Seeing the woman from the prison and her daughter standing there as puppets for someone as cruel as Dostoevsky felt like a knife to his chest.
Especially realizing that his own actions had led to it.
And sure, Chuuya didn't like Camille. She had tortured him. She had tried to kill him. She had shot Dazai.
But Camille's daughter shouldn't have to be condemned to the same fate as her mother and honestly, even Camille didn't deserve to have the freedom of her own will taken from her. No one did.
To be forced under the will of someone else, especially with your own daughter, was something Chuuya wouldn't wish on even his worst enemy. A person's mind was supposed to be their own. Not someone else's.
Chuuya could empathize with that from personal experience.
He had to help them. It was the right thing to do, and even if Camille would drop dead the moment that she was pulled free from Bram's ability, her daughter would hopefully not suffer the same fate. Besides, at least in death, Camille could be free. With the resources that Chuuya had from the Mafia, it shouldn't be too hard to set Yuan up with a decent adoptive family.
It was the least he could do after everything that he had taken from her.
He just needed to find the right moment.
Even if it wasn't today. He'd find a way.
It would be hard without the use of his ability, due to Camille's nullification. However, her presence meant that she had to be canceling out Dostoevsky's ability too. So perhaps that could give him a bit of an advantage, especially with his strong set of martial arts skills that still held strong without the use of his ability.
Chuuya had been dying to beat the shit out of Dostoevsky anyway.
He hated that man.
He was the man who had forced Chuuya under his will just like N had back at the Lab. He was the man who had made him murder Kouyou. He was the man who was starting to painfully remind him of N. He was the man who was trying to take everything from him.
He was the man Chuuya was going to kill.
"Ah, Dazai! How lovely it is to see you here." Dostoevsky's voice echoed throughout the room, filling what would have otherwise been a cavernous void.
Chuuya didn't miss the way that he was entirely ignored. Again, being immediately discarded as soon as he lost his use. The only person there that Dostoevsky seemed to have eyes for was Dazai. It was rather intense the way that Dostoevsky and Dazai were staring at each other. It was almost as if they were having an entirely separate conversation in their minds separate from the one being spoken aloud.
And sure, Chuuya couldn't say that he was entirely disappointed that Dostoevsky didn't seem to give a shit about him because he didn't give a fuck about the man's opinions. It was just the lack of respect that made his blood boil. The way that he acted like Chuuya wasn't even there.
Like he wasn't human.
"Fyodor," Dazai replied in greeting, "it's so good to see you too! I must say though that you really are starting to slip up. It took me less than a second to crack your elementary code. I expected better from you. It was all so disappointing, to be honest."
Instead of giving Dazai the satisfaction of a reply, Dostoevsky just laughed, as though Dazai had told him some kind of hilarious joke.
"Okay, okay, now while I have missed this, I don't have time for us to stand here all day talking about such menial things. So, tell me Dazai… where is The Book?"
Chuuya watched as shadows danced over Dazai's face at the mention of the cursed item and suddenly he was staring at the Demon Prodigy again for the first time in years. Dazai's eyes were dark and utterly void of light, as he took a step forward closer to Dostoevsky. His hair hung forward, covering his right eye.
"What do you want with The Book?"
"I think you already know, Dazai."
Dazai's silence was enough of an answer.
Dostoevsky took a calculated step forward, the variance between the two of them beginning to diminish dangerously.
Chuuya felt like he was watching a game of chess. Except, the board was void of its familiar checkered pattern, and the pieces were replaced by unidentifiable objects which were only known to the select few who controlled the game.
"Now," Dostoevsky continued, "where is The Book? I mean if you don't want to tell me that is up to you, but you know, I would hate it if something happened to befall your dear prodigy because of such foolish actions. It truly would be just so utterly terrible."
Chuuya tensed, his eyes flickering over to Atsushi, who was still bound and gagged in the corner of the room. He looked out of it, probably from the obvious signs of torture that littered his body. His eyes were wide and watching the interaction take place with an intense show of fear. He looked like he was trying to say something, but whatever it was had been silenced by the gag.
But it was weird because something about the fear that was coming off of him in waves seemed off…
It was almost like he wasn't terrified of his capture, but rather something else that Chuuya couldn't quite place.
Upon closer inspection, Chuuya also noticed that it almost looked like Atsushi was pushing himself back against the chair that confined him within its grasp rather than leaning away from it.
It was all just so odd...
Of course, Chuuya would never judge someone for being scared in a hostage situation where you had all of the control over your life taken away from you. Yet, something about this version of fear that Atsushi was displaying was wrong.
Still, it just didn't make any sense.
Then again, perhaps he was just blowing things out of proportion. Dostoevsky had probably drugged Atsushi and that was most likely why he was acting all weird.
Besides, Dazai would probably know if something else was going on, right?
He'd just have to trust him.
"So much faith in me caring about Atsushi. Did you really think I'd give you The Book just to save one person?" Dazai said, his voice low and void of any emotion.
"If you did not care, then why are you here?"
"Obviously because I missed you so much. We spent all that time in Meursault together, only to be torn apart from each other. Can't I miss an old friend?" Dazai said, throwing his arms out with a façade full of sorrow.
"Always so sarcastic, it's no wonder you surround yourself with lesser beings. At least they can find you amusing," as he spoke, Dostoevsky made sure to pointedly stare at Chuuya.
Okay, fuck that guy.
"Hey," Chuuya snapped, finally forcing his way into the conversation, "who the fuck are you calling a lesser being? And me finding Dazai funny? As fucking if. His humor is about as shitty as his personality."
"Chuuya," Dazai gasped, placing a hand on his heart, "you think I'm funny? I mean I have an amazing personality so-"
"Oh my fucking god. Just shut the fuck up Dazai."
Dostoevsky watched the conversation before him with a faint show of exasperation.
"Nakahara," Dostoevsky finally spoke, "while we're on the talk of such amusing things. Tell me, did you enjoy my message? The part about your sister was my favorite."
And just like that, all Chuuya could see was red.
He thought he heard Dazai yell his name and felt the brush of fingertips glancing against his bicep, but he didn't care.
No one was allowed to disrespect Kouyou like that.
Especially not after what Dostoevsky had done.
Forgoing one of his signature kicks and instead raising a fist, he was about to slam Dostoevsky into the far wall, when a blur in the corner of his vision slammed into him, sending him crumbling to the floor.
A weight settled down on top of him pinning him to the ground as hands wrapped around his neck.
Camille.
Goddammit.
How could he have been so careless?
Struggling under her grip, Chuuya tried to throw her off of him, but her grip was unmoving with the supernatural strength granted to her by none other than Bram's ability.
Without the use of his ability, Chuuya was trapped.
Camille's mouth opened, revealing sharp fangs that began to lower towards his neck, sending Chuuya into an inward panic.
He couldn't fall under someone else's control again. He couldn't. Where the fuck was Dazai? Why wasn't he helping him?
"Dazai…" Chuuya choked out, clawing at the hands at his throat, while also trying to shove her face away so that he wouldn't fall back under the terrible curse. He'd rather die than be back in that state.
Camille's grip just continued to tighten until Chuuya's vision darkened and his lungs screamed for air.
It was like he was back at Meursault again.
As the water filled his lungs and stole away his breath.
Suddenly he wasn't looking up at Camille, but rather he was far beneath the ocean. So deep that he could not tell the difference between up and down. It was just darkness everywhere. Desperately he tried to pull himself in all different directions in a futile attempt to reach the surface, but it was to no avail.
Until suddenly the weight disappeared and he was back in that room, gasping for breath.
What the fuck just happened?
Forcing himself to stay conscious, Chuuya forced himself to his feet, holding a hand to his throat.
Taking in his surroundings he was met with chaos.
Dazai was standing with a smoking gun in his grasp. He looked furious.
His victim was Camille, who now lay unmoving on the floor with a bullet pierced straight through her skull.
Camille's daughter wasn't reacting at all to her mother's death. Instead, she just stood perfectly still, no sign of grief or emotion crossing her eyes under the terrible trance that fate had forced her into.
Dostoevsky was standing right behind Atsushi now, a hand hovering right over his neck.
"That wasn't very smart now was it, Dazai?" Dostoevsky taunted, "with her ability, my own was erased, but now you've gone and killed her. You've sacrificed a queen to save a pawn and now the scales tilt in my favor. It's truly unfortunate really. You've grown soft."
"Move away from Atsushi, Fyodor. I won't ask twice." Any teasing from earlier had left Dazai's voice, replaced by a stone-cold seriousness.
"No... I don't think I will, but that could change under the circumstances that you give me The Book."
Moving closer to Dazai, Chuuya prepared to follow his lead on whatever plan he came up with. His throat hurt and his body had to be black and blue from the struggle, but he'd been through worse. He could tend to his wounds later, now wasn't the time for that.
"I don't think so," Dazai replied coldly.
"One touch is all it takes. Do you really want to be the cause of another one of your students' deaths?"
Dostoevsky grabbed the neckline of Atsushi's shirt, making the poor kid look even more terrified than he was already. Fyodor's eyes bore into Dazai's as a battle of wits seemed to take place between the two on another plane of existence.
Until finally Dazai turned away.
"Okay."
Dazai's seemed quiet and withdrawn. It was unnerving because it was so unlike him.
And even though Chuuya didn't know exactly what The Book was, he knew that it was powerful. Plus, if it really could rewrite the world as rumors had foretold, then it definitely wasn't something that Dostoevsky should have.
"Dazai," Chuuya protested, his eyes widening in shock, "what are you doing?"
Dazai didn't answer him. Instead, he just looked defeated, as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a white book lined in gold. It looked almost soft to the touch and perfectly pristine, as though it repelled all dirt from itself, and knowing what the bottom of Dazai's pockets looked like it probably did.
Dostoevsky's eyes lit up at the sight, but he didn't let go of Atsushi. At least not yet.
"Slide it over to me," Dostoevsky demanded.
"No," Dazai countered, "we'll do a trade-off. Untie Atsushi and let him walk towards me. Then, I'll slide you The Book."
Chuuya didn't like this one bit, but he trusted Dazai so he just followed his lead. Dostoevsky also seemed hesitant at first for different reasons but accepted the deal nonetheless after just a few moments.
Dostoevsky made quick work of untying Atsushi. However, he did make sure to leave the gag on, which was odd, to say the least. Still, there were much more pressing matters at the moment so Chuuya didn't pay the action much mind.
In the immediate aftermath of his sudden spacial freedom, Atsushi leapt up and away from the chair on reflex. Except then weird something happened, filling Chuuya once more with great unease.
After only a few steps forward, Atsushi's eyes widened as if he had suddenly remembered something important and he began backtracking back towards the danger. Back towards Dostoevsky.
What the hell?
But there was simply no time to question such things. They were running out of time. So Chuuya rushed forward and grabbed Atsushi by the arm before practically dragging the kid out of the room, while Dazai slid The Book towards Dostoevsky.
He'd come back for Camille's kid later. There just simply wasn't the time nor opportunity right now.
And then they were running, which was difficult with Atsushi's resistance, so Chuuya eventually just pulled Atsushi up into his arms while the kid thrashed in his grip. If he'd been any less fit and lacked the use of his ability, Chuuya probably would've dropped him by now.
Which eventually he did anyway, as claws tore into his right arm, making him fumble and fall to the ground, as Atsushi tumbled out of his grip, just as they exited the accursed facility.
"Chuuya!" Dazai yelled, backtracking towards the pair, noticing the deep red marks torn through Chuuya's fairly otherwise unmarked skin, before his gaze shifted to Atsushi with a rare show of fear, as the kid stumbled up to his feet and reached for the door to reenter the facility.
Atsushi seemed frantic. Something was horribly wrong. Why was he running back towards his captor rather than away from him?
Standing up, Chuuya did his best to ignore the sharp pain running through him from where Atsushi had torn three long jagged gashes into his arm in his panic.
What made him desperate enough to harm the people who were trying to save him?
Chuuya watched as Dazai grabbed Atsushi's wrist, just before he could slip back inside which immediately sent the kid further into his frenzy.
So, looking for answers, Dazai tore off the gag.
And immediately Atsushi was speaking, tears building up in his eyes and desperate sobs hitching his breath.
"I'm sorry," Atsushi cried, "I need to go back, Dazai. I need to go back. You don't understand. I'm sorry about what I said! Ryuunosuke's death wasn't your fault. I'm sorry, Dazai! I'm so sorry! I n-need to go. Now! I need to. It's like… I just… let go, dammit!" Atsushi screamed, trying once more to tear his wrist free from Dazai's grip, but something was beginning to dawn in Dazai's eyes that only made him tighten his grip.
Approaching the two, Chuuya noticed Dazai looked painfully lost.
"Like your entrance exam…" was all Dazai said, seeming to realize something beyond Chuuya's grasp. Dazai's voice was low and haunted. He looked like he wanted to throw up, the mask that he usually so easily kept up having entirely disappeared.
Chuuya didn't know what that meant, but it couldn't mean anything good based on the context of the situation happening now. He watched as Atsushi simply nodded, agreeing with whatever Dazai had said. He looked more exhausted than someone his age ever should.
"Yeah, like my entrance exam…"
Atsushi stopped his struggles for a moment, his eyes falling to the ground.
The world seemed to fade away and Chuuya suddenly felt like it was only the three of them with himself as a spectator to something truly terrible.
"I can fix this," Dazai started to plead. "I can fix this, alright? Just give me a second to think and I can fix this! I promise I can. I can't lose you too! Please, I can't!"
A breeze wafted through the air, as the sun started to rise in the distance sending a burst of color into the night sky to chase away the darkness. It would've been beautiful under other circumstances, but now the beauty of the sky above just taunted those below like some kind of cruel joke.
"I… I don't want to die. I… I really, truly don't want to and I'm sorry, Dazai. I am… but I just… there's no other way. There's no time. So go live a good life, okay? If not for yourself then for me."
Atsushi slammed a sharp kick into Dazai's stomach, managing to hit him and send him reeling backward, only by sheer luck and the desperation coursing through his body.
Then, Atsushi was running, tearing the door open, and disappearing back into the facility.
As soon as he had recovered, Dazai rushed forward, trying to run after him.
And Chuuya, despite not being entirely in the loop with what was going on, felt something within his gut telling him that if Dazai went in there he would die and Chuuya couldn't let that happen. So he leapt forward, grabbing Dazai by the waist and dragging him backward, while he twisted and turned in his grip.
"No! Let me go! Dammit, Chuuya! Please just let me go! I need to go back there! I need to save him! I can't lose anyone else! Please, he's going to die…" His voice cracked and broke off into sobs.
"I'm sorry, but I can't lose you either."
A loud noise. A burst of white light.
Two bodies lay upon the scorched ground. The smaller one curled protectively over the taller one as if he'd tried to save him from the blast in the milliseconds that his brain had had a chance to register it.
The faint rises and falls of their chests were all that signaled life.
When Atsushi pictured his death, it was never like this.
Running frantically through the claustrophobic hallways of the facility with the knowledge that there was no hope of getting out alive this time was both terrifying and tranquil. He didn't want to die, but at least it would be quick and this way he could try to take Dostoevsky with him.
When Dostoevsky had strapped that bomb to his chest, he'd thought it had been some sick sort of joke at first or rather he'd tried to force himself to believe that it'd been some sick sort of joke because he didn't want to die. Not yet. He still had so much to do.
He wanted to find Fukuchi and make him pay for what he had done.
He wanted to take Kyouka to this new crepe shop he'd found. It was expensive and probably a bit of a waste of money, but their crepes were so good and Kyouka was someone who would appreciate that.
He wanted to hug Kunikida one more time. To tell him how grateful he was for everything the man had done for him. He wanted to go have tea at the cafe beneath the Agency on more time to eat pastries, drink coffee and complain about Dazai's antics.
He wanted to go see the cows that Kenji spoke so fondly of.
He wanted to go on one more shopping spree for Yosano.
He wanted to go on one more chaotic train ride with Ranpo.
He wanted to live.
But he couldn't. Fate would simply not see it so.
It didn't take him long to reach the room.
Tearing the door open, Atsushi rushed inside to find Fyodor talking to Gogol, who much to his surprise, was now in the room as well. A part of him wondered if he had been in there the whole time, hiding.
"-not The Book. That bastard gave me 'The Complete Guide to Suicide.'"
The book that Dazai had given Fyodor now lay on the ground, the false cover having been slid off to reveal Dazai's favorite book instead.
And it was all so ridiculous that Atsushi started laughing, startling the two men who finally looked in his direction to stare at him with a mix of emotions that he didn't care enough to discern.
"You've lost Dostoevsky," Atsushi laughed, "you've lost."
"Gogol, we need to go now."
Sprinting forward Atsushi reached out, with the desperation that could only be held by a dying man, and grabbed Dostoevsky's left arm just as he was rushing through the portal with Gogol and the small girl who accompanied them.
If he was going to die anyways, then why fear Dostoevsky's touch?
The portal closed because it had to. They knew what was going to happen in only a matter of seconds. Still, with the portal closing, it did manage to sever Dostoevsky's dominant left arm from his body, leaving Atsushi with the smallest sense of accomplishment, as he cast it to the side.
His act to weaken Dostoevsky gave him hope that just maybe he wasn't dying for nothing.
Besides he'd saved Dazai and Chuuya too, which had to count for something.
He'd lived a good life.
He'd tried to at least.
A loud noise. A burst of white light.
Atsushi Nakajima was no more, as his ashes sparkled in the dawn of a new day that he would never rise to see.
