Yosano and Fukuzawa stayed in the director's office all through the night. It was impossible to get through all of the videos in one sitting. It seemed like Dazai had been videotaped every moment of his captivity, both through the interrogations and in his cramped cell. A steady decline of both his mental and physical health was noticeable, all though he stayed strong and kept the mischievous shimmer in his eye through the torture, the footage from the cell was much different.
It showed a hurt and tired man at the edge of his ropes, pushed further than anyone should ever have to be pushed and staying stronger than any man should be able too; none of which came as a surprise to any of them.
Dazai stayed stubborn and defiant until moments of consciousness became few and far between, and his body acted purely by human instinct, whimpering and cowering away when hit.
About four months into his imprisonment, Dazai had stopped talking altogether, likely from the inability to, and was left heaving as a man out of his wits with grief wailed for him to confess to a crime that Dazai at that point was unable to voice his guilt for even if had been the one to kill the girl. Any solider that would voice their uncertainty about their actions would be physically punished, Dan Saito never having a cattle prod far from his reach.
Eventually, most of the videos had Dazai bedridden at a hospital-looking place, being stabilized and worked back to half-consciousness until he was eventually dragged back to the cell.
At six in the morning, Yosano slapped the screen down and stated unrelentingly, "We're taking him back here today. "
Dazai's throat was as dry as sandpaper. His chest felt too tight and the loose shirt he had been dressed in felt violently constricting despite falling loosely against his skeletal frame, but the soft blue and fluffy cardigan felt good against his paper-like skin. It wasn't like the scratchy material of his hospital gown. Also, it was made with love. And love was nice and bright and safe- a little rough around the edges but nice all the same.
Despite the warm sweater, he felt cold all the time. Kunikida had tucked the cardigan cozily around him (nice soft safe) so he wouldn't catch a chill, but he had only succeeded in making it feel like a straightjacket. His better arm tugged futilely at his collar while he tried to remember how to breathe.
Kunikida walked carefully behind him, rolling the wheelchair down the bleak hospital corridors with Yosano and Fukuzawa on each side. Every few steps, Dazai switched to make sure they were still there.
Today, he was going home. Not home as to his dorm, but back to the Agency where they would take care of him in the infirmary instead of in the hospital.
This awoke a whirlwind of strange and scattered emotions in his battered chest. First and foremost, he was happy to get out of there (cold, noisy, unfamiliar, intimidating), but he had also gotten used to the two-hundred-and-sixty-four ceiling tiles (clean, white, safe). He had never counted those at the infirmary. Maybe there was the same amount as in…
Just the thought made him shudder and inch together, and he squeaked as a firm hand was placed on his shoulder.
"Are you ready?" Fukuzawa smiled solemnly. Dazai didn't like that expression on his boss. It didn't suit him and made it feel like he'd done something bad because smiles weren't supposed to be sad like that; sad and unnatural and forced like his own. They should be pure and happy like Kenji's or Atsushi's, but he hadn't seen either of those grins in a long time. He hoped he would get to see them soon, but he knew he had to get better fast for that to happen.
"Dazai? Did you hear me?"
He shook himself out of his musings and looked around, realizing they were by the exit. A cold chill ran down his spine, but not because of the cool breeze that emitted through the automatic sliding doors.
Dazai promptly remembered that he hadn't been outside in over six months. For that half-year, he wanted nothing more than to feel the fresh air brush through his hair and hear the sounds of creeks bubbling over rocks and branches, the shrill chirps of birds, and feel the heated sensation of sunshine against his skin. But now, the lack of walls seemed absolutely debilitating.
Subconsciously, his back pushed against the back of the chair, and his ruined fingertips dug into the armrests. Almost unnoticeably, he shook his head and stared back at the president with pleading eyes.
"W-wait?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking in his raw throat. The chair halted.
"I'll bring the car closer," Yosano informed, picking up on Dazai's unease and left the hospital with calm strides, letting Dazai get as much time as possible to brace himself.
"You can take as much time as you need, Dazai-kun. We're not in any hurry," Fukuzawa stated firmly.
It was stupid, Dazai thought. If anything, the world should be scared of him. Not that he could do much at the moment, but he had proved before that he didn't actively need to participate for everything to turn to shit. It just tended to crumble and burn around him.
He wanted to tell Kunikida and Fukuzawa that he was fine, that he didn't need their comfort and reassurance, but for some reason, he could neither convince himself of that nor actually state the words.
Not only was his voice useless, but words tended to get stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. His vocabulary hadn't been this limited since he was a toddler. Yosano had said something about brain damage, and bitterly, he had to admit that it made sense. If the countless knocks against his head weren't enough, the repeated oxygen deprivation would have done the trick.
At some level, he wished his mind would have been broken enough for him to not understand what was going on with him, but it wasn't. It felt clear as always, despite all the ridiculous bouts of panic that would strike him whenever… well, all the time, actually.
Shortly after, Yosano's large black pulled in only a few feet from the entrance.
"Are you ready?" Kunikida murmured and slowly moved the chair forward, but stopped the moment he felt Dazai draw back.
Wide, owlish eyes stared stiffly at the door, and without Dazai really noticing, his hand grasped at Kunikida's fist around the handlebar.
"N-no," he wheezed, voice choked on a cough. "C-can't."
Kunikida and Fukuzawa shared a look, before Kunikida kneeled in front of the chair to get at eye-level with his partner.
Dazai looked terrified but deeply ashamed.
"No one's going to get to you. We've got you. You're safe," Kunikida stated firmly and smiled as confidently as he could.
Dazai grimaced and looked away. "I k-know. 's stupid," he croaked almost soundlessly.
"After what you've been through, I don't think it's stupid at all," Kunikia frowned. "Will you please let me help you"?
"No choice." Dazai looked away.
Kunikida's frown deepened as he got back up. Without another word, he carefully wormed his hands under Dazai's back and knees an hoisted the light-weight into his arms as if he weight nothing, which wasn't far from the truth.
Dazai let out a silent welp, and clutched onto his partner as tightly as his feeble body could manage.
"Close your eyes if you need to. We'll only be outside for a moment and then we'll be inside the car. Do you remember the scented tree that hangs from Yosan's rearview mirror?" Kunikida asked and Dazai nodded curtly. "She got a fresh one just for today, cause she remembers how much you hate the smell."
As broken as it sounded, Kunikida recognized the quiet hum with glee as Dazai chuckled lightly, shortly followed by a childish pout. To his side, Fukuzawa smiled approvingly.
"Ready?" he asked lowly, pleasantly, and Kunikiad felt Dazai nudge a bit closer to his chest.
"As ready as we will be," he replied fondly and stepped out into the rain, holding his precious load securely.