exactly has just been put on his head. 

Headphones. Dazai got him his headphones. To keep everything quiet. 

Mackerel’s so nice, even though he doesn’t like Chuuya; he almost wants to cry some more. 

He’s already in his bed, so the only thing left to do is curl up and finally get some of the sleep he tries to convince himself is going to fix the issue at hand.

Now, though, his partner also lets go of Chuuya’s other hand and takes a few steps towards what he believes to be the door. A familiar wave of pain more or less crashes into him; he scrambles to get off his bed and back to Dazai. 

He can’t leave now, Chuuya cannot stand so much pain when he’s small like this, he simply can’t. He’s not trying to be a bother, he’s really not, and he can be small and all quiet and he’ll just have to skip the sleep but all that would be perfectly fine as long as Dazai doesn’t deny him his ability as the only thing keeping Arahabaki from doing as he pleases with Chuuya’s head and he can just follow along with whatever the brunette wants to do and he really wouldn’t be that much of a nuisance if he 

Before he loses his balance and goes tumbling down to the ground, familiar hands grip and steady him, and the rippling pain eases up. Still, the echoes of it won’t let him stop crying. Digging his fingers into mackerel’s shirt as tight as physically possible, more tears dripping down his face, Chuuya keeps sobbing because everything hurts so much and Dazai hates him but he really doesn’t want to be alone now but Dazai hates him and everything is awful.

It takes some time, but eventually - with the help of hands rubbing his back and a familiar sloth getting put in his arms - he manages to quiet down a little. It must be quite annoying to Dazai, though Chuuya does not dare to let go of his partner in anticipatory fear. 

“Well, Chibi…” Dazai’s voice - muffled due to the headphones - rings through his ears. “If you insist, you’ll just have to accompany me on my adventurous journey~”

With that, he’s picked up once more, one hand grabbing tightly onto mackerel, the other one squeezing Lola safely between both of them. He’s so grateful Dazai didn’t leave him, he does his very best to be as compliant as he can, even if the motion of being carried around makes his brain rattle in his skull a bit. When more hiccups threaten to come out, Chuuya bites his fingers to silence them. 

He doesn’t know where this is going, and a few times he almost thinks they’ve reached a destination, though every time his partner eventually keeps on moving. It doesn’t take long for the lanky teen to come to a halt again, and Chuuya lifts his head from where he had gone back to hiding behind fabric only when he hears the familiar sound of a closing curtain. Since no light has been turned on, the room stays mostly dark, but he is almost sure they must be in the kitchen. 

From his position, deposited almost sideways on Dazai’s hip, the little one watches his dim silhouette open and close a few drawers, turn on the sink’s water tap and put some things on the kitchen block. 

A tap on his headphones. “Itsy-bitsy Chibi~” he hears Dazai’s voice whisper. “You’ve been a little dizzy, haven’t you?” 

He hums, vaguely agreeing. 

“Are you still a little dizzy, then?” 

Difficult question. He still feels kind of lightheaded, but he doesn’t want to guilt Dazai into anything. Dazai doesn’t even like him - anymore? He also doesn’t want to lie directly into his face. If he doesn’t actually say it out loud, though, his partner won't have any social obligation to help Chuuya.

He shrugs. 

“Alright, that’s a pretty clear yes, tiny slug~” Dazai grins - Chuuya can hear it in the sound of his voice - and completely ignores the redhead’s attempt at indifference. 

With Chuuya still in his arms, he turns on the kettle and grabs a cup out of the kitchen cupboard, humming all the while. Chuuya feels, rather than hears, it. It seems Dazai is making himself some tea. Then, the lanky teen reaches for an apple and puts it onto a plate he had grabbed earlier. 

With no warning, Chuuya is suddenly put down on the kitchen block, directly next to the plate. On reflex, his heart starts racing in fear of the pain that will crash over him the second Dazai lets go of him, uncomfortably cold sweat starting to stick to his skin. To counter it, he grabs on even tighter.

“Don’t look so stricken, slug, I’ll just cut up this healthy apple into slices for you!” Dazai more or less gently peels off the fingers clawing into his shirt. “But don’t worry, since I am a professional, I give you permission to stay in direct contact with my arm during this process~” 

The fear swallows the realisation that mackerel is making apple slices, presumably not for himself, and talking much more quietly than his usual volume.

So, Chuuya clings to his partner’s arm while he starts slicing up the fruit, if not very fast. It almost looks like he knows what he’s doing - a previously unknown state of a Dazai in the kitchen. 

The slow motion is repetitive, making the redhead’s eye flutter drowsily over time and lean more against the wall behind him. The exhaustion and the pain - still throbbing between his temples - are catching up with him. And it’s so nicely dark in here. It’s not a particularly comfortable position he’s in, sitting on such a hard surface, propped against the cold wall, feeling Dazai move about with his arm stuck on Chuuya’s hand, but he’ll close his eyes for a bit, anyway. Just a few seconds, at most.

Soon though, his hope for a little rest is disturbed. Another soft tap on the headphones.  

Blearily, he opens his eyes to the sight of mackerel boring his fishy eyes into Chuuya’s skull. “No fingers in your mouth, tiny slug~” 

Even through the muted sound of the headphones, it’s way too cheery, and he rips the digits out of his mouth. Now that Dazai’s mentioned it, the smaller teen is not only embarrassed, but painfully aware of the fuzziness enveloping him. Which inevitably leads to the question of why. Why is Dazai putting up with this Chuuya he does not even like? There’s no gain for him in letting the other boy sit next to him while he goes on about his day. On the contrary, it must be quite the bother to have such a spoilt kid literally stuck with him. On him.

“Oh, and you like honey, don’t you?” His partner’s muffled voice kind of throws him off. Strange question. He nods. Dazai nods, too. Then, he turns back to the cut-up apple.

Before Chuuya has any chance to really doze off again, the mackerel disturbs him once more. “Chibi!” he chirps. “You can go to bed soon, but you should eat something to get your blood sugar up, first. What if you faint again and I’ll never find you on the ground, because you’re so unbelievably tiny? Wouldn’t that be a tragedy? Whoever would be my dutiful dog, then? A tragedy, indeed!”

Only half of what he’s saying reaches Chuuya’s brain. He’s too tired for Dazai’s jokes. Or to make himself something to eat and get his blood sugar up. Dazai should rather explain to him where he suddenly knows that word from. 

When he just keeps squinting at his partner’s silhouette, uncomprehending, the brunette giggles. “You really are slow today, aren’t you, slug? A good option to stop this graceless swooning is fruit. And honey. I have read scientific research about this. Which is why I created this delicacy!”

With that, he puts the apple-plate on Chuuya’s lap, right in front of Lola, only now there’s actual honey poured on top of the slices. Ah. Those are for him. Didn’t click before. Maybe the headache is really making him slower. 

“And this!” The cup is pushed onto the surface next to him, probably steaming. “It’s Chamomile tea, remember? It can help with your migraines. And some more honey! Wouldn’t want you to kiss the ground next step you take, would we?”

Now it really clicks. If he’s fed, watered and put to bed, Dazai can close the door behind him and peacefully go on about his day without having to fear any whining and crying. That’s why he’s putting in the effort. Which is still pretty patient of him, Chuuya must admit. He doesn’t want to make the mackerel’s life any harder, so he just nods.

Slowly, he starts nibbling on some pieces of fruit to get this over with. He hasn’t had anything to eat in a while. Aside from the obvious effect of being healthy, it tastes pretty good. As he said, he likes honey. And apple slices. And the small portion of effort someone put into this.

After his obligatory apple-sharing with Dazai, he tries to grab the cup of tea to finish what can’t be called an actual meal. Chuuya feels kind of bad for Dazai, still bustling about in complete darkness with one hand glued to his own, so he intends on slurping the tea down and leaving for bed as fast as he can manage. It’s the least he can do.

Before he can even touch the ceramic mug, though, a hand is quickly put over it. “Careful, tiny slug! If you touch it, you might shrivel up some more, like shrunken laundry that’s been washed too hot, you know~” 

Snatching his hand back, Chuuya feels kind of dumb. Obviously, freshly boiled tea is still too hot to drink. He should’ve thought of that.

“Do you think you can walk a little? I imagine it to be quite hard with those short legs, but your room isn’t all that that far away~” 

He can walk. Probably. He’d just shoved honeyed apples in his mouth, at least. So he nods. 

“Alrighty~” the brunette sing-songs. Then he grabs a few items off the kitchen block, including the teacup, signifies the smaller teen to follow him and starts making his way out the dark kitchen. If a little clumsy, Chuuya follows. 

Even in this pitch-black room, it feels like his vision darkens significantly the moment he stands up right again, and he grips the kitchen counter for just a second to steady himself. But, surprisingly enough, he does not kiss the ground, and neither does he get blinded by any light lurking in the hallway, and they reach his bedroom just fine. When Dazai has led him to the bed, still not turning on any lamp, the cup is gently put on the nightstand.

Dazai pulls back the bed’s covers with one - now free - hand and pushes the smaller teen down onto the mattress. While sleeping it off was exactly what he had planned from the start, a feeling of dread creeps its way into Chuuya’s stomach because going to sleep means Dazai will leave. Dazai leaving means he’ll inevitably let go of Chuuya. That means pain.

Not giving him any chance to break out in tears, mackerel starts speaking once more. 

“Now, Chibi, you can lay down and I will perform some dark magic~” he chirps, obviously pleased with himself. Tucking the blanket over Chuuya, almost up to his chin, he takes a little something out of his pocket.

Blue eyes squint at what could be a tiny bottle, sceptical. The brunette chuckles. “It’s peppermint oil. You bought it yourself, remember? Now let me professionally apply it~”

Ah. Yes, he knows that one. One of the few things that create at least an illusion of relief during his migraines, if oftentimes short-lived.

He lets Dazai put some drops of it on his forehead, creating a strange feeling, as if it’s pulling on his face. He can never successfully categorise the sensation as either warm or cooling, it’s both or nothing. 

“Now hold your tiny head up real quickly, so I can put the water bottle down! I think it’s starting to burn my nerves...” And indeed, when Chuuya puts his head back down onto his pillow, warmth from beneath him engulfs him. Dazai made him a hot water bottle, and it feels so nice on the tension of his neck and shoulders that Chuuya could cry again. 

Now he’s warm, tucked into bed, holding Lola and mackerel’s hand and ready to have his nap. Before he can take the chance to let his eyes flutter closed again, though, Dazai tugs on his arm, making him slowly turn to face the bandaged teen, kneeling next to the bed. 

“There’s something I have to discuss with the Chibi before he can reach the land of dreams!” A pause, almost hesitant. Mackerel reaches out with his other hand, combing through red locks with nimble fingers. “Don’t you think your stress has been worsening lately? May be work, less free time, or…not regressing properly…” The last part comes out mumbled, as if Chuuya would explode the second Dazai mentions his regression.

He’s more confused about what his partner is trying to achieve. Waiting for more context, he just keeps blinking at him, blearily.

“Don’t look so judgemental, slug! All I’m saying is, I don’t think this would happen this often - and this bad - if you, you know, maybe kept a schedule or something…”

Chuuya does not manage more than a questioning hum, which seems enough to keep Dazai talking. He seems almost sheepish. “This, Chibi, is why I propose setting a specific time, so you can regress peacefully. Well, not specific specific, but, you know, maybe sometime on the weekends. Like Saturdays. We’ll try once a week and if necessary, we can still change it accordingly. It would lessen the risk of you regressing involuntarily, and I think your overall stress would let up a little! Fewer migraines, less…fainting, you know~”  

For entirely unknown reasons, Chuuya’s first reaction is to refuse. He hasn’t ever planned to indulge this phenomenon in such a manner, especially not making time for it in his weekly schedule. It seems like defeat, somehow. But what Dazai says almost makes sense; through the pain in his head and the fingers in his hair, it’s hard to find any counter-arguments. 

Furthermore, keeping the regression somehow regulated will take some weight off of Dazai, too. He won't have to worry about unpleasant surprises - such as today - any longer. Chuuya’s not even sure if mackerel plans on spending those Saturdays with him. 

Alright. He can still change his mind later and just…not do it. He thinks. 

”…m’kay” he mumbles out, and it’s seemingly all the confirmation Dazai needs. He takes off Chuuya’s headphones. “Alright, tiniest of all Chibis, then you have my full permission to take a nap, now!”

Oh. Dazai’s going to leave now. 

“Stop that, slug, I can feel those cogs turning in your head. It would be such a hassle to get up now, wouldn’t it? Dear, what if I also fainted? I think I’ll just take a quick break down here and watch the tea until it’s cooled down, so that your clumsy hands won’t knock it over~” 

So when Chuuya finally closes his eyes, one bandaged hand stays in his hair, one holds his own. Because Dazai stays seated right where he is.

How nice of him, Chuuya thinks, just before drifting off. 

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular opinion, Osamu Dazai does have some basic survival knowledge, if only that.

So when his nightly stare at the ceiling is interrupted by a sandpaper-like feeling in his throat, he actually decides to do something about it. Dying of thirst is not a nice way to go. He’d tried that once. When he takes all his energy and reaches for the bottle of stale water at his bedside, though, his hand comes up with an empty one. The universe hates him, it seems.

Sighing, he mechanically gets up and out of bed, and makes his way along the floor towards the kitchen, empty bottle in hand.

He must say, he is quite productive today.

Once there, he solemnly stares as the sink’s water tap fills it up with water, probably lukewarm. When it’s done, he turns off the tap, but he cannot bring himself to move any further. Maybe this has overtaxed his productivity as of now. So Dazai keeps staring.

He simply doesn't have any energy anymore; there’s nothing to pull his rigid body out of its stupor.  

Until there is.      
 
A sound disturbs the eery quietness, reaches his ears, makes his head snap towards the door. It’s over. The weird trance is broken. He can move again, the night can go on as before; he takes the old plastic bottle to his lips and gulps down a few generous mouthfuls. It’s cold in here; maybe that’s just the unfamiliar feeling of his bare arms. He is not wearing his bandages, since it’s the middle of the night, and it doesn’t exactly make him feel naked, but it’s a close call.  
 
While he contemplates whether to fill it up some more before he goes back to bed, he’s interrupted once more. Only now does he wonder what it is that’s making this noise. At this time at night, nonetheless.  
 
There’s not more than one plausible option, really. He shouldn’t interfere, shouldn’t be too noisy. But some strange feeling in his chest forces him to, entirely without his consent. How impertinent.
 
Dazai waddles over to Chuuya’s room. As if he were the dog here.  
 
Holding his breath, almost pressing his ear against the closed door, he stops for a moment to try and make out what is happening behind it. Nothing but silence greets him.  
 
He nearly huffs in disappointment. Not only is his presence in front of this door completely involuntary, it is also pointless, it seems. That’s what he gets for being a dutiful owner, anyway…

There it is! The sound is clearly coming from inside the Chibi’s room. He knew it!  
 
But what is that?  
 
Well, there’s only one way to find out. Dazai reaches for the handle and pulls the door open, slowly and quietly. Just to make sure there won’t be any more disruptions of his well-deserved rest tonight. Obviously.
 
Fortunately, the light still on in the kitchen dimly lits the room. Turning on any of the lamps in here would surely disturb the slug’s peaceful slumber and make Dazai’s presence known, which really isn’t what he’s trying to achieve at all. Probably.  

What he can see are the outlines of his partner - still sleeping, in fact - lying on his bed, the covers mostly pushed off of him. He isn’t exactly tossing and turning, but neither does he make a particularly relaxed impression, twitching and trembling.  
 
Maybe not so peaceful, then.  
 
Another twitch. A small gasp tears out of him. Dazai is pretty sure that’s the noise he heard in the kitchen.
 
Technically, it isn’t more than a draw of breath.  
 
It’s dripping with fear.  
 
No crying, no screaming. But to Dazai, the panic is tangible. And all too Chibi-like.  
 
Always so quick to anger, loud and brash and scornful and hostile and downright reckless.  
 
But Chuuya’s fear is a quiet thing, unobtrusive and diffident, easily covered by his rage, by screams and insults.  
 
Usually.  
 
This is not usually.  
 
This time, there is no canine-like anger to hide behind; there is just Chuuya, scared and disturbed, who’s gone back to being quiet as a mouse.
 
How strange, Dazai muses. He thought the Chibi was quite literally incapable of dreaming. Summing up the aspects of this odd situation, though, he can only reach one conclusion.  
 
The mouse slug must be having a nightmare.  
 
What is Dazai to do about that?  
 
As if he had sensed the opportunity to bring Dazai into a most unpleasant position - forcing him to explain why he is standing in Chuuya’s room, in front of Chuuya’s bed, in the middle of the night - his sleeping partner chooses this exact moment to shoot up from his bed with another gasp, louder this time.  
 
The universe does hate him.  
 
Dazai is left with no time to sneakily disappear out of the room or at least out of Chuuya’s immediate field of vision - under the bed, perhaps - before the redhead’s gaze will inevitably find his currently bandage-less partner, strangely enough, awkwardly located more or less in front of him.
 
A pair of eyes stares up at him, glowing azure almost completely hidden by pupils blown wide in terror.  
 
He’s not usually one for such crude expressions, but he’s really unsure what the fuck he’s supposed to do now. The lack of sleep is catching up with him. What would Chuuya do if the roles were reversed? What does Chuuya do when the roles are reversed? For a few seconds, both of them stare at each other, silent and unmoving, only Chuuya’s ragged breath audible in the dark room. Dazai clears his throat. “Do you…” he helplessly lifts the plastic bottle, “…want some…water?” This must be the dumbest thing he’s ever said. Maybe he should jump off another bridge after all. Right now. Chuuya’s window could suffice.  
 
Silence.  
 
The fact that normal Chuuya does not dream aside, something else is off.  
 
By now, the smaller teen should have started yelling at him, throwing in a few insults and dragging Dazai out of the room. He’s awake now, the anger should be back, too. Or at least some general confusion, which one couldn’t even hold against him.  
 
Nothing. His face doesn’t move, his breath doesn’t slow, his pupils don’t shrink back to their normal size.  
 
Dazai wouldn’t be Dazai if he wasn’t able to put the pieces together, even without two days worth of sleep. That's a small Chibi sitting in front of him.  
 
Uh.  
 
What does one say to a toddler that appears as if he has just seen death herself?  
 
Up to this moment, Chuuya didn’t dream, Dazai has not ever done research on handling a child’s nightmare, nor been confronted with any kind of Chuuya in the aftermath of one. Not that he’s ever done research on other things about the Chibi. He’s never been on this end of the rope so far. Not ideal.  
 
It doesn't even seem like there’s any recognition in those blue eyes. Does he even know where he is? Who he is? Who Dazai is? Not ideal.  
 
Lola! He needs the Chibi’s sloth plushie. This is important, probably the little one’s most treasured item. A way to comfort him and lead him back into reality, from wherever he just came from.  
Dazai knows the sloth is kept somewhere inside the bedside table, so he spiritedly takes two steps and kneels down in front of it, almost next to his partner’s position on the bed.  
 
The first real reaction Dazai gets out of Chuuya is the violent flinch away from him. Hastily, one of the most powerful ability-users alive scrambles to the other side of the mattress, out of the piercing view of maroon eyes.
 
As if he had anyone to fear.  
 
As if that would save him, should Dazai actually mean him harm.  
 
No matter, while the Chibi probably hides under a blanket, he has to find Lola. He rips open drawer after drawer, until finally, his hands find soft fabric. Lifting her out of her prison, he sighs of relief and turns backwards to face Chuuya, probably hidden away in his covers.  
 
Chuuya is not hidden away in his covers. In fact, there is no Chuuya on the bed at all. There is no Chuuya.  
 
It’s not often Dazai is taken by surprise, but leave it to always be related to the slug somehow.  
If he thinks about it, it’s surely not that strange for a child scared out of his mind to run away. What’s stranger is that he was able to do so without Dazai catching him.  
 
How did he not hear the Chibi leave? How did he not notice the panicked gasps stopping so suddenly?  
 
He holds his breath. Because they didn’t.  
 
They are much quieter than before, but they didn’t stop. He can still make out the irregular sound echoing through the room. The Chibi didn’t get all that far, obviously.
 
And Dazai knows where it’s coming from.
 
Silly Chibi, so predictable.
 
Well, now that any chance of dealing with this fast and efficiently is gone, the lanky teen decides to leave the room and hurriedly get some more things. No one wants a hysterical toddler keeping him awake all night, right?  
 
Chuuya is not going to run away, but the door gets locked, just to be sure.  
 
After he has collected a pacifier, Dazai hurries to his room and rips out the box of things he had ordered weeks ago. The Chibi could have reacted better at the sight of them, but he’ll just have to get him used to the toys; take the route with baby steps. He didn’t spend all that money for nothing!  
 
That’s a problem for another time, though. What he’s looking for right now is buried somewhere in the box, too, and Dazai has to shovel his way through a Lego and a painting set until, finally, he pulls out the soft red blanket that came with everything else. Chuuya still needs something to calm him down and comfort him in case Dazai’s touch will trigger another reaction. Children are easily fooled by such illusions of safety; the slug can hide in there instead of the cold floor under his desk. Now, he rushes through the hallway back into the kitchen, blanket under his arm. Toddlers sometimes get a cup of warm milk with honey when they cannot sleep, he’s sure of that. Maybe it helps. Maybe it doesn’t. Who knows.  
 
While he stares at the glass turning inside the microwave, heating up the white liquid, Dazai forces himself to stand still. He doesn‘t even know why he’s so restless. There’s no reason to. It’s just the Chibi, after all. And it’s not like there’s that much he can do, anyway.
 
Hopefully, Chuuya is even able to drink out of a normal glass without spilling. Especially with hands shaking in fear, this could prove to be a problem. Dazai will have to think about possible solutions later. Right now, there are other things to worry about. He has priorities.  
 
When a ping rings about the kitchen, he more or less rips open the microwave’s door, grabs the glass inside and a bottle of honey and already stands in front of Chuuya‘s room again, arms full.  
 
If graceless, he manages to open the door, slips into the dark room, then closes it behind him. He doesn’t want the tiny slug to be overwhelmed by the bright light on the ceiling, so he makes do with the smaller bedside light, engulfing the place in a dim glow.  
 
He grabs Lola again, from where he sat her down on the bed earlier - Chuuya’s regular blanket too, after some thought - and slowly makes his way towards the hiccups reverberating under the wooden desk. He doesn‘t want to risk disturbing Chuuya even more. Who knows what overpowered toddlers do when they perceive themselves to be threatened?  
 
Gently putting the glass of milk and the honey on the ground at a presumably safe distance, Dazai plops down on the floor next to the desk, legs crossed. As he predicted, there is Chuuya in his sweaty shirt, huddled against the wall, pressed into a corner, still fighting for each hoarse take of breath.  
 
Aside from this obvious display of fear, though, his face is blank. No tears, no grimace, no reaction to Dazai sitting down, nothing. He often seems to lack the normal emotional responses children usually have, but this is different than just forgetting to smile all day long.
 
Chuuya’s gone away for a bit, it seems.
 
Dazai will have to tether him back to reality. Trying to appear calm - not that he isn’t calm, he always is - he lays out his brought goods in front of him in a way Chuuya could see them if he tried.  
 
Lola, his new blanket, the old one. Not ideal equipment perhaps, but the best he can do right now.  
 
The paci he keeps in his pocket for the moment.  
 
As a first try, he begins talking. He has to start somewhere, and talking his mouth dry to get out of unpleasant situations is one of his many incredible talents.  
 
“Well, tiny mouse…I mean, slug…,” Not his best day, indeed, “you are quite lucky, for I was here, in your room, purely by coincidence obviously, to save you from this blood-curling monster of a desk that’s obviously trying to swallow you whole! How about we go back to your safe and comfy bed, hmm?”  
 
Nothing. Is Chuuya even blinking?  
 
Time for the next step.
 
“Also, I think someone has missed you dearly, isn’t that right?” He chirps, but it doesn’t really come out as normal and carefree as he intended. He doesn’t understand why his voice isn’t obeying him as usual. Slowly, very slowly, Dazai picks up Lola again and reaches out to deposit her on Chuuya’s lap. It’s meant to be comforting. In his movement, he lightly brushes his arm against the redhead’s by accident.
 
Oh, wrong move. This does get a reaction out of the Chibi, just not the way Dazai planned.  
 
An inhumane shriek tears out the little one’s throat, and he rips his arm away from its previous position. The blank stare is replaced by an all-consuming expression of terror, blue eyes now appearing completely black. Somehow, this is worse than the dissociation, Dazai thinks distantly, while his partner’s body seems to press itself even further into the corner in an obvious attempt to get away.  
 
“No!” It’s the first word out of those chapped lips since Chuuya woke up, hoarse and fearful. Now, they can’t seem to stop spilling out. “No, I-…I don’ wanna-”, his own anxious gasps interrupt him. “…don’ wanna go to the- the knife room…” he whimpers, sending red curls flying with his head shaking so frantically.  
 
Even though he makes such an adamant impression, he doesn’t manage to raise his voice, the words come out quiet and jumbled. Too afraid to really speak up, too small to defend himself. Where he thinks he is right now, at least.  
 
Another whisper. “please…h-hur’s lots…”, five-year-old Chuuya obviously remembers things his fifteen-year-old version doesn’t. Perhaps it’s better that way.  
 
It sounds like he’s about to be sick, and somehow Dazai feels like he will, too.  
 
Without prior indication, his partner’s head snaps around, azure-colored eyes boring straight into his own. Strangely enough, through all this, not a single tear has appeared.  
 
“was good, r’lly good…”, pale fingers claw into Lola’s fur, seeking something to cling to. “Didn’ run…promise, prom’s…” Now Chuuya has taken to rapid nodding, seemingly trying to convince mostly himself, his voice getting more quiet by the second.  
 
He almost wishes Chuuya would have stayed quiet and let himself be put back to bed. What is he supposed to do? Why does his chest hurt and his stomach feel queasy? He doesn’t know how to deal with any of this.

 
The fingers won’t let go of the plushie. Hopefully, nothing is going to rip. Chuuya would be inconsolable.  
 
Dazai takes a deep breath. His turn now. “Okay.” His best option is to play along. Probably. He doesn’t know anything any more.  
 
Chuuya quiets. Something akin to hope glimmers in his eyes, but more prominently, confusion arises. Dazai smiles at him, and claps his hands - softly, almost inaudible. “You…you were really good, yes! Extraordinary, in fact! So, no-…”, that’s bile rising in his throat. “…no knife room today~”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Chuuya just has to start unconsciously copying him, otherwise he’ll faint soon. It’s not like Dazai has to regulate his own breathing by now, too.
 
Pure disbelief is staring back at him. “Not…going?” The distrust is clear on his face, next to the fear that hasn’t quite disappeared yet. Nevertheless, he starts taking deeper breaths along with Dazai.
 
“Nope, not going!” It’s not so hard to pull his lips into a smile usually. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Must be the lack of sleep.  
 
“…no…no tests?” Deep breath in. Deep breath out. No longer at risk of suffocating, at least. “No tests!” He wants the other, normally traumatized Chuuya back.
 
For a gruelling few seconds, distant blue eyes just keep on silently staring at him. Then, finally, his partner turns his head away from Dazai. He’s no immediate threat anymore, it seems. “Okay…,” the little one mutters, and starts nodding to himself again. “…okay, not going…not going, not…going…”  

His gaze snaps back to maroon-colored eyes and the helpless mop of brown hair beside him. If there had been any recognition in his eyes, he could almost have believed his Chibi was back.
 
“Okay”, Chuuya repeats. He probably doesn’t mean to make it sound like a question so much.
 
“Okay.” Dazai answers anyway, and all tension drains out of the smaller teen’s body at once. All strings have been cut, and he’s nothing more than a pitiful picture of misery, wilting in front of Dazai’s very eyes. Now, he just looks unbelievably tired.  
 
Sensing his chance, Dazai slowly, very slowly, so as to not startle Chuuya all over again, starts to get up and grab the items he brought with him. Currently, as he has seemingly lost his threat-factor, the lanky teen is turned into nothing more than a part of the redhead’s peripheral vision, at the edges of his muddled awareness. Thus, he makes his way towards the bed undisturbed and arranges the blankets in a way that won’t inconvenience him when laying tiny Chuuya back down on the mattress. The glass, forgotten until now, still full, is quietly put on the nightstand.  
 
Back to the desk, where red locks whip up and down with the effort of keeping awake. On the way back to their original colour, blue eyes droop, fluttering closed from time to time, only to be ripped open again, every time. After watching the helpless ordeal for a minute or two, Dazai kneels down and promptly lifts his partner up into his arms, and Lola with him.  
 
Aside from the silent, full-bodied jerk going through the smaller teen, there’s no further reaction.  
 
He’s not sure whether that counts as reassuring or concerning. Trust or surrender, which one is unclear.
 
Still, the stillness proves to be quite beneficial, seeing as all three make it to Chuuya’s bed without complications, and in no time the gravity-manipulator is plopped down on the soft mattress. Uncomfortably compliant, he makes no attempt to move away, or do anything else, really, just stares through Dazai as though he were a ghost, blinking heavily.  
 
He should just leave the little one in bed to go to sleep and be done with it, Dazai thinks. But he knows the angry mouse will be quite unpleasant company tomorrow if he wakes up unrested and in sweaty clothes and he can’t have that because a tired and miserable Chuuya is much less fun to tease.  
 
So, calculating as Dazai is - and not at all kindly, this is solely for his own good - he leaves the boy sitting on the bed to look for something fresh to wear, and finds a sufficiently comfortable, blue sweater for Chuuya to disappear in. And just so his plans aren’t crossed by a hysterical baby, Dazai explains what he’s doing, continuing to do so the whole process.  
 
Because he didn’t stare through that microwave door for nothing, Dazai even helps him drink down the honeyed milk - yes, he has put that sweetener in just now because he didn’t bring any of this for nothing?! - before changing, which proves to be the right choice, seeing as most of the liquid would have ended up on his clothes if not for the support of Dazai’s hand. Chuuya’s don’t seem to be steady yet, though it’s not clear whether the cause is his panic attack or his age.  
 
Funny enough, it takes some time to get an dissociated overtired toddler out of a shirt, but as soon as the clean sweater is pulled over his head, he looks decidedly less run-over. A little more like his own Chibi.
 
Now that everything in his might has been done, he grabs Chuuya’s shoulders and guides him down onto the mattress, lying on his back, depositing Lola in his reach. Since he’s not sure if the other blanket has suffered a fate the same as the shirt, Dazai chooses the soft red blanket to be introduced to the little one right this moment. As to not restrict any possible movement, he pulls it up only up to his chest instead of tucking the smaller teen in like a real child, though it doesn’t seem any bother to him, anyway.  
 
Instead of making himself comfortable, Chuuya does not move except to turn his head to the side towards Dazai, who is sitting by his bedside and fumbling with the blanket, feeling painfully bare under the gaze of wide blue eyes boring into him, without any of his bandages to protect himself. Fortunately, those same eyes soon start drooping again, as they did mere minutes ago. But even as time passes, goes on and on, they refuse to stay closed. Each and every time, they open wide again, as if preparing for the worst, should they not.  
 
Dazai wouldn’t be Dazai, though, if he didn’t know exactly what weak point to press to stop this annoying soul-gazing. He wouldn’t exactly call it a good thing, but it does come in handy sometimes.  
 
With the Chibi so violently touch-starved, this strategy has not ever failed him. So, when he reaches out his hands, smoothes back lost strands of hair, runs his fingers through red curls and scratches the scalp underneath, azure-blue eyes first widen, almost comically, then they seem to suddenly have a much harder time staying open. Soon, they flutter closed for the last time, and Chuuya’s breath finally evens out completely.  
 
With him, Dazai breathes a sigh of relief. Another heroic deed done.  
 
While he waits for his partner to really settle down, he quietly takes out his phone and starts searching. Soon, he has found what he’s looking for. He can’t actually foresee how Chuuya’s age-range will progress in the future, and on principle, he is never in a mood to clean up floors, shirts or kids because the wrong cup is pushed into the wrong hands. Unsteady hands. He simply won’t have it.
 
In no time, two bottles for the real tiny ones have found their way into the digital shopping cart. One never knows with tiny slugs. At least such an age would make it hard to protest against it. Hopefully.  
 
On the screen, a generous selection of various drinking tools appear. His initial plan to get a sippy cup or two is tragically thwarted by the World Wide Web. Parent-forums must be the worst thing ever invented; after an eternity of feeling like he’s being screamed at through a screen, he knows more about the disadvantages of sippy cups than his next mission because everyone knows they’re just a transitioning tool and not to be used for longer amounts of time because they’re so bad for kids’ teeth and the real shit are straw cups because they’re just so much more beneficial for motor and oral skill developments?! Right.
 
Dazai does not plan on giving Chuuya crooked teeth because then Chuuya would give Dazai crooked teeth.  
 
Dazai has quite liked his teeth thus far.  
 
Straw cup it is, then.  
 
He finds some nice ones with patterns inspired by sea animals, and they’re his. The real problem will be getting Chuuya to accept and use them, looking back to his reaction to some toys. Dazai always has some tricks up his sleeve, though, and he knows exactly what to do. The Chibi will be flabbergasted.  
 
Turning off the phone, he takes a look down at the sleeping form below him in the bedside’s light’s dim glow, breathing easily again. No frown on his forehead, no uncomfortable twist to his mouth.  
 
Well, it is time for him to take his departure now. He cracks his back and moves to stand up. The second he puts his entire weight on the wooden floor, a creaking sounds through the room, appearing horribly loud in comparison to the complete silence of an eye-blink before. Even though he stops moving immediately, half-standing-half-sitting there like an idiot, the mop of red hair begins to stir. Damn those light-sleeping habits.  
 
Slow and undeterred by Dazai’s prayers, Chuuya drowsily sits up and rubs his eyes, obviously confused. He already looks more like the real Chibi.

 “Hmm…’samu?”  
 
Dazai stands up straight because he can choose to keep his dignity, at least. He clears his throat. “Yes, that would be me.” Please, someone hit him, for this can not be real.  
 
“What…what’re you doin’ here?” He could almost make Dazai believe it’s the normal-aged slug, just tired and a little lost regarding the situation at hand. Almost. The fingers stroking over the soft new blanket betray him; the hand searching for Lola and squeezing her to his side does, too.  
 
“Do you like it?” The question slips out without his consent, and he almost slaps his hand over his mouth. Blue eyes turn back to him, from where they got distracted by this new possession.  
 
“…’s soft”, he murmurs and continues to show his awe, obviously too tired to snap himself out of it. Dazai surely won't be the one to do so.
 
“That’s great, Chibi, because it’s yours~”, the Chibi is more or less back; smiles and quips come easier to him again.
 
A pause. The tiny slug’s thinking apparatus is working hard, his brow knit together in confusion. “Mine?”  
 
“Yours, indeed! Can’t you see the red colour? You have red hair, too, so it must belong to you, right?” A tiny and tired Chibi will probably be easier to overwhelm with absolute nonsense.  
 
And Chuuya seems to actually lack the energy to rip the blanket out of his own arms. Instead, he turns his head all around, as if making sure no one is looking, stares at the blanket some more, and then disappears beneath red fabric, nothing but blue eyes peeking out the top.  
 
Well. A win is a win.
 
“Fabulous, tiny Chibi, just fabulous! For you are thoroughly entertained, I will take my leave now~” And Dazai does intend to, he really does, but the disappointed look on his partner’s face makes him pause. He feels like something is constricting his chest, is he having a panic attack, too? He wants his bandages.  
 
“Oh…not stayin’?” Wriggling out of his cocoon, Chuuya suddenly doesn’t seem so content anymore, and Dazai cannot help picturing the trembling body huddled under his desk, mumbling not going, not going over and over to himself, and it keeps hurting to breathe.  
 
His partner just about physically wilts, like a sad little flower, and it makes Dazai physically uncomfortable to watch. He has to get out of here, then.
 
“Wherever would I stay, slug, your blanket is taking up all the space, and I must say, I slept so much the last few days that I’m thoroughly rested~”

Chuuya squints at him, accusation in his eyes. “You’re lyin’…didn’ sleep, saw ‘t…didn’ any..” Another quick glance at his new blankie. A decision is made. “An’ I can…I’ll share ‘t!” No room for argument.
 
Dazai wants to be offended, but when this hopeful glimmering face stares at him, and a timid hand reaches out towards him, as if actually wanting him there, any excuse gets stuck in his throat and swallowed down again. Completely against his will, his legs start moving and he has already crept into bed next to Chuuya, who is dutifully draping the blanket over his partner.
 
Hopefully, that tiny devil never finds out what grabby hands are.  
 
While said devil makes himself comfortable, Dazai pretends not to hear the quiet “thank you” whispered into his shirt and discreetly kicks the plastic bottle he’d left there off of the bed. Forgot that one.  
 
Only after Chuuya has nestled himself comfortably into his bed does the bandage-lacking teen notice that he does not feel as unpleasantly bare anymore, and looks down on himself. The little one had taken great care to snugly cover all of his legs, his arms and up to his neck with the red blanket. Though it cannot reach his face, the overall tightness imitates the safe pressure usually felt on his body, if only a slight comfort.  
 
Dazai’s throat now feels tight, too. Like the rest of this absurdity, he blames it on the lack of sleep.
 
“I hope you won’t fall off of the bed, tiny mous-…slug, I wouldn’t ever find you again~” he says. Not to distract himself or anything.  
 
A confused pause. “…good night, ‘samu.” A hand comes up and pats his mop of brown hair as if he was the confused child here. Yeah, the Chibi definitely heard that wrong nickname. Hopefully, he will have forgotten it when he wakes up tomorrow and not think Dazai completely mad.  
 
When the light is turned off and Chuuya has found his position after wriggling about for quite some time, the room becomes silent at once. Not for long, though.
 
“…‘Samu?”

“Yes, slug?”

“Why w’re you in my room?”

“Coincidence.”

He can hear the annoyed huff, and chooses the quickest way to stop Chuuya’s looming questions. “But-”  

Turn his busy brain off. Immediately, the redhead is interrupted by fingers starting to gently comb through his hair. He quiets down.  

“But what?” Dazai inquires, beaming. The only answer he gets is a hum and a content sigh while Chuuya melts into a tiny puddle next to him. As he said. Works every time. Lola already held tightly in his arms, the lanky teen awkwardly pulls the pacifier out of his pocket to complete the picture, and offers it to chapped lips. Just to make sure no more pesky questions manage their way out of that smart mouth.

Tired and comfortable, Chuuya accepts without any complaint.

It’s not like he’s listening, but if he was, he theoretically could hear the slug’s breath getting slower by the minute, and feels his own going along, without prompting.

Just out of spite, Dazai starts taking strands of red hair and makes little braids out of each one, before sleep catches him, too. The Chibi will be furious tomorrow.