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sickficideas · 21 days ago

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it's not over (it's never over) - Chuuya/Dazai with sick Chuuya whump

ao3! 9k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings!

Two missed calls from Akutagawa.

Dazai presses his lips into a fine line as he stuffs his phone into his pocket. Strange. It's not often that Akutagawa will call him at all - usually just when it has to do with any work with the Armed Detective Agency, Atsushi, or whatever else Dazai will put him up to. Otherwise, he avoids speaking to Dazai altogether, let alone calling him.

So, that makes one call unusual.

He leaves some time in between, for a while. He’s in a meeting he didn’t quite agree to join with the rest of the Agency detectives. It’s nothing too important, just a recap of higher-profile cases they’re planning on working on this week. Junichiro is leading it this week, so Kunikida has most of his attention on him, but Dazai watches him peer over every time he sneaks a quick glance at his phone.

Dazai tries to awkwardly smile it off to avoid any suspicion, but Kunikida doesn’t seem to buy it. He ends up staring him down most of the rest of the meeting, until the end, when Kenji turns the lights back on.

Dazai sees yet another missed call once the meeting ends, the lack of follow-up is cause for concern. There’s no text messages or anything. He wonders if Akutagawa is just expecting an answer or a call back from him, and will wait until that happens.

“What’s so important that it has you distracted?” Kunikida asks him as they file out of their meeting room. Dazai realizes he’s still holding his cell phone - he had every intention of sneaking out of the building and giving Akutagawa a call back without the others knowing, but it looks as if Kunikida will need to be in the loop.

“Just a missed call,” Dazai says. Kunikida isn’t satisfied with that answer alone, judging by the look on his face. “From an old mafia associate.”

“Hm,” Kunikida says, “one you need to call back?”

“Unfortunately,” Dazai says with an exaggerated sigh. Kunikida nods his head, and Dazai takes the opportunity to sneak out like he planned to. Atsushi gives him a worried look just before he leaves the front door, but Dazai waves him off.

He must have concern written all over his face if both Kunikida and Atsushi have already figured him out. How unbecoming of him. He doesn’t even know what’s going on just yet, but he has a bad feeling about it.

He steps out into the hallway, and makes his way down the stairs to the back of the building as he dials Akutagawa’s number.

“Desperate?” he says once it stops ringing.

“Stop ignoring my calls,” Akutagawa bites with just as much venom as he usually does. He can’t tell right away if something is immediately wrong. His voice sounds normal, normal enough that Dazai can deduce nothing is wrong with him. It must be something else. Someone else.

“I'm not a stay-at-home mom, you know. I have important detective stuff to do,” Dazai reminds him.

“Do you think I would ever call you for fun?” he growls, very clearly already frustrated with him, “Have you considered my calling you three times may mean it's important?”

“Important, hmm? Are you dying?” Dazai asks him. He’s not sure what’s causing the weight to press down on his chest.

“Hilarious,” Akutagawa says with a scoff, “come to my apartment. I don’t care if you don’t come right away, but it needs to be today.”

Dazai wants to give him some smart-ass answer to mess with him, but he thinks another one would be his last straw, and probably result in Akutagawa hanging up on him - and he has a feeling this may very well be important.

“Don’t you live with Gin now? I don’t have your new address,” Dazai says, trying to think if he’s come across it at any point. Akutagawa used to live by himself, when he and Gin were separated for training, but he’s figured out through conversation that they live in the same apartment now.

“You’re a detective now, aren’t you? Find it,” Akutagawa bites at him. Dazai has to suppress his urge to quip back because he’s sure Akutagawa will hang up any moment.

“Can I at least know what on earth you need me there for, Akutagawa?” Dazai decides to ask.

“It’s Chuuya,” is all he says.

Then, he finally hangs up.

Dazai finds himself standing in the opening leading to the backside of the building. He’s met with the cold rain, weather he’d forgotten about since he got into the office this morning. There’s a sense of dread that he can’t shake looming over him.

He takes Kunikida’s umbrella from the basket by the elevator on first floor, and disappears from the Agency, heading for the station. He figures Kunikida received enough information from him earlier to know he has something to take care of.

He hopes he won’t be gone long.

…

Dazai finds himself on the doorstep of Akutagawa’s apartment.

Akutagawa ended up sending him the address, kindly enough, deciding whatever was going on with Chuuya required more immediate attention, and dropping his urge to give Dazai the runaround. It’s a near-penthouse-size apartment in a high rise by the port, similar to Chuuya’s own, that he imagines Chuuya helped the two of them get. He doesn’t think a place like this is really Akutagawa’s style, but he’s always enjoyed a view, at the very least.

The door finally creaks open after the hands on the other side fiddle with a few locks.

He's certain Akutagawa hasn't slept in several days, by the way he looks. Dark undereyes are his easiest tell, and it’s always been that way.

Akutagawa is not wearing his coat, which surprises him, but he imagines it has something to do with the fact that Gin must be around - Akutagawa ties that coat to a feeling of safety and security, and Gin must replace some of that when she’s nearby.

So, instead, it's a light crewneck sweater underneath a cardigan that he's pulled defensively around himself as he opens the door, only looking a tiny bit relieved that it's Dazai.

He can't remember the last time he had been to Akutagawa’s previous living situation, some old studio near Hirotsu, but this one certainly looks much different from the doorway. It’s a strange feeling. Dazai hasn’t seen Akutagawa outside of any Agency-related situations in over four years, and he can’t be certain how he’ll act - for all he knows, this could be a trap.

He thinks that might even be wishful thinking, though - and he thinks for a moment about the fact that he would rather get into a physical altercation with Akutagawa than face whatever may be going on with Chuuya at this very moment, but he pushes those thoughts away.

“He's on the couch. Come in,” Akutagawa tells him, stepping aside to allow Dazai to walk inside. He closes the door behind him, briefly taking in his surroundings - well decorated in the way he thinks a wealthy modern vampire would adorn an apartment, very much lining up with Akutagawa’s partiality to antiques and such.

His gaze sinks down to Chuuya, in the midst of it all. Dazai’s heart sinks, and he holds his breath as he looks him over, and walks a little closer.

He's lying on his back on the sofa, one hand laid over his middle, his other arm at his side, a comforter laid over him from the elbow up. His eyes are screwed shut, he's not relaxed in the slightest. Dazai can’t tell if he’s unconscious or not.

He’s been injured, but Dazai can’t tell how badly right away. There’s bandages and butterfly stripes over his face, healing bruises on his cheekbone and browbone. It either looks like he took a drunken fall down a flight of stairs or had the snot beat out of him, but the latter is so unlike him and the former wouldn’t cause this much concern from Akutagawa. Dazai is trying to piece together how he could have possibly ended up like this.

His surroundings make it vaguely clear he’s not well, either. Aside from his abnormally pale complexion and the cooling patch on his forehead, the thermometer on the coffee table, the trash bin, the wash cloths all amidst the bandage supplies - he’s sick, for sure. He can’t be certain if that or the injuries came first.

The most concerning part, though, is that his exposed arm has very clear bruising around his wrist.

Dazai can’t even bring himself to make a joke here, because he’s been holding his breath so long that his chest hurts. Something bad happened to him. He was tied somewhere, something against his will.

“He's been like this since Friday,” Akutagawa tells him after Dazai has most of the scene in front of him taken in. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Friday?” Dazai repeats after clenching his teeth. Six days. Six days is far too long for him to still be in this kind of condition. Chuuya has always been quick to bounce back. He looks after his health well, and even when he’s injured, he’s up and moving the next day to at least attempt to get himself back on track.

Akutagawa nods.

“Has he been here the whole time?” Dazai asks. He keeps his eyes on Chuuya, only inching closer, not nearer than the coffee table.

“No,” Akutagawa starts, “he was under the Port Mafia's care at the infirmary for a while. They got him through the worst of it.”

Dazai wonders what he means by that.

“And how come he's here now? Instead of there?” Dazai asks. He wishes Akutagawa would give him more information without him having to ask, especially considering he called him here. He has a history of making things difficult.

“He wasn't handling it well. Mentally,” Akutagawa explains briefly. “I don't know the details.”

“You do. Tell me,” Dazai nearly hisses, narrowing his eyes as he turns to face Akutagawa, clenching a fist. He’s keeping information from him. The nerve he must have, to call him here and then make him play detective to put the pieces together. It doesn’t make sense that Chuuya would be here of all places.

Akutagawa glares at him. “I'll respect his privacy and keep it to myself.”

Dazai feels pressure in his chest. Akutagawa must be enjoying having the upper hand here, for once. “Oh, respect? I didn't think you had any idea what that was.”

“Stop. Please,” Gin's voice chimes in.

Dazai hasn't even registered that she was there. She’s learned to keep her presence hidden very well, even Dazai has a hard time identifying her most of the time - he doesn’t even register where her voice is coming from until she appears from a hallway leading into the living room, as if materializing out of thin air. She stays there, half concealed in the dark, facing the back side of the couch.

“We just want to help him. There’s no reason for you to be hostile,” Gin says, stern but gentle.

Dazai would argue otherwise. There’s no reason for Akutagawa to keep any information to himself when he called Dazai here in the first place, but Gin is at least right in that he shouldn’t be angry. He called him here for a reason.

“Just tell me what happened,” Dazai says with a frustrated huff. “Whatever you know.”

Akutagawa leans against the armrest on the perpendicular side, very clearly exhausted himself and trying not to make any show of it. His eyes drift over to Chuuya’s form, deciding against the idea of making eye contact with Dazai. Dazai notices that Gin is gone again, but he can’t be sure if she went back into the hallway or somewhere else. She’s as elusive as a shadow.

“He was captured late at night at a bar. By, apparently, some ability-less, disgruntled trade partner who had long-time connections with his business,” Akutagawa answers. Chuuya has been in charge of that jewelry business since he was sixteen, so Dazai can only assume this trade partner has known him at least that long. “I don’t buy the boss’s explanation. It doesn’t add up.”

Interesting. Akutagawa has never cared much for respecting authority, but going against something Mori thinks is unlike him. He’ll be interested to hear the rest of this.

“Tell me the rest first,” Dazai says, “who found him?”

“Higuchi and I did. Sixteen and a half hours after he was taken,” Akutagawa says. “He was unresponsive. High temperature from what I was able to tell, but I wouldn’t be able to say if it was there before he was taken. I imagine it could have played a role in his capture.”

Dazai thinks that’s a fair assumption to make. Chuuya is not so careless as to get captured by just anyone, or really anyone at all - if he had a fever high enough to impair his judgement, that would be a perfect explanation for his situation - but, so would drinks at a bar, late at night. He’ll revisit that.

“And his injuries?” Dazai asks. “What did you see when you found him?”

“Mostly cuts, bruising and a few broken ribs. He had a stab wound in his thigh, and one a bit more shallow on the left side of his abdomen. Both of them needed to be surgically repaired,” Akutagawa explains. “It’s all par for the course, however. His fever is what isn’t improving.”

“I’m surprised you’re the one looking after him, then,” Dazai says. Akutagawa tends to stay away from anyone with any kind of illness to avoid catching anything himself, with his rather unreliable immune system.

“The doctors in his care believe it to be a result of his injuries, and his mental state rather than a contagious illness,” Akutagawa says, “if they were wrong, I would have certainly caught it by now.”

His mental state?

Dazai tries to think back on the last time he heard from Chuuya, and nothing abnormal comes to mind. Nothing outside of his usual behavior, but it’s been at least two weeks. He can’t pinpoint anything that happened that week in between that would make him physically sick, to the point of letting his guard low enough to get captured, apparently.

“Was he tortured?” Dazai asks, his tone lower. It’s always a possibility he has to consider, especially now knowing about Chuuya’s injuries.

“I’m not sure,” Akutagawa answers.

“You killed him?” Dazai asks, expectantly.

“No. He shot himself when I found him. I don’t know what his intentions were, or even the full extent of what he did,” Akutagawa replies. “Higuchi attempted to gather intel after I left, but she wasn’t able to find anything but a de-commissioned key card in his coat pocket. He seemed to have already destroyed his own identification, but that card was left behind.”

“A key card,” Dazai says, puzzled. “Hotel? A business?”

“Higuchi is looking into it. I haven’t heard back from her yet,” Akutagawa says. “I’ll ask her to bring it here. If you’re interested in seeing it.”

Dazai nods. “I am. Ask her to bring photos of the corpse. I’ll see if I recognize it.”

“And he hasn’t been awake since then?” Dazai asks, assuming that’s the reason why Akutagawa has as little information about Chuuya’s condition as he does.

Akutagawa confirms Dazai’s suspicion with a nod. “Not coherently.”

Dazai may have left work, but it seems he has another case to solve.

He finally walks forward, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, looking over Chuuya’s awfully troubled expression. He doesn’t look well at all. Dazai has to suppress the urge to wake him and get some more answers, because it’s clear enough that he’s suffering even now as he’s resting. He lays the back of his hand over his cheek, and it’s abnormally warm. Dazai thinks for a second that Chuuya leans into the touch.

Dazai almost flinches at the sound of something clinking against the coffee table - a cup of tea placed there by Gin’s hand. Dazai thanks her silently, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to drink anything with all of the thoughts swirling through his mind right now. She’s already handed one to Akutagawa, who has taken a few sips of it.

“He was asking for you,” Gin says quietly, taking several steps back and turning around the back side of the couch. Dazai is interested in why she’s keeping her distance. “A few times…and, he’s said the names of a few Port Mafia men that I’ve concluded are deceased.”

Dazai feels a knot form in his stomach. The Flags. It says enough about his mental state if he’s saying their names in his sleep, clear enough for Gin to figure that out herself. It’s a place Chuuya tends to go when he’s really out of it. They were there for him when he needed it, took care of him when he was sick, or injured - it’s no wonder that’s where his mind goes, his mind trying to conjure up their memory as if to heal him.

Even though, it almost always makes it harder for him.

“Why did you take him?” Dazai asks, turning his eyes back to Chuuya’s form. That’s the most puzzling part about this whole thing to him, at the moment.

“He's done the same for me,” Akutagawa says quietly.

Dazai huffs. “Has he now?”

He's always wanted a dog to look after.

It’s something he’ll keep to himself, something he knows he shouldn’t have even let cross his mind, but he’s not sure why it was there to begin with. It’s just a needless, jealous feeling he has to push away before it lands him in trouble.

“Go rest. I’ll take care of it from here.”

Dazai hears Akutagawa huff behind him, and stand from where he was sitting. Dazai doesn’t turn his head until he realizes Akutagawa is not entirely steady on his feet anymore. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. I took this on and I won’t -”

“Ryuunosuke,” Gin says quietly, “please.”

Akutagawa’s hardened glare softens as soon as his sister speaks. Dazai’s only witnessed a few times that she’s the only one who can get through his ridiculously thick skull without much arguing at all. She’s already at his side and taking his arm before he sits back down, noticeably exhausted now, and whisking him away to his room.

Dazai takes the time to look over Chuuya’s injuries.

He takes a mental tally of everything he can see without removing the t-shirt and sweatpants he’s been dressed in - evidently being Gin’s clothes - and Akutagawa was right in that there is nothing serious outside of the stab wounds. He leaves Chuuya’s thigh injury alone, moreso to avoid pulling down his pants, so he opts for removing the light bandage on his abdomen. He peels it off, carefully, slowly - Chuuya doesn’t react much to it, which is a good sign, but Dazai can’t help but click his tongue when he finally sees it.

Akutagawa said this was the more shallow of the two injuries, but it looks worse than Dazai was expecting, even stitched up. He’s been moving a lot, he can tell.

Gin suddenly appears in his field of vision, as if she’s been there the entire time, curiously peering over to see Chuuya’s injury without getting too close. Dazai lets her see before he lays Chuuya’s bandage back over his injury, and gently pulls his shirt back down

“You did something,” Dazai says, leaning back on his hands. He’s still impressed with how easily Akutagawa gave up that fight. “there’s no way he would go down without a fight.”

Gin only nods. “I put a sedative in his tea.”

Dazai has to laugh. That explains why he was unsteady so suddenly. Dazai imagines he must have known. This can’t be the first time she’s pulled out this trick, yet he willingly took the tea from her. “You’re good.”

“Yours isn’t spiked. You should drink some,” she insists.

Dazai nods, but he’s still not quite at that point. There’s too much to think about.

Dazai looks over at a notepad he noticed beside the thermometer on the table, and it looks as if Akutagawa has been keeping track of Chuuya’s temperature, which is a good idea. There’s no times written down, likely because Akutagawa was only using this for his own personal reference, but Dazai is able to tell that Chuuya has stayed pretty steady at a hundred and two for a while, with a few spikes up to a hundred and three or so. The most recent number says a hundred and two point one.

Dazai is curious how recent that one is, and he’d like to cross reference by getting another reading, but he decides to leave Chuuya alone for now. He seems to be resting okay, but there’s still tension in his features, even while he’s asleep.

“How long has he been here?” Dazai asks. Gin hasn’t walked away just yet, he can still see her in his peripheral as he’s taking note of Chuuya’s breathing.

“My brother offered to take him here three days ago,” Gin says quietly, clarifying the timeline. So three days under the Port Mafia’s care, and three here. “He wasn’t improving at the infirmary. Ryuunosuke thought that being in a different environment would help him.”

“It’s not like him,” Dazai says. He’s been confused by this. Akutagawa is not a caring person. He isn’t the type to go out of his way to take care of someone like this. Unless it was his sister.

Gin doesn’t say anything. He imagines she’s trying to keep herself in line.

“I’m not your superior anymore. You can speak against me, if you disagree,” Dazai says, turning his head to look at her.

“He was the only person who looked after me and the other children we lived with, in the slums,” Gin says quietly, her eyes on the floor, “He has changed a lot since then…but he still cares more than he realizes. More than you realize.”

“Hm,” is all Dazai says. Gin doesn’t often talk about him like this - of course, he’s usually around and Dazai imagines he would generally disagree with her observations, but nevertheless, it’s interesting to hear.

Gin takes a few steps back, as if realizing she’s gotten too close. Dazai finds her intentional distance interesting.

“I have some reports to work on…please let me know if you need anything,” she says, intending to step away.

“You’re afraid of him?” Dazai asks her. Gin turns her head back to him for a brief moment of eye contact, before her eyes fall back to the floor.

“No,” Gin says, “He’s afraid of me.”

Dazai raises his brow. “Interesting.”

“That’s why Ryuunosuke hasn’t slept,” Gin says quietly, “Chuuya won’t let me near him when he’s like this, so he’s been with him the whole time.”

“And you haven’t slept because you feel guilty,” Dazai realizes.

Gin doesn’t say anything. Dazai knows he’s right, because she has the same look in her eyes that Akutagawa did earlier. Complete exhaustion.

“Sorry to keep you. I’ve got it from here,” Dazai says, “You should rest too, then.”

Gin doesn’t reply, and disappears as if she was never there.

…

A few hours pass, and the light filtering in through the windows has started to dim. Dazai isn’t really interested in what time it is.

Chuuya has finally started to stir a little.

Dazai has kept a very close eye on him. He dabbed the sweat from his neck and forehead with a washcloth a few times, and tried to lay one on his face to give him some relief, but that only started a shiver. His temperature rose to a hundred and two point five. It could certainly be worse, but it should not be going up, not at this point.

Earlier, he slipped a hand underneath his waistband to see if he could feel the mended stab wound on his thigh. That one didn’t have a bandage on it. Dazai was able to tell at the very least that it wasn’t bleeding or oozing, so he knows he doesn’t have that to worry about, at least.

Chuuya groans quietly, shifting to his side just a little as his eyes start to open.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says gently, laying a cold hand against his cheek. A pained noise escapes him. Dazai can’t imagine how awful he must feel, with a fever like that for so long now, on top of his injuries. Chuuya isn’t quite awake yet, but he’s trying to get up. Dazai lays a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him down. “You shouldn’t be moving around.”

Chuuya’s eyelids are heavy, but he peers up to try and figure out where the voice is coming from, and Dazai can tell he doesn’t really recognize what’s going on. He’s out of it, that’s for sure. His hair falls over his eyes as he gives in and sinks back into the couch cushions, and Dazai rakes his fingers through to push it back.

“Is’e here yet?” Chuuya mumbles. Dazai can hardly understand him.

“Who?” he asks.

“Dazai,” Chuuya says, his eyes falling shut again.

Dazai’s heart sinks.

“He’s here,” he tells him. He doesn’t think Chuuya is conscious enough to hear him, and he watches his eyes flutter like he’s trying to wake himself back up, but something completely shifts in his demeanor.

He watches Chuuya tense up, and with the little energy he seems to even have, Chuuya somehow manages to back himself up and shrink into the couch cushions as soon as Gin appears in his field of vision. Dazai sees a primal, visceral fear in his eyes that he's only ever seen there once or twice. It's not like him at all. It must be due to his raging fever, but it doesn't make any sense that Gin is what's triggering this reaction. Gin dips out of his field of vision. Dazai wasn’t even aware that she was around.

“Hey. I don’t know why you’re so scared of her,” Dazai tells him gently, laying the back of his hand against his cheek to see if he feels any warmer, “You’ve known her since she was a little girl, you know.”

“Dazai?” Chuuya murmurs, his wide eyes fixed on him now. His hands are shaking as his arms curl around his chest to hug himself, to give himself some sort of comfort.

“It’s me,” Dazai confirms for him, and he watches some of the tension drop from his shoulders. “What are you so afraid of, huh?”

Chuuya’s gaze still shifts around like he’s looking for her. He doesn’t seem to be entirely sure himself.

Dazai thinks he can pinpoint why.

Everything Gin knows, ever since she joined the Port Mafia six years ago, she learned from Paul Verlaine. The man who killed all of Chuuya’s closest friends.

He doesn’t have any idea how close she is with Verlaine now. Dazai hasn’t seen him in years. But it’s clear enough that the way she moves, the way she appears and reappears, that’s what frightens Chuuya so much. It’s just like Verlaine. She’s even good enough to get the best of Dazai sometimes, when he’s not paying good enough attention.

Gin has no idea of the connection. Chuuya’s fear of her is no different than a beaten stray dog’s fear in her eyes.

Chuuya’s attention seems to be on something else now, and all of a sudden he retches, a hand clasping over his mouth.

Dazai snatches the trash bin that was left beside the couch and holds it under Chuuya’s chin. He keeps his hand over his mouth like he’s trying to force the nausea down, away, but it doesn’t seem to work. He gags into his hand. Dazai gently pulls his hand away from his face, because he’s not doing himself any favors by avoiding the inevitable.

Chuuya chokes and sputters over the bin as soon as Dazai does that, sounding much more painful than productive for his apparent nausea. Dazai uses his free hand to gently rub his back, thinking he probably needs to relax some if he’s needing to throw something up, but he doesn’t manage to get anything out aside from saliva with bile mixed in.

“Relax, Chuuya. Pay closer attention to your breathing,” Dazai tells him. Chuuya whines, gripping the sides of the bin. He’s sure he’s trying, but Dazai starts to wonder now if there’s even anything in there for him to bring up. He’s sure he hasn’t eaten a real meal in days.

Dazai takes the tea from the mug that Gin has left there hours ago, and holds it up to Chuuya’s mouth.

“Drink some. It’ll help you throw up easier,” Dazai tells him. Too much tea will usually do that for Chuuya, but right now, Dazai thinks he just needs something in his stomach to satisfy the nausea enough to actually throw up. Chuuya groans, closing his eyes as a hand moves to his stomach. He doesn’t want to, but he knows that will be the only thing that will help.

He takes several sips, one of them through a gag that nearly brings it back up into the mug, but forces it down long enough for him to stare up and wait. He breathes short, quiet breaths before he retches again, and sure enough, all of that tea comes right back up into the bag lining the trash bin, with some digested stomach contents.

Dazai rubs his back as he hangs his head over the bin, groaning and spitting. His eyes drift up to Gin, who is behind them now and out of Chuuya’s line of sight.

“How many times has he thrown up?” he asks her.

“Only one other time, while he’s been here,” Gin says. “And it was just after my brother tried to feed him something.”

Dazai clicks his tongue. That means this was unrelated, which is probably not good.

Chuuya eventually decides there’s nothing more he can do, and Dazai takes the bin and places it back down on the floor. Chuuya shifts so he’s mostly laying down again, his arms wrapped around his abdomen, tight. He’s in pain, and he’s sure all of that retching made the pain from his stab wound and broken ribs even worse.

“Dazai…” he mumbles, eyes screwed shut.

“I know. Just relax for a minute,” Dazai tells him. He’s usually not this gentle with him, but it’s concerning to see him so sick, so out of everything. He’s only ever seen him like this after particularly grueling uses of Corruption, but there’s no way he used it to cause all of this. Dazai wasn’t there to nullify it.

He still has some things he needs to figure out, but he can’t do that with Chuuya in this state. He’ll have to wait on Higuchi’s intel.

He’s startled to hear his ringtone, all of a sudden.

He stands up as he pulls his phone from his pocket, silencing the sound so he doesn’t disturb Chuuya, walking towards the door. Kunikida.

He sighs, answering and holding the phone up to his ear, realizing he probably should have at least told him a lie to avoid causing concern.

“That wasn’t an invitation to disappear without a warning, Dazai,” Kunikida huffs into the phone. He sounds rightfully annoyed, but a little concerned, too.

“Don’t worry, my suicide has been postponed,” he half-jokes. He had no intentions of that at the moment, but understandably, it’s usually Kunikida’s first assumption.

“Does your disappearance have something to do with the old mafia associate I heard about earlier?” Kunikida asks.

“You got me, detective,” Dazai says. He realizes he sounds a little exasperated. He’s kind of at a loss of what to do. He almost finds himself wanting Kunikida around to bounce some ideas off of, but bringing Kunikida into a home with three high-ranking mafia officials would certainly cause a brain aneurysm for him. “Everything’s fine. I’ll be back at work tomorrow.”

Kunikida pauses for a moment. He picks up on everything.

“Is this something I can help you with, Dazai?”

Dazai wishes he could take him up on his offer, actually. He feels like Kunikida would, at the very least, be able to clear his vision a little bit and figure out how to fix this.

Weirdly enough, despite how different they are, he thinks Chuuya and Kunikida would get along great, if Chuuya was feeling up to it. He smiles to himself at the idea, but they’re two worlds of his he can’t mix.

“I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Kunikida,” Dazai decides, feeling weirdly sentimental to the point that it makes his stomach sink.

Kunikida sighs before he answers. “Right. Call me if you need me.”

Kunikida hangs up.

Dazai’s shoulders sink as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, you know,” Dazai says.

“You’re getting awfully personal with those Agency Detectives,” Akutagawa says from behind him. Dazai was vaguely aware he was being watched. He turns around to see Akutagawa standing in the hall, leaned against the door frame just outside the living room. “I can’t imagine the Dazai I knew ever having such a civil conversation.”

“If I thought no one could ever change, I would have never wasted my time with you,” Dazai says. Maybe he’s getting defensive, but Akutagawa is getting too bold, talking to him like that.

“You’re in my home. Don’t stand there and insult me,” Akutagawa growls, breaking eye contact and turning around the couch to look over Chuuya, apparently deciding to drop any argument.

Dazai walks over too. He thinks Chuuya might actually be asleep now - and most of the tension has left his features. He almost looks relaxed.

“He looks better than before,” Akutagawa says.

“You think so?” Dazai says. He’s not sure there’s much of a difference, aside from what he just noticed himself.

“His color is better.”

“His temperature went up, the last time I took a reading,” Dazai says, thinking that contradicts what Akutagawa has said. He sits back down on the coffee table and takes the thermometer, hoping for a better result. He slides it past Chuuya’s lips, getting little to no reaction, and waits for it to beep.

A hundred and one point nine.

“Whatever you’re doing is working,” Akutagawa says. “I haven’t seen it under a hundred and two since I brought him here.”

“I doubt I’m doing anything differently,” Dazai admits, because he can’t really think of anything he’s done that Akutagawa hasn’t been able to do. He’s hardly done anything at all.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Higuchi,” Akutagawa says, walking over.

Dazai had almost forgotten, he has a case to solve.

…

Akutagawa invites Higuchi inside.

She’s carrying a leather-bound messenger bag with nothing but the files she’s delivered inside, and she lays them out on the kitchen island, where Akutagawa instructs her to. There’s not many photos of the man’s corpse, but enough to tell what he looked like, even with his face partially destroyed from the self-inflicted gunshot wound. Dazai doesn’t recognize him.

There’s photos of the pistol, the knife presumably used to stab Chuuya, still stained with his blood. Higuchi lays the actual pocket knife out in a zip-loc bag beside the photo.

“This is everything I have on him. His pistol was stolen from one of our drivers. It didn’t have any rounds left after he ended his own life with it. The pocket knife he used to stab Mr. Nakahara belonged to Mr. Nakahara,” Higuchi explains.

“Good work, Higuchi,” Akutagawa says, evidently impressed with her thorough research.

“It’s not good enough. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere,” she sighs quietly, even though she clearly wants to take the compliment. “I hope it’s at least a start.”

“You brought the key card?” Dazai asks. This is all good information.

Higuchi nods, pulling it out of the folder that she had on the counter.

It’s sealed, just like the pocket knife, but Dazai recognizes it right away.

He never entertained the thought for fear he was right, but he had a bad feeling all along. It made too much sense. It’s beyond him why this man would have kept that key card after all these years, but he wonders if he kept it for this very purpose. To torment Chuuya with it.

It worked. He got what he wanted, Dazai imagines.

“Thanks for bringing this by. I’ll take a look and see what I can think of,” Dazai tells her, making eye contact and smiling. Higuchi seems a little put-off by that, but he never meant to make her feel comfortable with it.

“Please…let me know if there’s anything else I can find,” Higuchi says, turning and bowing her head to Akutagawa instead.

Dazai finds himself over-analyzing the photos after Higuchi leaves, for any crumb that he may be wrong, but he isn’t.

Akutagawa walks back into the kitchen after he escorts Higuchi out, briefly looking over the photos from the opposite side. Dazai feels his eyes on him.

“You recognized it right away. I saw it in your eyes,” Akutagawa says.

“You’re only just now saying something?” Dazai says, keeping his eyes on the photos.

“I wasn’t interested in starting an argument with you in front of my subordinate. Clearly you have a reason for keeping it to yourself,” Akutagawa says. “I imagine it has something to do with what happened in the months before I joined the Port Mafia.”

Dazai doesn’t give him an answer, but he’s right. It happened right before Dazai found Akutagawa, and everything Akutagawa knows about it is from other Mafia associates, nothing from Dazai or Chuuya themselves. Dazai intends on keeping it that way.

“I’ll respect his privacy. And keep it to myself.” Dazai says, echoing Akutagawa’s exact words from when he first arrived here. Akutagawa is visibly frustrated by that, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he has no right to pry.

Akutagawa disappears back into the hallway when Dazai heads back over to Chuuya, who seems to be waking up once again.

Dazai sits back on the coffee table, meeting Chuuya’s gaze as soon as he opens his eyes, and focuses on Dazai.

“Dazai…?” he murmurs. He sounds like his mind might be a little more clear this time.

“Still me,” Dazai tells him.

Chuuya tries to sit himself up, though it takes a lot of effort. Dazai lets him take all of the time he needs. It’s clear enough that his body is still heavy and his head still swims from the fever, but he has clear intention, his mind seems to be in reality enough that Dazai feels relieved.

Chuuya’s features twist up from the pain when he straightens himself up.

“You’re still recovering from injuries,” Dazai reminds him, but Chuuya resists the push against his shoulder, and he slides his legs over the edge of the couch, now sitting up completely. He breathes heavy from the effort it took, and there’s a hand placed over his ribs as he hisses from the pain.

“I need to go,” Chuuya murmurs, a hand gripping the end of the couch cushion.

“I don’t think you should be by yourself,” Dazai says. “It’s good that you’re here. And there’s someone looking after you.”

“I can’t,” Chuuya mumbles, forcing himself to stand even though he has no strength available for that. As soon as both of his feet support all of his weight, his knees collapse underneath him, and he would have fallen onto the coffee table if Dazai wasn’t right there to catch him, and guide him back to the couch.

Chuuya leans his head back over the couch once Dazai sits him back down, a hand drifting from his ribs to his healing stab wound, groaning from the pain. Dazai wonders if he’s been given any medicine, if he’s even been able to keep anything down.

Dazai leans forward and lays the back of his hand against his cheek. “You’re still recovering, and your fever needs to come down. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Since when are you so…” Chuuya murmurs before his teeth clench together and he hisses from the pain he’s in. Dazai takes one of the cold wash cloths from the table and dips it into the ice water, and slides it underneath Chuuya’s shirt to press against his wound. It can’t do much to help any internal pain, but a cold compress certainly won’t hurt.

Chuuya’s hand lays over Dazai’s, before Dazai slips his away.

“How’d you…even know I was here?” Chuuya mumbles, keeping his head leaned back, taking slow breaths as he keeps the cold compress against his injury. Dazai isn’t sure if Chuuya remembers that he was the one who was saying his name in his sleep, according to Gin. “I don’t…need…”

“Chuuya,” Dazai starts, his eyes drifting down, “that man worked at the lab, didn’t he?”

Chuuya is just staring forward at the ceiling without an answer for a few seconds, and that’s answer enough to Dazai. He didn’t want to throw this at him out of nowhere, but he needs to know. It’s eating him alive.

All of a sudden he gags, doubles over and leans over his thighs, breaths ragged and saliva dotting his pants. Dazai moves the bin into his lap, but even after Chuuya retches and coughs a few times, it’s not productive. There isn’t anything left in his stomach to bring up.

Dazai shifts to sit next to him, instead of on the coffee table, to rub his back even after he sets the bin down on the floor. Even though his fever has gone down, he can still feel the heat radiating off of him. He's still very sick.

“He called me…by those numbers. At the bar,” Chuuya murmurs, forcing the words out as if it's difficult for him to recount. “He must've…put something in my drink…”

Dazai hadn't considered that. He was being targeted from the beginning, with enough foresight to have his drink spiked.

“What were you at the bar for?” Dazai asks, already suspecting he knows the answer.

Chuuya's eyes flood with tears before he buries his face in his hands, elbows propped on his thighs, “six years…”

Six years since the Flags were killed.

This man must have known that, and targeted Chuuya at his lowest moment to overpower him. A dirty, cheap trick. Dazai wonders what on earth he wanted from Chuuya in the first place, if this was some sick act of revenge or he wanted something more from him - no matter the case, he was formidable enough to leave Chuuya in a state like this. Like a beaten dog.

“I still…I still see their faces…their bodies,” Chuuya mumbles, almost hysterically. Dazai imagines he's desperate to scrub it all from his mind. “I remember that more than when they were alive, I…”

Dazai notices Akutagawa listening from the hallway, and he sees a look of sorrow in his eyes before he disappears back into the shadow. It was almost familiarity, understanding.

Dazai bites his lip.

He sits with Chuuya for a while as he cries, a hand on his shoulder, letting him get the emotion out. His shoulders shake as he cries quietly, not once letting Dazai see his face. This must have been an awful ordeal for him, to leave him like this - almost completely broken.

He's glad Akutagawa has the sense to take him here. He can't imagine how much worse off he would be, stuck in a white room, surrounded by doctors in white coats, beeping machines.

Chuuya lays his head back eventually, staring up at the ceiling, his eyelashes wet and tear tracks shining on his face.

“You should’ve used Corruption,” Dazai says. He wishes he could have gotten out sooner.

Chuuya scoffs quietly, not bothering to look over. “Without you around?”

“I would have found you.”

Chuuya’s gaze drops to the floor. “Don’t be stupid, Dazai. You can’t do everything.”

He might be right.

Chuuya spends the next few hours coming out of his fever, for the most part. Dazai watches the color come back to his face, slowly but surely, but the exhaustion doesn’t fade from his eyes. He supposes after that ordeal, no amount of rest will heal his mind quickly enough.

Gin still keeps a cautious distance from Chuuya, but Chuuya doesn’t seem to hold that same fear anymore, a good sign that he’s coming back to them. She brings over tea for the both of them, and Dazai takes some, but Chuuya looks nauseous just looking at the mug. He can imagine the smell is probably too strong, and it’s the same type of tea Dazai used to help him throw up, earlier, so Dazai scoots the mug a bit further away from him.

Dazai had disappeared for a moment to go to the bathroom, and when he came back into the living room, Akutagawa was across from Chuuya, holding the thermometer in his mouth. Interesting that he stayed out of the way until Dazai was gone for just a moment.

“It’s much lower,” Akutagawa tells Chuuya once it beeps, showing him the result. Dazai can’t see it from where he’s standing.

Chuuya isn’t looking at the result, though, he’s looking right back at Akutagawa, guilt written all over his expression. He’s probably not realized the full extent of what Akutagawa has done for him until now, being out of it most of the time. Chuuya isn’t the kind of person to accept help and care like this from someone else willingly.

“I’m sorry,” is all Chuuya manages to say.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Akutagawa insists as he stands up. It almost seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he’s noticed Dazai’s presence already, and moves out of the way.

Dazai stares at him for a moment, before turning his attention back to Chuuya.

The thermometer’s reading is still visible when Dazai makes it back over to the table - a hundred point nine. He’s made a lot of progress in the last few hours, but he still has a bit to go until he’s completely out of the woods. He’s sure a part of this is still due to the exhaustion and stress his body is under.

“I can’t stay here,” Chuuya murmurs very quietly once Akutagawa disappears into the kitchen, “Akutagawa hardly sleeps as it is. I can’t be the reason it’s worse.”

“I’ll take you home,” Dazai agrees. He’s right about that, at least.

“You came in a car?” Chuuya asks.

“I’ll call a taxi,” Dazai insists.

And so, Dazai informs Akutagawa he’ll be taking it from there.

Akutagawa looks for a moment as if he’s suspicious of Dazai having some sort of ulterior motive, but he drops it, only showing a pinch of the concern he feels when Chuuya struggles to stand up.

Chuuya nearly falls forward, evidently standing up a little too quickly. Akutagawa seems to notice before Dazai does, but Dazai sees the moment of hesitation from him as he reaches out a hand - instead, opting to steady Chuuya with shards of his cardigan.

Chuuya thanks him quietly, taking a second before he’s sure he can take steps without falling on his face.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you. Both of you,” Chuuya murmurs once they’re at the front door.

“It was no trouble,” Akutagawa assures with a brief bow of his head. Gin is standing further back, but she does the same.

Chuuya catches both Akutagawa and Dazai off guard when he reaches forward to take Akutagawa’s hand and gently squeeze it, keeping strong eye contact with him. Akutagawa’s eyes are wide, staring back at him.

“Thank you,” is all he says. Firmly.

Akutagawa stares back for a few seconds before he breaks eye contact. “It’s - there’s no need to thank me.”

Interesting. Chuuya managed to fluster him.

“Alright, well, see you around,” Dazai says, deciding to break this up as he turns the doorknob and leads Chuuya to the door with a hand on his back.

“I hope in no time soon,” Akutagawa growls back, suddenly back to his usually demeanor, bowing his head at the two of them before they head out.

There’s a nice, cool breeze outside as the sun has mostly set, and Dazai dials a number to call for a taxi. Chuuya takes a few deep breaths, and Dazai imagines the fresh air is doing him some good. He’s glad the weather is nice.

The taxi driver arrives in a few minutes, and Chuuya doesn’t seem entirely thrilled about leaving the nice air and climbing inside, but he gets in next to Dazai in the back seat. Dazai tells the cab driver the address of a shopping center near Chuuya’s building, and Chuuya looks confused about how he knows the general area of his building in the first place.

“How do you know where I live?” Chuuya asks as Dazai closes the partition, and the driver starts to move the car.

“I’m a detective. Duh,” Dazai says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Shouldn’t a cop be wearing his seatbelt?” Chuuya teases. Dazai clicks it in, evidently having forgotten that.

“Detective is the key word,” Dazai reminds him.

Chuuya huffs through his nose, rolling down his window just a bit, and Dazai does the same.

“You two seem like you’ve spent a little more than a normal amount of time together,” Dazai says suspiciously after a few seconds of driving in silence. It's been quietly bothering him all day.

Chuuya turns his head, and raises a brow. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Dazai groans.

The corner of Chuuya’s mouth twitches up.

“Akutagawa?” he confirms.

Dazai rolls his eyes.

“And so what?” Chuuya says, “I’m single, y’know. I can do what I want.”

“Right, right. Well aware,” Dazai mumbles, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. At least that's confirmation that they aren't actually dating.

“Why? You jealous, Mackerel?” Chuuya huffs, clearly amused by the idea. Dazai thinks he’s still a little more than delirious from the fever. “You should be. Cause, y'know he gives way better-”

“Okay! Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Dazai groans, wishing he could physically scrub that image from his brain. “Ugh. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, ‘m glad you did. Now I know how to make you squirm,” Chuuya chuckles.

Dazai wishes he could open the car door and end it all now, but going at a measly fifteen miles per hour is certainly not going to do him any favors in the direction he wants.

“You’ve gotten nothin’ to worry about. It’s not what you…” Chuuya starts, interrupted by a groan and a hand pressed against his stomach. Dazai had a feeling this would happen. Chuuya isn’t usually the type to get car sick, but if he hasn’t eaten, it’s almost a guarantee.

“Need to puke? Dazai asks.

“Ugh…think so,” Chuuya mumbles, lifting a hand up to his mouth.

Dazai opens the partition and tells the taxi driver that he can let them out right where they’re stopped, already opening the door and urging Chuuya to do the same.

Chuuya stumbles as he gets out of the car, swallowing a few times in attempt to delay the inevitable. They’re right next to the park, at least, so Dazai guides him over to the stone edge so he can at least throw up in the bushes, and not right on the pavement - and he does. He leans a hand against the stone and one around his middle before he chokes up a mouth full of stomach bile, not having anything else in there to bring up.

It’s clear that right now, it’s causing more pain for his injury than anything else. His eyes screw shut as he spits into the bushes and his hand drifts over to his ribs.

“Fuck,” he breathes out with a shaky breath, “did I break my ribs?”

“That’s what Akutagawa said,” Dazai tells him, a little concerned about how Chuuya doesn’t even quite remember how he’s injured. “You have stitches on your side, and your thigh, too. But nothing too bad.”

“It hurts like a bitch,” Chuuya mumbles, dipping his head down as his body tenses up, as if that will somehow help the pain go away.

Dazai puts a hand on his back and guides him to sit down, to at least take some of the pressure off somewhere. Ideally, he should be laying down, but he’ll make sure he does that later.

Chuuya spends some time trying to regulate his pain, taking very purposeful, timed breaths and not paying much attention to his surroundings. Dazai needs to get him some medicine later, but he just keeps a hand on his shoulder for now, to at least let him now he’s here to lean on.

“Nobody’s gotten me this good in a while,” Chuuya murmurs after a while, “forgot how much this shit hurts.”

Dazai’s eyes are forward. “You should be more careful.”

“Aw. Worried about me?” Chuuya taunts, turning his head to try and get a look at Dazai’s face.

“Not really. Just annoyed that you managed to waste the time of three people for nearly a week,” Dazai taunts back, and Chuuya rightfully shoves his shoulder.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Chuuya says with a heavy sigh. Dazai knows he doesn't mean a word of it.

I’m glad you have other people looking out for you now.

He hates the thought for some reason, so much that he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud, but he means it. Chuuya has said the same to him. He knows the Agency is where he belongs, and that they look out for him there. He’s let go of the Port Mafia.

Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let go of this part, though.

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