dazai gets hit with a truth serum ability. it is all downhill from there- for him. everyone else is having a blast.
well, for a little while, they are. but when things get disturbing, it gets less pleasant. even less so, for dazai.
...smiling...
...yes.
The man had been smiling as he stretched out a hand, had been grinning wholeheartedly as he said, "Ability-"
And he, who had been smiling himself that morning, shoved his partner out of the way, letting him hit the pavement of the alleyway, smiling no more, brown eyes dark, prepared; but the man baring his teeth like a twisted skeleton didn't touch him. He didn't need to touch him-
"The Emperor's New Clothes!" The skeleton-man, later identified as "Hans Christian Anderson," had said.
There was no flashing light, no substance coming from his outstretched hand, no skin contact. His ability didn't need touch.
And thus, No Longer Human did not work.
The first one who came to his side as he crumpled to the ground was Ranpo. The man escaped, disappearing into some back alley as Kunikida picked himself up.
The detective- the Agency's only actual detective- barely hid the worry in his overbright green eyes, closing them hurriedly as Dazai rolled over, trying to keep his dark hair from falling in his face.
Kunikida, his knees and the front of his vest dirtied, gripped him by the shoulder and pulled him up, cursing. "Fuck! Idiot-"
Dazai coughed lightly, the dust from the ground clouding in the air. "Dazai," Kunikida was saying, "Damn it, are you okay?"
He opened his mouth to say what he always did- yes, yes, I'm perfectly alright, don't worry about me, but what came out instead was, "No."
Both of the other men stiffened, because if Dazai of all people was telling them he was hurt, that meant he was very, very hurt.
His head was swimming. He felt dizzy and ill, but the feeling soon faded. Ranpo was talking to him-
"Dazai? Hey! What's wrong?"
At long last, he managed to sit up, muscles sore from exertion. "He hit me with his ability. It must have not needed touch to activate," he said, expression flickering oddly for a second.
Kunikida, finally getting around to brushing the dust off his front, frowned. "How are you feeling? Different? Are you hurt?"
Dazai mentally checked himself over. "No, I feel fine. Well, aside from the chronic pain, but that's always there-"
This time, all three of them froze.
"I..." He said awkwardly. "I did not mean to say that. I swear I didn't mean to say that."
Then, loudly, Ranpo began to laugh. Not soft- big, heaving howls of pure mirth. He laughed so hard he almost threw up, clutching his stomach and dropping to the ground, tears in his eyes.
Kunikida glared at him, his hand still on Dazai's shoulder, which was beginning to make him a little uncomfortable. "Ranpo-"
"It's a fucking TRUTH ABILITY," Ranpo wheezed, one hand slamming against the ground. "Kunikida, it's a fucking truth serum ability."
Dazai, who had by then figured it out himself by then, shot him a look.
"Ask him a question," Ranpo managed breathlessly, still sucking for air. "Ask him a fucking question-"
Kunikida ignored him pointedly. "Does it have any other effects? Do you feel anything else?"
Dazai clamped his lips shut, shaking his head.
"Do you have something you want to say?" Kunikida prodded, frowning.
"Well I didn't want to say it but can you please take your hand off my shoulder it's making me really uncomfortable-" Dazai blurted out quickly, then slapped a hand over his mouth, cursing himself.
Kunikida removed his hand like it had been burned. "Sorry," he said, and Dazai's hands pressed harder over his mouth.
"It's okay," he forced out in a squeak, "It's just that I'm not used to being touched in ways that aren't supposed to hurt oh my god please sew my mouth shut, Kunikida-kun, I can't shut up!"
Kunikida's frown deepened. "I-"
Ranpo, finally managing to sober up, wiped a tear from his eye. "Let's get back. The president will need to know about this ability, and do try not to ask Dazai any questions, Kunikida, it's going to be like torture for him."
One blissfully quiet (uncomfortably quiet, because no matter how much he complained about Dazai's chatter, after four years of working with him, it had become white noise, almost comforting, and Kunikida was on guard the whole time, watching his pale, silent partner out of the corner of his eye) car ride later, they walked up the steps to the office, Dazai with his jaw still clenched tight.
Kunikida, still watching him in his peripheral vision, was realizing exactly how huge this was. Dazai, unable to lie? Unable to even tell half-truths and twist his words? It was like Christmas had come early.
He had questions. Everyone did, although they were the type of questions that popped up in the middle of the night and were forgotten by day, the type that gnawed on the back of your mind when you looked at him.
He's ex-Port Mafia. How much intel does he have?
Kunikida wished that these were the extent of these thoughts. Instead, he was saddled with prying questions that sullied his ideals with their foolish invasiveness.
What's under your bandages? Why did you leave the Mafia? Why the ADA? Why do you do anything that you do?
Shaking these thoughts from his head, he opened the office door and marched directly to the President's office, dragging both Ranpo and Dazai by the arm.
As soon as the door closed behind them, remembering his earlier... slip-up, he released Dazai's arm, noticing the harsh set of his jaw and the tensing of his muscles.
Ranpo, his smile brighter than the sun, was halfway through explaining before he even opened his mouth, and the President took it all rather well, all things considered.
He sipped his tea, burned his mouth, and said, "I see."
"Shachou-" Dazai's voice was much more hesitant than any of the three men were used to- "May I take the day off from work today? Please?"
To his credit, there was only the smallest hint of desperation in his voice, but it was more than enough.
Fukuzawa sighed. "I'm sorry, Dazai, but I can't let you do that. You have too much work to do, and this report needs to be written up. You need to stay today."
Dazai squeezed his eyes shut behind his bangs. Fuck.
"Okay," he said stiffly, standing. "I'll finish that, then."
"Once that's done, you can leave," Fukuzawa said. "No longer than that. As soon as it's over, you can go about your day, although I ask that you don't leave the building. We need to make sure that this ability can wear off. Alert us if it goes away. Until then, Ranpo, Kunikida, I want you two looking for the Ability user who did this. Did you see what he looked like?"
"Tall, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He looked young, but he was slim and wore English-looking clothes."
Fukuzawa nodded. Nobody seemed to notice how Dazai's face had gone blank.
His mind was racing, hand tight on the chair, still standing. He could only tell the truth- all day? Even worse-
What if the ability doesn't wear off?
No. He was confident in Ranpo's Ultra Deduction. He could find the man, and he could reverse it, or Dazai would kill him himself.
Still, the thought of being unable to lie or decieve- it made him feel... vulnerable. Exposed in a way that set his teeth on edge and sent goosebumps under his bandages when they spoke.
(He thinks of Odasaku, his curry, his orphans, his blood, and suddenly, he's scared. Thinks of Mori. Thinks of the dull scratching of the urge to throw himself off of a bridge, tearing at his insides. Thinks of pain and scars and gunshots and Chuuya Nakahara.)
"-zai?"
He looked up. "Yes?"
"You can go now."
He nodded.
"Kunikida-" Fukuzawa turned to him- "I want you to help him write his reports- and try to look into this man's background- so Dazai can go as quickly as possible. Ranpo, you go out with..." he deliberated for a second. "Go with Kyouka. I want her to get used to field work."
"Yes, Shachou," the three men said, and left the room.
Ranpo, back in the office, chuckling, said, "You guys are never gonna believe this- okay, okay- so-"
Dazai pasted on a smile.
Yosano joined them halfway through Ranpo's explanation, a terrifying grin on her face. Dazai flopped onto the couch, an arm over his eyes, for a minute, trying to relax.
He's on guard. Kunikida saw, as even if he wasn't as good at this type of thing as Ranpo or even Dazai himself, he wasn't an idiot.
"Alright," he said. "Let's write up the reports. The sooner that's done, the sooner you can leave."
Dazai pressed an arm to his mouth as muffled words rose unbidden from his lips. Atsushi watched with a morbid fascination as he struggled not to say what he probably needed to.
"Wow!" Kenji said brightly. "You're really not enjoying this, Dazai-san!"
"I am most certainly not," Dazai groaned, heaving himself off the bed. "Let's get this over with, Kunikida-kun."
A little of his normal joking cadence was in the words, and Kunikida would be lying- his lip quirked at the thought- if he said he wasn't relieved to hear it.
"So," Yosano said, still smiling, "Why did you leave the Port Mafia?"
The glare Dazai sent her would make a lesser man shake in his boots, reaching for the words that would reveal
(too much still too much)
the least.
(don't tell them about odasaku don't let them know they can't know)
"A friend of mine told me I should."
Short, to the point.
(he remembers being like that when he was in the mafia, and sometimes he still reaches for the bandages to cover up his right eye, still puts his coat on around his shoulders by mistake and is surprised when it isn't the black one Mori gave him, puts on his clothes confused by the lack of tailored suits in his closet)
(your partner, someone says, and after all this time, his mind rests on Chuuya)
"Oh?" Atsushi. "He must have been a good friend." Fuck.
(he doesn't want to saddle the kid with his trauma)
"Did he tell you to join the ADA?"
"No. He-"
Dazai cut off, biting back the next words.
"He sounds nice," Kenji said.
"He was."
"Was?" Atsushi asked, eyes widening a little, and Dazai shut his eyes, feeling Odasaku's blood on his front, on his hands, his larger, calloused one in his hair
(sees ice-blue eyes and hears him tell him to listen)
"He's dead," Dazai said shortly, because what was the point of trying to hide it? "He bled out in my arms."
The office goes very, very quiet at that. Kunikida typed, shockingly loud against the silence.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Atsushi said softly, and Dazai hummed, because, really, what was he supposed to say?
"What's your favorite food?" Kenji asked, and the fog lifted a little.
"Crab," Dazai said, voice more at ease. He didn't like talking about himself, but this was so much easier than talking about Odasaku. "And alcohol."
Kunikida snorted. "Keep writing. The sooner this is done, the sooner you can leave."
Dazai kept typing.
"So," Yosano said.
"I would prefer if you didn't ask me any questions right now, please."
"I mean, I won't stop you," Kunikida muttered, and Dazai gasped, betrayed.
"Kunikida-kun! I thought you were on my side!"
"You thought wrong," he said flatly. "You're lucky I'm not asking my questions. Hell, you're lucky Ranpo isn't here to ask his.'
Dazai waved a hand, more at ease. "Ranpo-san knows a lot already."
"I'm sure he would love to know more. Like why you keep jumping off all of those fucking bridges all the time-"
"It takes the edge off," Dazai said before he could stop himself. "I know I'll probably never successfully kill myself, so I play it off as a joke so nobody worries and tries to intervene. I jump off of bridges and hang myself because it makes the exhaustion of living go away, even for a little while."
Then he shut up.
"What the fuck," Kunikida said flatly. Atsushi was staring at him. God, this was miserable.
He laughed. Bitter and cold, colored dark red and ice blue,
(it hurts it hurts it hurts)
he laughed. "What did you expect? You thought it was for attention?"
Kunikida didn't respond.
"Good. That was the point."
Dazai looked up, biting his tongue. Kunikida was staring at him, expression unreadable. Yosano's lips were pressed to a line.
(she knows. she knew already)
"Why..." Atsushi started, and every eye in the room snapped to him, the tension thick. "Why do you want to die so badly?"
"What, do you want a list?" Dazai snarked dryly. Every instinct screamed at him to shut the fuck up, but he literally couldn't, cursed to spill his secrets to the closest thing to a family he had ever had.
"Well, for one, I hate myself. My entire life has been an absolute fucking disaster. I joined the Mafia when I was fourteen years old and I was already fucked up enough to jump off bridges and pop pills like candy-"
His jaw shut with an audible clack as he overrode the ability temporarily.
"But that's not important."
The entire office stared at them. Kunikida had his head in his hands. Kenji looked like he was about to cry. Thank fuck Tanizaki was in school-
"Fuck's sake, Dazai," Kunikida said. "That's- you-" He closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts. "God."
Dazai shrugged.
"Is that why you never talk about your time in the Mafia?" Kenji asked, and the floodgates almost opened.
Unfortunately, Dazai would do almost anything to stop them from learning about that, so before the words could leave his lips, he all but slammed the knuckles of his right hand into his mouth and bit down hard. Blood, red and copper-tasting, exploded on his tongue. He hated pain.
He would hate this more.
Even more unfortunately, Kunikida is already halfway across the desk, trying to pry his hand from his mouth with a loud curse. The office is noisy again, people were saying his name, and someone had a hand on his back.
(it's Atsushi, even though he can't tell right now.)
When Kunikida manages to remove his bitten, bleeding knuckles from his mouth, Yosano is already there with a water bottle and a towel, cleaning them off. Dazai let them, every ounce of will he had going to keeping his goddamn mouth shut.
(nonononononononono)
The words come out anyway.
"It's because-"
and everything was quieter again
"-it's because I see the way that you look at me and I see how Atsushi admires me and I know I don't deserve it and I love the way you all smile at me but I can't accept it entirely because-" if he could cry, he would be sobbing by now, and he can hear Kunikida telling the kids to go and his voice is trembling and he knows- "I know that if you knew about that and the things I had done you would all hate me more than I hate myself and-"
and it. Kept. Coming.
"-You guys are the closest thing I've ever had to a family, ever, and you don't hurt me or carve your names into my skin or put out cigarettes on my arms and I don't want you to hate me I don't want you to hate me I don't-"
"Dazai," Kunikida said softly, lowering himself to where Dazai has collapsed onto the floor, chanting, the back of his head pressed against the couch cushions, "Who's your favorite member of the ADA?"
"Shachou," he said instantly. "He knew that I was ex-Port Mafia and still stayed- no one stays- they all leave eventually-"
Kunikida cursed under his breath. "What's- fuck, uh, what's your favorite color?"
"White," Dazai whispered.
And for the thousandth time that day, the office was quiet.
Dazai stirred, sitting up, hair obscuring his face. They were alone.
"I told them to leave," Kunikida told him, Dazai's eyes darting to him. "I thought it might help. Are you okay?"
His hand was still bleeding. He looked down at it, vision blurring.
"I..."
He swayed a little. Kunikida's hand ghosted over his back. "Are you-"
"...tired," Dazai whispered. "I'm-"
"Sleep, then," Kunikida said worriedly, locking eyes with him.
"I don't want to sleep," he breathed. "I want to die."
Everything went black.
Dazai woke up a few hours later in his own bed, in his own apartment. Alone.
He sat up, feeling the ache of his hand (bandaged, Yosano probably took care of it after he passed out) adding to the mass of pain that was his body.
He looked out of the window. It was evening. He closed his eyes. Opened them again.
"The sky is green," he said. The lie slipped out easier than any of the day's truths had. He reached for the sill, opening the window, staring out. There was no screen.
"Oh, good, it wore off."
Dazai's head jerked to the doorway. Kunikida set down a plate of food- real food.
(i don't deserve this)
"What are you doing?"
He took it anyway, knowing that he would be angry if he didn't.
"Dazai."
His hands tightened on the plate, knowing what was coming next.
"You can talk to me, you know."
Oh.
That-
"What?" Dazai said. Kunikida eyed him sadly.
"You can talk to me," he said again. "If you need to." He hesitated.
"I'd... prefer if you did, actually. Everyone's worried out of their minds-"
"I'm sorry," Dazai whispered, staring at the food, and his partner went quiet.
"You don't need to apologize," Kunikida said gently, breathing out shakily. "You- Dazai, you talk in your sleep."
(leave me alone just fucking leave me alone)
"Oh," he said carefully.
It was quiet for a moment. He couldn't bring himself to look in Kunikida's eyes.
"I- worried Kunikida-kun," he said finally, infusing the words with a lighthearted tone that he knows Kunikida won't buy, only the slightest hesitation. "Apologies! Well, now that this has worn off, there's no need for that anymore-"
Dazai went to stand, but he stopped him, pushing him back.
"Dazai. You talk. In your sleep. I've been here the whole time. It's been four hours."
"You have questions," Dazai said flatly, letting the mask slip, his face blank as a doll's.
"I have worries," Kunikida retorted. "Why is the window open? It's cold as hell. What, were you going to climb out?"
"That, or jump," Dazai said, voice still emotionless. "What did you hear?"
(please don't tell them about him not odasaku not mori not his name or the little heart on the side of your neck)
"When he died," Kunikida said. "What did he tell you?"
The effect must have lingered, because the urge to tell the truth is there.
"He-" Dazai shivered, closing his eyes. "He-"
(he told me to be good)
"He told me," he said carefully, "that I would not find what I was looking for in the Mafia. He told me that-"
(nothing in this world can fill this lonely hole you have, and the line still hurts even after four years, because he was right and it eats at Dazai, it eats away at him, and he wants to cry even though he can't and scream even though his voice isn't strong enough and die even though no matter what he does he can't he can't he can't)
"He told me that I would be lonely either way, and that I could at least be a better person if I chose good."
The room was silent. Dazai picked at his bandaged arm, eyes down.
Kunikida breathed out. "Okay. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
"I don't want to tell you anything. I never have."
He looked at Dazai sadly- pityingly.
(one hundred thirty-eight charges of complicity in murder three hundred twelve counts of extortion six hundred twenty-five counts of fraud)
"I don't understand why you all care so much," he found himself saying. "Don't look at me so sadly. I am a criminal, Kunikida-kun."
His voice was light again, like he was joking, like he was pulling his partner's leg, but instead he was just telling him the truth. He shouldn't care. No one should care.
"You were," Kunikida said. He wasn't understanding. Why couldn't they understand that he was not worth their time? He was evil. He was a monster. He didn't deserve to exist, didn't deserve the oxygen wasted on his existence.
"I still am. Kunikida-kun is an idealist. I do not fit with his ideals, so he does not see it."
A muscle was jumping in Kunikida's jaw. "You're ridiculous," he spat, glaring at Dazai, and the last thread of restraint he had snapped. He was exhausted emotionally and physically, tired of having to defend his truth from these people
(from your family)
and he doesn't care. Dazai doesn't care anymore.
He laughed like before, the noise bitter and harsh. "I am not the ridiculous one. You would see, too, if you knew what I had done."
"That's in the past-"
"No," Dazai whispered, staring at his hands. "It is still here. Everything I touch withers and dies. Everything I touch, I ruin. I hate, and I am poison to anyone foolish enough to care about me."
"Dazai-"
"Shut up and let me talk," he snarled, and Kunikida shut up, although it was probably more out of surprise than obedience.
"You are a fool to care. You all are. You do not understand the type of person you have in your midst every day."
Kunikida opened his mouth and Dazai kept talking.
"I don't regret it, Kunikida-kun," he said. "That must make me a monster, right? To not regret all of it? I know I should, but I don't."
Kunikida was staring at him, wide-eyed.
Good. He understands.
"Leave," Dazai said coldly. "Go before I can bring you any more harm than I already have."
Kunikida set his jaw. "No. I refuse to leave you to stew in your own self-hatred."
Dazai glared at him. "Are you a fucking idiot? I will only ever hurt you. I'm a suicidal manic, remember? A 'bandage-wasting machine.' Those are your words, so why are you still here?'
Because, Kunikida found himself thinking, I saw the mask slip. Heard you scream in your sleep for the boss of the Port Mafia to stop hurting you. Saw you chant 'I'll be good, please stop hurting me' as you thrashed and I was the one who was there, the one who held your shoulders as you saw dogs attacking you, the one who ran his fingers through your hair when you begged for someone to save you, then for someone to kill you.
But he wouldn't say that. He wouldn't say it because he knew it would just make it worse, but Dazai- he already knew, didn't he? He could see the man's eyes take in the expression on his face, see the understanding as he linked the foggy, ill-remembered dreams to Kunikida telling him, voice shaking, that you talk in your sleep.
Dazai turned. Raked a hand through his hair. Pulled his knees to his chest, an oddly childlike movement that made his heart ache.
"I know that."
Dazai's eyes- dark brown and much too empty for a man of twenty-two- met his.
"I'm still here, though. I'm not leaving- don't you dare think that I'm leaving after all of this."
Dazai ground his teeth, opening his mouth, but Kunikida cut him off.
"What I'm hearing," he told him, voice bizzarely calm, "Is that you've committed hundreds of crimes, correct?"
Dazai nodded.
"And after all of that, you still chose to be good. You could still be with the Port Mafia right now, you know, and you would probably still feel indifferent about it, but you aren't. You don't feel guilt, but still chose to be good. That's an achievement in itself, is it not?"
"Most people can be good from the start."
"A lot of them can't, though. You're one of them, and-" Kunikida spread his hands- "You're still here, aren't you? Still choosing good."
His partner stared at him, expression still terrifyingly blank. His mouth twisted slightly.
"Okay," he said. "Is that all? Can you go now?"
His heart sank. Dazai didn't believe him.
"Stop looking at me like that."
Kunikida looked away.
"Are you going to leave now?" Dazai asked coldly.
And Kunikida thought of him, breathing hard, telling him that Shachou was his favorite because he stayed.
"Everyone leaves."
"No. I'll stay. I want to make sure you don't slit your wrists in the bathtub." He regretted the words as soon as they were in the air.
Dazai's mouth twisted again. "Fine," he said stiffly.
"Fine," Kunikida echoed.
Night falls in Yokohama. Deep, dark night covers everything, and Dazai stares out of the window as the streetlights turn on.
It's snowing, the white crystalline flakes illuminated by the lights, dyeing them soft orange.
Dazai watches, forehead pressed against the cold glass, the window half open, the cold washing over him. He hates cold.
(he thinks of the shipping container he lived in when he was in the Mafia, thinks of sitting below the naked lightbulb when it grew cold, avoiding the bed because he doesn't deserve it, pressing his back against the freezing metal walls. he was always injured back then, the burning path of Mori's name aching on his skinny neck, joining the countless other scars, thinking of nothing, his breath fogging before him)
(he aches. he hurts. he wants to die, he wants to die, he wants to die. please)
("wake me from this oxidizing world of a dream.")