#fukudad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silvfyre-writings · 1 year ago

Text

My Head Hurts (BSD Fanfic)

I wanted to thank you all for reading this fic, even though I'm sure it's not my best one. I had an idea, wrote the first part, and then just kinda, idk, lost the bunnies. But I wanted some caring ADA towards Ranpo, so that's what I did. Besides, it's fanfiction, it's free, and it doesn't have to be great lol.

As long as I enjoy it, and you enjoy it, that's all the matters really.

Anyway, that's all I really want to say, so thank you all for reading, and I'll see you in the next fic!

Ranpo was twelve when he experienced his first migraine.

A headache so intense that he hadn’t been able to so much as open his eyes, let alone leave his bed that day. It felt like his neighbour had smashed their axe against his skull and then just left it there, that was how much it hurt. And on top of that, there was the nausea, and the exhaustion, and really, it just sucked. It was the worst thing he’d ever experienced in his life. The only good thing that had come from this headache—he hadn’t yet known what they were called—was that his mother had walked into his room, taken one look at him and then smothered him in love and attention. It’d made the headache much more bearable to know that someone was there, helping him to bear the burden.

And then his parents died.

And there was no one.

The second time Ranpo experienced a migraine—he now knew what they were, courtesy of his parents—he’d been at the police academy, in the middle of class, and the pain had been so intense that his brain had elected to just shut down rather than even try and deal with it, and he’s passed out. In the middle of class. That all his classmates witnessed. He awoke a few hours later in the infirmary, his head still trying to split itself open, and all he could do was stay still until the nurse noticed that he was awake; she forced him to take some pills that he somehow managed to swallow, nearly gagging as they slid down his throat. After that, he’d been left alone, in a room that wasn’t nearly dark enough, until the pills—painkillers he’d realized afterwards—kicked in and his head hurt a little less.

The third time was the worst time, at least, in his opinion, because he’d been on the streets when it’d hit, and there’d been nothing he could do but curl up in the darkest corner that he could find, and cry over how much it hurt. Because all he could really do was cry; sleep was impossible, it was too bright, too noisy, too painful, and there was no one around that he knew well enough to ask for help from. Sure, he could’ve used the last of the money he’d earnt from his last job to pay for a doctor’s visit, but it’d been four days since his last meal, so he’d gone without. Not that he could bring himself to even buy food, what with the way his stomach was rolling. And by the time the migraine had passed, it’d taken another day before he had the strength to drag himself out of his little corner and back into the world.

After that, whenever another migraine came along, unless he was throwing up or physically unable to see, he forced himself to keep going; they happened with enough frequency, that if he laid in the corner of some alleyway until they passed, he would’ve starved to death long ago. And while Ranpo was starting to think that it would simply be easier to just give up and die, he kept on going. It was hard at times, to keep working through the pain that threatened to bring him to his knees, yet he managed. Barely.

And yet, despite his determination, his life only continued to get worse.

Until Fukuzawa.

The first time he’d experienced a migraine under Fukuzawa’s care, had been two weeks into living with the man. For two weeks, Ranpo had kept his head down and stayed quiet; Fukuzawa had already done so much for him, giving him a place to live, a place to sleep, along with clothes and food, and he really didn’t want to lose that. So, he kept to himself and kept his head down to avoid invoking Fukuzawa’s wrath. But then, in the middle of the night, two weeks into this new living arrangement, he’d woken up to nausea so intense, that he was barely able to process the feeling, let alone the sensation of his skull being smashed between two buildings, before his dinner made its acquaintance with himself and his sheets.

And just because Ranpo’s luck couldn’t possibly get any worse, Fukuzawa woke up.

There was an apology spilling from his lips the moment his bedroom door cracked open, and tears in his eyes because he truly felt awful, because there was nothing fun about throwing up, especially over oneself, and not to mention, he’d woken Fukuzawa from his own sleep. Yet Fukuzawa hadn’t looked mad. In fact, he’d looked concerned, worried even, but that couldn’t be right. Because Fukuzawa was stoic and firm, and this was a new and familiar side to the man that Ranpo hadn’t witnessed before in the short time they’d known each other. And that scared him.

But it was also a lie, since he’d seen that same worry and concern back at the warehouse after he’d nearly died.

However, his head was hurting far too much to think much about it.

Ranpo watched with wide eyes as Fukuzawa took in the scene before him, although he had to close his eyes when the nausea decided to make a reappearance. A cruel thing for his body to do, really, when he’d already thrown up everything he’d eaten. He heard footsteps approach, barely audible to most, but like a timpani to him, and soon he was being lifted and carried. The next few moments blurred together, Ranpo drifting somewhere between conscious and not, but he did remember the distinct feeling of something cold dragging across his skin, bringing with it, utter relief.

Awareness returned to him when he was lifted again, and he blinked once, letting out a whimper when a harsh light assaulted him. The light vanished, but the pain had already increased, and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He heard Fukuzawa say something, the words indistinguishable, but oh so gentle and soothing, and Ranpo cried just that little bit harder. Which only made his head pound that much harder.

He felt himself lowered back into bed—at some point, Fukuzawa must’ve changed the sheets, but he couldn’t remember his guardian leaving his side—and the actions were so soft and kind, that Ranpo couldn’t help but let out a sob when he was tucked in. It’d been so long since he’d last experienced such kindness, and it was just so, so overwhelming, especially in his current state where his senses and his emotions were heightened. Still, Fukuzawa said nothing, he just sat on the edge of his bed and wiped away the tears that fell with his sleeve until finally, he drifted off.

When he woke, an hour later, Fukuzawa was still there on the edge of the bed, and dozing himself, but now there was a glass of water, along with a couple of painkillers sitting on his bedside table that Ranpo didn’t hesitate to reach for. His head still felt like it was being stabbed—or being electrocuted, but the point was his head really fucking hurt, and he was honestly desperate for any kind of relief at this point. And while he normally struggled to swallow pills, this time he didn’t, taking them easily before he laid back down, his movements disturbing Fukuzawa from his rest.

“How do you feel?” Fukuzawa asked, voice muffled and quiet, yet still loud, in the sea of pain that was Ranpo’s head. A warm hand rested upon his forehead, the touch gentle and soothing, chasing away some of the tension in his body.

He blinked once, eyes heavy, and grunted, unable to do much more than that. He certainly didn’t feel great, and would very much rather be sleeping off this latest migraine of his, but here he was, awake and hurting, and also burdening someone else with his problems. “’m fine…” Ranpo mumbled. “Jus’ a headache…”

Fukuzawa hummed, and his hand fell away. “I’ll grab an ice pack for you. It might help.”

Ranpo liked to think he made some kind of noise in response to Fukuzawa’s statement, but he honestly couldn’t remember. One second, Fukuzawa was there and the next he was gone, only to return shortly after with an ice pack in hand that was quickly settled on his aching skull. The chill chased away the pain to bring him some relief, enough that he could close his eyes and finally drift back to sleep, and as the last of his consciousness faded, he wished to sleep through the rest of this migraine.

Apparently the gods had decided to be merciful for a change, because he did end up sleeping through the rest of the pain, waking up two days later with just a dull ache behind his eyes, to see Fukuzawa asleep on the spare futon next to his bed that the older man must’ve rolled out at some point while he’d been unaware of the world. Seeing Fukuzawa by his side like that, brought a warm feeling to his chest, and he closed his eyes again with the intention of getting some more rest; he managed to get another hour of rest before he woke and saw that Fukuzawa was also awake.

And that meant it was time for his least favourite pastime.

Talking.

If there was one thing Ranpo didn’t like doing, it was talking about himself. Sure, he didn’t mind bragging about his ability and powers of deduction to those that would listen, but there was a difference between talking about his ability, and talking about his migraines. Because his ability was a strength. It was something good that he could use to help other people. It was what made him, him. But the migraines he’d just one day started having? They weren’t good at all. How could they be, when all they did was stop him from functioning? How were migraines supposed to help the people that came to him? The answer was, they weren’t, which was why Ranpo still hadn’t said anything as he and Fukuzawa sat next to each other—well, Fukuzawa sat, Ranpo laid beside him with a cold towel covering his eyes to further dull the ache behind his eyes that continues to cling.

“You have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” Fukuzawa murmured, the quiet tone he took on at just the right volume to be comfortable instead of painful. “They’ll find out if there’s a reason behind your migraines—” Of course Fukuzawa had figured out that this wasn’t the first migraine he’d had. Nothing got past the man and his observation skills apparently. “—and treat them if there is.”

Ranpo grunted, almost certain that a doctor wouldn’t be able to help him. Because if a doctor was actually capable of curing these migraines, then surely his parents would’ve dragged him to the local village doctor to help him? They had loved him, they had cared for him, so why hadn’t they taken him to the doctor when he’d had that first migraine? Sure, it’d been the only one he’d had with them, but it’d been the most pain he’d ever been in his life, and they just… hadn’t taken him. Why? Why hadn’t they? Had they truly loved him? Or was he just imagining that love? It would make sense, it really would, looking back on it now, and he—

A hand threaded through his hair, dragging him away from his spiralling thoughts and bringing him back to the present. Fukuzawa’s voice worked further to ground him, and he rolled over to grab at Fukuzawa’s yukata, hiding his face against the man’s leg. The hand in his hair moved to readjust the cloth so it was covering his eyes. “Ranpo?”

He let out a whine this time. “Yeah?”

“You’ll be okay.”

“Really?” Ranpo asked, uncertain, because no one had ever tried to help him, so he couldn’t understand why Fukuzawa was so willing to do what everyone else had failed to do.

“Yes.” Fukuzawa’s hand returned to his hair, fingers moving through his hair. “You’ll be okay, because I promised to take care of you when I took you in, no matter what, and that includes helping you with this.”

“They’re just headaches…” Ranpo tried to argue, because the last thing he wanted to do was waste Fukuzawa’s time in something he’d managed to deal with for years. Sure, his migraines had increased in frequency over time, but he was still managing just fine. It was just that this one had caught him unaware.

Fukuzawa’s hand paused, and his voice softened even more than before. “You deserve to be free of pain, Ranpo, so please, trust that I’ll be able to help you get treatment for your migraines.”

Ranpo sighed and nodded, allowing himself to be lost in the comfort that Fukuzawa brought, placing his trust in a man that he’d only known for two weeks, trusting in Fukuzawa’s promise of getting him help, and trusting in the words you’ll be okay.

He clung to those words and trusted.

He only hoped that trusting wouldn’t fail him.

Something’s wrong.

The thought came to Fukuzawa unbiddenly, and was sudden enough that he paused mid stroke in the report he was signing. He tried to think back to everything that’d happened so far that day, yet there was nothing that came to mind. The day was as normal as a day at the Agency could be; he’d arrived after making sure that Ranpo was awake and out of bed—there’d been too many a time when he’d woken the boy up, only for him to go back to sleep the moment he left the room—to find Kunikida already there with Atsushi, the two of them working on a case together. Dazai was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t a surprise. Seldom was Dazai ever in the office early, much preferring to start late, and finish late, which coincidentally, worked quite well with Yosano’s schedule as well.

Tanizaki had asked for the day off, because he’d heard that Kenji and Kyouka hadn’t been to Cosmo World, and wanted to take them, and who was Fukuzawa to begrudge his younger staff members into acting their age for a change. It would do them some good, and would also promote closer bonds, all things Fukuzawa approved of his employee’s doing, and not just because it improved work ethic. He wasn’t so foolish as to think his employee’s were the kind of people that could keep going and going without the appropriate breaks. Many—if not all—of them were wounded souls that sometimes needed that little bit of extra care, quite often because they were so bad at taking care of themselves. But that was okay, because Fukuzawa was more than willing to be that support.

Ranpo always liked to tell him he’d turned soft in his old age.

Fukuzawa was inclined to agree, but now wasn’t the time to focus on that; there was still that intense feeling in his gut, telling him that something was wrong, or that something was about to go wrong if nothing had yet, and he could no longer ignore it. And since there was nothing in his office, that meant it had to be something within the main office.

Please let it be a broken window. Fukuzawa thought as he stood from his desk, walking around it towards the door. He was hoping for a broken window, but he knew deep down, that it wouldn’t be as simple as that; this feeling in his gut wouldn’t exist if the problem was just a broken window. Because between his employees and the mafia raids, the windows were broken more often than not, and really, if any of his employees decided to stop being detectives, they could probably open up a window repair business just from how often they’d had to repair the windows.

So yeah, a broken window was the best case scenario in Fukuzawa’s mind.

And he knew it wasn’t when he heard a timid knock, just as he was about to open the door. Fukuzawa shut his eyes for just a moment, and sighed, steeling himself for whatever problem he was about to encounter, before opening the door.

“Oh, um, President!” Atsushi blinked, surprised at how fast the door had been open. But the boy was quick to recover and stood up straight, restless, and fidgety as he always was. But Fukuzawa was a patient man, so he stood there, calm, as he waited for Atsushi to find his words, which thankfully didn’t take long at all. “Kunikida sent me to get you. Something’s wrong with Ranpo.”

Oh no, what’s happened this time? Fukuzawa closed his eyes, already running through every possible problem that could’ve happened with his ward. Which was a long list because Ranpo and trouble may as well have been the same word, what with how often he ended up in it. He let his mind return to that morning when he’d woken the detective; Ranpo hadn’t seemed off when he’d been woken up, only being a little more annoyed than he usually was if anything, and Ranpo hadn’t yet been summoned for a case that day. So whatever the problem was, it was a sudden one, and that was enough for him to step past Atsushi, worried. “What happened.”

Atsushi fell into step beside him. “I could hear his heart rate increasing, so I looked over and he looked to be in pain? I asked Ranpo if he was okay, but he didn’t answer me. But Kunikida looked up and told me to get you before rushing over.” Atsushi’s thought for a moment. “I think I heard him throwing up as I left, but I’m not sure.”

“He probably was.” Fukuzawa confirmed, knowing just from that brief explanation what was wrong. It’d been years since that time he’d woken up to the sound of Ranpo throwing up, two weeks after taking the kid in, suffering from a headache so strong, he’d barely been coherent as Fukuzawa had tried to figure out what was wrong and take care of him. And even after taking Ranpo to the doctor back then and getting him diagnosed with chronic migraines, and getting him the medicine that helped to reduce the frequency of them, the dreaded headaches still enjoyed making their appearance at the most inconvenient of times.

The last time had been before Atsushi had joined them; Ranpo had been summoned out by the police, only to fall ill upon arrival. Dazai had been with him at the time, to Fukuzawa’s relief, because Ranpo hadn’t even been able to stand from how much pain he’d been in.

“He suffers from migraines.” Fukuzawa explained, getting straight to the point because Atsushi wasn’t a child that needed coddling, and in the short time he’d been with the Agency, he’d become just as protective and caring as the rest of the members, fitting in well. “He’s had them for as long as I’ve known him, and he gets rather sick whenever they happen. Try to remain silent when we enter.”

“I understand.” Atsushi nodded, dashing ahead to open the door for Fukuzawa, and he gave the boy a nod as he stepped into the main office, taking care to be silent as he moved.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are off, but Fukuzawa has no trouble locating his ward, if only because Ranpo is currently on the floor, leaning against the side of his desk with Dazai beside him, Ranpo’s head on Dazai’s shoulder, eyes closed and body trembling. There’s a wastebasket being clutched tightly in Ranpo’s grips, and as Fukuzawa steps closer, Ranpo makes a noise that has Kunikida reaching over from Ranpo’s other side to gently guide his head back towards the basket.

The sound of Ranpo throwing up always had Fukuzawa’s heart clenching, and this time was no different as he came to kneel in front of his ward, one hand reaching out to touch his ankle so that Ranpo knew he was there. No words were spoken, in fear of aggravating Ranpo’s migraine, but the relief on Ranpo’s face told him that he knew Fukuzawa was there. Once Ranpo finished throwing up, his head returned to Dazai’s shoulder, one of his hands grabbing at Dazai’s own, his grip loosening on the basket; Kunikida quietly placed it to the side, just in case it was needed again.

“It was sudden.” Kunikida informed him, keeping his voice low. “One minute he was fine, the next he was ill.”

Fukuzawa nodded. That was how most of Ranpo’s migraines tended to go, arriving without any kind of prior warning, so he wasn’t surprised to hear that was what happened this time. “Has he taken any medication?”

“The pills came right back up, so Yosano’s preparing a shot for him instead.” Dazai said this time, squeezing Ranpo’s hand gently. Ranpo mumbled something unintelligible. As soon as he finished speaking, there were footsteps approaching, familiar steps that Fukuzawa had grown accustomed to after a decade of listening out for them, but this time without the distinct clicking of heels, no doubt to limit the amount of noise in the room.

Yosano’s smile was soft as Fukuzawa’s eyes met her own, but she was quick to focus her attention back on the task at hand and shooed Kunikida away so that she had the space to work. They all watched as she pushed Ranpo’s sleeve to his elbow and in the very same breathe, inject him with the painkillers that would hopefully work faster than Ranpo’s usual medications. Yosano sat back on her heels. “We can move him to the infirmary in a minute. I’ve got Atsushi blocking out as much light as possible.”

“We can’t send him home?” Kunikida asked, brow furrowed.

“Not when it’s this bad.” Yosano sighed with a shake of her head. “We need to give the painkillers time to kick in anyway, and besides, the rest will do him good.”

“I’ll watch over him, and take him home once he’s in less pain.” Fukuzawa said as Kunikida opened his mouth to say something. Already he was moving, nudging the others out of the way so that he could get a grip on Ranpo and lift him into his arms, going slow so as to not make the nausea worse. At first, he thought Ranpo might’ve been asleep, considering he didn’t make a noise as he was shifted, but as he shuffled his arms to get a better grip, Ranpo moved to bury his face into the crook of his neck, throwing an arm over his shoulder at the same time.

“I’ll come with you.” Yosano got to her feet and followed Fukuzawa to the infirmary, opening and shutting the door so that Fukuzawa didn’t have to try and juggle both Ranpo and the door handle. Together, they worked on getting Ranpo settled into one of the beds; Yosano grabbed an extra pillow and a few blankets whilst Fukuzawa worked on shedding Ranpo of his layers until he was left in just his shirt and pants. The entire time, Ranpo didn’t make a sound, even though it was obvious he was still conscious from the way that he tried to help. Tried being the key word. But soon enough, Ranpo was settled into the bed with an ice pack over his eyes, dozing now, and the scene was so reminiscent of that time when Ranpo was fourteen, that Fukuzawa felt as if he’d been thrown back in time.

Fukuzawa sat in the chair that’d been pulled over and glanced over at Yosano. “How bad was it?”

“It was bad.” Yosano sat in the chair beside him, drawing her knees up so that she could rest her head against his shoulder. Fukuzawa reached over with one hand and patted the top of her head a few times. “Certainly one of the worst ones I’ve seen him have. Have you seen worse?”

“Two weeks after I took him in.” Fukuzawa answered. He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to. Yosano had been apart of their lives for a decade, and was plenty smart herself. She could put the pieces together without him having to say so.

“He’ll be okay.” It wasn’t a question, nor a statement, but more of a reassurance. Still, Fukuzawa nodded.

“He’ll be okay.”

And Ranpo would be, because this wasn’t the first migraine he’d ever had.

Nor would it be the last.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #hurt/comfort #comfort #fukudad #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #armed detective agency #writing #fanfic

26 notes · View notes

autumnleaf1111 · 2 months ago

Text

Ranpo calls Fukuzawa “Dad”

Brooklyn 99 skit

“So, again, your alibi is a mysterious stranger handed you the gun, made you put your prints on it, rob the store, and then hid the gun in your underpants?” Ranpo stated, looking at the criminal in front of him. They were all in the office and had brought in a criminal to ask questions to. “Well if you say it like that, it don’t sound believable?” He tried to defend himself in the worse way possible.

Ranpo noticed that Fukuzawa had walked it. “Oh, hey Fukuzawa! Did you get my report on the Finley murder?” Ranpo asked him. Fukuzawa turned to him. “Ah, yeah, I looked it over. Nice work.” Fukuzawa said, turning back around. “Good, thanks dad.” Everyone froze and looked at Ranpo.

“…Why’s everyone staring at me?” Ranpo asked, confused. “You just called the president Dad. You said thanks dad” Dazai said. “What? No I didn’t.” Ranpo said, looking around. “I said thanks man” Ranpo looked confused. Fukuzawa looked at him. “Do you see me as a father figure, Ranpo?” Ranpo looked at him quickly. “No! If anything, I see you as a bother figure because you’re always bothering me.” Kunikida stood up.

“Hey, show your father some respect!” Ranpo turned around. “I didn’t call him dad!” Fukuzawa interrupted. “No, no, no. Ranpo. I take it as a compliment.” He smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I once called Naomi mom once, and she’s my sister.” Tanizaki said. “Guys! Jump on that! Tanizaki has major issues!” Yosano laughed. “Old news! But you calling Fukuzawa daddy—” Ranpo interrupted her.

“Hey, daddy is not on the table here.” Then the criminal spoke. “Eh— you did call him dad, dude.” Ranpo turned to the computer. “You shut up, you’ve done nothing but lie since you got here.” He spoke again. “Alright, I was lying about the hold up, but the dad thing? That happened.” Ranpo’s eyes lit up. “AH HA! He admitted his alibi was a lie. It was a trap, all part of my crazy…devious plan…” He stood there awkwardly.

“I believe you” Fukuzawa said. “Thank you—” “Son.” Ranpo sighed. “Do you wanna talk about it later over a uh— a game of catch?” He asked, nonchalantly. Ranpo stared at him for a moment before speaking. “I’d like that…”

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #ranpo edogawa #fukuzawa yukichi #fukudad #Ranpo being embarrassed #Fukuzawa being a dad #Yosano being a little shit—

8 notes · View notes

silver-lining-on-raven-wings · 1 year ago

Text

Season 5 starts tomorrow!!

Also, I love Ranpo's photo ^^

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #ranpo and fukuzawa #fukudad #screenshots #bsd season 5 spoilers #father and son #meme

58 notes · View notes

silvfyre-writings · 1 year ago

Text

Fukuzawa Struggles to be a Parent (BSD Fanfic)

This was supposed to be another 3 in 1 story, but it uh... kind of got away and just linked itself together? Oh well, haha.

I'm both happy with the way this turned out, but also not. After writing TMAS (which is in present tense) I've struggled to get back into writing past tense, and I think it shows, but I'm also hoping it hasn't showed. But we'll see I guess.

Either way, I hope you all enjoy the story! If you did, feel free to leave a like or a reblog! They truly make my day! :D

Fukuzawa considered himself skilled in many things. He was skilled with the sword, even though it’d been months since he’d last held it in his hands—he still had it of course, kept hidden, but safe, just in case he needed to use it again in the future; which, he hoped not to. He also considered himself skilled in martial arts, and had used the techniques he’d taken the time to learn and master several times over recent months, no thanks to a certain child of course that seemed determined to wind up in trouble more often than not. But for all that he was skilled in, there was one thing that wouldn’t consider himself overly skilled at.

And that was parenting.

Fukuzawa had never planned on having children if his own, had never sought out a relationship to even consider that option in the first place, and he’d certainly never planned on children—well, one child in particular—becoming a part of his life. His previous job as an assassin had made it far too dangerous to care for another person, and his current bodyguard job was no different, yet here he was, with a teenage boy in his care.

A teenage boy that was not like any teenager Fukuzawa had ever encountered in his life; he was yet to know if that was a good or a bad thing. It wasn’t like he’d wanted the boy in the first place—in fact, he’d tried everything to find the boy somewhere else to stay that was better suited to him. But no, Edogawa Ranpo had latched onto Fukuzawa, both physically and emotionally, and there was no getting rid of him.

At first, it’d been hard on the both of them; Fukuzawa didn’t have the space for a growing boy, and Ranpo was more than willing to voice any complaints he had about his new living situation. You’d think, after spending a year on the streets, the kid would be at least a little grateful about having a roof over his head, but oh no, the one bedroom apartment was far too tiny for him. Fukuzawa had shot down Ranpo’s complaints immediately though, stating that he was more than welcome to sleep outside again if he didn’t want to stay with Fukuzawa.

Ranpo had fallen quiet, and taken residence up on the couch for one night, and one night only, before he took over Fukuzawa’s room. Fukuzawa had gone to kick the boy out onto the couch after the third night of losing his futon, only to have the argument die before it could even form when he saw how peaceful Ranpo looked while he slept—how he looked like the child he was supposed to be.

It wasn’t just the new living situation that was a problem either—Fukuzawa had started looking for a bigger apartment to move in to when it became clear that he was stuck with Ranpo—it was everything else that also came attached to the boy. Really, Ranpo should’ve had a neon sign attached to him labelled ‘high maintenance’ because he was, at least by Fukuzawa’s standards. He was almost certain that if he had any actual parenting experience, it wouldn’t be so hard, but he didn’t, so it was. It also didn’t help that Ranpo didn’t tell him whenever there was a problem.

If Fukuzawa cooked something that Ranpo couldn’t stomach, the kid would just stare at the bowl until an opportunity arose to dump the meal.

If Fukuzawa so much as raised his voice or said the wrong thing, Ranpo flinched away from him, and would fall silent whilst Fukuzawa tried to figure out what he’d done wrong.

And if Fukuzawa wanted some time to himself—because he’d spent years alone and now he suddenly wasn’t—then Ranpo would cling to him and not let go until Fukuzawa begrudgingly let him tag along.

But over time, things got better. Fukuzawa and Ranpo moved into a bigger place where they could have their own rooms. He learnt what foods were safe to cook and what ones would be a waste of time. They both learnt how to properly communicate with each other to avoid misunderstandings, and Ranpo’s fears of being abandoned were slowly placated until Fukuzawa could finally leave the house for some peace without worry.

One thing that did not get better though, was Ranpo’s social skills.

Ranpo was intelligent; he knew it, Fukuzawa knew it, which meant that everyone they ever met also had to know about it. Which often led to… complex situations. Passerby’s could be placated with a few words, and a speedy escape, and store clerks were avoided until a suitable amount of time passed where the incident had been forgotten about in the first place. But the police force… that wasn’t as easy to deal with.

Being a genius capable of solving crimes in less than a minute, Ranpo had quickly made a name for himself in doing so, and was often requested by the police to come to various crime scenes and give his opinions with Fukuzawa trailing behind on bodyguard duty, because despite his best efforts, Ranpo was still a scrawny boy who could easily be knocked over by a gust of wind.

However…

Ranpo’s intellect, along with his inability to be socially aware in the slightest, often led to clashes with the officers in charge of the crime scenes. Words of ‘how stupid can you be?’ and ‘even a toddler could solve this’ thrown about without any regard to the feelings of others, Fukuzawa was often left doing damage control, doing his best to calm down officers that grew irate and upset at Ranpo’s words. Most of the time he succeeded, and the rest of the time they spent at the crime scene went by without further problems, but sometimes, he would fail, and they’d be thrown off the crime scene entirely.

And no matter how many times he warned Ranpo to watch what he said to others and to consider how others might feel in regards to his harsh words, Ranpo never learnt, and continued to berate and ridicule those around him when they couldn’t find the answer as fast as him.

Yeah, Fukuzawa didn’t have a handle on this parenting gimmick in the slightest.

“Fukuzawa-san, I’m bored.” Ranpo sighed, nearly throwing himself off the couch as he leaned out the back of it to watch as Fukuzawa read the newspaper at the dining table.

“And?” Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow, placing his finger at where he’d been reading before looking up to make eye contact with Ranpo. “You have the means of occupying yourself.”

“Yeah, but, they’re boring. Don’t we have any cases?”

“No, we don’t. We haven’t since the last time you asked me that either.” It was Fukuzawa’s turn to sigh, and he closed the paper in his hands, knowing that he wasn’t going to get a chance to continue reading, not when Ranpo was in such a mood. “You’d probably get more requests if you were a bit nicer to the officers.”

Ranpo’s face scrunched up in disapproval. “Bah, why? If they want me to be nice, than they shouldn’t be so stupid, should they?”

Fukuzawa sighed again. This was an argument that he’d long accepted he wasn’t going to win, but it didn’t stop him from trying at least. Maybe one day, Ranpo would understand what it was that he was getting at, but until that day came, it was his job to try and guide Ranpo to the solution.

“What? I’m not wrong. Even you thought that last officer we worked with was being stupid.”

“I may have thought he was… foolish, but I elected not to say it to his face. Unlike you.” Fukuzawa levelled Ranpo with a look, and took satisfaction when Ranpo actually looked like he regretted his words just a few days ago. “We were barred from the crime scene before we’d even set foot onto it.”

Ranpo gained a sullen look, and his face disappeared from view as he returned to sitting properly on the couch. There was a silence, and the sound of fidgeting before a quiet voice drifted towards him. “It’s not my fault that adults are so complex. I’m trying my best.”

Fukuzawa bit back the sigh that was seconds away from voicing itself. “I know. Just… try not to insult them so much when they don’t understand you, alright?”

Ranpo nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

He could only hope that the boy took his words to heart for a change.

Ranpo did, but he also didn’t, take Fukuzawa’s words to heart; he still insulted the officers of the cases they worked on, but he kept the insults more… tame; well, tame by Ranpo standards at least. Fukuzawa wanted to tell Ranpo to take it that one step further and cease the insults entirely, but he knew when to pick his battles, and right now, he’d take mild insults over what it had been previously. He’d try again in a couple of weeks; for now, he’d just settle for playing damage control.

“Oh great, who invited the brat?” Fukuzawa’s eye twitched at the displeasure in the young police officer’s voice as he and Ranpo approach the crime scene they’d been asked to attend. The officer in question was doing nothing to hide how much he disliked Ranpo’s presence. He wasn’t one that Fukuzawa recognized, and looked a bit on the young side. A new officer perhaps?

Ranpo didn’t notice, striding straight past the officer and Fukuzawa without a care in the world. “The greatest detective in the world is here! Try and keep up with me if you can, haha!”

Fukuzawa sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at Ranpo’s antics. He could see some of the officers—the older ones—rolling their eyes, but only a few seemed to actually take offense to Ranpo’s words. Good, maybe they’re finally understanding this is just how he is. He was thankful, when the officer in charge—one of the ones that’d rolled their eyes—approached Ranpo and began running through the case with the boy. This was where Fukuzawa would take a step back, and observe as the crime unfolded itself beneath Ranpo’s eyes; Fukuzawa considered himself observant, and quite often, managed to at least keep up with Ranpo at times, but he was nowhere near the level of skill that the kid possessed.

While Ranpo continued to spout off his deductions and reasons behind them, Fukuzawa made sure to stay close—just because the crime scene was sealed off from public eyes, didn’t always mean that it was safe. There’d been too many times, where there’d been a close call with Ranpo and an unhappy criminal, so Fukuzawa had taken to sticking close to Ranpo, but not so close that he was overbearing.

“What do you mean, ‘it was suicide’? He was murdered, we have evidence!” The officer from before interrupted, cutting Ranpo off from what he was saying. The officer’s glare was filled with animosity as he stormed up to Ranpo, coming to a stop just in front of the kid.

Both Fukuzawa and Ranpo frowned at the interruption, but only Ranpo chose to say anything about it. “What? Are you that stupid you can’t see a set up when it’s right in front of you? It obviously wasn’t a murder, even if all the evidence you found pointed towards it being one.”

“If it’s a set-up then who was the victim setting up and why?” The officer asked, fists clenched angrily as Ranpo insulted him.

Oh no. Fukuzawa could already see how this was going to go, and he stepped just that little bit closer. Just in case.

“His best friend.” Ranpo said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and he frowned at the officer. “They had an argument over some stupid thing that the friend owned, so the victim took his parents credit cards, bought all the ‘evidence’ and then set it all up to look like a murder before killing himself in a way that made it look like he’d been murdered. Although, he probably didn’t intend to actually die, but make it look like he’d died, and then ended up actually dying.”

“That’s bullshit. There’s no way that that’s possible! He killed himself, but he didn’t want to? What kind of novel do you think we live in?”

Ranpo continued to stare at the officer with an annoyed look, and then sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “It did happen, I know it did. My skill doesn’t lie after all, but you are new, so I guess I can’t expect you to know just how great my skill is yet—”

“I don’t give a shit about some skill you have. There’s no way a skill exists like that! If there was, then there’d be no point in even having us here!”

Ranpo blinked. “Why do you think they call me every time you idiots can’t do—”

Fukuzawa reacts, but not fast enough to stop the officer from letting out a shout and throwing his fist, watching helplessly as it connects with the side of Ranpo’s face, cutting the boy off from whatever he’d been saying. Ranpo yelped, throwing out his arms to catch himself as the force of the punch sent him to the ground. He hits the ground, just as Fukuzawa grabs the arm of the officer to stop him from lashing out again.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing, Oshikawa?” The head officer—Yamamoto was his name—jogged over with an unimpressed look on his face.

“Sir! He was disrespecting the police force!” Oshikawa shouted, face red in anger as he pulled free of Fukuzawa’s grip to face his supervisor.

“He always does that!” Yamamoto retorted. “We accept that whenever he place a call for his assistance. I even warned you before they arrived what he was like, so what do you think you’re doing hitting him?”

“But he—”

“He’s a child, Oshikawa. If you have a problem with Edogawa—” Yamamoto moved his arm to directly point at Fukuzawa, who froze from where he’d been moving to check on Ranpo. “—then you tell Fukuzawa-san and he’ll deal with it. Not you, and not me either—”

Fukuzawa tuned out the argument now that he knew it was being dealt with and hurried over to kneel beside Ranpo, wanting to make sure that his ward wasn’t hurt too bad. “Are you alright, Ranpo?”

Ranpo turned his head to look up at Fukuzawa. There are tears forming in his eyes, although Ranpo seemed to be forcing them back through sheer will, and the red mark rapidly forming on his face promised to become an impressive bruise later. His hands were scuffed and bleeding slightly as well from where Ranpo had had to catch himself against the dirt, and the boy is holding them close to his chest. Ranpo sniffed unhappily. “He hit me!”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?” It’s an accusation, and a well deserved one at that. Fukuzawa should have been able to stop Oshikawa’s fist before it even connected in the first place.

“I didn’t expect the biggest threat to be an officer.” Fukuzawa said, trying to placate Ranpo before upset himself even further. “I apologize though, I should’ve paid closer attention. I saw him getting angry and didn’t react accordingly.”

Ranpo nodded after taking a couple of minutes to ponder over Fukuzawa’s words. He doesn’t say anything more, so Fukuzawa took it as a sign to help Ranpo up, and guided the boy to his feet, making sure to only grab Ranpo by the elbows, because until they can get home, he had no idea how hurt Ranpo actually was.

“Fukuzawa-san, I apologize for Oshikawa’s actions. He will be dealt with accordingly.” Yamamoto sighed as he approached, coming to a stop when Ranpo ducked behind Fukuzawa in order to hide himself. “We appreciate the both of you coming out, so if you wish to leave, you may do so.”

“Thank you, we’ll do that.” Fukuzawa didn’t wait another moment before he guided Ranpo away from the crime scene and the two of them begin to head back home.

Ranpo is silent as they walk, and his head his pointed at the ground, Fukuzawa’s hand on his back the only reason that the kid doesn’t trip over his own feet or walk into something—or someone. Fukuzawa too, remained silent; if Ranpo didn’t want to talk until they were back home, then he was willing to wait. It shouldn’t take them too long to get home anyway; they’d walked to the crime scene this time instead of taking public transport, a decision that Fukuzawa had begun to regret.

I knew something like this would happen… Fukuzawa thought as they walked, letting his mind play back the incident so he could devise a plan on how to handle it. There’d been many a time where Ranpo had irritated officers to the point of aggression, but they’d always restrained themselves, or taken it out on some poor inanimate object—never had one of them physically struck Ranpo. He glanced down at Ranpo, able to see the impact the officer’s fist had left; a red mark that reminded Fukuzawa of the last time Ranpo had been struck in such a manner.

When he was the one to strike the boy.

And while he knew that the situations were completely different, that when he’d slapped Ranpo, it had been something he’d done out of fear of the boy not understanding just how close he’d been to losing his life. It’d still been wrong, and he’d apologized for it several times over since they’d started living under the same roof, and Ranpo had never seemed overly bothered by it, but it would be something that Fukuzawa always regretted.

But this? This was nothing but anger and cruelty, and Ranpo had done nothing to deserve being hit by someone that was supposed to protect kids like him. Yes, he probably could’ve tried harder to get Ranpo to understand why he needed to be kinder to people, and he should’ve talked to him about it before they’d entered the crime scene just to remind him. Doing that may have prevented this from even happening in the first place.

That was why Fukuzawa didn’t consider himself to be the ideal parent to this child.

“Let me see?” Fukuzawa asked gently as he came to sit on the table he’d dragged closer to the couch just so he could do so. The first-aid kit he’d brought with him is placed beside him as he reached out to grab one of Ranpo’s hands, now clean and free from dirt and grit, but it’s not the hands he’d been asking about.

Ranpo let out a whine, but pulled away the ice pack he’d been holding against his face for several minutes now, revealing the mark underneath. The injury had begun to swell on the way home, and Ranpo had complained a little about how it was hurting, but he hadn’t said anything more when Fukuzawa had tried to ask. Fukuzawa leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he studied the injury. Ranpo’s eye was puffy and nearly swollen shut, and there was some dried blood on Ranpo’s nose where the skin had been split, and the surrounding skin was already starting to bruise. Ranpo replaced the ice pack when Fukuzawa pulled away and went back to disinfecting the scrapes on Ranpo’s palms. “Ow…”

“Sorry.” Fukuzawa apologized, lightening his touch just that little bit. “Your face doesn’t look too bad, considering how hard he hit you.”

“It hurts.” Ranpo grumbled.

“Getting punched tends to.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic right now.” Ranpo pulled his hands away once Fukuzawa finished bandaging them and watched as he got up to throw away the supplies he’d used with a cautious look

Fukuzawa sighed as he moved about the kitchen, grabbing some painkillers before he returned, sitting on the couch beside Ranpo this time as he handed the pills over. “I’ve warned you before to watch what you say when interacting with the police, so you are at fault for what happened, but—”

“So what? I deserved to get hit?” Ranpo interrupted, glaring up at Fukuzawa angrily. “That’s stupid!”

“If you’d let me finish.” Fukuzawa narrowed his eyes at the interruption. Ranpo ducked his head and refused to meet his eyes as he continued to speak. “It was your fault for antagonizing the man, but it was his fault for resorting to violence. It is never okay to hit someone, no matter how much they push your buttons.”

Ranpo was silent for a moment before he looked up at Fukuzawa with uncertainty. “You hit me, once.”

“An action I will forever regret.” Fukuzawa admitted, shifting to drape an arm across Ranpo’s shoulders. “And one that I have already apologized for several times over.”

“Why did you hit me then?”

Fukuzawa frowned, trying to understand just what it was that Ranpo was trying to get at. They’d already talked about that night extensively, and the emotions that had—ah. Realization dawned on him then, that Ranpo was trying to find the non-existent link between the two incidents, since both had resulted in Ranpo being hit. “You don’t understand why you were hit, do you?”

Ranpo jerked in his seat, cheeks turning red, and Fukuzawa knew he’d figured it out. A genius, he may not be, but he was learning. Ranpo nodded. “I don’t get what I did. I solved the crime for them just like I always do.”

“The issue isn’t in you solving the crimes, it’s in your attitude when you speak with them.” Ranpo looked at him in confusion and Fukuzawa faltered. This wasn’t a conversation he was confident in having. “Some people... don’t react well when you call them stupid or an idiot. Or when you tell them that they aren’t smart enough to figure things out when you do it in a few seconds.”

“I have an ability—” Ranpo began.

“But the officers you work with do not.” Fukuzawa pushed on as if Ranpo hadn’t even spoken, giving the boy a look to make sure that he listened. “They are all people without gifts who are plenty smart, but simply need more time to figure things out. They would have figured out that death in the end if we hadn’t been invited. It may have taken them longer, but they would’ve.”

Ranpo remained silent.

“What I’m getting at, Ranpo, is you need to be a little more aware when it comes to dealing with people. The officers are starting to learn about you and your antics, but not everyone you work with or meet is going to be like them. You’ll come across people—like Oshikawa—who will lash out suddenly, and you’ll find yourself getting hurt.”

“But… they are being stupid…?” Ranpo frowned, tugging at the bandages around his hands. “Why are they getting mad… when I tell them the truth?”

“Sometimes the truth hurts more than it helps, and that’s something you have to learn.” Fukuzawa said, and watched as Ranpo sighed and hunched in on himself like he was prone to doing when he was unhappy. “I’ll help you, okay? And if you never understand it, that’s fine, I’ll make sure to stop any further punches before they happen.”

That draws a laugh from Ranpo, and a smile, and Fukuzawa figured he’d finally done something right.

Fukuzawa should’ve known that that one run in with the police wouldn’t have been the end of it, that it would be the catalyst that would confirm just what his role in Ranpo’s life was supposed to be, and that it would be the reason into allowing him to finally understand the boy he’d taken into his care only a few months ago.

“I don’t want to.” Ranpo huffed and turned away from Fukuzawa, with a pout that did nothing but make him look like a temperamental child. Which, technically, Ranpo still was, but that was beside the point. The point was, that Fukuzawa had been arguing with the boy for several minutes now, trying to get him to accept the latest job that the police had offered, only to be refused and rejected no matter what bribery he tried.

“Ranpo…” Fukuzawa sighed, raising a hand to drag it down his face. He was about to tell Ranpo to accept the job, when he paused and decided to take a different approach. “Why don’t you want to take this job?”

Ranpo hesitated before he rolled over and looked somewhere that was in the direction of his face, but not directly making eye contact. “That Oshikawa officer is the one asking.”

“I see…” Now it made sense why Ranpo was so hesitant, what with the memory of being punched still fresh in the boy’s mind, even though it’d happened almost a month ago at this point. Fukuzawa didn’t blame Ranpo for feeling the way he was; but the officer had apologized—even though he’d sounded reluctant to be doing so—and Ranpo had, surprisingly, apologized in return. The incident was behind them, or at least, Fukuzawa had thought that was the case. “As long as you mind yourself, and stick close to me, you’ll be fine.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Ranpo muttered.

“I am on your side, Ranpo, but you cannot let one bad experience stop you from working.” Fukuzawa said with a raised eyebrow. He watched as Ranpo turned away from him once again, and bit back the sigh that threatened to follow. It really was hard, trying to figure out how to best handle the moods that Ranpo often found himself in. What would soothe him one time, would make him angry the next; it was like playing a game with an unbeatable boss; there was no right way of ‘winning’.

But, Fukuzawa had made a promise to Ranpo the night after he’d taken him in, that he’d take care of him and keep him safe from those that didn’t understand him. And if Ranpo didn’t feel safe going to the crime scene, then there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He sighed. “If you really don’t want to take the job, I won’t pressure you into it. We can stay in today if you’d like.”

Ranpo turned back to face him, with a grateful look on his face that told Fukuzawa all he needed to know, so he moved away for a moment and explained to the officer on that had been waiting patiently on the other end of the line, that Ranpo was unavailable to take the case, and in an even quieter voice, explained why he wasn’t taking the case. Oshikawa seemed to understand and thanked him, even if he sounded a bit disheartened to hear Ranpo’s decision.

Hopefully, Fukuzawa’s explanation would be enough for the man to understand that if he wanted Ranpo’s help in the future, it would be best to get someone else to make the request.

It was another week before Ranpo took on another case he was requested on, but the entire time he was at the crime scene, his eyes would flick between the officers that were also at the scene, apprehensive, as if he feared one of them would lash out at him. The boy had also taken to pretty much standing on top of Fukuzawa, sticking so close to him that Fukuzawa was surprised he could even breathe. But he didn’t tell Ranpo to give him space, or to stop being frightened, because that wouldn’t do anything but make it worse; he just stood tall and firm, and allowed the teen to cling to him.

Ranpo seemed to have finally taken his words to heart as well, for the insults against the police and their supposed incompetence died down greatly, the insults only slipping out when they were actually due—when Fukuzawa too, agreed that the police were being idiotic in their guesses. It was only when they were heading home from cases, that Ranpo would speak his mind, telling Fukuzawa about everything he’d thought but hadn’t said, and after he was done ranting, Fukuzawa would smile and tell him he was proud of keeping his thoughts to himself.

It didn’t last long though, and as time passed, and the punching incident was pushed behind them, Ranpo began to fall back into old habits, but unlike before, the police didn’t seem to care about Ranpo’s sometimes cruel insults—most of the time they ignored the words as if they hadn’t been said in the first place, but those that did react, would just loudly shout Ranpo’s name and walk away. Ranpo always looked confused when that happened, but quickly put two and two together and learnt that when it did happen, it meant he’d gone too far for that particular officer, and he’d tone it down.

It was a bit of a strange dynamic, but it seemed to be working, so Fukuzawa wasn’t going to complain.

“We have a bit of a complicated case here today.” The officer in charge explained as he allowed Ranpo and Fukuzawa to enter the most recent crime they’d been called out to solve. “We’ve been unable to determine the cause of death, so it’s left us a little out of the loop.”

Ranpo opened his mouth, yelping instead as Fukuzawa gave him a harsh nudge, a warning look on his own face. Ranpo frowned, but changed what he’d been able to say earlier. “Well, that’s why I’m here isn’t it? To… help you figure that out.”

If the officer was surprised at Ranpo’s words, he didn’t show it, and instead, led them towards the body.

It was only because of his past occupation, that Fukuzawa didn’t flinch back at the sight of the body, the state of it leaving much to be desired, with no discernible features, and like the officer had said, a clear uncertainty as to what it was that had killed them. At first glance, it looked like the gunshot wound to the head was what had killed them, but then a further look revealed deep gashes up the forearms that could’ve just as easily been the cause of death with how much blood there was. But then there were other things that could also have been the cause of death, and Fukuzawa understood why the police were having so much trouble with it.

He watched as Ranpo studied the body for a moment, glasses already perched on his face. He could almost see the gears turning in Ranpo’s head as he ran through all the information that he was taking in right now. The rest of the officers were watching intensely, because as much as they were at odds with Ranpo’s personality, none of them could refute the skill the boy had in finding the things they had missed.

One minute passed, then two, then five, and still, Ranpo had said nothing. Fukuzawa stepped closer, able to see the growing panic on Ranpo’s face as the boy’s eyes flicked up to meet his own. “What is it, Ranpo?”

“I… I don’t know.” Ranpo removed the glasses as if they were the reason he couldn’t figure it out, and then placed them back on his face. “There’s no cause of death.”

“That’s not possible, something had to have killed them!” One of the officers exclaimed. “Are you sure you’re using that ability of yours correctly?”

But it’s not an ability. Fukuzawa thought as Ranpo shouted. “Of course I am! And I’m telling you, there’s no cause of death!”

“Then what killed them?”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s enough.” The officer in charge spoke, coming to place a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder. “It’s okay if you can’t figure it out. You’re still just a kid, and I’m sure your ability has limits you don’t know about yet. We’ll take over from here. Thanks for coming out.”

“But—” Ranpo sputtered, eyes wide as he frantically looked between the body and the officer again and again. “I can solve this!”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa interrupted, stepping forward to guide Ranpo away. “We’ve been asked to leave. We can’t do anything more here.”

“We’ll contact you if another body shows up.” The officer said, walking away to fall into discussion with the rest of his team, even though they didn’t understand the situation any better.

Meanwhile, Fukuzawa led Ranpo away, keeping a watchful eye on the boy as they walked. He didn’t like the look in the kid’s eyes; it reminded him too much of when he’d first met Ranpo, when the kid hadn’t been able to understand that he was different from the rest of the world and thought that everyone was making one big joke of him, when he’d thought of everyone else as monsters. Fukuzawa kept his hand on Ranpo’s shoulder as a way of providing him support; this was the first time that Ranpo hadn’t been able to figure out a case before, so he wasn’t sure how Ranpo would handle it in the first place.

He wasn’t surprised at all when they got home and Ranpo pulled away to shut himself in the bathroom.

Ranpo didn’t come out for the rest of the day.

That body ended up only being the first of many bodies. There was another body that popped up a few days later, and like before, Ranpo was called out to assist. But like before, Ranpo had been unable to figure it out, and he’d returned home looking even more dejected than before. And then there was a third body, and then a fourth, with no answer still as to what was killing these people. And with every body that showed up, it was easy to see how frustrated Ranpo was becoming; he snapped at the officers for more information and grew angry when they had none to give, he stared at the body for minutes on end—the longest being a full hour—hoping to find the one thing that would help him figure out what he was missing, only to gain nothing.

The worst part, Fukuzawa found, was watching as Ranpo pulled away from him. The moment they got home from the crime scenes, Ranpo would go to his room or the bathroom and just hide away until the next day, and no amount of coaxing seemed to be enough to get him to come out and talk to him. Fukuzawa didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle this. Ever since he’d first met Ranpo, the kid had always been able to see straight into the truth of matters, so to see him stumped like this… it wasn’t easy.

Any attempt that Fukuzawa tried to make at talking to Ranpo about it, even to just offer another set of eyes that might help find a clue, was met with straight up refusal, Ranpo either changing the subject or just rapidly leaving the room.

“What if it’s an ability?” One of the younger officers suggested on the seventh body that appeared. Immediately, all the heads in the vicinity snapped towards the officer, including Fukuzawa and Ranpo, who’d been called out despite being of no help the last six times they’d been called for. The officer faltered at the sudden attention, but continued to explain himself. “We’ve—We’ve seen it before, where despite an obviously murdered body, there appeared to be no actual crime, and it turned out to be because an ability was at work. It could be a similar case here.”

“If it’s an ability, then wouldn’t Edogawa have seen through it with his own ability?” Another officer speaks up, and the attention is thrown onto Ranpo, who remained crouched beside the body, refusing to lift his head, although he was clearly paying attention to what was being said. Fukuzawa stepped closer to the kid, uncertainty filling him at the direction this conversation was taking. The last thing he wanted was the police to start throwing accusations that Ranpo didn’t have an ability at all—which was true, but only Fukuzawa knew that.

“Edogawa’s ability probably needs information to work properly, but if there’s no information to gleam, then that would explain why his ability hasn’t been working.”

“You would be right!” Ranpo smiled and leapt to his feet, hands on his hips. To anyone else he looked ever the confident and arrogant boy he was, but Fukuzawa could see through him; Ranpo was bluffing. “But now that I know there’s an ability involved, I know who you’re looking for!”

“You do?” The young officer asked. “But it’s not a guarantee that—”

“Have I ever been wrong before?” Ranpo interrupted. Silence and shakes of heads greeted him. “That’s what I thought! It’s an ability, one that—”

“We’ve got him! The killer!” An officer shouted. “We caught him in a warehouse a few blocks over, in the middle of trying to kill someone!”

“How was he killing the victims?” Another called out, and several officers joined in with the questions, desperate to know the truth.

“Some complex machine. Apparently he’s a former engineer or something—”

Fukuzawa stopped listening then, eyes swinging towards Ranpo, who looked very much like his world had just come crashing down, because he’d just been telling the police that the killer was killing these people with the help of an ability.

Only to find out that it wasn’t an ability at all.

“Do you still need us here?” Fukuzawa asked the head officer.

The officer looked at him with a frown. “No, but—”

“I’ll be taking Ranpo home then.” Fukuzawa doesn’t give the man a chance to speak, and walks away before he can try and convince Fukuzawa to hang around a little longer. He knew it was rude, and that his actions would raise questions, but he wasn’t focused on that. No, he was focused on getting Ranpo out of there before the kid had a complete breakdown over the fact that for the first time in his life, he’d been wrong.

Ranpo didn’t say a word as Fukuzawa grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet, and followed behind obediently as Fukuzawa led the two of them away from the scene. They weren’t going home, not yet. There was something that Fukuzawa needed to say, but it wasn’t something he could very well say in the presence of police; Ranpo seemed to understand that something was happening because he remained silent, and didn’t say anything, even as Fukuzawa turned down a side alley and let go of him.

“You cannot lie to the police to protect your pride.” Fukuzawa didn’t yell, because yelling never helped, and Ranpo was already spooked enough. “You’re lucky that they caught the man before they had the chance to believe you, because then someone innocent could’ve ended up behind bars.”

“But I—”

“No buts, Ranpo!” Fukuzawa placed his hands on Ranpo’s shoulders and forced the boy to look at him. His touch was gentle, but still, Ranpo flinched under it. “You cannot lie. Not to the police, and especially not when murder is involved. The police trust you when they ask you for help. Lie to them and you’ll break that trust.”

“But I’m never wrong!” Ranpo cried out, and suddenly, there were tears forming in the boy’s eyes, and his lower lip was trembling. “I’ve never been wrong before. I can’t be wrong!”

Fukuzawa sighed, and brought Ranpo close to him. He really didn’t know how to handle this. Ranpo was such a complex child on the best of days, but had never outright failed at something before. Fukuzawa had a very strong feeling that the usual placations wouldn’t be enough to soothe him this time, but he’d still try. “Ranpo, you were wrong, and that’s okay. There will be times where you are wrong, where someone gets the better of you. It just so happened that this criminal was a little sma—”

“No! I don’t get it!” Ranpo interrupted, throwing his arms around Fukuzawa, and burying his face into his yukata. There weren’t any tears, not yet at least, but with the way Ranpo’s voice cracked as he spoke, they couldn’t be far away. “I am special! I am gifted! I’m supposed to see the truth to any crime!”

Fukuzawa winced at Ranpo’s words. The smart decision would be to try and tell Ranpo that he wasn’t actually an ability user, that he was just a regular boy that was insanely intelligent. But Fukuzawa wasn’t a smart man, and right now, the child he was supposed to take care of was in his arms, visibly distressed. He couldn’t add to that distress, even though it would probably help in the long run. So, he tightened his hold on Ranpo and brought him closer. “I know, Ranpo. But even gifts have limits, even yours.”

Ranpo sniffed, but kept his face hidden; not that Fukuzawa needed to see it to feel the tears that slowly stained his clothes.

Ranpo hid in the bathroom the moment they crossed the entryway into their shared apartment, and Fukuzawa watched the boy run off with a pensive look on his own face. Ranpo hadn’t cried for long before he’d wiped his eyes and began to walk, although he’d still looked upset. Fukuzawa had tried to cheer him up by offering to buy him some sweets, but Ranpo didn’t even respond to him. And he’d remained that way the entire journey. Fukuzawa had to admit, it scared him a little. He hadn’t seen Ranpo in such a state since the boy had come into his care, and he didn’t know what to do to help him. And it wasn’t like he knew anyone that could even help him—the few people he’d acquainted himself with were about as good with children as he was.

So, Fukuzawa resigned himself to doing one of the few things he thought might help; cook a simple dinner. He’d cook a meal and use that to coax Ranpo out of the bathroom and then sit the boy on the couch and try and talk to him again. And if Ranpo still didn’t want to talk to him, then that was fine too; they could try again tomorrow. Fukuzawa pottered around the kitchen, putting together one of the simple meals he usually made—one that took maybe ten minutes tops—and separated the dish into two servings.

Normally, Fukuzawa would make Ranpo eat at the dinner table with him, but just this once, he was feeling indulgent, and took the bowl with him as he went to try and coax Ranpo out. If he failed, he’d leave the bowl outside the door, instead of the microwave like he usually would. “Ranpo? I have some food for you.”

No answer, although Fukuzawa could hear soft, muffled cries from within the room. His stomach clenched, and he wanted nothing more than to throw the door open and comfort Ranpo, but the door was closed for a reason, and Fukuzawa wasn’t about to break into the safe space that Ranpo had chosen for himself. “Would you like to come out and eat with me?”

Still no answer.

“Alright…” Fukuzawa sighed, and placed the bowl just beside the door. “I’ve left your dinner outside here. Please try and eat some of it.”

He walked away, back towards the kitchen to grab his own meal when he heard the click of the bathroom door and glanced over his shoulder to see a small hand reach out and grab the bowl, the door shutting again. Good, a meal will help him feel better. But even though he knew that Ranpo was eating, he couldn’t dispel the worry that had built in his chest, and kept one eye on the bathroom door as he ate, silently hoping that Ranpo would come out.

But he didn’t, and the sounds from within the bathroom had ceased, so Fukuzawa could only assume that the boy had fallen asleep in there, and cracked open the door to find that he had been correct. Ranpo lay, curled up on the floor with a flushed face and tear stained cheeks. Silently, Fukuzawa stepped into the room and carefully lifted Ranpo into his arms before taking the boy to his own room, and tucking him into bed, making sure that Ranpo was buried underneath the absurd amount of blankets that the boy kept on his bed.

Fukuzawa took a moment to study Ranpo while he slept, observing how, even in sleep, the boy still seemed bothered by something. Today probably affected him more than he realizes. Fukuzawa sighed as he left the room, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click before making his way to his own room. He was almost certain that today was only the start of something bigger; he didn’t yet know what, but there was a feeling in his gut that was telling him to prepare himself.

So he would. He would watch and observe, and be there if he was needed.

For two days, Ranpo remained in his room, and ignored every attempt that Fukuzawa made in trying to talk to him. Fukuzawa tried not to let it bother him too much, assuming that Ranpo wanted some space to work through whatever was going through his mind. Trying to force Ranpo to talk to him would do nothing but make the boy shrink away from him further. He had to remember that they’d only been living together for a few months; not nearly enough time to have the level of trust that was probably needed in this situation. Because, despite Ranpo’s overly trusting nature, the boy wasn’t actually that trusting, even though he did a good job in making you think he trusted you.

Fukuzawa would be patient, though, knowing that when Ranpo was ready to open up, he would. But until then, Fukuzawa would do what he could, and that was make sure that Ranpo knew he was there if he did want to talk, and also make sure that the boy was eating. As far as he knew, Ranpo had holed up in his room without any kind of sustenance, so Fukuzawa always made sure to leave a few sweets on the tray that had taken residence outside the room, along with some water and a few words, before leaving to do some work of his own.

And every time he came to collect the dishes, they were empty, so that was something at least.

It was the middle of the night when Fukuzawa woke, and he didn’t know what it was that had woken him in the first place, but his instincts were screaming at him, the ones that only came to life when something was wrong. And considering that there was nothing wrong with him, and Ranpo was the only other one in the apartment…

Fukuzawa was worried.

He didn’t throw himself out of bed and dash from his room, but he wanted to, wanted nothing more than to hurry and check on Ranpo, but he forced himself to walk calmly, leaving his room to find Ranpo’s bedroom door wide open, and a light coming from the bathroom; the door cracked open just enough to let the light enter the hallway.

“Ranpo?” Fukuzawa called quietly as he came to a stop outside the door. There’s a noise that sounds like a whine, but not quite, from within.

“Leave me alone.” Ranpo said quietly, his voice muffled.

“Are you alright?” Fukuzawa asked, just as quiet.

Silence.

Fukuzawa hovered outside the room for just a moment, weighing up the pros and cons before ultimately deciding to enter the room. He pushed the door open slowly, giving Ranpo plenty of time to protest but the boy didn’t, and Fukuzawa was allowed entry.

Only, he wasn’t sure what to do now.

Ranpo was sat on the floor, back pressed against the tub with his face buried into his knees. At his feet, laid one of the kitchen knives, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why it was there in the first place. Fukuzawa’s breath hitched, which seemed to shake Ranpo out whatever thought he’d found himself lost in, because he looked up at Fukuzawa, his eyes reminiscent of people long since passed; eyes that belonged to people who were tired of life.

Eyes that didn’t belong on a fourteen year old boy.

“I didn’t do anything.” Ranpo murmured, eyes falling onto the blade. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“I believe you.” Fukuzawa entered the room and paused. “May I sit?”

Ranpo nodded and Fukuzawa moved to sit beside the boy. Despite Ranpo’s promise that he hasn’t done anything, Fukuzawa still reached over and took away the temptation. Just in case.

“You could’ve come to me.” Fukuzawa said after the silence had dragged on for a while.

“I wanted to try and figure it out on my own.” Ranpo sighed, falling to the side to rest against Fukuzawa’s side. “I’m feeling things I don’t understand, and it just got too much.”

“So you took a knife to… what exactly?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.” Ranpo huffed, dropping his head back to his knees and winding his arms around them. Fukuzawa was ashamed to admit that he tried to see if there were any wounds on the skin he could see, but was relieved when there were none. “I’ve felt this way before though. Before I met you. It was worse then, though.”

“How worse?” Fukuzawa asked, already fearing the answer.

“I had a plan worse.” Ranpo sighed, a heavy sigh that showed how tired he was. “I haven’t been doing well lately.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Ranpo hummed, and turned his head so he could look Fukuzawa in the eyes. “What if you don’t understand either?”

“I’ll do my best to.”

Another hum before silence descended upon the room, but Fukuzawa waited, knowing that Ranpo was simply trying to find the words that he needed to describe what he was feeling exactly. Fukuzawa already had an idea of what was bothering the boy; memories of angry police, and an unsolvable case coming to mind.

Finally, Ranpo spoke. “I don’t get people… not in the way you and the rest of the adults do. It was the same before we met, and… it got a little better after I found out I had an ability, but now… I feel like I’m right back where I started, and it bothers me. You kept getting mad about how I talked to the police, and they kept getting mad at me… and then those murders happened and you got more mad at me, and I failed, and… I just don’t know anymore.”

Fukuzawa thought over Ranpo’s words for a minute. He really didn’t have any idea on what he should say, how he could soothe Ranpo’s worries and fears without making things worse. The only thing he could really do was tell the truth.

So that’s what he did.

“I don’t have the answers you’re after, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa said, reaching over and wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders. Ranpo let out a sigh, but Fukuzawa continued to push on. “I’m doing my best to guide and raise you, but this is all so new to me; I’m not sure I’m handling it correctly. I don’t yet understand you in a way that I can help you through this without making it worse, but… I will do my best as I’ve always tried to do since you’ve come into my care.”

Ranpo leaned into the embrace. “I get it. I think. I also think you’re doing a good job.”

Fukuzawa nodded, glad that Ranpo was approving of the job he’d been doing. Maybe he was finally starting to get a handle on this parenting thing. “We’ll talk, and do some research, and maybe, together we can get through this and figure this whole people and emotions thing out.”

Ranpo huffed a laugh, a small smile on his face. “Together then."

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #hurt/comfort #angst #writing #fanfiction #fukudad

46 notes · View notes

silver-lining-on-raven-wings · 1 year ago

Text

**THIS SCENE**

If you hear someone sobbing, you indeed do, it is me

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #ranpo and fukuzawa #fukudad #fanar #so precious

5K notes · View notes

lovelastart · 1 year ago

Text

So based on this pic

While I love that this father son duo got their fav drinks, and Fukuzawa has a mother duck toy, I guess that the one who brings the duck toys are Fukuzawa. Before Ranpo complains or whines about his ducks, Fukuzawa already fishes them out of his pocket (how his pocket could fit all of the toys, only him and God know) and dumps them in Ranpo's bucket. Then Ranpo gives the mother duck to Fukuzawa, and Fukuzawa just accepts it and puts it in his bucket. With content sigh that his boy is now cheerful again. Also the mother duck has a blue hat? How adorable???

#bungou stray dogs #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #some headcanon #fukudad and his son ranpo

14 notes · View notes

silver-lining-on-raven-wings · 1 year ago

Text

Hopes for Tomorrow's Finale: Why Fukuzawa Must Survive

People keep saying that Fukuzawa "must die" for narrative purposes: that otherwise, Kunikida will never realize his potential, or that Ranpo will never become serious... and that All Men Are Created Equal was supposed to be discarded anyway.

It's all so dismissive and it makes me sad since these same fans are the ones who will do mental gymnastics with full-prop-mounting to justify Dazai's own death cheat.

And I get it - we all have our favorites, after all. The ones that carry our investment for an artistic piece. My own favorites are Fukuzawa and Ranpo: their familial dynamic, specifically.

And if I have to submit my own 'evidence,' it would be the above panel. This scene is from an Anthology chapter, but even if it weren't, we have to consider Ranpo's ongoing dilemma with recognition of his Non-Gift.

If we're talking about narrative and what pieces fit where, I'm convinced that Fukuzawa has to remain, at least for this reason... Because no one else can have this conversation with Ranpo about how the idea of a Gift was peddled, but only to save him from his own defeatism. And how, these days, he doesn't need it and is in fact more impressive for it.

Yosano can't be the one for this talk. Neither can Dazai, for all of his straightforward advice.

I want to believe that Ranpo's father-figure will stay by his side, to guide him through this next step (his fulfillment as a Non-Gift user while still feeling special) and simply... to still be his family. Ranpo can't be orphaned twice over in so little time.

But well, we'll find out tomorrow.

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #ranpo and fukuzawa #fukudad #season 5 finale #anime theories #my hopes and fears #please let Fukuzawa survive

38 notes · View notes

silvfyre-writings · 1 year ago

Text

Craving the Silence (BSD Fanfic)

I bring to you a much darker fic than I normally do because the plot bunnies slapped me in the face with this idea, soooo, enjoy? Cry? I don't know what to tell you people I guess, but yeah, new Fukudad fic~

CW: Self-Harm and mental health issues, please proceed with caution.

Ranpo’s mind was his greatest asset.

But it was also his greatest enemy.

He had quite the love-hate relationship with his mind, because on one hand, Ranpo could use it to solve crimes in an instant, no matter how hard they appeared to be to everyone else. When he’d believed himself to be gifted, it had been different in a way he couldn’t really explain. He’d been aware of his mind working, but there’d been a layer of… something over the top of it; the gift he’d believed he’d had, protecting him and his mind, up until he’d been forced into accepting that it didn’t exist in the first place. Now there was nothing but his mind that solved all the cases that were brought before him, something he had struggled to accept at first until he’d been praised for his geniusness, and then like a switch, he’d realized that while not gifted like his coworkers, he was gifted in his own way, a way that let him be equal to them.

On the other hand, he also hated this same mind, because he was always thinking. For as long as he could remember, there had never been a moment where his mind had been silent—sure, it’d quietened once or twice when he’d been focused intensely on something, but it had never been silent. As a child, his mind had been filled with thoughts and theories and deductions about everyone he had ever met, had ever crossed paths with, and not all of those had been good. There’d been the young mother going behind her husbands back to pursue a relationship with the town doctor, the store keeper that had accidentally murdered his brother and successfully put the blame on his nephew, all things that Ranpo had noticed, but never brought up because no one else in town had, so it must’ve been fine.

Right?

Wrong.

Those things Ranpo had noticed, hadn’t been fine. The mother had been found out, and the argument had been so bad that Ranpo’s father had been asked to step in before someone got hurt. He’d been confused after that, because why had the mother’s husband gotten so mad in the first place? Why had the entire town gotten angry and shunned the doctor until he’d been forced to move away from town? Surely, all the adults had noticed what Ranpo had, because it wasn’t like the mother and the doctor had been secretive, what with the way they were always staring at each other, and making excuses for some privacy every time they crossed paths. Ranpo had asked his mother about it that night before bed.

“Why is everyone mad at her and the doctor?” Ranpo asked, frowning.

“Because she made a promise to her husband, and broke it.” His mother explained gently, her hand gently running through his hair as she stared down at him with love in her eyes.

“But everyone knew about it already.” Ranpo’s frown deepened. “It wasn’t a secret.”

His mother had hummed, a look on her face, and changed the subject entirely. “Don’t you worry about it, Ranpo. How about I read you a story instead?”

As a teenager, the amount of noise his mind made only grew, and it only got worse when his parents passed away in an accident that no one had seen coming, not even him. The immediate aftermath of their deaths, when the doctor—a new one—had sat Ranpo down and explained that his parents weren’t coming home, was the first time that his mind went completely silent. Not a single thought ran through his mind, and the deductions he’d been subconsciously making about the man in front of him, halted in their tracks.

For the first time in Ranpo’s world, things were quiet, and even though he should be sad because his parents were dead, all he could think about was how he could achieve that silence again. The silence, something that Ranpo had never experienced before was a new sensation entirely, and one that he was keen to obtain again; he’d never realized just how noisy his mind was until that moment, how much the external and internal stimuli fought to gain Ranpo’s attention. And with his mind quiet, all he could focus on was the doctor telling him how his parents had passed away, and that because he had no living relatives to take care of him, Ranpo was now on his own at the ripe old age of thirteen.

“I’m sorry, Ranpo, I really am, that there isn’t anything we can do for you.” Despite the look of care on the doctors face, Ranpo could tell that he didn’t really care all that much about him—there was the smell of alcohol on the man’s breath; he’d been out drinking with friends before he’d had to come here.

Ranpo stretched his mouth into a smile. “It’s fine. Dad has a friend I can go to in Yokohama. I’ll go there.”

It wasn’t fine, but it was all Ranpo could do in a town that had never accepted him; another thing he’d noticed that no one spoke up about, so he elected not to either.

It took only a few hours for the silence to fade, and his mind started to work again, whispering in that way it always did about everything he looked at, supplying information he knew about it, or theories if he didn’t know. He hated it. He wanted the silence back. But until he could figure out how to achieve that again, he’d just have to deal with the noise.

It only got worse when he arrived in Yokohama.

The city was easily a hundred times bigger than his hometown, with more people, more buildings, and more noise. He’d stepped off the train, only to be assaulted by everything around him; there was too much noise, too many people, and way too many things for his mind to whisper at him about. Ranpo had hurried away from the train, hands clapped over his ears as he followed the crowd with his eyes squeezed shut, desperate for the world to go quiet just long enough for him to figure out where it was he was supposed to go.

But it didn’t, it only got noisier.

Eventually though, not that Ranpo remembered how he’d even managed to find his way there in the first place, he arrived at the police academy, where the man his father had said was his closest friend, resided. He’d felt like he could relax then, knowing that there was at least one other adult in this world that would care about him, and even though the pain from losing his parents was still fresh, he was excited.

Only… it hadn’t been that simple. The headmaster of the academy had been nice enough, polite, and more than happy to give Ranpo a roof over his head, but… it was all a lie. The moment Ranpo laid eyes on the man, he saw straight through him; disbelief, anger, and discontent towards him of all things. The headmaster didn’t care for Ranpo at all, in fact he hated him, all because he saw Ranpo’s father as a know-it-all that always stuck his nose into business that wasn’t his in the first place, and came to the conclusion that Ranpo was the same just because he was his father’s son. Yet despite that, the headmaster smiled at him, shook his hand, and with a warm hand on his back, guided Ranpo to an empty dorm room that would be his new home.

Only… it wasn’t meant to be. Ranpo managed to ignore his mind for six months by focusing on everything else at the academy; loud and rambunctious students that didn’t like the fact there was a thirteen year old boy in their class, the never ending city sounds that did nothing but grate on Ranpo’s ears until he was hunched over in his bed, crying alone and quietly until he passed out and the next day would begin. And then it would repeat, over and over again. But the moment that six months passed, Ranpo couldn’t stop ignoring his mind anymore, and he simply let it tell him everything it wanted him to know.

Which was a lot.

“I took you in because of your father and this is how you repay me? By spreading lies?” Ranpo glared up at the headmaster, angry and hurt, because he’d gotten mad at all the stupid rules of the academy, and rather than suck it up and keep quiet, he’d spoken his mind; he’d dragged the headmaster’s affairs into light, unintentionally, because this was a police academy, and the people here should’ve already known what their headmaster was doing.

Apparently, Ranpo was wrong. Again.

Only he had known the truth, so when he’d spoken, the headmaster had lashed out, his fist colliding with Ranpo’s cheek and sending him to the ground. Ranpo had wanted to yell, because he’d just been punched by someone who was supposed to help him, and he was hurt and confused.

He hated adults.

Ranpo found himself on the streets after that, left to fend for himself with nothing but a satchel and the clothes on his back, and while that was terrifying, and he should’ve been worried, all he could focus on was the silence. The moment he’d been punched, and the pain had registered in his mind, Ranpo’s mind had gone silent, and now, just a few hours afterwards, it was still silent, and it was wonderful.. For the first time in his life, all he had to deal with were the sounds of the environment around him, and even then, they became easier to deal with when he wasn’t having to contend with his mind.

By morning though, the silence had disappeared, and his mind became vocal again.

He’d figured it to be a one time thing, just something that had happened because of the events that had led up to it, but when he’d joined the garrison and then been kicked out of that, he’d hit the ground in a way that it had torn the skin on his hands, and just like the time at the police academy, Ranpo’s mind went silent once again. And just like that, he figured it out.

Pain brought silence.

And so, whenever Ranpo’s mind became too much to handle, when it spat knowledge he didn’t want to hear at him, or when it tried to drag his attention somewhere else, all Ranpo had to do was hurt himself and it would all go silent. The first time he’d done it, he’d ripped out a chunk of his hair, only because he’d found himself in a situation where everything was so loud that he couldn’t do anything but curl up into a ball, and it had purely been accidental. But it had brought pain, and his mind drifted towards the silence, giving Ranpo enough relief to find sanctuary for himself.

The second time had been after he’d been fired from the post office; he hadn’t enough money to feed himself, and he’d panicked and stressed because he really didn’t want to starve but it didn’t look like there was any choice, and was just so over not having any kind of stability in his life; he subconsciously scratched at the bare skin of his arms until his nails had broken the skin, and blood began to run down his arms. Ranpo froze and stared at the blood with wide eyes, arms stinging as he continued to scratch and spread the blood around, before he’d realized exactly what it was he’d done and thrown up onto the street, disgusted with himself.

Pain may have brought silence, but it wasn’t like he enjoyed the pain.

Yet he couldn’t stop himself from looking forward to the pain, if only because it would grant him temporary solace.

The third, the fourth, and even the fifth time, had all been done in the same way, scratching away and whatever skin he could get his hands on until the skin was red raw, or broken and bleeding. Ranpo usually tried to stop himself before it got to that point, but similar to the way that the drug addicts he met had to take more and more of their chosen drug each time, he found himself needing to scratch, to hurt. Even when he wasn’t chasing after the silence—a rare occurrence these days—he was scratching, craving the sting, craving the burn, but most of all, craving the pain. It was like he had become a drug addict, but instead of an actual drug, he was addicted to the pain he inflicted upon himself and the blissful silence that followed.

And then he met Fukuzawa.

Fukuzawa, who had seen almost all of Ranpo in less than twelve hours and still decided to give him a home. Fukuzawa, who was an adult, but not like all the other adults in Ranpo’s life who hated him just for existing, who had caused his mind to scream until he’d inevitably self destructed and wreaked havoc upon his skin until the world went silent. Fukuzawa, who was scared of his past coming to light, yet telling it to Ranpo in order to help him, despite not needing to do so.

Fukuzawa, who had told him he was gifted, that he wasn’t hated by the world, and that the reason for his mind never stopping, was because he was different to others in a good way.

There was a reason why his mind screamed.

He could’ve cried then and there, but there was a murder to solve.

After that night in the theatre, things got easier, but also harder for Ranpo. Easier, because he had a roof over his head, food whenever he was hungry and wanted it, but most of all, he had an adult that understood him; sort of at least, because Fukuzawa had been a loner for years now, and suddenly having a child to care for took some adjusting to. The hard part was when Ranpo needed silence, because there was now someone else in the apartment that he had to consider, and he wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly what other people thought of those that did what he did. They thought them disgusting, broken, disturbed.

Ranpo may have been one of those things, but the silence was just something he needed.

Because over the time since he’d arrived in Yokohama, his mind had grown more brutal, grown louder and crueller, not towards the people he spoke to and passed by, but towards himself. Ranpo didn’t understand when the change had taken place, nor where the cruelty was coming from, but there was no denying that the moment his mind started to go down that path, his need to scratch intensified, and often wouldn’t cease until he gave in.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Fukuzawa figured him out almost immediately.

“Come to me the next time you feel this way.” Fukuzawa was quiet as he wrapped Ranpo’s arms with bandages, but his touch was gentle, and there was no judgement on his face, even as Ranpo sobbed into the man’s yukata.

“I always feel this way.” It felt awful to say it, but it was the truth, proven by the fact that he and Fukuzawa were sat on the kitchen floor with a bloodied knife far out of reach. He’d discovered that a blade brought the silence quicker than his nails did, so after a particularly bad day, where external and internal noise had worked together against him, he’d been desperate.

He just hadn’t counted on Fukuzawa coming home from the store early.

Fukuzawa hummed, and tied the bandage off before he moved to wrap Ranpo’s other arm. “If you can, explain to me how you feel. There might be something we can do to help you.”

“There’s no helping me, Fukuzawa-san.”

“There’s always a way to help.”

And there had been. A lengthy conversation that had brought forth more tears than Ranpo had ever cried in his life, and a bone deep exhaustion that allowed him to sleep the rest of the day away, but in the end, it’d helped. For the first time in his life, Ranpo had talked about the noise in his mind that never left him alone and how the only time it ever went silent was when he was in pain; Fukuzawa had looked pained when he’d said that, and gently held Ranpo’s hands in his own, but he hadn’t interrupted, only encouraged him with a look to go on. Ranpo continued to tell him how he clawed at himself until he bled— he even showed Fukuzawa the few fading scars on his arms, his stomach, and the one along his collarbone—and then cried afterwards because he was ashamed of himself.

But he couldn’t help it.

He needed the silence.

All the while, Fukuzawa listened, and when Ranpo cried himself into unconsciousness, the older man stayed with him until he’d woken up, dutifully sitting beside his futon, working away on the laptop at something that Ranpo had been too tired to figure out. Once he’d been awake, Fukuzawa forced him from his bed and sat him down at the dining table to eat something small, and whilst Ranpo ate, Fukuzawa sat down beside him and showed him just what it was that he’d been working on.

Apparently his issues with external noise was called sensory overload, and it was actually quite common. But the important part was that it could be managed with things like headphones and blankets; things that were easy to obtain, and honestly, Ranpo was skeptical. Surely, it wasn’t that easy to solve one of his problems, not when it was something he’d been dealing with for years without any kind of help.

It was.

That easy he meant.

Fukuzawa hadn’t wanted to leave Ranpo on his own to go and buy the things that would help him, not the Ranpo blamed him for that decision; the look on Fukuzawa’s face when he’d come and seen him on the kitchen floor, bleeding, wasn’t one that Ranpo particularly wanted to see again. And since he also didn’t want to take Ranpo out into public and make him feel even worse, Fukuzawa had settled for online shopping, sitting beside Ranpo, and allowing him to pick out what he wanted. It was nice—fun even—and he and Fukuzawa stayed inside until everything had arrived; Ranpo spent most of those days sleeping or watching something quietly on the television, and Fukuzawa spent most of his time reading and checking in on Ranpo.

“Thank you.” Ranpo murmured from underneath the weighted blanket a couple of weeks after the kitchen incident. They two of them had been called out to help solve a crime, and whilst Ranpo had solved it in an instant, the person responsible hadn’t hesitated to try and take Ranpo with him. Try being the key word, because before the criminal could even touch him, one of the officers had shot the guy.

Guns were rather loud when they went off right beside your ear, and Ranpo had immediately needed the silence in the aftermath. He was just grateful that Fukuzawa and recognized the look on his face, and hurried to get them home.

Fukuzawa didn’t say anything at first, just ran a hand through his hair where Ranpo’s head rested on his lap. “What are you thanking me for?”

“Everything, I guess.” Ranpo shrugged and closed his eyes. “I still need the silence, but… with you and what you bought, it’s easier to ignore.”

“Over time, it will grow easier. You’ll grow older and learn new ways to cope.” Fukuzawa said. “That doesn’t mean there won’t be days where it’s hard, but I hope that you’ll learn to come to me when you have those days.”

Ranpo’s mind was finally quiet.

Finally.

After everything that had happened between the Agency and the Guild, Ranpo felt stretched both physically and mentally; aside from being the one to have to come up with all the plans that the Agency has used in the war with their overseas enemies—with a little help from Dazai of course—he’d also had to deal with the most precious part of him being ripped away, torn from him like a band aid and thrown into the trash.

His gift.

He’d suspected for a while that he hadn’t actually been gifted; there had been several events over the years since he’d first been told he was gifted that had accumulated, waiting for Ranpo to notice their existence. But he’d refused to acknowledge them, because it had been easier to pretend, easier to use his gift as its own kind of weighted blanket to protect himself against the internal noise his mind threw at him. Because his mind had never stopped screaming at him, not even twelve years later, but it had grown easier to deal with, just as Fukuzawa had promised. Somehow he’d managed to make it so that his mind only screamed whenever he wore his glasses, and since it wasn’t often that he actually wore them—outside of solving cases of course, but he always had someone with him in that case—he was able to ignore it for the most part.

Only… now he couldn’t.

The safety layer that his gift had provided had been torn away from him, so of course, his mind decided it was the perfect time to unleash almost a decade’s worth of screaming at him, despite not even wearing his glasses. It was awful, it was overwhelming, and it had come at the worst possible time. Yosano had asked him if he was alright, and Ranpo knew he should’ve said something then, but instead, he’d played it off and run away the moment they’d returned to the Agency so that he could have a breakdown in private.

His coworkers didn’t need to see that side of him.

Ranpo had hidden in Yosano’s office, knowing that his oldest friend would know to keep people away until he was ready to emerge again; it would only be a couple of minutes, because they were in the midst of war and time was of the essence. Inside the office though, the screaming grew stronger, even more so when Ranpo’s eyes fell upon the drawer that Yosano knew held her scalpels for her work. He’d tried, honestly tried, to not give in to the temptation that was right in front of him. It’d been years since he’d last the need for the silence in this way, and he knew that he should’ve gone to Fukuzawa the moment he noticed it, but he didn’t.

Because they were at war, and Fukuzawa had other things to worry about than Ranpo’s rapidly declining mental state.

The knowledge that they were still at war with the Guild was the only reason that Ranpo didn’t give in to temptation right then and there. But he did pocket one of the scalpel blades, and almost as if it knew what was coming, his mind quietened down; not much, but enough that he could focus.

“Ranpo-san, are you alright?” Dazai asked after they’d finalized the plan to bring down the Moby Dick. The former mafia member had a look on his face that could only be concern, and if Ranpo had been more aware of things, he would’ve realized and played it off because if Dazai became suspicious, it wouldn’t take him long to figure things out.

Ranpo shoved a hand into his pocket and fiddled with the scalpel hidden there as he hummed. “Just ready for this war to be over, that’s all.

“Ranpo—”

“Shouldn’t you be prepping Atsushi and Tanizaki for their part in the plan?” Ranpo interrupted and opened his eyes, levelling Dazai with a look that had the other man frown before he finally gave in.

“Yes, of course.”

They’d won the war, but the screaming had become impossible to ignore, and the scalpel burned in his pocket, but Ranpo managed to ignore it just a little longer, because after the fighting was done, Fukuzawa wanted to treat them all to a quiet celebration of their victory and Ranpo refused to ruin it, not when it was so sorely needed. It wasn’t like he was the only one that was exhausted after all that had occurred; in the direct aftermath, most of his coworkers had taken up residence on the couches—Atsushi and Kenji had chosen to curl up on the floor together—and slept.

Ranpo wanted to join them, but when he closed his eyes, all that did was make the screaming worse.

Three days after the celebration, Ranpo couldn’t ignore it any longer. Because just like that time twelve years ago, he was desperate for a silence that he hadn’t experienced in so long, and so desperately needed. It was just too much, the internal noise louder than it had ever been before, and Ranpo knew it was because of everything that had happened in such a short time; he hadn’t had the time to try his usual ways of coping, and he was desperate.

So, he’d done the one thing he knew would help, the one thing that would guarantee him that silence he needed.

He made himself bleed.

Fukuzawa would be disappointed in him, but Ranpo couldn’t bring himself to care as he dragged the scalpel across his skin, chasing after that precious silence that would save him. Unlike his nails, or the kitchen knife he’d once used, the scalpel tore his skin easily—because that’s what they specialized in doing—and within seconds, the pain was there and blood spilled from the wounds, over his hands and over the bathroom floor.

Was he a fool for doing this in the Agency bathroom? Probably, but Ranpo wasn’t logical when he was desperate.

He slid the scalpel across his skin a few more times, being careful because the last thing he wanted to do was make himself bleed out. The noise of his mind might have been too much to deal with at times, but Ranpo had no intention of dying. Not now, not ever. All he wanted was the silence and he had finally achieved that. The world went quiet around him, both his mind and the outside world falling silent before him, and it was wonderful.

Why couldn’t it always be this quiet?

Ranpo was drawn from his quiet world by a gentle touch to his face, and he blinked open eyes he hadn’t realized were shut and found Atsushi crouched before him, a look of sheer panic on his face. Ah… This was why Ranpo had tried to hold off on obtaining the silence, because all the Agency members had hearts that were far too big for their own good, and Atsushi had the biggest one of all, despite the worlds best attempts at breaking it.

Apparently, now it was Ranpo’s turn to try and do that.

He could see Atsushi’s mouth move, but the silence had such a hold over him that he couldn’t hear what was being said. The panic on Atsushi’s face grew, and the boy looked over his shoulder, and Ranpo didn’t realize just what it was that Atsushi had done until the bathroom door opened and Dazai stepped inside. The boy must’ve called for his mentor, unsure of how to handle what it was he’d stumbled across, but knowing someone that could. Ranpo wanted to tell them to leave, to go away and just leave him alone with the silence, but all he could do was stare and blink at them.

A hand gently slapped his cheek, and Ranpo lifted his eyes to look at Dazai, but still, he said nothing, and he watched as Dazai frowned, hands falling to close around his forearms where he’d torn into the skin. He watched as Dazai said something to Atsushi, the boy dashing from the bathroom immediately after, and the former mafioso returned his attention to Ranpo. There was hidden worry on Dazai’s face, and Ranpo felt guilty for putting that look there in the first place. But really, he would be fine after a moment. He’d just really needed the silence.

“—po, I need you to talk to me.” Ranpo’s mind chose that moment to let the external noise return to him, and already, he missed the quiet.

He grunted. “Go away…”

“No.” Dazai’s voice was firm and his grip on Ranpo’s eyes tightened, drawing a wince from him. “Just keep your eyes open for me, okay? Don’t close them.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t dying, so he didn’t understand why Dazai was so worried. But then again, Dazai’s coping mechanisms were similar to Ranpo’s own, so perhaps the worry was valid. Ranpo glanced down at his arms to see there was more blood than he’d ever drawn from himself. “Oh… maybe I’m not.”

Dazai snorted despite the situation. “No, you aren’t fine. Why the hell would you even use a scalpel in the first place?”

Now that wasn’t something Ranpo was willing to discuss with Dazai, no matter how similar they were. The silence he so often craved was something that only he and Fukuzawa would ever talk about, because Fukuzawa was Fukuzawa, and had never judged Ranpo whenever he’d fallen apart from the noise and tried to take his skin with him. And while he was certain that Dazai wouldn’t judge him, Ranpo had been judged by enough people in his life that he wasn’t willing to take that chance.

He turned away.

Dazai sucked in a breath, but before he could say anything, the door to the bathroom opened, and footsteps hurried over towards where Ranpo lay on the floor. A hand that Ranpo would never fail at recognizing dropped to rest on his head, and he turned just enough to see Fukuzawa looking at him worriedly. Ranpo’s eyes stung and he looked away, not wanting Dazai and Atsushi to see him cry. He heard Fukuzawa sigh from above him.

“Have either of you called Yosano?” Fukuzawa asked.

“I sent her a message. She was downstairs in the café so she’s coming back up now.” Dazai explained, moving away to let Fukuzawa take over.

“Thank you. If you are able to, can you clean up in here? Otherwise, I will do so later. Just keep everyone out until then.”

“We can handle it, sir!” Atsushi stood up straight as he always did when given an order, even though it wasn’t really an order but more of a request. What was more surprising was when Dazai also agreed to help, although how much cleaning he’d actually do remained to be seen.

Just leave me alone. Ranpo thought as he felt Fukuzawa lift him up from the floor, subconsciously curling into the warmth and security that the older had always provided. There were no words said as they left the bathroom behind, although Ranpo wanted nothing more than to tell Fukuzawa to stop, to leave him alone, and that he’d be fine. Because he knew the moment he was patched up, the noise would come back and—and—

He didn’t want the noise to come back.

“You’re supposed to tell me when it gets bad again.” Fukuzawa sat on the edge of the bed that Ranpo was tucked into. His guardian still had that furrowed brow he always gained when he was worried, but it had lessened in the time that Ranpo had been asleep. Well… it wasn’t really sleep when he’d passed out from blood loss.

As it turned out, using a scalpel to hurt himself hadn’t been the smartest decision he’d ever made; the blade so fine that when Ranpo had thought he hadn’t been cutting deep, he had in fact, been cutting deep. That was what Fukuzawa had said anyway, explaining that while the wounds themselves were deep, they hadn’t been life threatening—well unless he’d continued to remain undiscovered in the bathroom—so rather than use her ability, simply stitched the wounds, and bandaged them. Apparently, she too had wanted to stay with Ranpo, but Fukuzawa had asked her to leave, and Ranpo was grateful for it; Yosano had once stumbled across him when they were younger, and the look on her face had made Ranpo determined to never have her experience such a thing again. Which he had failed at.

Ranpo rolled over in the bed to curl up against Fukuzawa. “I was desperate.”

A calloused hand found its way into his hair, running through it over and over again to soothe him. “I know. I’m sorry that I didn’t check on you.”

“It’s not your fault.” Ranpo refused to let Fukuzawa blame himself for his own actions. “I should’ve come to you before it got this bad.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The answer came easy, because it was the excuse he’d used to justify stealing the scalpel in the first place. “You were busy with the war against the Guild and trying to keep us all alive and safe. If your attention had been diverted because of my own problems, we wouldn’t have won as easily.”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa gently tugged at his hair until he looked up into gentle eyes. “Your wellbeing will always be my top priority. Sure, it may have been harder for us to win, but we still would’ve won, because we would’ve supported you better so you didn’t struggle as much. I’m aware the other members place a weight on your shoulders that can be hard to bear at times, but even pillars need support when they start to crumble.”

“Oh…” Tears burned Ranpo’s eyes at the other man’s words, and Fukuzawa didn’t hesitate to drag him upright, arms encasing him in a firm embrace. The warmth that it provided was more than enough for the tears to begin to fall, because Ranpo was nothing if not emotional when it came to the most important adult in his life telling him that it was okay if he wasn’t okay. Ranpo clung to Fukuzawa’s yukata and sobbed into it. “I’m struggling. I found out I wasn’t gifted, and that was how I coped with the noise before. Now I can’t and it’s too much.”

“Okay.” Fukuzawa rested his cheek on top of Ranpo’s head, one of his hands running up and down Ranpo’s back slowly—gently, until the tears began to slow, and then stopped entirely. “We’re not fighting anymore, and the other Agency staff have a handle on things here, so I think it will be alright if you take some time off to try and find a new coping mechanism. And I’ll be there to help.”

“You’ll be there to monitor me, you mean?” Ranpo wasn’t looking forward to that part, where he wasn’t allowed to be alone, nor was he allowed to handle sharp objects for a period of time. It was reasonable of course, because self-harm was an addiction that Ranpo had never been able to beat on his own, and there’d been a few times where Fukuzawa had left him on his own after an episode, and come back to an even worse sight.

“Yes, but I’ll mostly be there to support you as I have done so since I took you in.” Fukuzawa reassured, knowing exactly what it was that Ranpo was thinking about. “How’s the noise now?”

“Faint. Ignorable.” Ranpo murmured, tired now after crying. “I’m tired.”

Fukuzawa hummed and shifted Ranpo so that he was lying back down on the bed, and drew the covers up to his chin. “Rest then. I’ll be here when you wake and we can talk more about it then.”

Ranpo nodded snuggled into the blankets. There was no doubt that by the time he awoke again, the noise would have returned, but he wouldn’t be left alone with it this time, not until they found a way to deal with it—perhaps even silence it forever.

He may have hated his mind for all the pain it had caused him over the years, but his mind was what made him, him, so maybe it was time for him to learn how to handle it.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #fukudad #hurt/comfort #angst #comfort #tw self destruction #writing #fanfic

35 notes · View notes