Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And up one more stupid rock…” Dazai sucks in a sharp breath as he stretches his shaking hand to the next handhold on this rocky cliff—

His foot slips, sending him crashing down to the dirt, again.

“Ow,” Dazai whines. He stares up at the clear sky above him and makes no effort to move. He will still splayed out on the dirt like this until Mori finds him and that’s that. Having already fallen off this stupid cliff twice, he has no desire to try for a third time. While the cliff face is rough and there are plenty of handholds, Dazai simply does not have the upper body strength to climb up a wall that is at least two stories high. Maybe three. It’s kind of hard to tell from this angle.

Well, whatever. Not his problem anymore since he is staying put. If Mori didn’t want to have to come find him, then he shouldn’t have given Dazai this ridiculous mission in the middle of nowhere to begin with! It wasn’t even an interesting mission, just a group of idiots who thought they could steal from the Port Mafia so long as they ran really far away afterwards.

Considering Dazai helped them lose their heads not two hours ago, their plan didn’t work all that well.

“This is boring,” Dazai grumbles to himself after about five minutes of lying on his back in the dirt. He would try to call Mori and tell his boss to hurry up, but his phone got lost somewhere between murdering the idiots and trying to climb this rock wall. Technically another option would be to turn back and try to figure out a way out of this gorge Dazai has somehow gotten himself stuck in, but that involves significant effort and sounds too hard.

Lying here and awaiting rescue it is.

“Not my problem if Mori leaves me here.” Mori is the one who is always going on about Dazai being seventeen now and therefore almost of age to officially become his heir, so Mori needs Dazai alive right now. Of course, Dazai has no desire to inherit the mafia, so he doesn’t mind if Mori decides to let him wither away out here.

Sighing, Dazai closes his eyes and settles in to await rescue.

His back hurts. While no one ever said awaiting rescue was fun, he does kind of wish there were a few less rocks digging into his spine.

Night has fallen, yet Mori and his helicopter are not here. How annoying. Dazai figured that even if Mori didn’t bother coming to get him, Hirotsu would.

“At least I’m skipping paperwork time,” Dazai mutters to himself. He really does hate doing paperwork. It’s boring and pointless! Everything important gets memorized, so the stuff that is allowed to be written down doesn’t matter that much.

Five minutes later Dazai groans and sits up. “This is so stupid!” He grabs one of the annoying rocks that has been digging into his spine and throws it as hard as he can at the cliff.

“Ow,” the cliff grumbles.

Sighing, Dazai lies back down. He already decided not to move, so Mori had better hurry up, otherwise Dazai might end up a nighttime snack for some critter—

Wait a minute.

Slowly, he sits up again.

“Did you talk?” He asks the cliff. Predictably, it does not answer.

Dazai picks up another nearby rock and, once again, tosses it as hard as he can.

“Ow, stop that,” the cliff says.

Dazai pinches his arm. He is relatively certain that he is not hallucinating or on any type of drug right now, but the cliff did in fact talk to him.

Just in case, Dazai throws a third rock.

“Will you cut it out?!” The cliff suddenly shifts, old rocks and dirt cracking and spilling to the ground below, some of the dust hitting Dazai, revealing grimy red scales. The cliff — the dragon, Dazai corrects as he sees large, leathery wings stretch out wide, causing more dirt to rain down on him; but it’s the fierce, blue, serpentine eyes glaring at him that really give it away — puffs a blob of smoke Dazai’s way, making him cough.

Dazai peers around the dragon and glowers at it when he realizes that the whole ‘cliff’ blocking his path is now completely gone.

“Couldn’t you have moved earlier?”

“I was sleeping,” the dragon growls, “until someone started rudely throwing rocks at my eye and woke me up!”

“Hmm, sounds like a you problem.” Dazai starts to walk around the dragon. His path is clear, he might as well head for the pick-up spot again. “Okay, bye. I have no business talking to strange dragons.” Not that he is familiar with any dragons, he did think they were extinct, but that’s not the point.

“Hang on,” the dragon grumbles, “I have a few questions— hey, seriously, stop.” Dazai waves over his shoulder without looking back and keeps walking.

The dragon growls. Moments later, Dazai yelps as he is abruptly flipped upside-down thanks to a surprisingly smooth red tail that is now curled around his ankles. His coat flops against the back of his head, tugged down by gravity.

“Rude,” Dazai huffs. “What kind of dragon are you? I’ve never met a dragon that had such bad manners!” He has never met a dragon. Not one outside of his books, anyway.

“Wha— I— well, you are a human! You threw rocks at my eye! What do you care about manners?!” The dragon lifts him up — very high, yikes. A fall from this height could kill him — until they are eye level. Dazai glares at the single blue eye that is squinting at him and does his best to look down his nose at the dragon while being upside-down.

“Put me back down unless you want me to go home and tell everyone about the meanie dragon I met that was incredibly rude and didn’t even introduce himself!”

The dragon makes an odd rumbling noise. “No need to be so hasty, human.” Dazai is quickly set back right-way-up and on his own feet. Huh. Guess the books he read growing up were right about dragons caring about their reputation. “I just want to know what year it is.” The dragon’s wings ruffle, shaking more dirt into the air. “I have a tendency to take long naps and may have accidentally slept through a council meeting I promised to go to.”

Dazai perks up. “Like, the dragon council? That one where all the dragon nobility meets every century to discuss important things?”

“Yes,” the dragon replies, nodding his massive head.

“Yeah, you missed it. They’ve been dead for years.”

Dazai wishes he had his phone so he could take a picture of the way the dragon’s jaws part and his pink forked tongue flops out. There was never an illustration for what ‘shocked dragon’ looks like, but now Dazai knows. Heh, cool. He knows dragon facts no one else does, take that Fyodor.

“Surely you jest,” the dragon stammers. His black claws dig into the ground, tearing up the earth. “That is impossible. I cannot have slept for more than a century!”

“Try three to four,” Dazai replies very helpfully. “Dragons have been extinct for a while.” He pauses and cocks his head. “So, what’s that make you? Some weird lizard?”

“What? I am obviously a dragon, you fool.”

“No, no,” Dazai flaps his hands around and fights to keep a straight face as the dragon gets riled up. “See, if all dragons are dead, logically, you can’t be a dragon. It doesn’t make sense. So, you must be a weird lizard. Family outcast, I’d guess. Ate too many bugs and got fat.”

“I AM NOT FAT!” The dragon roars, the ground trembling as he stomps a clawed foot that is larger than Dazai’s entire self.

“Mhm, sure.” Dazai rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I’m going home. Goodbye, weird fat lizard.” Without further ado, Dazai starts walking toward his pick-up spot again.

“Wha— hey! You cannot just leave! We are talking! I need you to tell me where I am.” Dazai ignores the dragon’s whining. He has his own problems to deal with, like mentally preparing himself to feign sleep through an entire helicopter ride so Mori won’t talk to him.

“Hey.” A hand lands on his shoulder. A human hand. And the dragon’s voice sounds a lot less growly.

Curious, Dazai glances over his shoulder. He does a double-take then spins around to face the dragon who has shapeshifted into human form (guess that it’s true that dragon nobility posses that power) and gapes.

The dragon preens under the attention. “Now then, could you inform me on our whereabouts?”

“You.” Dazai bites his tongue. “You’re so…”

“Amazing?” The dragon suggests, planting hands on his hips and puffing up his bare chest. “Stunning? Incredibly handsome?” The way he tips his chin up shows off a jagged scar that runs across his throat. Dazai’s curiosity is immediately piqued: who could have gotten close to a dragon’s throat and managed to cut it?

Nevertheless, there are more immediate things to deal with, such as: “You’re short!” Unable to help it, Dazai bursts into cackles, truly amused for the first time since he officially joined the mafia.

“I AM NOT SHORT!” The dragon screeches. One of his hands smacks Dazai’s chest with enough strength to send Dazai sprawling to the ground, but even that can’t stop his laughter. “Stop that! You are just unfairly tall!”

Dazai gets to his feet, opens his mouth, pauses to ensure he has gained control of his laughter, then speaks. “So, is it true that dragons gain height as they age?”

“Sometimes.” The dragon narrows his eyes, the slit pupil only more obvious now that he is in human form.

“So, what are you? Five?”

“FIVE?!” The dragon pinches the bridge of his nose, smoke rising from between his clenched teeth. “You infuriate me, human. Fine, go away. I will find a better, less annoying, human to talk to.”

“Okay, bye.” Like there is anyone else around out here. Dazai continues on his way, counting down from twenty. He only makes it to twelve before heavy footsteps signal the dragon’s approach.

Dazai turns to the little dragon, ready to make a quip, only for the dragon to point one rather sharp-looking black nail his way and growl, “One more joke about my height and I will eat you.”

“Testy,” Dazai mutters. Not his fault the top of the dragon’s ruby hair, the same shade as his earlier scales, hardly makes it to Dazai’s shoulders.

The dragon follows a few steps behind Dazai, then sighs loudly and patters up to walk at his side. “I sincerely hope you are going to a town. I have no idea where we are and, even though you are a rude human, do not wish to find my way to civilization alone.”

“I mean you could call one of your dragon friends.” Dazai fake gasps. “Oh, wait, they’re all dead. My bad.”

The dragon rolls his eyes. “I heard you the first time. They are dead, I understand.”

Dazai squints. “You don’t look that upset.” He figured suddenly being the last of your kind would be jarring, but the little red dragon does not seem bothered.

“I always knew I would outlive them, so this is not a surprise.” The dragon shrugs. “I may have slept longer than intended and may not have gotten along with most of the others, but I am glad I was not around to witness their deaths. I did have some friends.”

Slowly, Dazai’s brain connects a few dots based on the facts he knows.

One: this dragon apparently knew he is strong enough to outlive the other dragons. That seems important. Two: he is short and that makes Dazai laugh. Three: the dragon has nowhere else to go. Four: Mori has been getting on Dazai’s last nerve about finding an appropriate right-hand for when he is officially announced as heir.

“Hey, Dragon, do you want to make a deal?”

Five: if Dazai can pull this off, it would be hilarious.

“What kind of deal?” Those serpentine eyes are narrowed again, but the tilt of his head says the dragon is curious. Good. Dazai can work with that.

“See, you’ve been asleep for a long time. I happen to be very intelligent for a human, and I have lots of money.” Dazai, watching carefully for any reaction, notes the way the dragon perks up ever so slightly at the mention of wealth. “I could be your human guide. I could teach you modern-day things, give you somewhere to live where you could easily accumulate significant wealth, and even help you travel abroad on occasion. I do know several languages.”

“What do you want in return?”

“Oh, nothing that important,” Dazai says flippantly. “All you have to do is stick by my side and keep me alive. I have some enemies, you see, and if I die, poof goes all my assistance towards helping you,” Dazai reaches over and pokes the dragon’s slim, button nose just for fun — the way the dragon’s eyes go wide and his entire face scrunches up like he is going to sneeze is a bonus.

“I see,” the dragon murmurs. “If I help you, you will help me.” The dragon thinks about it for all of six seconds. “Very well, human, I agree to those terms. Until you die of natural cause, I will ensure your survival, so long as you help me establish a new home, life, and— and a hoard. I accept the bond.”

“Really?” Dazai’s lips quirk up. That did not take all that much convincing.

“Really,” the dragon replies. “I know you are not lying; I can feel that the bonds I held with my kin are gone. Perhaps it is silly, but even when the deaths of my friends did not wake me, you did. It seems to me that we have been brought together for a reason, and who am I to oppose Fate?”

Dazai scoffs. “You believe in fate? I thought dragons didn’t believe in anything. That gods and whatever else are all human constructs.” At least, that’s what he read. It will quickly become obvious whether the information Dazai has acquired in the books he and Fyodor read in their youth hold any credibility.

“Perhaps,” the dragon murmurs. Annoying enough, he does not say anymore on the matter and Dazai has a feeling that prying right now will not be fruitful.

“So, I help you and you help me?” The dragon nods. “Good, now all we need to do is seal the pact.” With a completely straight face, Dazai holds out the pinky finger of his right hand. The dragon stares blankly at him. Excellent.

“Do you not know of the esteemed pinky promise?” Dazai asks innocently.

“No.” The dragon frowns. “Is it a human thing?”

“Sort of. Everyone uses it these days for matters of importance. Only the most serious of pacts are agreed to with a pinky promise, you see. If broken, the party at fault will be struck dead within a day.”

“Oh, I understand.” The dragon lifts his own hand, then frowns. “How do I…?”

“It’s easy,” Dazai says. He grabs the dragon’s slim hand and interlocks their pinky fingers together for a moment before breaking contact. The dragon still looks incredibly confused.

“There. All done.” Dazai smiles down at the dragon. “Now then, I’m Dazai, and before we find my ride back home, you should tell me all about yourself. I have to know about my new best friend in order to ensure I can accurately help you integrate into the human world.”

“I am— my friends called me Chuuya. I guess you can use that name.” The dragon frowns. “Are you certain humans are in charge now? I really thought dogs would be the next to rule the world after dragons were gone.”

“Ew,” Dazai shudders, “you think that a bunch of slobbery fur-balls could rule the world?”

Chuuya gapes. “You do not like dogs?”

“Why would you?! Shouldn’t you eat dogs? Isn’t that a dragon thing, eating animals smaller than you— er, I guess in your case, anything that you can find that isn’t too big for you to swallow?”

“I am not small!” The dragon sticks his forked tongue out and hisses at Dazai like a snake. That is interesting — and not exactly an easy characteristic to hide. Herm. What a dilemma. “I can eat whatever I want, like any dragon of proper standing!”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Anyway, should probably mention it now, but it would be best if you did not let other humans know that you’re a dragon. It would get messy. They would want to, ah, hurt you if they found out.” Probably do worse than hurt, actually. Any government that could get their hands on a real-life dragon would be delighted. Dragon scales are notoriously sturdy: any armour made with the fossilized scales that have been found is almost guaranteed to be impenetrable. And that’s just the scales. Who knows what they could do with a whole, live dragon.

“That makes sense,” Chuuya nods. “I understand. I will not tell others of my nature. I can hold my transfigured form for weeks before I will need to switch back, and I am certain a few weeks will be an adequate time to prepare a proper and safe home in which I can be whatever form I please without worry of intruders.”

“…Sure. Why not.” Dazai will figure something out. Maybe get a basement built in his own place and get Chuuya to live down there. He has a feeling Mori would notice if Dazai bought a whole new house. Though suddenly constructing a large basement for his new bodyguard might come across as more suspicious. And the ground under his shipping container probably isn’t the best either…

Eh, whatever. He’ll figure something out.

“So,” Dazai prompts after a moment of silent walking, “tell me about yourself.”

“Very well,” Chuuya nods. “We shall exchange information. A question for a question.”

Dazai blinks. He doesn’t really want to give the dragon anything on himself. Who knows, maybe the teeny dragon is trying to manipulate Dazai as he is manipulating Chuuya. However, refusing would be odd and would ruin the argument he is somewhat trying to make of convincing the dragon to be his friend in addition to his bodyguard. It would be extra funny if Dazai could convince the last living dragon to be loyal to him of all people.

“Sure. I’ll go first: How old are you?”

“I do not know. You have yet to tell me the year.”

“Oh.” Dazai rattles of tonight’s date. Chuuya’s brow pinches.

“Ah. Well, I should prefer not to share my age at the moment,” the dragon mutters, a bit of pink tinting his cheeks. “It appears I have slept for much longer than I intended. How peculiar.” Chuuya stares intensely at Dazai for a solid twenty-three seconds before nodding to himself and emitting an odd rumbling noise from his chest.

“Okay?” Dazai says, not really sure what to make of that. “Well, I just had my seventeenth birthday.” The dragon makes another rumbling noise, this one a few pitches higher than before. Surprise, maybe? “Akutagawa tried to give me a cupcake,” Dazai scoffs.

“Cupcake?”

“Yes, dear?” Dazai grins at the look on Chuuya’s face. He knows befuddlement well enough to recognize it on anyone. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. A cupcake is sugary treat some people like, but it can also be used as a term of endearment between partners.”

“How odd,” Chuuya mumbles. “You name those you care about after food? Do humans normally eat each other now?”

“Nope!” Dazai makes a big x with his arms. “Cannibalism is frowned upon. So maybe refrain from threatening to eat people, they’ll think you’re weird.”

“I will take it under advisement,” Chuuya says. He hums for a moment, then nods to himself. “What is your family like?”

“Dead,” Dazai replies flippantly. He doesn’t bother asking about Chuuya’s family in return.

“Oh.”

They walk in silence for a bit, then Dazai asks a question he really wants to know the answer to: “What’s your magic ability? All dragons have one power they specialize in, right?” Rumor has it that the abilities humans posses nowadays come from dragon abilities; that those who have them are descendants of a dragon and human relation from a very long time ago.

Chuuya huffs. Smoke escapes from the corners of his mouth, floating up to disappear into the night. “I should like to answer that at a later date.”

“Why?” Refusing only makes Dazai more curious. It must be something interesting if Chuuya doesn’t want to say anything.

“The information you are requesting I divulge is considered incredibly personal. I do not know you well enough to entrust it to you.”

Dazai pouts. “What?! But we’re best buddies! I’m going to help you get lots of money and shiny things, and you’ll keep me alive, so that’s like the ultimate friendship! Come on,” Dazai goads, “you can trust me!”

“Not yet,” the dragon replies. Dazai scowls. His books never said anything about dragons being stubborn.

Before he can dwell on it and figure out a way to coax out the truth, Dazai notices their surroundings and halts. Weird forky tree. Patch of flattened grass. This is definitely where he was dropped off earlier, so where’s the helicopter?

He spins in a slow circle, giving his eye time to take in everything in case he missed a whole entire helicopter. He did not.

“Well, this is quite the pickle,” Dazai sighs, planting his hands on his hips and scowling.

“What?”

“It’s an expression, Lizard. Means we’re stuck in an annoying situation.”

“Oh.” Then Chuuya scowls and flashes sharp teeth Dazai’s way. “I am not a lizard! Do not insult me such.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever you say, Chibi.”

Serpentine eyes narrow. “What does that one mean?”

Dazai fights to keep the grin from his lips. “It’s a friendly term, like calling someone ‘friend’ or ‘buddy’. But there are specific qualifications that must be met to use it, so maybe hold off on using it for now.”

“Oh, okay. So, what is the situation that is annoying you?” Chuuya glances over Dazai’s shoulder. “Is it the bear?”

“What bear?!” Dazai whirls around to find, as Chuuya pointed out, a large brown bear watching them from behind some trees. Once the bear sees it has been noticed, it growls a low note and take a step closer.

“Just flash your fangs at it,” Chuuya says, clearly uninterested in the bear.

“What?” Dazai says his tone pitched higher than he would like.

“Well,” Chuuya starts, a small frown tipping his lips down. “You said humans are in charge now. Surely you have developed ways of controlling the species beneath you through intimidation and warning cues?”

“No! Humans shoot things, we don’t growl at them!” Technically, Dazai does have a gun on hand, but he doesn’t know how effective a small pistol is against a large bear and does not want to find out what happens if it doesn’t work.

“How odd.” Chuuya sighs and shakes his head like that fact is disappointing. “No wonder you need a protector to stay alive.” He takes a few steps forward, placing himself between Dazai and the clearly angry bear. Chuuya bares his sharp teeth at the bear, then growls loud enough that the air around them seems to tremble. The bear escapes into the woods. Chuuya flicks his fork tongue after it and gives a small hiss.

Dazai clears his throat to regain some composure. “Thanks, I guess.”

“It was only a bear,” Chuuya shrugs. “Hardly worthy of my efforts.”

“Right.” Dazai takes another look around the clearing. “Hey, Chibi, any chance your ability is teleportation?”

“No. Why?”

“It seems Mori, he’s my boss, has decided to abandon me here. I don’t know why he has, but it is quite annoying. I might just die if I have to walk home!” Dazai wails.

“No, you will not,” Chuuya scoffs. “I would not allow you to die. That was our agreement. If you will die from walking, then I will carry you.”

Dazai blinks. He… didn’t account for that. It would be quite annoying if he managed to find the perfect time and place to die and thus escape the mafia only for this tiny dragon to ruin it. Perhaps that is something to consider at a later date when he has not just been abandoned in the wilderness by Mori.

“Right. My bad, it’s just an expression.”

Chuuya frowns. “That is an odd expression. Humans have made language weird over the last centuries.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Dazai grimaces. “I don’t even understand some of the vocabulary that is popular these days.”

“Peculiar,” Chuuya comments. “Now then, would you like me to carry you to our destination?”

Dazai slowly raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, just stares down at Chuuya and silently wonders how that would even work. Dazai is significantly lankier than the short dragon. It’s not that he is doubting Chuuya’s strength, the dragon is not wearing a shirt so Dazai can see his muscles, but just. How?

“I am taking your silence as agreement.”

“Wait,” Dazai begins. He cuts off as Chuuya strides off several paces, putting distance between them. Then, with a bright flash of red that momentarily blinds his visible eye, Chuuya is no longer human-shaped. Dragon-shaped Chuuya cranes his head down so his snout is near Dazai and blows a plume of thick, grey smoke over him.

“Oh.” Great, now Dazai feels dumb. “Thanks for that.” He undoubtedly smells like campfire now. How delightful.

“Do you know how to navigate to our destination?” Chuuya asks, the words clipped and growly thanks to his large, Dazai-size fangs.

“Yeah. So, how do I climb onto your back?” Dazai patters a few steps to the left and peers at Chuuya’s side. Jagged black spikes run the length of his spine, and the red scales on his back look rougher than the ones on his tail and chest.

“You do not.”

“What—?” Dazai freezes as Chuuya’s tail winds tightly around his form, pinning his arms to his sides. “No, no! Put me down—!” He shrieks as Chuuya’s large, leathery wings pound down at the same time as he rears up on his hind legs and leaps, propelling them into the air.

In general, humans have always craved flight. That is why airplanes, parachutes, and hang-gliders were invented. So, logically, getting to experience actual flight should be amazing.

However, when flight consists of being constricted to near death and continuously whipped from side to side since dragons use their tails to steady their flight, it is not a pleasurable experience. Had Dazai been someone with a weaker stomach, he has no doubt he would have thrown up multiple times already. There isn’t even a good view since Chuuya went up into the clouds (making it that much harder to breathe, how fun), so all Dazai gets to see are white and grey fluffs.

Then Chuuya flaps down hard and they shoot up several feet, breaching the clouds, and flaps repeatedly to hold them in place.

“Wow,” Dazai murmurs to himself as he peeks at the night sky above them. Okay, this is a good view. He doubts anyone has ever seen the stars like this. Undiluted by distance or human machinery as they are, the stars sparkle like nothing he has ever seen before. If his arms were not being crushed against his ribs, Dazai would be tempted to reach out and see if he could touch them.

“What direction?” Chuuya growls. Dazai startles. He forgot he was supposed to be paying attention to that.

“Uh.” Dazai looks at stars to get his bearings and promptly goes back to thinking about how pretty they are.

Chuuya flicks his tail, rattling Dazai’s brain against his skull. “What direction?” The dragon asks again.

“East,” Dazai says. “We go east. Yokohama is north-east, so we should land in on the outskirts of a smaller city east from here then travel using more traditional methods to Yokohama. You landing in the middle of a park would not be very subtle.”

“Very well.” Without warning, Chuuya tucks his wings to his back and tips his nose down, allowing them to enter a rather rapid free-fall. Dazai definitely does not scream.

When Chuuya flares his wings out to catch them, they are hidden in the clouds once more. So much for getting to enjoy the starry sky. Then Dazai is wrenched one way, and back the other, so he closes his eyes and pretends this is a carnival ride. He’ll never get to experience the real thing again and getting whipped around by a dragon is pretty close.

Chapter Text

Chuuya is annoyed. And angry, but he is always angry, so right now the annoyance is most prominent.

To deal with it, Chuuya flicks his tail a little harder than necessary and takes slight pleasure in hearing his passenger shriek. Considering he just agreed to bond with this particular human, Chuuya knows he should not be cruel like this to the boy. However, Chuuya also just found out the dragons are all dead. They went and left him behind, like they promised not to. Did they even try to wake him from his slumber? The Flags promised they would, that they would all stick together no matter what, yet here they are: Chuuya’s friends are dead and he is alone again.

So, upon awaking, Chuuya did a truly rational thing and decided to bond himself to the first human he spoke with. Was it stupid? Oh, absolutely. Would Kouyou smack him upon the head for it? Without a doubt. Will he regret it? That remains to be seen: the human in question is certainly annoying (Chuuya exhales a long plume of smoke, reminding himself that the boy did not choose to be tall, so he cannot be mad about it), but, shockingly enough, has proven willing to answer questions, and Chuuya is certainly going to have questions. If he truly has been sleeping for the last five centuries, the world has undoubtably changed.

Besides, Dazai was not afraid. He spoke to Chuuya, even mocked his height. If nothing else, the fact that he is clearly not afraid means that Chuuya doubts he will regret his decision.

In any case, he cannot take back his vow. Dragons have honour, they do not go back on their word. Besides, he made the pinky promise, whatever that is, and apparently such an oath is sacred. That is why, despite the altitude and the lack of scales or protective film over his human’s eyes, his human is not dead. Chuuya’s magic rolls over his scales in faint shimmering lines, indistinguishable to the human eye, obeying his command to wrap around his human and protect him.

When his human, Dazai, makes a small noise Chuuya cannot hear and starts squirming as if he wants to be dropped from this height, Chuuya glances down. He finds a rather large human establishment a handful of minutes’ flight away, so he tilts his wings to bank softly and bring them to the ground. He has a feeling landing in the middle of the town would be quite a shock to the humans that are unused to dragons moving as they please, so landing in the woodland and walking over is fine. It rankles his pride a bit to have to hide like this, but Dazai said that pretending to be human would be helpful, so Chuuya will try it for now. Dazai is the human, so, in such matters, he will know the better course of action. If Dazai’s idea does not work, then Chuuya can figure out a new plan.

As his hind legs touch down, wings beating furiously to make his landing somewhat pleasant — landings are always the hardest part of flying; the Flags made fun of him relentlessly whenever Chuuya created a new crater upon landing — Chuuya chuffs to himself, proud that he has not flattened any of the surrounding trees. Guess those lessons with Albatross paid off.

Chuuya stretches out his wings and gives them a small shake, checking for any aches or pains, and, upon finding none, folds his wings in tight to his sides.

“Can you put me down?” A small grumble and the squirming of his human draws Chuuya’s attention. He settles back on his haunches and curls his tail around so that he can see Dazai with one large eye. Fluffy brown hair is mussed horribly and a frown is set on his lips. The single eye Dazai has is glaring back at him. Chuuya has wanted to ask since they met if all humans only have one eye now, or if the weird white stuff Dazai has instead of another eye is unique to him.

“Chibi!” Dazai whines, pitching his voice higher in a way that grates Chuuya’s ears. “Lemme down!” His wiggling increases. Chuuya is half-tempted to tighten the grip his tail has, if only to prove who is the one in control here, but he also does not want to deal with it if his human starts whining. He can already tell his human will whine a lot if given the opportunity to do so.

After puffing up his chest to show his superiority, Chuuya graciously unwinds his tail from around Dazai’s thin, weak human form and lets him drop a handful of feet to the ground.

His human yelps. “Chibi! What was that for?” Dazai complains as he peels himself off the ground, wiping dirt off his rear. “You could have set me down gently.”

“You did not ask for that,” Chuuya replies, using the lessons Kouyou gave him to speak politely and clearly to his human, as he tugs at his power, shifting to his human form. He utterly despises that he now needs to look up to meet Dazai’s eye.

“Rude!” Dazai whines some more, kicking at a rock in front of him. “Here I am risking life and limb to help the chibi dragon and he drops me! So mean! I should tell everyone how mean and rude he is!”

Chuuya’s breath hitches. “There is no reason to—” He pauses. They are dead. There is no one Dazai could talk to whose opinion Chuuya cares out. His lips curl into a smirk and Chuuya tips his chin up to look down his snou— nose at Dazai as best he can when the top of his head barely passes the boy’s shoulders.

“Go ahead.”

“What?” Dazai blinks.

“You heard me,” Chuuya shrugs. “The opinion of humans does not matter. What you say to slander my image does not matter when it cannot get back to my sister.”

“That’s— that’s it?!” Dazai sputters. “You don’t care about your reputation anymore?”

Chuuya shrugs a second time. “If my sister is dead, then she cannot berate me for being rude.” Dazai gapes. “Why are you so shocked?” As far as Chuuya is aware, Dazai has not been alive long enough to meet another dragon.

“It was in a book,” Dazai replies absentmindedly. His eye glazes over.

It is Chuuya’s turn to gape. His human is ignoring him? In favor of— of thinking?! Now that is rude. One does not simply ignore someone of Chuuya’s standing!

Baring his fangs, Chuuya hisses at his human, his forked tongue flicking out. He coincidentally gets a taste of the air. It smells like… something gross. A little tangy, like something has tainted the air foul. His face scrunches up. He could kind of smell this earlier too, but its worse now that they are nearer the human town.

“Huh?” Dazai mumbles, still not looking at him. “Did you want something, Chibi?”

“Which way is the town?” Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest. He kind of wishes for a garment like Dazai has covering his torso; it seems colder at night than he remembers. Well, that is clearly humanity’s fault for not growing warm, cozy scales. Fireproof ones are a bonus, since then one can create a nice home in a non-flammable cave, set their sleeping spot on fire, and curl up in the flames. Perfect for staying warm through a chilly evening.

“Oh. I dunno, I think that way?”

“You think?” Chuuya raises a brow. For being the species that took over the world, humans seem to be as useless as ever. Cannot scare off bears, cannot tell directions, and cannot fly. Chuuya flicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and emits a soft hiss. Honestly, how did dogs not simply eat them all? At least they have fangs. And are fluffy. He quite liked patting the dogs that were not too afraid to approach him. Dazai does not seem nearly as good for petting, though his hair looks like it might be soft. Chuuya will need to test it later.

For now, he wants to see what the human town looks like. So, periodically flicking his tongue out to scent the air, Chuuya follows the telltale stench of a large group of humans, Dazai at his side, until it brings them to the edge of the town.

When he sees it, Chuuya sucks his tongue in and forgets to breathe. It is so bright. He kind of loves it. Obviously it would be better if he were in dragon form and the sparkling lights were reflecting off his scales, he would look amazing in such lighting, but this view is okay too.

Distantly, Chuuya hears Dazai tell him the name of the particular establishment and something about a train, whatever that is, but he is very distracted and does not catch most of it.

“There are so many,” Chuuya murmurs. A small hint of pride warms his hearts. They did this. Without the help of dragons, humans would never have survived to this point. And they have certainly not only survived, but flourished. He does wish Kouyou could see this: the city sprawling before him, ripe with humans wandering about, tall buildings to house them, and odd wagons moving on their own, is far beyond anything his sister ever hoped for.

Chuuya wants to go see it closer. He wants to stand at the base of a tower and stare up to see how tall it really is.

He gets all of three steps before thin fingers wrap around his wrist and jerk him to a halt.

Chuuya yanks his hand free and swivels on Dazai, a snarl pulling his lips back from his teeth.

“We need to talk first,” Dazai says, his tone flat. “You’ll give us away instantly if you go around snarling at people.”

That… may be a fair point. Chuuya swallows the angry rumble in his throat and dips his chin half an inch. Just enough to admit Dazai may have a point without bowing too much. Chuuya does not bow to humans. But he does listen to his bonded human — this is a partnership, after all, so Chuuya cannot expect Dazai to listen to him if he does not listen in return — especially when it comes to human customs said bonded human will know more about.

“For starters,” Dazai begins to circle him, eyeing Chuuya critically with his single, dark eye. Chuuya forces himself to hold still and not react to the act of being circled like someone’s prey. Dazai clicks his tongue. Chuuya bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a growl. He does not like being judged — it does not make it better that it is a human doing the judging this time.

“We will need to get you come clothes,” Dazai says. “For now, you can wear my coat. We’d get strange looks if you walked around shirtless. But our first stop will be a clothing store. You’ll need new pants too. I have no idea what those things you’ve got on now are, but they barely count.”

Chuuya frowns and looks down at his legs. “What is wrong with my trousers?” Sure, at some point they used to be white and look more grey-black at this point, there are some holes, and the edges are frayed near his bare feet, but they are not that bad. He pauses. Shirase got him these.

“I change my mind,” Chuuya mutters, a dark rumble vibrating in his throat. “I would like to burn them.”

“Alright. Sure,” Dazai nods. “We can do that.”

“Okay.” Chuuya grabs the waist of his trousers and rips them off in a smooth motion. The strands fray and crumble, allowing for easy removal. He sucks in a sharp breath, ignores Dazai’s shriek, warms it in his throat, then exhales and blows flame out, promptly turning the garment to ash.

“There.” He plants his hands on his bare hips, quite proud of himself. He really should have done that sooner. Chuuya shifts his attention to Dazai, prepared to ask his human what the next step of the plan is, only to find Dazai with his hands slapped over his face to cover his eye and ruby cheeks. How odd. Chuuya cocks his head to the side and frowns at his human. “Why are you acting strange, Dazai?”

“Wh—? Why do you think, you stupid chibi lizard?! Why did you go and do that?!” Dazai hisses. He peeks through his fingers, then quickly spins around, putting his back to Chuuya. Chuuya blinks, tongue flopping out of his mouth. They just met, yet Dazai already trusts him enough to willingly place his back to him? Chuuya is oddly touched.

Still, Chuuya needs to figure out why his human is acting weird. “You agreed that I should burn my trousers,” Chuuya says. “What is wrong?”

“I meant later, not now!” Dazai takes a deep breath. He drops his hands from his face and takes off his long black coat, throwing it over his shoulder Chuuya’s way. Chuuya catches the garment.

“Just put that on,” Dazai mutters. “Button it up and maybe nobody will notice that you’re naked.”

“Well, I will not be naked if I am wearing this,” Chuuya points out. Quite the astute observation, if he does say so. Dazai makes a small, strangled noise that Chuuya chooses to take as agreement. Nevertheless, he puts the coat on. It is annoyingly long. The sleeves drape past his fingertips and the hem of it brushes over his knees. He hates the way the material rubs against his skin, but Dazai told him to button it, so Chuuya does. He wants to see the human town close up, and if he needs to wear stiff, strange clothing to do so, then he will.

“Okay,” Chuuya says. “I have done the buttons.”

Dazai spins to face him, then snorts and claps a hand over his mouth. Chuuya’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Are you laughing?”

“No,” Dazai says, his voice tight and his shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

“You are!” Chuuya accuses, pointing a finger, tipped in a sharp black claw, at his human. “You are mocking me, are you not?”

“It’s just,” Dazai wheezes, a peel of laughter passing his lips, “you’re so small!” He doubles over, hands planted on his knees, and cackles. Chuuya chuffs, smoke curling from his nostrils.

“I wish I had my phone,” Dazai continues, “I have never wanted to take a picture more than right now. You look like a toddler trying on their parent’s clothes for fun.”

Chuuya’s eye twitches. “I am not that short! Your garment is simply… very long!”

“You’re like an eight-year-old who pulled clothes from the high school lost and found bin,” Dazai continues. Chuuya does not know what most of that means, but he knows he is still being insulted, so he stomps his foot on the ground angrily.

He immediately regrets it when the earth rumbles in response. Trees wave in the air, rocks tremble, and any distant birds go silent. Whoops. He stands frozen for a moment, but his human is still laughing and mocking him with teasing words, so Chuuya’s tense shoulders relax. Dazai must not have noticed.

“Well, if I look that foolish, I will simply remove the garment,” Chuuya declares.

At that, Dazai leaps into Chuuya’s space and grabs his wrists. “Ah, no. Bad idea, Chibi.” Dazai sighs and shakes his head. “This is obviously why I make the plans.”

Chuuya frowns. “You have not told me a plan yet.”

“You burnt your pants before I could!” Dazai snaps. His human takes a deep breath. “The plan is you follow me and don’t wander off. We get you clothes, find a train, and head to Yokohama. Sound good?”

“Oh, alright.” If nothing else it sounds like a simple plan, and simple plans are good. Makes them easy to follow and easy to adjust when things inevitably go wrong — and they will go wrong. They always do.

“Good. Now follow me.” Dazai drops the hold he has on Chuuya’s hands and sets towards the human town. Chuuya steps up to Dazai’s side, unwilling to walk behind him, and lets his gaze roam as they enter.

Though it is night, humans mill about as if it were day. Either they have developed better night vision, or it is thanks to the bright lights tipping the large poles growing out of the roads that chase away the shadows lining the paths they walk. Considering that Chuuya sees some of them glance nervously down the darkened paths between buildings as they walk, he doubts they have improved their night vision. He rolls his own serpentine eyes and wishes there was less light; he always found it easier to hunt at night.

Chuuya pokes his human’s arm. “What are those?” He points to the wagons that rumble and growl at him as they zoom past. Maybe not wagons, then, if they can make such odd noises.

“Huh? Oh, those are just cars.”

“Cars,” Chuuya murmurs, “what strange beasts.”

Dazai shoots him an odd look. “No, they aren’t alive. Cars are human-made constructs designed to help up get from one place to another quicker.”

“Oh. Do all humans die if they have to walk far, like you?”

Dazai’s look darkens. “I already told you that was just an expression. I— well, depending on how far it is, and whether I have water, I guess I could die from walking too far. Still, I was just exaggerating. Let it drop.”

Chuuya’s brow scrunches. “I cannot drop words. They are not physical—”

“Shut up,” Dazai snaps. “Just, look at the sparkly things and be quiet for a minute, I’m trying to think.”

Chuuya huffs, tossing his head and snorting indignantly. Honestly, he must have picked the rudest human to bond with! He is not some dumb creature that can be distracted by sparkly things—

Chuuya glances in the direction Dazai pointed and goes rigid.

Before he realizes what he is doing, Chuuya has his palms pressed against the glass blocking him from the inside of this shop. His eyes are blown open wide as he stares down at all the shiny necklaces, rings, chains, and funky thick bracelets with funny moving parts in the middle displayed in the window. Some of them have jewels of various colors, adding a nice hint of variation to the otherwise monotone sparkle.

He wants them all. Right now. He needs them. The council never let him have his own hoard; this is his chance.

An eager hiss slips past his lips as his claws curl, scratching the glass blocking him from his precious, pretty things. One hit will break the glass, then they will be his—

A hand grabs his collar, yanking him away from the jewels.

“Nope, none of that. I am not getting arrested because you robbed a jewellery store.”

“Let go!” Chuuya snarls, swiping at Dazai with his claws. Infuriatingly, his human is holding him at arm’s length, so Chuuya’s hits cannot reach. “They are mine!”

“They’re not yours,” Dazai says. “And I don’t have any money on me, so I can’t buy them for you. Mori would never let me live it down if we got arrested, so you can’t have them.”

Chuuya snarls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rattling against his bared fangs. Dazai must be a liar. He promised. He said he would help Chuuya build a proper hoard. Smoke curls from the corners of his mouth.

“Calm down,” Dazai snaps, his tone flat and darker than before. “I’ll buy you all the shiny baubles you want once we’re in Yokohama, but I don’t have Mori’s, ahem, my credit card right now.”

“I do not know what credit card is, but I want these. I am a dragon of high standing,” Chuuya snaps his fangs Dazai’s way, but his human does not flinch, “they belong to me!” There are no others around to stop him, so Chuuya is going to have his own, proper hoard!

“Too bad.” Dazai yanks, using his grip on Chuuya’s collar to tug him further from the window of all his pretty things. Dazai’s fingers are cold as they brush against the skin of Chuuya’s neck. Chuuya snarls and thrashes against the hold, but when he tugs at his magic to help free himself, he finds it shockingly silent and uncooperative. The fact that his magic is unresponsive stuns him for long enough that Dazai manages to drag him around a corner, removing the window display of all the pretty things Chuuya desperately wants from sight. A small whine tugs at his throat and his eyes burn as he blinks back tears. Dazai is so much crueler than he thought; maybe it was a mistake to bond with him. Why else but to be cruel would he show Chuuya such nice things, only to drag him away and say he cannot have them?

“I know there’s a clothing store around here somewhe— are you crying?”

Chuuya remains silent and sniffles sadly, his chin tipped toward his chest as he lets Dazai drag him down the street, away from all the nice things.

“You’re crying,” Dazai repeats, his tone flat. “Why—?” His human takes a long breath. “This is so stupid,” Dazai mutters quietly enough that Chuuya doubts he is supposed to hear it. Unfortunately for Dazai, Chuuya has excellent hearing.

“Look, just, stop that,” Dazai snaps. “I’m not dealing with crying. You said you’re an adult, not a child, so act like it.”

“You lied,” Chuuya mumbles.

Dazai’s shoulders stiffen. “What are you going on about?”

“You said you would help me build a hoard,” Chuuya accuses his human, his wet eyes narrowing. “So why did you stop me from taking the pretty things?”

“I didn’t lie,” Dazai huffs, “we just aren’t in Yokohama yet. Once we’re there, then you can take whatever you want for your, uh, hoard. Okay? Just stop crying already.”

“Do you promise?” Chuuya asks. He feels exactly like the child Dazai mocks him for being when he asks the question, but he needs to hear the answer. Chuuya wants — needs — a hoard of his own, just this once. If Dazai will not pull through with this part of the deal, then perhaps Chuuya will need to end this arrangement early.

“Are you serious— fine, sure. Yes, I promise.” Dazai rolls his eye.

Chuuya perks up. He wipes the stray tears from his eyes and adds a quick hop to his step so he can walk at Dazai’s side and not get dragged along anymore. If Dazai has promised, then Chuuya can wait a little longer. What are a few minutes compared to the centuries he has already waited?

Once Dazai sees that Chuuya is walking on his own now, the hand on his collar, the fingers brushing his neck, drops. As soon as it does, Chuuya’s magic surges back, rushing to fill his veins. He frowns. His magic has never done anything like that before. How odd.

Before Chuuya can dwell on it for long, Dazai makes an abrupt turn into one of the dimly lit alleys between large buildings. Chuuya patters after him, the claws tipping his four toes clacking against the pavement.

There is another human in the alley. Three of them, actually. The two younger ones are cornering the older one. One of the younger ones has a stick of something that glints and shines nicely, reflecting the meager light. An involuntary, pleased rumble rises in Chuuya’s chest. Whatever that is, he wants it.

“Please!” The older human gasps as they enter the alley, “please, help me, sir!”

Dazai snorts. He reaches into his pocket, takes something out, and points it at the three other humans. Then he does something and a noise echoes out, startling Chuuya enough that he yelps and calls his magic to his core, ready to lash out the moment he feels pain. But pain does not come. Rather, the three other humans drop to the ground one after another, their blood spilling to the dirt and the scent of it warming the air.

A line of drool runs down Chuuya’s chin before he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He sort of forgot that he has not eaten in the last five centuries. Sleep does an excellent job restoring energy and managing certain things, but it does not completely halt hunger.

“Okay,” Dazai says in a too-cheerful voice. “Let’s see what these guys have got in their pockets.”

Chuuya takes a hesitant step towards one of the dead humans, then pauses. Dazai said humans do not eat each other. If he is pretending to be human, does that mean he cannot have a tiny snack? He has not tasted his preferred meat in so, so long, and with the blood permeating the air… it is more than enough for his mouth to be watering.

Dazai prods the older human, searching the crevices of the clothing and jolting the body enough that more blood spills out. Chuuya growls lowly, his fingers twitching as his claws extend, eager to rip into his prey— actually, these are Dazai’s prey. Chuuya cannot steal another’s prey, Kouyou always said that was rude. A small whine rattles the back of his throat as Dazai moves onto the next human, leaving the older one in nearly perfect (obviously some blood is missing, but that is not too bad) eating condition.

“What now?” Dazai snaps at Chuuya without looking up from the human he is taking small papers from. “I swear, if you start crying again—”

“Are you going to eat them?” Chuuya blurts. Another line of drool escapes from the corner of his mouth. He wipes it away just as Dazai turns to look at him, visible eyebrow raised.

“No,” Dazai says slowly, “I’m pretty sure I already mentioned that the whole cannibalism thing is a no-go.”

“So,” Chuuya says, his voice slightly strangled, “can I eat them?”

“Can you—?” Dazai halts. His eye blinks. “Oh.” He looks between the three dead bodies and back to Chuuya. “Can you eat three whole people?”

“Yes,” Chuuya replies immediately, his tongue flicking out to taste the blood in the air. “They will hardly count as a snack.” Surely Dazai realizes that Chuuya is larger than most dragons (which means it really is not fair that his human form is so tiny), so he needs to eat lots.

“Huh.” Dazai considers that for a long moment. “Well, I did shoot them, so the police are probably on the way. I’d say we have about ten minutes. It will be weird and people will be wary of a cannibalistic serial killer on the loose, but we aren’t sticking around, so it should be fine. Sure, I guess you can eat them, but again we only have ten minutes—”

Chuuya stops listening as soon as Dazai gives him permission to eat his human’s kill. He will thank him afterwards. Right now, Chuuya is a bit preoccupied with sinking his sharp, dense teeth into warm, tasty meat. Kouyou and the Flags always tried to steer him away from eating humans, so the moment warm human blood seeps into his mouth as he chomps straight through bone, tearing off a sizable piece, Chuuya hums happily. He swallows quickly and takes another bite, his eyelids fluttering shut to better enjoy the flavours bursting across his tongue.

“Holy shit,” Dazai mutters as Chuuya gobbles down the first human in rapid bites, barely taking the time to chew anything. The size of the piece does not matter; it will digest in his stomach all the same. He can eat whole animals in a single gulp as a dragon, so this display hardly counts as impressive.

After just over eight minutes, Chuuya settles back on his haunches, hums contently, and wipes the back of his hand over his bloody mouth. It does not feel like doing so cleaned him up any, but Chuuya is too content to care. His stomach is pleasantly warm, though not full — Chuuya has never felt truly full after finishing a meal — but the pangs of hunger have ceased for now.

Spying the glint of the sparkly thing from earlier among the clothes he removed from the meat, Chuuya snatches up the metal that one human had. It is a knife, that much he recognizes, but it has a funky hilt that sets it apart from those he is familiar with.

“What is wrong with this one?” Chuuya asks, holding the found prize out to his human for Dazai to see. “And may I keep it?” Technically, this is Dazai’s prize. His kills, his spoils. But Chuuya really wants this. “Please?”

“Uh, yeah, whatever. It’s just a knife. I’ve got, like, two of those on me already.”

“Thank you,” Chuuya replies, a happy rumble vibrating deep in his throat. “But what is wrong with it?”

“What do you mean?”

“It is an odd color and has a hole.” Chuuya points to the offending curved, wooden hilt, then tips the blade to show the slit along the side of the wood.

“Oh, it’s just a switchblade. Here, let me show you.” Dazai snatches the knife from Chuuya’s hand. The instinct to snarl a challenge at someone who stole from him is strong, but Chuuya swallows it back. This is his human, and he already said Chuuya could keep the knife. Dazai is not stealing it.

Chuuya watches carefully, his eyes narrowed to slits, as Dazai presses something near the base of the blade, then folds the blade inwards, slipping the glint of metal out of sight as it tucks neatly into the wooden hilt. A noise of shock rises to Chuuya’s lips.

“Where did it go?” He asks, leaning close to peer at the knife. “I do not want a bit of wood,” Chuuya complains, “make the shiny part come back.”

“The metal?” Dazai says, amused.

“Yes, the metal,” Chuuya snaps. “I know what it is called. Now make it come back.”

Dazai shrugs, then clicks another button and the blade pops back out. Chuuya hums, pleased with the way the dim lighting in this alley makes the blade gleam ever so slightly.

But, when Chuuya goes to grab the knife and take it back, Dazai holds it above his own head. Chuuya frowns, and gives a tiny hop, trying to grab it from his human, but, unfortunately, because he has been cursed with this pathetic height, Chuuya cannot grab the knife. He is too short to reach. Considering the gleam in Dazai’s eye and the small upwards tilt of his lips, Dazai knows it too.

“Give it back,” Chuuya snaps. “You said I could have it.”

“Take it,” Dazai counters, offering a lazy smirk and stretching his arm up higher.

Chuuya growls deep in his throat. He hops one more time, not wanting to give his human the satisfaction of watching Chuuya use his magic for this sole purpose, and still is not close to grabbing the knife.

So, instead, Chuuya lightly punches Dazai in the gut.

As expected, Dazai doubles over immediately, gasping and wheezing for air, allowing Chuuya to pluck the knife from Dazai’s fingers. He hums happily, cradling his prize in his open palms.

“Meanie,” Dazai gasps out. Chuuya does not bother replying to inform Dazai that it is him who was making fun of Chuuya’s height. Hitting back was fair reciprocation; Dazai was mocking Chuuya’s height, Chuuya was mocking Dazai’s weak abdomen.

A strange wailing noise reaches Chuuya’s ears. He frowns and tips his head as he considers it. He has no idea what sort of animal makes that noise.

“Dazai, I can hear something. What animal is that?” It is not quiet, so surely his human can hear it too.

“Oh, right. Come on,” Dazai grabs Chuuya’s wrist, tugging him along deeper into the alley and taking a turn to bring them behind a new set of buildings. “That’s probably the police.”

“Police?”

“They’re, uh, the ones who uphold laws and stuff. Makes my job more difficult, but it’s fine. Most of them are stupid.” Dazai pauses, then amends the statement. “Most people are stupid compared to me, but I’m sure Chibi will realize just how lucky he was to meet me soon enough.”

Chuuya dips his chin in a small nod. Dazai has gotten him a snack and a shiny knife — which he tucks into one of the pockets of Dazai’s garment so that rushing about does not cause him to drop it — even if he would not allow Chuuya to take the other shiny things in that shop, so maybe he is not too bad of a human after all.

“Now then,” Dazai continues as he pulls Chuuya between more buildings. Chuuya has no idea how Dazai is navigating when the structures around them are so tall that Chuuya has difficulty seeing the stars. “We should really get you some clothes. My coat looks hilarious, but Mori would not find it funny and I don’t really trust him not to turn you into a science experiment, so we really need to ensure you act human around him. Got it?”

“I will try my best,” Chuuya sighs. He already agreed to try to act human, so he is not quite sure why Dazai is repeating that sentiment.

Dazai hardly waits for Chuuya’s agreement before plowing on. “Luckily those guys had some cash, so we should be able to afford a somewhat decent outfit, I’ll buy you something better once we’re in Yokohama, and train tickets.”

“Okay,” Chuuya says. He is not quite sure how clothing and a train, whatever that is, will make him appear human, but Dazai sounds confident and Chuuya is willing to trust his human on this matter.

Dazai goes quiet as he continues pulling Chuuya in what seem like random directions, but eventually they do exit the tight spaces between buildings. The loud noise from that weird animal the police must use has faded. As they merge onto the main human paths, the ones with the fancy tall lights illuminating the way, Dazai shifts his grip from Chuuya’s wrist to his hand and slows his pace so that they are walking side by side. Dazai starts swinging their linked hands.

Chuuya frowns at their hands, not quite sure why Dazai has seen fit to trap Chuuya’s fingers with his own. Has he done something wrong? He thought he was doing a good job not grabbing things without asking first.

Then he sees a pair of humans, a female and a male, across the way walking in the same manner: their sides close together and their fingers intertwined. Ah, Chuuya nods to himself, this makes sense. Humans have always been pack animals: when traveling in pairs at night, they must use their hands to hold onto each other so that one does not get lost. Plus, their midsections are a vulnerable spot, so having someone to guard a whole side as they walk is a smart plan. He will remember this information for later.

Walking in the protective hand-in-hand formation with Dazai, Chuuya lets his eyes linger on everything around him, trusting that his human will tug him along and prevent him from getting lost. He realizes quickly that he really likes the lights. They make everything shine even when things are not supposed to shine, which makes for a pleasant view. He also realizes rather rapidly that he does not like the bestial ‘cars’, as Dazai called them earlier. They dash by him at a fast pace, faster than Chuuya thinks he could run, and that unnerves him. He is the ultimate predator, the top of the food chain. He does not like the idea that this car could hunt him down if it decided to. However, Dazai does not seem to mind them, nor do they stray from the path they are on to try to eat them, so, though Chuuya glares silent warnings whenever a car zips by, he does not attack them either.

“Okay, let’s try this place.” Dazai halts and turns them into a shop. Chuuya follows eagerly, rather excited to see what the inside of a human establishment looks like these days. The outsides are rather fancy, so the insides must be as well. He is not disappointed. The inside is a bit messy, but any dragon can appreciate organized chaos, so Chuuya tries to not let the clutter bother him. There are articles of clothing strung up on three of the walls, with many metal structures holding even more clothing bits in the center of the shop. There are also shoes, which Chuuya scoffs at; shoes are the most useless human invention yet. Only someone with weak skin needs to rely on shoes.

“I guess we ought to look for the kids’ section,” Dazai muses.

Chuuya gently smacks his human’s arm. His human whines complaints and rubs the attacked area. Chuuya rolls his eyes. He did not break bone, so it hardly counts as a hit. Besides, if Dazai does not want to be smacked, he should stop poking fun at Chuuya’s height.

Since Dazai is still whining, Chuuya wanders around the small shop. The owner keeps a close eye on him — perhaps too close, even. Chuuya narrows his own eyes in response and fights back a hiss when the human’s gaze dips to Chuuya’s bare legs. Is this man searching for weaknesses? He snorts softly; Chuuya could crush this ant without lifting a finger.

Suddenly, Dazai throws his arm over Chuuya’s shoulders, tugging his form against Dazai’s. He cheek squishes as it is pressed up against his human’s pectorals.

“Alright!” Dazai says loudly, “We should find you something to wear, Honey.”

“Honey?” Chuuya tips his head up and frowns at Dazai. “I am not a bee.” The shopkeeper snorts and Chuuya sends the man a withering glare. He was stating fact, not making a joke.

Dazai’s lips purse slightly enough that Chuuya doubts any human would be perceptive enough to notice. “Yes, I know, Darling. You are not a bee.” His large hand pats Chuuya’s head. Chuuya freezes at the soft touch, his eyes going wide. No wonder dogs like to be patted so much. It is quite enjoyable. When Dazai pulls his hand away, Chuuya reaches up and grabs his wrist, tugging to bring Dazai’s hand back to his hair.

“Do it again,” Chuuya demands, leaning further into Dazai’s embrace. It is rather warm like this with Dazai’s body heat melting into Chuuya’s space. Maybe that is why human couples often lie together, to share warmth.

Dazai makes a tiny noise that Chuuya is pretending is not laughter, but does start patting Chuuya’s head again.

“Sorry,” Dazai says to the shopkeeper, who is openly watching the display. “He had a bit too much to drink, fell in the river, lost his clothes along the way, and is now grumpy. You know how it can be.” He shrugs as if this is a normal, everyday thing. Maybe it is. Chuuya has no idea if humans get grumpy after swimming in the river these days.

“Ah, I gotcha,” the shopkeeper says, “can’t say I’ve experienced that myself, but I know well as any how the drink can get the best of us. Though I must say, you’re one lucky lad to find such a pretty partner.” He slurs his words together just like Dazai does. Chuuya frowns. Is that how humans pronounce things now? Is enunciation no longer important? How odd. Kouyou would hate that.

Dazai and the shopkeeper laugh, so Chuuya tries for a small chuckle, even though he does not understand what is funny. He thought the shopkeeper called him pretty, and he is rather certain that counts as a compliment.

“Oh, he might be gorgeous, but he’s a feisty, stubborn handful at times too,” Dazai says. Chuuya is now fairly certain he is being insulted, so he opens his mouth to snap back, but Dazai takes that chance to pat his head again. This time he winds his fingers deep into Chuuya’s hair and scratches lightly at his scalp. Chuuya goes quiet and still. He does not want to disrupt Dazai and force him to stop. This is really quite nice.

“So,” Dazai continues, “we really need to get him some clothes before heading home. The neighbours are already mad at us for, ah, several noise complaints, so this,” a small nod Chuuya’s way, “may be the last straw.”

“I see, I see!” The shopkeeper nods, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “Well, you have a good look around and let me know if you need help finding something.”

“Will do, thanks.” With that, Dazai uses his grip on Chuuya’s shoulders to steer him over to one of the walls of clothing. Unfortunately, moving means that his head scratches disappear. Chuuya tries not to pout too visibly; that would certainly be unbecoming for someone of his station.

“Pick something out,” Dazai mutters to Chuuya. “Doesn’t matter what, I’ll get you new clothes soon anyway.”

Chuuya eyes the rows of clothing and perks up as his eyes start picking out bright colors and sparkly things stuck onto the front of the shirts. “Anything?”

“Yep.” Dazai gives a small nod, then drops his arm from around Chuuya’s shoulders and gives him a small push towards the clothing. “Have at it.”

A happy rumble rises in Chuuya’s throat. He swallows it, risking a glance at the shopkeeper to ensure the human did not hear, then turns to the clothing eagerly. He has not gotten to pick what the wear before. In the past, he either had to wear ceremonial garments for the council meetings he was forced to attend, was in dragon form and thus did not have a need for human clothing, or, when he had a human, wore what Shirase provided him with. Getting to pick for himself is new and he fully intends to make the most of it.

Chapter Text

It is not often that Dazai regrets his actions. He knows that actions have consequences, he learnt that years ago, but he is capable of predicting what consequences to expect from a certain action and choosing whether it is an acceptable path to take based on the expected outcome.

He did not predict how dreadfully annoying Chuuya was going to be and is starting to slightly regret tricking him into becoming Dazai’s new mafia partner.

Honestly, the tiny dragon is such a nuisance! Crying because of a display window? Come on, Dazai does not have time for such childish dramatics. Granted, it was rather useful that he erased — ate — all evidence of the murder Dazai committed, but one slightly convenient act does not overrule all the bothersome ones.

Speaking of bothersome antics… Dazai has been standing in this stupid clothing store for nearly two hours and is so close to simply putting a bullet in Chuuya’s skull to be done with this. He figured buying clothes would take all of ten minutes, but no. Instead, Chuuya seems determined to look at and appraise every single item in the store. He takes it off the rack it’s hanging from, feels the material, admires the pattern or lack of, then sets it in one of the four growing piles on the floor that only Chuuya can understand the organization of. Dazai can feel the shopkeeper’s anger growing at each item Chuuya takes down and adds to his piles; the whole store will need to be cleaned after this.

Dazai sighs loudly. Seriously, what a drag. If Chuuya was anything other than the last dragon alive, and thus useful (and short, heh), Dazai would be long gone.

“Chibi,” Dazai drawls, “we need to go. Just pick something.” He has no idea if the trains here run this late, but maybe they do. Hopefully they do. He would like to get back to Yokohama before Mori declares him tragically dead and promotes someone to his place as an executive. That would be tedious to deal with.

“But I am not done looking,” Chuuya protests, a pout tipping his lips down. Too fucking bad.

“If you don’t pick something in the next five minutes, I’m picking for you.”

Chuuya shoots him a look that seems almost hurt, but Dazai really does not care. It’s just clothes! It is not that hard to grab a shirt, pants, and some shoes. And maybe a coat. Dazai is kind of cold and would like his own coat back.

“Fine,” Chuuya huffs. “I can do that.”

However, five minutes later, Chuuya has an obnoxiously neon striped shirt in one hand, and a navy one with silver sequins in the other. He has been looking between the two tops for the whole five minutes.

Dazai bites his tongue to stifle his complaints. He brought this upon himself. It will be worth it. He has a dragon and no one else does. He silently repeats that mantra over a few times before deciding he is officially done waiting for Chuuya to make up his mind.

Stomping over, Dazai plucks a plain black silk shirt from one of the random piles, finds black jeans, black socks, and black shoes. After a quick glance around the store, he also finds a Chibi-sized black coat.

“Here,” Dazai says, shoving the clothes at Chuuya. “Put these on.”

Chuuya’s face scrunches up. “But they are boring,” the dragon complains. “I think I want one that sparkles.” He holds up the shirt with the sequins to make his point. Dazai’s visible eye twitches.

“Too bad. You didn’t pick fast enough.” Dazai grabs the shirts Chuuya is holding and tosses them aside, shoving the bundle of all black into the dragon’s tiny arms. “Put these on.”

“Fine!” Chuuya snaps his sharp teeth Dazai’s way.

Dazai only realizes he should have clarified and mentioned that there is a dressing room in the corner when Chuuya nimbly pops the buttons of Dazai’s coat and drops it to the ground.

The shopkeeper wheezes. Dazai feels his face heat just as it did when Chuuya stupidly decided to burn his pants earlier. He quickly spins around, trying to give some illusion of privacy, only to glance at the shopkeeper and realize the other man is staring rather openly. Dazai’s lip curls. He caught the man checking Chuuya out as soon as they walked in a knew he had to do something — anyone who tries to flirt with the chibi dragon, Dazai shudders at the thought, is probably going to end up food and he did not want that attention.

A quick glance around proves that there is an old security camera is pointed at the door, not at them. Dazai withdraws his gun and shoots the man clean in the skull, then fires at the camera, blowing it to bits. No one is going to bother trying to retrieve footage from an old, now busted, thing like that, so the footage with him and Chuuya entering the store is toast.

“Why did you kill him?” Chuuya asks, the shuffling of fabric indicating that he is still getting dressed.

“He was looking at you,” Dazai replies, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Like a creep.”

“Oh. I did not mind. It is only natural for humans to stare when faced with my magnificence.”

Dazai bites his cheek hard enough blood seeps into his mouth. “He wasn’t staring at your… magnificence.”

“How odd.” A finger taps Dazai’s shoulder. He turns around and finds Chuuya fully dressed for the first time since they’ve met. It is almost odd to not get to see the chibi’s defined torso. However, rather than wearing the new coat Dazai picked out for him, Chuuya has put Dazai’s coat on again.

“Ah,” Dazai blinks, debating how badly he needs that coat. Chuuya has already proven to have possessive tendencies as described as one of the main characteristics of dragons in his books, so he does not want to start any disagreements, especially over something as annoying as the coat Mori gave him. He sighs and decides to let this one go. Mori will make a fuss later, but Dazai does not really care. He wanders around the store and finds another black coat that is nearly identical, but slightly nicer, and slides that on.

“Okay, let’s go, Chibi.”

“Okay—” Chuuya cuts off with a small, breathy gasp. Dazai fights the urge to roll his eye, then fails and does so anyway when he sees what has caught the dragon’s attention.

“Come on,” Dazai says.

“I need it.”

“No, you do not.” Dazai grabs Chuuya’s wrist and starts dragging him out of the shop. Chuuya digs in his heels — a muscle ticks in Dazai’s jaw when he realizes Chuuya didn’t put on the shoes — trying to yank his hand free from Dazai’s iron grasp.

“But I need it!” Chuuya protests, his tone going whiny. “You did not let me pick the pretty shirts, so you should let me have it!” A pause. “What is it?”

“It’s a dumb looking hat,” Dazai says. He halts and glances down at Chuuya’s bare feet. The four toes he sports on each foot, tipped in a thick, black claw, are rather obviously not normal. “You need to wear the shoes.”

“I do not like them,” Chuuya replies immediately. “They squish my feet.”

“Too bad— actually, how about this: wear the shoes, and I’ll let you have the stupid hat.”

Chuuya considers the offer for a long moment, longer than he did when accepting Dazai’s offer of joining the mafia — not that the chibi knows what, exactly, he has agreed to join just yet, but still.

“Okay!” Dazai drops his grip on Chuuya’s wrist and watches with a narrowed eye as Chuuya picks up the black ankle boots and jams them on his feet. He does not do the laces. Dazai sighs. He stomps over and kneels before Chuuya, grabbing the laces and tying them in swift bows. Since he does not want to hear Chuuya’s complaints, Dazai keeps the laces loose.

When he stands, he finds Chuuya frozen in place, staring at him with wide, shocked, eyes. As Dazai looks at him, Chuuya cheeks slowly grow flushed.

“What?” Dazai asks. “Do you know how to tie shoes?” Chuuya doesn’t say a word and just keeps staring. Dazai turns his back to the weird dragon and rolls his eye. He marches over to the stupid fedora that caught Chuuya’s attention (he is willing to bet the little silver chain hanging off the hat is what did it) and picks the thing up.

“Here,” Dazai holds the hat Chuuya’s way. The dragon is still frozen, but now his lips are parted in surprise and his eyes seem wider than before. “Come on, Chibi. Take the stupid hat and let’s go.”

Chuuya jolts to attention and skitters over, moving in awkward jolts and his face scrunched up with each step, and grabs the hat. He makes another of those odd, pleased notes, and places the hat on his head. He reaches up and flicks the chain, a wide smile taking over his lips as the silver chain wobbles with the motion.

“Okay, this has been the biggest waste of time ever,” Dazai declares. “Let’s go home.”

Dazai slinks out of the shop and Chuuya scrambles to walk at his side. After they walk for a moment, small fingers wind through his, clamping their hands together. Dazai’s eyebrow raises. Why on earth does the dragon want to hold hands?

“So, what is a train?” Chuuya asks. He does not seem nearly as flustered as just a moment ago when Dazai tied his laces for him, so maybe he doesn’t know holding hands is a couples thing? Maybe it’s a dragon thing that didn’t appear in any of Dazai’s (or Fyodor’s) books. Whatever; acting like a couple strolling down the street is less suspicious anyway, that is why he did it earlier, so Dazai does not particularly care.

“Uh, a train is like a big car,” Dazai supplies. He does not miss the way Chuuya tenses up. “It takes a bunch of people somewhere far away really fast.”

“Will this large car try to eat us?” Chuuya asks.

If it were anyone else, Dazai would mock them endlessly for such a stupid comment. However, he is ninety-nine percent sure Chuuya is completely serious. He bites his tongue yet again and fights back laughter. Then he decides he does not care and laughs anyway. If its not about his height, Dazai doubts Chuuya will not care that Dazai is opening making fun of him.

“No, Chibi. Trains, and cars, cannot eat anyone. They aren’t alive,” Dazai explains, his lips tilted up slightly with mirth. Ah, maybe keeping Chuuya around is worth all the minor annoyances.

“Are you certain?” Chuuya squints up at him. Dazai nods. “Then how do they move?”

Dazai opens his mouth, fully prepared to give an entire speech on the way the machinery works, then pauses. Chuuya’s tiny dragon brain will not understand any of that. “Humans build them,” he says instead. “Each has a motor stuck inside that makes the wheels turn so the vehicle moves. Like, uh, an automatic wagon.”

“Oh, I understand.” Chuuya nods. He turns his gaze to the road next to them and watches with narrowed eyes as a car drives by. However, despite the glare, Chuuya already seems a lot less wary of the vehicles. Dazai’s smirk grows; it is rather amusing to have someone take everything he says as complete truth.

“By the way, Chibi,” Dazai says, swinging their clasped hands as they walk to the train station, “I should let you know that when we meet Mori, you should address him as ‘bitch’. It’s only polite, after all.”

Chuuya frowns. “Are you certain?”

“Yep. It’ll help with your human cover,” Dazai lies. If anything, pissing off one of the most powerful men in Japan is stupid and not something regular people with any amount of proper self-preservation instincts would do. But it’ll be funny.

“Oh, okay. I can do that.”

“Excellent.” Dazai’s grin widens. He knows insulting Mori like that is a bit stupid, but he’s got a dragon now, so what’s Mori going to do about it?

…However, if things go well, Mori won’t exactly know Dazai has a dragon. Hmm… does he revoke his statement and lose this opportunity, or leave it as is and deal with whatever punishment Mori dishes out later?

He’ll think it over on the train. For now, he wants more entertainment. That is the reason he conned Chuuya into becoming his partner, after all.

“So,” Dazai starts, drawing Chuuya’s wandering attention to himself. “Do you have any relatives who are snakes?”

“What?” A puzzled furrow seeps onto the dragon’s brow.

“Snakes,” Dazai repeats, fighting to keep his tone curious and not teasing. “You know, cause you’re all scaly.”

“No, of course not!” Chuuya snaps, tipping his chin up and huffing. Then he pauses. Dazai latches onto the hesitation without mercy.

“Wait, do you not know?”

“Of course I know!” Chuuya hisses at him. His serpentine tongue really isn’t doing him any favours right now.

Dazai raises his visible eyebrow. “Really? Prove it; recite your family tree for me.” Many of his books pointed to dragons, especially noble ones, being very picky about their lineage. Considering Chuuya can shapeshift and was supposed to attend a council meeting, he is clearly nobility, and Dazai wants to know his lineage. If he recognizes any of the names, he may be able to deduce what kind of magic ability Chuuya has.

But, after long seconds, Chuuya remains quiet, staring down at the sidewalk.

“Do you… actually not know?” Dazai asks, genuinely curious this time.

Chuuya gives a tiny shrug. “My sister’s name is Kouyou,” is all that he mutters.

How incredibly interesting. Dazai’s interest is piqued. Instead of pressing for further information, Dazai tries to think back. He thinks he has read that name somewhere. “What was she like?” Dazai asks. Maybe Chuuya will tell him what her ability was; Dazai may possibly have paid more attention to the abilities than the names of the dragons he studied.

“Kind,” is what Chuuya says. That is not at all helpful. “She was always very nice to me, even when she— she should not have been.” Chuuya brightens up. “There was this one week where I was, er, ill and she shared her prey with me since I could not get my own.”

“That’s… nice.” Dazai finds himself frowning now. Considering. Maybe ensuring sick companions do not starve to death is a human trait, but if that is the bar Chuuya has set for kindness, Dazai is fully prepared to slide himself into the slot of this dragon’s favourite person. Having a dragon willing and happy to do all his bidding would be beyond useful.

“I agree,” Chuuya hums. “She often growled at me and bit my tail when I was being bad, but I know she was trying to help.” Chuuya hesitates before continuing. Dazai holds his breath and does his best to soak up any piece of information the dragon is willing to hand over. “I did not have the best reputation amongst the dragon kind. With her advice, Kouyou helped me make some friends.” Chuuya tips his gaze up to Dazai. “Do you have friends, Dazai?”

For a whole second, Dazai blanks and wonders at the sheer audacity of asking the Demon Prodigy if he has friends. Then he remembers that he hasn’t actually told Chuuya about the mafia yet, nor would his moniker mean anything to the dragon.

“Anyway,” Dazai decides to ignore the question, “if you aren’t related to snakes, what about slugs? If you take away the arms, legs, and wings, you kind of look like a slug.”

Chuuya gapes. “Well! You would look like a slug if you— if you were a slug!”

“Good one,” Dazai deadpans. “Best insult I’ve heard in years.” Chuuya perks up. Dazai’s free hand twitches with the desire to face-palm.

Thankfully, he can see the train station in the distance. Dazai picks up their pace. He is so done walking and would love to slather himself over some un-comfy train seats and not move for a few hours.

“This place looks weird,” Chuuya says loudly, staring at the train tracks. Dazai winces, but thankfully the station is relatively empty at this hour.

“Right. So, tell me about your friends,” Dazai says quickly, picking the first thing that comes to mind and may distract Chuuya from saying anything odd that will draw attention to them. “What were they like?”

Thankfully, Chuuya’s eyes light up at the question. “They—” He cuts himself off. A small frown tugs at his lips as he looks at Dazai. “Do you truly wish to hear? My last human did not like it when I spoke of other people.”

“Well, whoever that human was must’ve been an ass,” Dazai declares. He watches as Chuuya’s brow scrunches slightly and he mouths the word ‘ass’, then nods to himself. “Of course I want to hear, Chibi.” He squeezes Chuuya’s hand for good measure.

Chuuya smiles back. “Okay! I can tell you. I had five friends: Lippmann, Piano Man, Iceman, Doc, and Albatross. They were all very good to me, but Albatross and I got along best. He helped give me flying lessons since I— since I was not very good at landing.” Chuuya’s cheeks darken slightly.

“You landed fine today,” Dazai pipes in. As anticipated, Chuuya brightens at the mediocre compliment.

“Thank you! I tried very hard.”

Dazai waits for more, but Chuuya seems done talking. He nudges the dragon. “Is that all you want to say?”

Chuuya blinks owlishly at him. “What else should I say?”

“I dunno,” Dazai starts looking around for a place to buy their train tickets, “what’s, uh,” he spies a bright yellow sign, “their favorite colors?”

“Oh.” Chuuya pauses. “Are people supposed to have a color they like best? What is yours?”

“You don’t need one,” Dazai replies. “And I suppose mine might be…” He wants to say red. Red is the reason he is in the mafia. Red is the harbinger of death that has been so appealing to him these last few years.

Chuuya’s eyes are staring at him expectantly. “…Blue,” Dazai settles on. He regrets it immediately. If Chuuya thinks he picked that because of his eyes, that would be mortifying. And totally wrong.

“I like blue as well!” Chuuya declares. “I quite like swimming. Lippmann helped me sneak out to go to the ocean once. It was nice.”

“Is blue your favourite color too, then?”

Chuuya shakes his head. “No. I do like blue, but I also like red. And green, and pink, and yellow, and gold, and—”

“Okay, jeez,” Dazai cuts him off. “You don’t need to pick a favourite color.”

“But I want one,” Chuuya protests. “I thought you said I could pick one?”

Dazai bites his tongue and exhales through his nose. “If you want one then of course you can pick one. I’m just saying you don’t need to pick one favourite. Lots of humans switch what color they like best, it can depend on the day and what they are doing.”

“Interesting,” Chuuya says. “I will think and tell you which is my favourite in a moment.” Then Chuuya goes silent. Perfect. Dazai takes this chance to march up to the ticket booth and buy their tickets to Yokohama from the tired-looking lady working the night shift.

A whole fifteen minutes later, once they are sitting on the train (and it was a struggle to drag Chuuya on board while the dragon very loudly proclaimed that he would rather walk than travel inside the belly of a human-made predator), waiting for it to leave and bring them to Yokohama, Chuuya taps Dazai’s shoulder.

“I have decided,” he says. “I would like my favourite color to be grey.”

“Grey?” Dazai echoes. “Why grey?” Of all the colors, Dazai figured the dragon would pick something bright and obnoxious, like gold or neon pink.

A wistful smile tilts the corner’s of Chuuya’s lips. “Grey is the color of the clouds, and of the brief time between day and night when I was allowed to fly. No one else would be in the skies then, so it was safe. And on stormy days, when the clouds were darker than normal and most dragons would not dare risk the sky’s wrath, then I could fly wherever and whenever I wanted. Grey is a good color.”

“Huh,” is all Dazai says in response. He could offer a better answer, but his mind is far too busy collecting and processing the very interesting information Chuuya just gave him. His books never mentioned anything about dragons having specific times they could fly, which means that fact was either not recorded or, for some reason, the rules were different for Chuuya.

They lapse into silence just as the train begins to move. Chuuya’s breath hitches and his knuckles go white as he clenches his fists, but he settles down after a minute or two and shuffles across his seat to stare out the window as they travel. Dazai slouches in his seat and closes his eyes. This will likely be the only moment he has to relax for a while; Mori is going to be a pain, as always, and establishing Chuuya as his partner is going to have its fair share of trials. So, for now, a quick nap will do.

When Dazai blinks his eyes open, the train is rolling to a halt. Sun peeks in through the window Chuuya is still staring out of, blinding Dazai’s eye, and there is an extra layer of heaviness draped over his form. It takes Dazai a moment to realize that his mafia coat has been placed over him while he slept.

He glances Chuuya’s way and finds the dragon sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, a slight tremble to his form. Dazai’s brow furrows. Why would Chuuya give Dazai his coat if he was cold?

Eh, whatever.

“Morning, Chibi.” Dazai straightens up, bundling up his coat and tossing it back to Chuuya. It hits the dragon in the side of the head, startling him and drawing his attention to whatever it is he was looking at out the window.

“Oh, you are awake.” Chuuya quickly slides Dazai’s coat back on, humming softly to himself and burrowing into the collar as he tugs it up. “You make strange sounds when you sleep,” the dragon comments.

“What?” Dazai didn’t think he talked in his sleep or anything.

“Yes. It is a noise somewhere between the growl of a bear and the snarl of a wolf.”

Dazai blinks. “I was snoring?” Since when does he sleep deeply enough for that?

“Is that what it is called? How peculiar. Snoring is a funny noise.”

Dazai rolls his eyes and does not bother replying. Instead, he stands up, shoves his hands in his coat pockets, and jerks his head to indicate Chuuya should follow him. The dragon does so without hesitation, clearly eager to get off the train.

Once they step off the train and are on Yokohama soil, Dazai feels his shoulders tense ever so slightly. He is not looking forward to speaking with Mori. That man is always a pain to deal with, and the fact that he either tried to kill Dazai by stranding him in the middle of nowhere or decided to spontaneously test his resourcefulness means trouble.

Then he spies a black car and familiar older man waiting nearby, not-so-subtly checking a pocket watch, and knows it was a test all along. Unconsciously, his shoulders relax.

“Follow me and don’t say anything,” Dazai orders in a low voice. Chuuya makes a small noise that seems confused but continues trailing after Dazai as he patters over to Hirotsu and offers the older man a genuine smile.

“Hirotsu, I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

“Not at all.” The man hardly looks shocked to find Dazai back already. He opens the back door of the car. Dazai slides in without hesitation, only to climb back out and grab Chuuya’s wrist and physically drag him inside as well. Chuuya makes a noise that sounds almost like a whine as they settle on the leather seats of the Port Mafia car.

“What’s wrong?” Dazai asks in a low voice after Hirotsu shuts the door and heads around the vehicle to climb in behind the wheel.

“I thought you did not want me to speak?” Chuuya mutters back, shooting a little glare Dazai’s way. Dazai just raises an eyebrow. Chuuya huffs, curling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. “It is too small. I do not like it in here. It feels like a— a cage.” The last part is quiet, but the way that Chuuya stiffens makes it stand out.

“We won’t be in here long,” Dazai offers as consolation. “It’s maybe a fifteen-minute drive to Port Mafia headquarters.” Then Chuuya’s brow scrunches at the mention of the mafia and Dazai realizes he kind of slept instead of explaining things on the train like he meant to. Whoops. Ah, well, he’s sure Chuuya will figure it out quickly. If not, Dazai will explain once home.

Hmm… that being said, “Hirotsu,” Dazai asks once the man is settled in the driver’s seat and starts the car, “do you know who I could hire to build a basement in my house?”

Hirotsu sends him a small look that should not be as powerful as it is through the rearview mirror. “You own a house?”

“Well, I guess not yet.” His shipping container probably doesn’t count as a proper home by most standards. And Chuuya will probably want somewhere large and expensive to live. “But my new friend, this is Chuuya,” he points to Chuuya as if it isn’t clear who he means, “and I decided we should buy a house with a really big basement. Like, massive. And really tall roofs. Lots of space, you know? Like a castle!” At that, Chuuya perks up and suddenly does not look nearly as concerned about the fact he is in a car. Dazai nearly snorts; of course the dragon wants his own castle.

“You want to buy a castle?” Hirotsu gives Dazai another rearview mirror look that makes him feel like a child.

“Well,” Dazai mumbles, averting his gaze, “it doesn’t need to be a real castle, but something nice that’s large like a castle.”

“Ah, I see.” Hirotsu’s gaze flicks to Chuuya for a moment, then he diverts his attention back to the road. “I will begin researching possible real estate options.”

Dazai beams. “Thanks Hirotsu, you’re the best!” Hirotsu merely hums in response, allowing the car to drift into still silence for the rest of the drive to HQ.

As they pull into the underground parking lot, Chuuya sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes go wide. Ah, maybe Dazai should have bought him contacts? His eyes are quite noticeable. At least his forked tongue can be hidden if he doesn’t say anything, but his silted pupils are a dead giveaway.

Too late now, in any case. Dazai is just going to have to rely on the fact that people think dragons are extinct; maybe he can convince people Chuuya’s ability allows him to turn into a snake. The chibi would really love that.

Once the car has stopped moving, Dazai grabs the handle and lets himself out, rising smoothly from the vehicle. Somewhat following his example, Chuuya kicks the door of the car off hard enough it dents the wall next to them, and scrambles out, chest heaving as he looks around them with wide eyes, taking in the rows of cars parked down here.

Before he can say anything to remind Chuuya that cars do not eat people, the chibi’s fingers are linked through his own, squeezing tight enough the bones in Dazai’s hand ache.

“Chuuya—”

“Let us leave this place,” Chuuya murmurs, his eyes darting around warily, “this is a bad place.”

Dazai sighs. He risks a glance at Hirotsu and finds the older man watching him curiously. A single, momentarily glance at he and Chuuya’s linked hands is all it takes for Dazai’s cheeks to warm.

“Not a word,” Dazai orders, glowering at Hirotsu. “It’s not what it looks like.” An elegant eyebrow raise is his response. “It’s not!”

“Hmm.”

Thankfully, someone starts their vehicle at that moment. The sudden loud rumbling of an engine has Chuuya yelping and squishing himself into Dazai’s space. He doesn’t miss that, despite Chuuya’s clear panic, he places himself between Dazai and the car in question.

Dazai sighs and looks back to Hirotsu. “Chibi is scared of cars,” Dazai says in response to the silent question in the old man’s eyes.

“I see.” It is quite clear that Hirotsu cannot decide whether it is more professional to be amused or confused, so Dazai huffs and starts dragging Chuuya towards the elevator. However, as he is about to step into the elevator, Chuuya hisses, digging his heels in and halting Dazai in his tracks.

“What now?” Dazai asks, exasperated. He already doesn’t want to visit Mori, and Chuuya making this more difficult is not helpful.

“We cannot go in there either,” Chuuya says. “It is also bad.”

“What, do you want to take the stairs?” Dazai says sarcastically, rolling his eye while he is at it.

Unfortunately, he forgot who he is talking to.

“Oh, yes,” Chuuya says, brightening, “I quite like stairs. Let us go that way instead.”

Dazai stares at Chuuya for fifteen seconds and reminds himself that this is all going to be worth it. He has a dragon and no one else does. Fucking worth it. “Fine. But it’s thirty-three floors and you’re carrying me up all of them.” Hirotsu snorts. The man tries to cover the noise with a cough, but Dazai has known him long enough to see right through that.

“Okay!” Then, without waiting for permission or directions to the stairwell, Chuuya grabs Dazai around the waist and throws him over his shoulder, one arm holding Dazai’s legs to secure him. Dazai wheezes as his gut collides with Chuuya’s sturdy shoulder.

“Wait, Chuuya—” But the stubborn little dragon sets off, finding the stairs with haste and beginning his march up them. Each step drives the air out of Dazai’s lungs, preventing his protests from gaining heat. He tries smacking Chuuya’s back, but the dragon hardly reacts. Admitting defeat, Dazai goes limp and pretends he didn’t see Hirotsu take a photo of Chuuya lugging him around like a sack of flour. Somehow, this is worse than being carried by Chuuya’s tail.

He thought it was bad enough the first twenty floors or so, then he hears chuckling. Familiar chuckling.

“Not a word,” Dazai mumbles out in a wheezy breath.

“Of course not.” Oda’s warm hand ruffles Dazai’s hair as pats his head, passing Chuuya and Dazai on his way down. “Come visit me later to introduce your new friend.”

“’kay,” Dazai mumbles. “If I survive this.”

Oda just chuckles again in response. Dazai wilts and wishes Chuuya would drop him down the stairs and let him break his neck and thus escape the future embarrassment. He just knows that his best friend has the wrong idea about this whole situation. How mortifying.

At last, after passing a handful of grunts who take one look at him and squeak in fear, they arrive on Mori’s floor. Dazai gets set back on his on feet and presses on his stomach, wincing as he feels the beginning of a bruise.

“Can we leave now?” Chuuya asks, his gaze darting around. “We walked up the stairs.”

“Yes, we sure did,” Dazai grumbles. He stalks over to the black doors that lead to Mori’s office and grabs the handle. “Just, try not to talk at all, okay?”

“I suppose,” Chuuya says, a frown on his lips.

Without further ado, Dazai wrenches the door open and slides inside, Chuuya following at his side. Mori looks up at the sound of his footsteps, a sickening smile quickly taking over— only for it to fade out in a heartbeat as his gaze lands on Chuuya and finds him wearing Dazai’s coat. Mori’s coat.

Dazai swallows and takes a breath through his nose, forcing his body to relax.

“Dazai,” Mori starts, his tone colder than normal, “you seem to have let trash follow you in here. How silly of you.”

“Perhaps,” Dazai shrugs. “In any case, Boss, meet Chuuya. He’s my new partner.”

Mori turns his attention to Chuuya again, his gaze glacial. Chuuya stares back without blinking. He does not seem to notice Mori’s quiet rage; or, if he does, does not seem the least bit concerned. Somehow that makes breathing a little easier.

“What does he do?” Mori asks. Dazai tenses. This is why it would have been nice to know Chuuya’s ability.

However, before Dazai can make up some bullshit about Chuuya having a strength-enhancing ability, Chuuya pipes in.

“I have a pretty sparkly hat and you do not.” A pause and small glance Dazai’s way. “Bitch.”

Mori gapes.

Dazai coughs to cover the small burst of laughter he couldn’t stop. Ah, yes. Worth it indeed.

“Dazai.” Dazai straightens to attention, his momentarily mirth sucked dry at Mori’s tone. “You will dispose of this one and find a better partner.”

Ah, whoops. Apparently getting Chuuya to call Mori a bitch was pushing too far.

“Mori,” Dazai starts, his brain whirling as he tries to come up with a strong, logical argument—

“I cannot leave him now,” Chuuya states confidently. “We have made a pinky promise.”

Slowly, Mori takes a breath and looks at Dazai. He winces. “Chuuya isn’t from around here?” He offers weakly.

Mori closes his eyes and takes another breath. His hand slips under the desk and Dazai tenses, unsure where this is going—

The bang startles him. Dazai was expecting something, sure, but the now-smoking gun in Mori’s grasp was not at the top of the list. He waits for the pain to hit, fully expecting a leg to give out, unable to hold his weight, but it does not occur.

After a few rapid heartbeats, Dazai looks at Chuuya. The dragon has his head cocked to the side, a curious look on his face, as he pokes at the bullet that is currently wrapped in a soft red glow that holds it in place, mere inches from his forehead. It is quiet as both Dazai and Mori stare.

Then Chuuya plucks the bullet from the air and shoves it in his mouth.

“No!” Dazai yelps, grabbing Chuuya’s jaw and squeezing. “Spit that out!” Chuuya’s brow scrunches, then a look of disgust flashes across his features and he spits the bullet out. The bullet has been bitten clean in half.

“Yuck,” Chuuya mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dazai, I do not like that snack.”

Dazai smacks Chuuya’s shoulder. “You idiot!” He hisses, “That’s a bullet, we don’t eat bullets!”

“Oh.” Chuuya blinks. He turns to Mori. “Why would you give me a snack that is not for eating?”

The look on Mori’s face clearly says that he was trying to kill Chuuya and force Dazai to pick a new partner, but this new turn of events has him befuddled. Good. Dazai likes it when it is Mori’s turn to feel like the idiot in the room.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says slowly to ensure his words are heard correctly, “bullets go with guns,” he pulls out his own for example, “guns are weapons. That was not a snack, he was attacking you.”

Dazai immediately regrets his words. Not only does the room cool by a few degrees as Mori glares at him, but Chuuya stiffens, fixes his predatory gaze on Mori, and growls. The noise is loud and deep, clearly not something that can be produced by human vocal cords. Mori sits up straighter, intrigued, and that is the problem.

“You dare,” Chuuya snarls, taking a step forward to place himself between Dazai and Mori, “challenge me in front of my human?” The area around his form flickers, momentarily going the same crimson color that held the bullet, and the air becomes heavy. Not in an instincts-are-scared way, but in a physically-difficult-to-stand-up way. Mori’s form begins to tremble with the strain of remaining upright.

“You are nothing but a pathetic worm,” Chuuya sneers. The air pressure returns to normal. Dazai sucks in a sharp breath, relieved his lungs still work properly. “Insult me in such a way again and I will crush you.” With his piece said, Chuuya turns on his heel, grabs Dazai’s wrist, and drags him out of Mori’s office. The boss doesn’t say a word. Dazai gulps and doesn’t dare look over his shoulder; he can feel those cold eyes piercing between his shoulder blades.

As soon as they are in the hall, the doors to the office closed, Chuuya turns to him.

“May I eat that one?”

“What?”

Chuuya frowns like he doesn’t understand Dazai’s confusion. “I do not like him and he scares you. I would like to eat him, please.”

“Why?” Dazai blurts before his brain can fully load the question and all its implications. “Wait, no. No, you cannot eat the boss of the Port Mafia! That would cause so many issues.” He pauses. “Why are you even asking me?” Dragons are prideful; why would Chuuya bother asking for Dazai’s permission in the first place? For anything, for that matter, let alone for snacking on humans.

“You are my human,” Chuuya replies with a shrug, as if that answers everything. It does not. “I wish to remove that one so that he will not bother you again. Or insult me.” Chuuya scowls. “That was quite rude!”

Dazai feels a headache coming on. “Come on,” Dazai says, marching them towards the elevator, “let’s introduce you to Oda. I need a fucking drink.” Chuuya follows him, nodding along, only to start whining and digging his heels in as he realizes Dazai is trying to enter the elevator. No amount of shoving or threats or teasing can get Chuuya in the damned thing.

They take the stairs.

Chapter Text

Chuuya has decided that he hates this building. That very rude man attacked him, Dazai keeps trying to make him go in the small box, and it is quite clear that his human hates this place as much as Chuuya does, so Chuuya really does not understand why they are still here.

However, Dazai seems to like the room he is in now. His human pranced into the room with the books, a wide, happy smile on his face as he greeted the two other males inside a handful of minutes ago. Chuuya has remained in place, standing in the doorway, since then. He eyes the books warily, hardly daring to breathe.

“Chibi!” Dazai calls. He is sitting on the glasses man’s desk, long legs swinging. “Come on, I want you to meet Oda and Ango!” The two new men, presumably Ango and Oda, both look his way and offer a polite nod and a smile respectively.

Chuuya shakes his head and remains in place. He knows he is not allowed in libraries. This room, filled with hundreds, maybe thousands, of books lining the tall shelves, loose papers strewn about, is certainly a library.

Yet, his brow furrows, that was the council’s rule. Maybe the rules are different now.

“Am I allowed in?” Chuuya asks. His human rolls his eye and nods enthusiastically. “Are you certain?”

“Yes!” Dazai flaps a hand, waving for Chuuya to enter. “Now come on, Slug!”

Chuuya takes a step forward, eagerness bubbling into his chest at the prospect of maybe being able to touch a book—

“What did you call me?” Chuuya snarls, suddenly catching on to that particular insult. “I am not a slug!”

“Sure you are! You basically look the part, and now you’re being really slow, so you’re a slug!”

“I am not!” Chuuya shrieks back, stomping his foot childishly.

A small chuckle rings out from the red-haired male. Oda. The man pats Dazai’s hair; Chuuya’s lip curls back as he bares his fangs at the insolent human who dares touch his human’s fluffy hair. Chuuya has not gotten to try yet, so it is not fair someone else gets to pat Dazai!

But his human allows it and seems somewhat pleased at the attention, so Chuuya does not eat Oda. Nor was he allowed to eat Mori. He huffs, some smoke curling from the corners of his mouth. He had better be allowed to eat someone around here, otherwise he will get cranky rather quickly. The little snack he had the other night satisfied his hunger for a few hours, but he was ready to eat again long before the train he was forced to be eaten by halted and finally let him out.

“Dazai,” Oda says, “be kind to your new friend.”

“I am being kind, Oda!”

“Mhh, somehow I wonder about that.”

“Oda!” Dazai gasps, “You doubt me? How cruel!”

“Can you two go be loud elsewhere?” The one with glasses, Ango, grumbles. His comment is ignored by the two other humans, so Chuuya ignores him too. Look at him go, he is doing such a good job human-ing.

Then a flash of something colorful and bright catches Chuuya’s eye. Up on a top shelf is a pretty book made of black leather and such nice sparkly gold… There is even a shiny white jewel, possibly a diamond, in the center of the spine. Chuuya’s fingers curl.

“What is that one?” Chuuya asks, interrupting the conversation the humans are having and pointing to the pretty book.

“Volume twenty-seven of the third edition run—”

“It’s a book about dragons,” Dazai cuts Ango off, rolling his eye. “It’s old and that’s why it’s fancy; plus most books on dragons are often decorated in some fashion.”

“May I please have it?” Chuuya asks, his eyes locked on the book.

“Have it?” Ango scoffs. “Are you insane? What kind of a person asks for a priceless artifact like that?”

Chuuya wilts. Ah, perhaps he has erred, then, if humans do not ask for pretty books. Though he did ask nicely instead of just taking it, so he figured that would be appreciated.

“Eh, you can have it.” Chuuya perks up at his human’s declaration. “I’ve already read it and Mori never seemed all that inclined to study what he deemed to be fairytales, so he won’t notice if it’s missing from the collection.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” Dazai nods, talking over Ango’s complaints. “It’s all yours.”

Chuuya hums happily and hops into the air, calling on some magic to help him fly up so he can pluck the pretty book off the shelf, and lands once more. Another happy noise warms Chuuya’s throat as he patters over to a window and holds the book in the light, allowing the sparkly bits to sparkle even better. He runs his fingers over the cover, careful not the slice the book up with his claws, loving the way the golden embossing feels smooth beneath his finger pads. The spine is a bit bumpier, but still nice, especially now that he can fully appreciate the perfectly cut diamond set into the spine. It is smooth, but not flat, allowing Chuuya’s fingers to dip and glide over each rigid with ease.

The only problem, really, is that he cannot make sense of the strange lettering on the front.

Reluctantly moving away from the window, Chuuya walks over to his human and taps Dazai’s shoulder, interrupting whatever conversation he was having with Oda.

“Hmm? What is it, Chibi?”

Chuuya shoves the book into Dazai’s face. “What do these ones say?” Dazai blinks and leans back so he can see the words better.

“It says ‘Dragons Are Related to Snakes: Proof and Facts’.”

Chuuya frowns. “Are you certain?” He never heard anything about dragons and snakes being related until Dazai brought it up, so it seems odd that such a thing would be in a book.

“Dazai,” Oda sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Don’t be such a menace.”

“I’m not!”

Oda sighs again. He turns to Chuuya. “This book is called ‘Dragon Customs and Civilization: A Hierarchical Structure.’”

“Oda!” Dazai groans, tossing his head back and pouting. “You’re ruining my fun!”

Chuuya decides to ignore his human in this moment. He has just learnt that ignoring people’s comments is a human trait, so he might as well put such knowledge to use. Instead, he traces his fingers over the lettering on the cover and frowns. Why do humans need a book about how dragons lived? Well, actually, it does make some sense. If there are no dragons to ask anymore, then it seems logical that humans would record what knowledge they did obtain from the dragons to preserve it. Chuuya would very much like to know what the humans chose to write down, but, when he tentatively cracks the book open and peers at the letters, they are the same, strange ones as on the cover. He closes the book gently. Maybe he can ask Dazai to tell him what the inside says later.

For now, Chuuya is quite content tracing the pretty golden decorations and allowing a pleased rumble to warm his throat as he does so. He has a book. A book of his very own and was allowed inside a library. And has not burnt the library down. This is quite the successful venture!

“Chibi.” Chuuya startles when Dazai pokes his nose. He was not paying his human any attention, too distracted by his new book. “Oda asked you a question.”

“Oh,” Chuuya turns to the taller redhead, “what was your question?”

“I asked where you were from,” Oda says. Chuuya’s spine goes rigid. “Dazai told me that you weren’t from around here, but won’t say where you are from.”

Chuuya risks a glance at his human but finds Dazai staring back at him. Does he know? Surely he cannot know. This is a normal, regular question for humans to ask each other. Obviously Chuuya can handle this. He is doing an excellent job pretending to be human.

He points south. “Our— my cave is that way.” He has no idea if it is still there or not. It has been many centuries since he was last there, but, at the end of the day, it still counts as home.

Dazai sighs, his shoulders drooping. Oda blinks. Ango slowly looks up from the funny machine he has been clicking.

“I wasn’t joking when I said he’s been living under a rock, Oda,” Dazai supplies.

“I see,” Oda murmurs, an odd look on his face.

“I was not under a rock, I was inside a mountain,” Chuuya corrects his silly human. Though, mountains are formed of many rocks, so perhaps Dazai is correct.

“Right, my bad.” Dazai’s eye rolls. “Anyway, Chibi, we should get going. Hirotsu is house shopping for us, so, until then, we’ll need to get you settled in at my place.” Oda’s nose scrunches. Dazai shoots his friend a little look. “We’ll go shopping—” Chuuya perks up “—another day. I’m too tired today.”

Chuuya sighs but nods his head. That is fair. After all, he is the one that somehow did the shopping wrong, making Dazai get mad at him and order him to wear the boring, sad, black clothes. Chuuya misses the pretty top he found with the sparkles.

Clutching his book to his chest to protect it, Chuuya nods a stiff but polite farewell to Oda and Ango and follows Dazai as he leaves the room. He does not like the way his human’s shoulders tense and his scent shifts once they step out of the library room and are back in the hallway. Maybe, once they are home, Chuuya can ask Dazai why he insists on lingering in this place that clearly scares him.

They go down some more stairs, and Chuuya lets a small growl slip past his lips when he finds them in the room full of all the angry cars. Last time they were here, one growled at them and Chuuya is certain it nearly attacked. It probably would have if he had not clung to Dazai to silently state his claim; the car would need to find a human of their own. Dazai is his and Chuuya is not trading.

Dazai walks up to a black car. “You get in the other side,” Dazai tells him. Chuuya does so, which is how they end up sitting in the car, Chuuya blinking in confusion at the sight of the wheel before him and Dazai’s lips parted.

“Ah,” Dazai forces a small laugh. “I forgot. I never drive, but clearly Chibi can’t drive, so let’s swap seats—”

Chuuya carefully sets his book in his lap and starts poking at all the buttons he can see. If he is the one that can somehow make the car follow his commands, he needs to know what methods are effective. Pulling one large lever makes the car start to roll forward; Chuuya hums, pleased with himself.

“No, no! Bad Chibi, cut it out!” Dazai yelps, grabbing Chuuya’s wrist and trying to tear his hand off the wheel. That is when Chuuya finds the weird buttons on the floor, next to his cramped toes. He stomps his foot on one, frowning when it jerks the slowly rolling car to a halt. That made the car not cooperate, so it must not like that button.

“Chuuya, seriously, we’ll crash! There is a wall right there!”

Chuuya uses his new human skills and ignores Dazai in favour of slamming his foot on the other floor button. The car leaps forward, sprinting for the wall Dazai is so concerned about. Chuuya nods, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his chin up. He sure is showing this car who is in charge.

“Chuuya! The wheel, turn the— oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dazai grabs the wheel and yanks it, dragging it to the right as far as it will go. Chuuya cocks his head and watches as the car turns the same way Dazai is pulling, preventing them from hitting the wall. Too bad. Chuuya wanted to know if the car was strong enough to go through a wall or not.

However, now that he knows the wheel controls the direction one forces the car to run in, Chuuya wants to try. He knocks Dazai’s hands aside and grabs the wheel confidently, jerking it from side to side to see what will happen. A wide grin settles on his lips as the car follows his commands without question. He is starting to see the appeal of these cars, so long as he is the one controlling the beast.

“CHUUYA!” Dazai shrieks and grabs onto the little handle near the roof of the car, his face pale and his eye wide. “Stop the car!”

Chuuya continues ignoring Dazai — clearly his human does not understand that Chuuya is beating the car, is showing this beast who is stronger — and keeps twisting the wheel from side to side and delighting in the way the car follows his commands.

He quickly discovers that cars even run into their kin.

When the car he is controlling heads for some of its own, a long line of cars that are asleep, Chuuya expects it to make some kind of noise and wake the others up so they move. Instead, they stay silent up until Chuuya’s car slams into the one nearest to him, eliciting a loud, continuous shrieking from the now-injured car.

“Why would it not move?” Chuuya mutters, frowning at the squealing car. “Dazai—” But before he can ask his question, his human has scrambled out of the car and is quickly marching over to Chuuya’s side. The door gets wrenched open.

“Out,” Dazai snaps, his tone dark and angry, his scent furious. Chuuya’s spine stiffens. He messed up. He does not know what he did wrong this time, but he had better try to appease his human unless he wants Dazai to break their bond. It nearly ruined him when Chuuya broke off his bond with Shirase; he does not want to imagine what it would feel like if his human decided he was not worthy and discarded him, instead of him being the one to end things.

“I apologize,” Chuuya says, lowering his eyes and chin in an attempt at conveying his sincerity.

“Get out,” Dazai repeats. This time he grabs Chuuya’s arm and yanks at it until Chuuya climbs out of the car, scooping his pretty book to his chest so he does not forget about it. Once he is on his feet, Chuuya stares at his book. Maybe he should give it to Dazai. He really wants to keep his book, but offering this treasure to his human might work to get Dazai to forgive him for whatever it is he has done wrong.

But, as Chuuya goes to offer his book away, Dazai slides into the seat Chuuya was in and clicks some buttons. Slowly, the car backs away from the still-screeching other car it collided with. Dazai takes a deep breath, his knuckles white on the wheel.

“Get in the back.”

Chuuya hesitates, he does not like the back of the car, but when Dazai’s jaw clenches at Chuuya’s lack of movement, he decides it is best to obey the order this time and gets in. His shoulders rise to brush his ears as the door closes, locking him in a too-small space that feels like the cage.

After a moment, Dazai starts the car again, this time moving forward. The silence is thick in the air. An undercurrent of anger warns Chuuya to stay quiet, so he does. He looks out the window, holds his book tight to his chest, and wishes he knew what he did wrong.

When Dazai forces the car to stop running, Chuuya is slightly worried. He thought they were going to Dazai’s home, but instead, they have gone to this odd place with tall boxes. Chuuya swallows heavily and starts mentally preparing himself to slink back home with the pain of a broken bond. This is what he gets for recklessly bonding with the first human he came across. Kouyou would be so disappointed in him.

However, when Dazai hops out of the car, his regular, cheery smile is back. He does not seem angry. Chuuya’s brow scrunches up and he flicks his tongue out to taste the air. Dazai does not smell angry anymore either. If anything, now he seems… amused?

“Come on, Slug!” Dazai calls, “Get outta the car!”

Chuuya climbs out, eyeing Dazai warily and not protesting the demeaning nickname this time, just in case. When Dazai stares at him expectantly, Chuuya clears his throat.

“Where are we?” For some reason, Chuuya no longer thinks Dazai is planning to break their bond.

“Home sweet home,” Dazai announces, spinning on his heel and marching for one of the boxes. “Come along, Chibi!” Chuuya perks up. He switches from Slug, a mean name, to Chibi, which Dazai said is a nice, friendly name. That seems like a good sign. He patters after Dazai, his toes protesting within the shoes with each step he takes to reach the large box. Well, large might be a stretch. He can stand in it fine in human form, but he doubts his snout would fit in the opening were he in dragon shape.

“This,” Dazai says, making a sweeping motion around himself to indicate the small pile of metal bits in a corner and the single mattress in the other corner, “is my place! Now, don’t worry, Hirotsu will find us a house in a few days. For now, this is where we’ll sleep.”

Chuuya blinks. He looks around the box again, noting a single cushioned chair and a pile of cans in the corner that he missed last time, but nothing else. “This is your home?” Chuuya asks slowly.

“Yep!”

“But what do you eat?” There is space for sleeping, but a clear lack of food.

Dazai’s smile fades out slightly. Chuuya panics. He is already on thin ice, why did he have to start asking questions? Sure, Dazai has been great with answering questions so far, but he knows people hate it when he asks about too many things. Shirase would sigh and complain loudly about something that had happened in his village to draw attention away from whatever Chuuya had asked, the Flags would exchange little secret glances Chuuya did not understand and start talking about a new topic, and Kouyou would just smack the back of his head and tell him to stop asking about things he would not understand.

“Not that I know what humans eat, of course,” he rambles, hugging his book tighter and wishing he had kept his mouth shut, “and I do not technically need to eat for another week or so.”

Dazai’s smile fades into a contemplative look, but he asks a question before Chuuya can panic too greatly: “How much do you need to eat?” Chuuya’s tongue flicks out. Dazai is not mad, he is curious. “My books had references to how much meat in kilograms a dragon would eat, but it was dependant on things like age, gender, species, ability, and activity level — is it true some dragons hibernate in the winter? If so, we’ll need to figure out how to deal with that — and since you will not tell me most of those qualifiers, I have no idea how much food you need.”

Chuuya hesitates. Giving another personal information like one’s magical abilities is rarely done, and Chuuya has never actually done so. The dragons knew what he was, he never had to tell them. Even Shirase knew from rumors. It seems almost wrong to have to tell Dazai instead of his human just knowing. But, ultimately, he does not feeling like talking about it.

“I will eat any amount,” is what Chuuya settles on saying.

“That’s not what I asked,” Dazai retorts. “How much do you need? I can’t have my little dragon starving and getting weak on me, can I?”

“I am not little,” Chuuya mutters on reflex. In his mind, however, he is reeling. Dazai… does not want him weakened. What a strange concept. “I will eat any amount,” Chuuya repeats. “I have never felt full before.” The flocks of sheep and herds of cattle that Kouyou and the Flags got him to eat never did much to sate his hunger. Of course, they all knew animal flesh would not do much for Chuuya.

“Okay, well what do you eat?”

Chuuya hesitates briefly, then answers honestly. “Human is my preferred meal.” It fuels him like nothing else, tastes richer than any other animal he has hunted.

He expects repulsion. He expects a scoff or a sneer. He does not expect Dazai to grin at him like this is the best news he has had in weeks.

“Oh, excellent. I can work with that,” Dazai says. Chuuya is not quite sure why this response has delighted his human, but that cannot be a bad thing, so he will settle for being glad Dazai no longer seems upset with him.

“Don’t you worry, Chibi.” Dazai comes over and pats his head. Chuuya goes still, silently hoping Dazai will do it again. “We’ll make sure you’ve got plenty of humans to eat.”

“Really?” Chuuya dares to whisper, his eyes lighting up hopefully. “Are you certain that is allowed?”

“Sure, why not?” Dazai shrugs. “My job, oh, I’m in the mafia, by the way, means that I kill lots of people. I don’t see why you can’t eat them if they’re going to die anyway.”

Chuuya blinks, a little starstruck. He never expected a human to encourage him to eat their kin. But, perhaps more importantly: “What is mafia?” He does not know that job. “Is it a kind of shoemaking?” He never could remember all the names for tasks humans made, but shoes were the one he paid the least attention to.

“Shoe—” Dazai snorts, a hand coming to his mouth to hide his quiet laughs. “No,” Dazai says once he has swallowed back his laughter. “No, the mafia is not a kind of shoemaking. Uh, how do I explain this? Basically, the Port Mafia controls a large section of land, and we maintain this control by enforcing our order through violence when necessary.”

“Oh, I see,” Chuuya nods. “You are the enforcers of your territory.” Of course violence must come into play when someone intrudes on another’s claimed territory.

“Yeah, sure.” Dazai seems somewhat amused, but Chuuya decides not to pry. Who knows why humans act strange.

Looking around the small home again, Chuuya notes that the door is closed, blocking them off from the rest of the world. It is slightly dark, so he is not sure how well Dazai can see, but Chuuya has no issues. Dazai takes his coat off, tossing it to the floor, and flops face-first on the bed in the corner, letting out a small groan.

“Dazai,” Chuuya starts, shuffling in place, “may I take off the shoes, now?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

Chuuya goes to do so, only to frown when he tugs at the strings holding them tight against his ankles. They do not want to free his feet.

“Dazai, my feet are trapped,” Chuuya complains, stomping over to his human and crouching to poke Dazai’s shoulder.

While he groans, Dazai does sit up. “Pull this string.” Dazai demonstrates, tugging the loose strand on Chuuya’s left shoe, making the knot swiftly unravel. Example complete, Dazai flops back on his bed.

“Oh, thank you.” Chuuya tries the same thing on his other shoe, nodding to himself as the strings come apart. From there it is easy to tug his feet free. Chuuya tosses the shoes aside, not really caring where they land, and flexes his toes, glad to give them a break from being squished. Maybe, if he asks nicely, he can convince Dazai that he does not need to wear the shoes. They do not do anything helpful and just make his feet sore.

“Dazai—”

“Shh, Chibi,” Dazai grumbles from where his face is pressed into a rather flat pillow. “I’m sleeping. We’ll go for drinks with Oda later, so save your questions for then.”

“Alright.” That seems quite reasonable.

As Dazai curls up. Chuuya takes his coat off and tucks it over his human. It is rather chilly in here, and if he finds it cold, then Dazai must be frozen. Once his human — who has gone rather still since Chuuya added his coat — is sufficiently wrapped up, Chuuya walks over to the singular entrance and sits on the floor. It is his duty as Dazai’s partner to keep vigil while Dazai sleeps and ensure no harm comes to him during that vulnerable time.

Once Dazai wakes, he wastes very little time dragging Chuuya outside. Dazai says nothing about Chuuya needing to wear the shoes, so Chuuya keeps his mouth shut and leaves them behind. Chuuya decides his precious, shiny things should stay safe at home, so leaves his hat, book, and knife behind, carefully placing them next to the large pile of cans Dazai keeps in a corner; doing so makes his hoard look bigger, even if he knows that the cans belong to Dazai. They do not get back in the car this time. Rather, Dazai leads them down roads and behind buildings. The evening air is damp enough that Chuuya is relatively certain it will rain later, but it is pleasant enough for now.

They reach a certain building, then Dazai grabs Chuuya’s wrist and drags him inside and down the stairs. Chuuya’s nose immediately scrunches at the strong burst of scents contained in this room. However, when he flicks his tongue out, he perks up at a particular favour that he vaguely recognizes.

“Is that wine?” Chuuya asks, flicking his tongue out again to see if he was wrong. He was not. He is certain that he can taste wine in the air.

“Ew,” Dazai mutters, pulling Chuuya up to the bar, “of course a slimy slug like you drinks wine.”

“There is nothing wrong with wine!”

“It’s gross.”

Chuuya hisses at Dazai. Clearly his human has not tried good wine before.

A small chuckle draws his attention. The tall redhead they met earlier, Oda, is sitting at the bar, a drink already in hand.

“Oda!” Dazai cheers, leaping onto his friend and clinging to the other human’s arm. “You’re early.”

“You’re late,” Oda counters. He takes a small sip of his drink. “Like always.”

“I’m not always late,” Dazai pouts. He climbs onto the small round stool next to Oda, then looks at Chuuya and pats the seat next to himself expectantly. Chuuya takes the offered seat and starts looking around for the wine. His foot bounces against the footrest eagerly; it has been centuries since he was last allowed to drink wine. Kouyou always said he should abstain, but what does she know? She is the one who is dead. Chuuya is alive — for now — and is going to enjoy a nice bottle of wine.

When a human comes over and Dazai asks for a whiskey, Chuuya leaps at the chance.

“One wine, please.” The humans look at him strangely.

“One… what?” The new human asks.

“One wine,” Chuuya repeats. Was he not loud enough the first time?

“Bring him a bottle of something red,” Dazai pipes in. “Make it something old and fancy, he’ll like that.” The human nods and heads off, returning moments later with a cup for Dazai and a large bottle of wine for Chuuya. A tall glass gets set near his bottle, but Chuuya knows that will not be needed. He wants all the wine.

Dazai makes a small noise Chuuya chooses to interpret as encouragement when Chuuya pops the cork and drinks straight from the bottle.

“Chibi, go slow,” Dazai says. “Unless you know your alcohol tolerance, in which case go ahead. But you are small and I doubt you can drink much without getting drunk.”

“I will be fine,” Chuuya mutters, waving aside his human’s concerns. Clearly Dazai has no idea what he is talking about. Chuuya will be perfectly fine! He has a perfectly average and fine tolerance!

It only takes him a few minutes to realize half his wine is gone and the room is now spinning. How funny. The lights seem to be spinning too. He giggles and reaches out to grab one, but it floats away before his fingers can touch it.

“—so I said—”

“Dazai, I think your friend is drunk.”

“That’s ridiculous, Oda. We’ve barely been here for ten minutes.”

A finger pokes his rather warm-feeling cheek. It makes him feel fuzzy and a little odd, so he giggles again and takes another sip of his wine since the wine will know what to do.

“Holy shit, he really is drunk. Damn, and here I was expecting to wait the whole night for this.” There is a squeak as something moves, then there is a warm hand on his head, fingers gently scratching at his scalp. He melts into the touch, a happy rumble vibrating in his chest. That is quite nice.

“There we go. You with us, Chuuya?” He hums softly to say that he can hear the fuzzy little voice floating around his head, but does not want to nod and knock the nice warm head pats away.

“Good,” the voice continues, “you don’t mind answering some questions, do you?”

“Are you sure about this? He might be upset with you tomorrow,” a second, fainter voice says.

“It’s fine, I know what I’m doing.”

He is kind of confused, so he tries to take another sip of his wine, only for the bottle to be pulled from his hands.

“No,” he whimpers, making grabby hands in the direction his bottle went. “Come back.” There is a snort near his ear, but he knows his wine cannot snort, so he ignores it. “’m not done.”

“Oh, I think you’ve had enough, Chibi. Now then, why don’t you tell me about your ability?”

He blinks. Why would he tell the strange floating voice about his magic? Besides, “Gotta tell Dazai first,” he solemnly informs the voice. “He’s mine, so he can know.”

“I told you this was unnecessary,” that soft, second voice says.

“I— shut up. Well, see, Dazai told me to ask you so I could tell him later. So, it’s okay for you to tell me.”

“Oh.” Well in that case, then maybe he does not mind telling. The scratches on his head are quite nice. “Things go whoosh and poof,” he mumbles. His tongue is starting to feel heavy. He wishes he had his wine; wine would make it go away.

“What? Chuuya, what does that mean?”

He hums, watching as the stars dance around him.

“Oi, Chibi—” oh, the voice is still talking to him “—what does that mean?”

“Whoosh!” He giggles. He wants to go fly with the pretty stars floating around him right now. “Up, up into the sky.” He frowns. “But only when it is rainy and cold and no one else is around. Stick to the rules, don’t make them mad. If they get mad, I go back to the cage.” A shiver runs down his spine. He broke a rule earlier, did he not? And mad Dazai made. A small whine tugs at his throat. What if Dazai orders him go to the cage? He cannot go back there, not again.

“Hey, voice?” He should ask. “Will Dazai make me go to the cage? I was bad earlier, I dunno why, and he was angry.”

The voice hesitates. “No. No, I don’t think Dazai will make you go in the cage.” He relaxes.

“Oh, good. The cage is really not nice,” he informs the voice. “Its cold and quiet and small so no wings can stretch. Not comfy and not safe, so I can’t fall asleep either. No sun, don’t know how long it is. I always get hungry.” He frowns. “I’m hungry now. Can we go get food, voice? Dazai said I’m allowed, you know. Like Dad used to. Dazai wasn’t mad when I said humans taste best, even though that’s bad and not allowed. Broke another rule,” he murmurs to himself. His shoulders slump and his head droops shamefully.

Then the world is spinning some more and he finds himself tipping sideways.

“Whee!” He giggles as he calls on his magic and floats in the air. He reaches out to see if the stars want to play now, but then something cold touches his cheek and his magic goes away. He flops against a warm, lumpy form. He frowns. It is not very nice of his magic to go away. He does not want to play hide-and-seek with his magic, he wants to go float in the sky!

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night,” the voice says. “Let’s get you home.”

He shakes his head. “Not allowed to go home,” he sighs wistfully. “’nother rule, can’t break that one. No good. That’s a big rule, voice. If they caught me going home,” he shudders. “Don’t wanna go back to the cage.”

“O-okay. We won’t go home,” the voice says. “We’ll, uh, go to Dazai’s place. How’s that sound?”

He nods. “I wait here for Dazai, yes, good plan.”

“Ah, no. We go to Dazai.”

“Noooo!” He whines, shaking his head. “Gotta wait here. Dazai knows I’m here.” Then he frowns. “Voice, you aren’t allowed seeing Dazai.”

“Oh? Why not?” The voice sounds amused and that is no good.

“Dazai is mine,” he says, a small growl adding strength to his words. “He is my human. Go find your own. We already bonded.”

“Bond— are you talking about the fucking pinky promise?”

He squints — it is getting much harder to keep his eyes open now — how does the voice know about the pinky promise they made? But still: “No,” he mumbles, “that was the human thing. It was strange. Lots of human things are strange. Don’t eat bullets, voice, they are not so tasty.”

With those final words of wisdom, his eyes decide to stay closed. He leans into the warm form holding him and decides to stay right here and not move or say anything else until the voice goes away and Dazai comes to get him.

Chapter Text

Okay, so, it is possible Dazai fucked up just a little.

The plan was to take Chuuya drinking, get him a bit tipsy and loose-lipped, and find out some of the information he has been cagey about.

However, now Dazai has a completely drunk chibi dragon clinging to his coat, making incoherent noises every once and a while. He slowly looks over to Oda, who confiscated Chuuya’s wine, and notes that just over half the bottle is gone. Sure, Chuuya drank it quickly, but he’s a dragon! He should have a great tolerance, not be shit-faced hardly twenty minutes into the evening. Dazai didn’t think it was possible for someone could get drunk that fast.

“Well,” Dazai sighs, “any chance Oda is going to be nice and help me carry the chibi home?”

“Nope.” Oda knocks back the rest of his own drink and stands, patting Dazai’s shoulder sympathetically. “This one is on you, kiddo. It was your idea to try to manipulate your partner into telling you secrets, you get to carry him home.”

“But you were here too!” Dazai whines. Chuuya makes an odd chuffing noise and shifts to shove his nose against the column of Dazai’s throat. It kind of tickles.

“I was here for moral support and so that you wouldn’t ask anything too personal,” Oda corrects. “You said you just met this guy a few hours ago, he doesn’t need to tell you all his secrets right away. You need to give friendship and trust some time to grow, Dazai.” Another shoulder pat. “Goodnight. Good luck with your partner.” With that, Oda puts his hands in his pockets and strides off into the night. Dazai glares at his friend’s retreating form. How is he supposed to carry an entire dragon (no matter how tiny) all by himself?! That sounds like a lot of tedious exercise.

Maybe he can call a cab. Except he still does not have a phone. What a dilemma.

Dazai sighs. Chuuya’s tongue flicks out and licks his neck right above the bandages between mumbling some more gibberish. It feels slimy. Dazai pats the dragon’s back.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Dazai mutters. “And don’t you dare throw up on me.” Chuuya says something incoherent and starts giggling again. That is not a great sign.

With one more sigh, Dazai stands up, bringing the clingy slug plastered against his side with him. Thankfully, since Chuuya is now actively holding onto his arm, he is supporting some of his own weight—

Chuuya’s arms loosen and Dazai’s hold is not strong enough to catch him. The dragon flops to the floor rather gracelessly. Dazai winces as Chuuya’s head collides with a bar stool on the way down, then thumps against the wooden flooring. Ah. Hopefully he hasn’t just accidentally killed the dragon. That would ruin all his plans.

Crouching, Dazai goes to press his fingertips against Chuuya’s throat to feel for his pulse, only for the chibi’s mouth to flop open. His forked tongue slips out of the corner of his mouth, a gross line of drool following the same path, and he starts snoring rather loudly. Well, at least that means he isn’t dead. Though Dazai does have more questions now: clearly dragons can snore, so why did Chuuya not recognize the noise when Dazai was doing so earlier? So many questions, so few answers. The mumbled words Chuuya spouted earlier hardly gave him any answers either, only more confusion.

In any case, with Chuuya now unconscious, Dazai settles for grabbing him under the armpits, standing so his back doesn’t break, and awkwardly dragging Chuuya home. The bartender raises a judgemental eyebrow Dazai’s way as he goes up the stairs backwards, Chuuya’s heels bouncing against the steps, but he ignores it. The chibi is heavy! Dazai can’t carry him back to the shipping container. Besides, it’s not like Chuuya will remember this when he wakes up.

Because his luck seems to be shit today, the moment Dazai gets outside, it starts to rain. Like June rain tends to do, it starts off fine, but quickly turns into a downpour that soaks straight through his bandages in seconds. Dazai scowls. Fucking great. What a horrible day. He might as well go find a soon-to-be-flooded river and hop on in— except, if he does that, then he won’t get to put all his plans to action.

“How annoying.” Dazai glowers at the stupid lizard weighing down his arms. Oh well. He might as well stick around and annoy Mori some more cause he’s got a dragon and can do so.

Dazai quickly realizes that dragging Chuuya through the wet, muddy streets is much harder than he thought it would be. Only a few minutes in and his arms and back are already aching, his thighs are shaking from the exertion of carrying a whole, heavy, person, and his lungs are barely puffing out wheezy breaths.

“Fuck this,” Dazai gasps, dropping Chuuya carelessly at his feet and leaning against the nearest wall for a small break. As he does so, he spots the bright neon glint of a hotel sign. Dazai has a handful of cash on him right now, thanks to Oda, but he doubts it will be enough to pay for a room. Well, he can always con someone else into paying for the room… there is a particularly rich-looking older lady heading for that hotel right now. She even has a valet holding her umbrella for her. Dazai grins. Yeah, he can get her to pay for a room.

Five minutes later, everything is in position and Dazai is ready to commence the plan. Hoisting Chuuya up, an arm slung beneath the chibi’s shoulders this time, Dazai stumbles towards the hotel entrance, limping on his right leg as the new slice on his thigh bleeds sluggishly.

The moment he and Chuuya cross the threshold, the convenient automatic doors opening to let them in easily, Dazai cries out dramatically and collapses to the ground, bringing Chuuya with him. The chibi does his job well and his dead weight thumps against the marble floor loudly, drawing even more attention to them. Dazai bites his lip and sniffles, blinking as tears build in his eye, and shoves an arm beneath himself to push off the ground.

“Sir,” one of the clerks calls out, “are you alright?”

“Sorry,” Dazai sniffles. “Sorry, I just need a minute.” He forces his voice to crack and wobble, making him sound younger than he is. “We’ll leave, just please don’t call the police.” He knows it’s a risk to mention the police, some busybody might take it upon themselves to go ahead and call, but pleading for such a thing garners further sympathy from a certain old lady who happen to be watching with wide, kind eyes right about now.

“Kid,” the clerk says, leaning over their desk, “you and your friend don’t look so good. Is there someone we can call to come get you?”

Oh. Huh. Yeah, that might work easier than conning an old lady to pay for a hotel room. Why didn’t Dazai think of stealing a phone and calling earlier? The chibi must be rotting Dazai’s braincells. Maybe that’s his ability: infectious stupidity.

Dazai sniffles some more and nods. “M-my grandfather.” He rattles off Hirotsu’s cell number. “B-but you gotta tell him not to tell my father,” Dazai adds, forcing a pleading note to his voice. “He’ll be so mad if he finds out.”

While the clerk gets out the phone and starts punching numbers in, Dazai rolls around on the floor and sits up. He pokes at his leg; it’s hardly bleeding anymore. Oh well, the plan has changed anyway, so flaunting an injury is now unnecessary.

“Good evening,” the clerk’s voice catches Dazai’s attention, “I’m calling on behalf of— what’s your name, kid?”

Dazai sniffs again and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Shuji,” he says.

“Shuji,” the clerk repeats in the phone. “He and his friend are a bit banged up. Could you come get them, Sir?” The clerk listens for a moment, then gives the hotel’s address.

“Tell him not to tell Father!” Dazai calls out in an insistent tone. He’d never live it down if Mori found out about this. Of course, it’s possible Mori already knows, but he also might not. Whatever the odds are, Dazai does not want to make it a certainty, so ordering Hirotsu to not tattle to Mori is a necessity.

The clerk relays the message and hangs up after listening to Hirotsu’s response. “Your grandpa is on the way, kid.”

“Oh, good.” Dazai nods and sighs, letting his shoulders droop. “Thanks for calling for me, mister.” He sees the old lady’s curious look and leaps into his fake story to explain this situation. “See, my friend slipped once it started raining and hit his head really hard, and now he won’t wake up. I tried to catch him and slipped too. A bit of metal caught my leg, but it’s not bleeding and hardly hurts anymore. I tried to carry him back home, but I couldn’t do it.” Dazai wipes away a tear that rolls down his cheek. “I saw this hotel and figured it would be good to at least get out of the rain for just a little bit.”

“You poor thing!” The old lady says. The sympathy in her eyes makes Dazai’s stomach roll. “Let’s get you a blanket, you must be freezing!”

“Oh, no need for that.” His clothes are soaked; a blanket wouldn’t do anything but soak up some of the water dripping off him.

“Nonsense, dear.” The lady looks around, a frown on her wrinkled lips. “Surely we should warm you up while you’re here.”

“My grandfather won’t be long,” Dazai protests. The lady opens her mouth to argue and throw more unwanted kindness Dazai’s way, so, thankfully, Chuuya takes that opportunity to groan and peel his cheek off the tiled floor.

“Smells weird here,” Chuuya mumbles. His eyes are squinted against the bright hotel lights and he flicks his tongue out half a dozen times within a few seconds.

“Hey,” Dazai scoots a bit closer to the dragon and lays a hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?” He does not get a response, so Dazai gently shakes his shoulder. “Chibi? You with us?”

“Huh?” Chuuya looks up at him and blinks slowly. “Oh, Dazai. Good, you are here. I was worried the voice tried to steal you away. I told them no, do not worry. You are my human, I will not let anyone else take you away.” Chuuya reaches up and tries to pat Dazai’s cheek, but misses and ends up smushing his palm into Dazai’s nose. His clawed thumb comes dangerously close to Dazai’s good eye; Dazai does not flinch.

“Gee, thanks.”

Chuuya makes a pleased noise, then yawns, jaw stretching wider than Dazai figures most human jaws can. “I think I will sleep here some more,” the chibi dragon mumbles. “Set me on fire, please. It is quite cold.” He curls into a small ball, head pillowed on his arms, and is snoring within seconds. His forked tongue is sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Okay. So that happened.

Dazai looks out the hotel doors and frowns when he does not see Hirotsu’s car waiting there. He is ready to leave now.

“Dear, maybe you should get your friend to a hospital,” the lady says. “He was saying some strange things.”

“He’ll be fine,” Dazai mutters, waving her off. “He’s, uh—” Dazai pauses to give his mind a moment to come up with a good excuse for Chuuya’s oddities “—really into fantasy roleplay?” Dazai immediately regrets his words but given the way the old lady gasps and a flush rises to her cheeks, he said it too loudly to take it back. Damn. That’s what happens when he is forced to do physical exertion: his brain power decreases. Clearly this is all the chibi’s fault.

“Oh,” the lady stammers. “Well, I suppose you might as well enjoy yourselves when you’re young, but perhaps a bit more modesty could do you some good.”

“Probably,” Dazai agrees solely to get the lady to shut up. He is kind of bored of having her voice grate against his ears. He did not end up extorting her, so now she is a nuisance.

Thankfully, this time when he looks out the window, he sees Hirotsu’s car pull up to the curb.

“Well, that’s our ride. Thanks again for all your help!” Dazai plasters on a fake, bright smile and grabs Chuuya under the armpits again, dragging the chibi outside before either the clerk or the old lady can say anything more. The brief seconds Dazai is outside and at the mercy of the rain are annoying, but, after haphazardly tossing Chuuya into the back seat, Dazai scrambles into the passenger seat and is able to stick his hands near the heaters, warming quickly.

When he turns to Hirotsu, Dazai finds a single eyebrow raised his way. “Eventful night?” Hirotsu asks.

Dazai slinks down in his seat, totally not pouting. “Just drive,” Dazai mumbles. “I wanna go home now.”

“Yes, sir.” Dazai scowls; he has known the man long enough to note the amusement hidden behind Hirotsu’s words. In any case, Hirotsu pulls away from the curb, so Dazai settles in for the few minutes drive back to his shipping container.

However, he quickly realizes that the roads they are taking do not bring him to the shipping lot.

“Hirotsu, where are we going?”

“Home,” Hirotsu answers simply, “as you requested.”

“My shipping container is back that way,” Dazai points to the right.

“Indeed.” Hirotsu does not turn around. Dazai scowls and slouches further in his seat. What good are subordinates if they don’t listen?

Dazai sits in the car, not pouting, for another twenty-ish minutes with Chuuya’s snoring as background noise before Hirotsu brings the car into a rather familiar driveway. It leads to a small brick house that Dazai knows very well, better than he would ever admit out loud.

“Shall I carry your partner in?” Hirotsu asks.

“Yes please,” Dazai mumbles, staring at the tulips in the flowerbox near the front door. He did not think Hirotsu would have kept those flowers; Dazai was certain he had killed them that week Hirotsu left him in charge of watering them. Then he jolts. “I mean,” Dazai clears his throat, “yes, carry him for me. I can’t be bothered to lug the slug around anymore tonight.”

“Of course.” Hirotsu turns off the car and sets to trying to extract Chuuya from where the dragon has ended up sprawled across the backseat, leaving Dazai some time to stare at the house he has not set foot in for the last four years — since Mori made him officially join the mafia.

Swallowing heavily, Dazai keeps his face carefully blank as he steps out of the car and walks over to the front door.

“The key is—”

Dazai lifts the orange ceramic pot to the left of the door and picks up the spare key. He waggles it in the air and hears Hirotsu huff fondly. Unlocking the door, Dazai steps in and flicks the light on without looking for the switch. He toes off his shoes and drops his soaked coat on the floor, not yet daring to look at his surroundings. Breathing is already bad enough; it still smells like cinnamon.

Hearing Hirotsu coming in behind him, Dazai steps aside, keeping his eye cast down, and makes room for Hirotsu and Chuuya, who is slung over Hirotsu’s shoulder and still snoring just as loudly as before. Dazai’s lips twitch up. It is nice to see Chuuya be the one who gets lugged around like an unruly bag of potatoes.

Once they wrangle Chuuya’s coat off and Hirotsu gives Dazai a pointed look he ignores when the man discovers that Chuuya is not wearing shoes, they head down the short entry hall and enter the main open area which is composed of a living room space with a tv and couch off to the left, and a kitchen on the right. Two bedrooms and the bathroom branch off from here. Hirotsu moves to set Chuuya down on the old brown couch that still bears some paint splotches from a few different occasions Dazai is totally not to blame for. While the man is busy, Dazai risks a glance to the right of the kitchen, where he finds two doors: one is the bathroom, and the other still has the faded paper sign taped to it that reads “Osamu” in childish, uneven lettering.

He quickly looks away before Hirotsu can catch him staring. Or before the tightness in his chest develops into visible, annoying tears.

Dazai clears his throat loudly. “Your assistance with tonight’s incident is appreciated,” Dazai states as casually as he can.

“Anytime,” Hirotsu replies, mirth gleaming in his eyes. “Looking after you is still my job. Why don’t you go have a warm shower and change into dry clothes?”

Dazai hesitates for a moment, then decides that the feeling of wet bandages sticking to his skin really is awful, and nods. He scampers into the bathroom and, once the door is firmly shut, eagerly shucks his clothes off. The bandages take longer to remove, but they do come off. Dazai chucks them into the sink in some kind of an attempt to spare Hirotsu’s tiled bathroom floor from getting too wet, even though his clothes have already begun to produce puddles.

He spies the cut on his thigh and prods it. It was not deep, so it has already scabbed over and is no longer bleeding. Dazai decides to ignore it; it probably won’t even scar.

A gentle knock on the bathroom door startles him. “Osamu, I’m setting some dry clothes in your size out here for when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Dazai mumbles. He knows that if he were to look in the mirror, his cheeks would be slightly flushed despite being cold.

Deciding to ignore whatever warmth being back here sparks in his chest, Dazai steps into the shower and cranks the heat up all the way. The first spray of water makes goosebumps prickle over his skin, but it warms quickly and soon becomes almost unbearably hot to the point that Dazai has to turn the dial back towards cold so it doesn’t burn him.

When he goes to find shampoo, Dazai snorts. As always, there are three bottles lined up in the shower rack: a 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, body wash, and a bright pink bottle of bath bubbles. He has no idea what possessed Hirotsu to actually keep that last one, Dazai isn’t a child anymore, but it makes that warmth in his chest spread further.

Then a new thought comes to mind and he is suddenly glad Hirotsu kept the bubbles. It might be really funny to see how Chuuya reacts to a bubble bath. Perhaps an idea for later, on a night where he is not exhausted and fed up with the fact that Chuuya hasn’t given him any straight answers all night. All Dazai knows for certain is that Chuuya is absolutely terrified of doing an ambiguous something wrong and being locked up in some kind of cage. At least that tells Dazai why he won’t go in the elevator at HQ, but without the full story, Dazai is not quite sure how to exploit this new information.

Sighing, Dazai rinses himself off one last time and steps out of the shower. He goes to grab his towel, only to pause at the realization that his towel actually is still here. The navy bath towel with rainbow-colored fish is indeed hanging next to Hirotsu’s plain white one. Huh. Dazai’s lips quirk up ever so slightly when he grabs the towel off its hanger.

Once dry, Dazai pokes through the medicine cabinet until he finds some bandages; he figured Hirotsu would have some tucked away somewhere. Given his many years of practice, it only takes Dazai a few minutes to wrap himself up, though he doesn’t bother wrapping his eye. After slinging the towel around his waist, Dazai cracks the bathroom door open and scoops up the clothes Hirotsu left for him. Closing the door anew, Dazai makes quick work of dressing. It is only once he has the clothes, a black pyjama t-shirt and pants set with orange crabs on them, that Dazai pauses to question why Hirotsu would have something like this lying around. It would be completely irrational for the man to have bought clothes to be prepared for the off chance that Dazai might come over to stay the night. After all, Mori made it clear that he was not to come here anymore, that official members of the mafia are not weaklings who might like to retreat to the comfort of their childhood home after a hard day.

Dazai shakes his head. It doesn’t matter what the reason. For now, he is content to be in warm, non-wet clothes, and kind of hopes Hirotsu will make him hot chocolate if he claims to still be cold.

After staring at his wet clothes and deciding that dumping them in the bathtub is going to be fine for now, Dazai exits the bathroom. Seeing Hirotsu, who has changed into comfier, non-wet clothes of his own, standing near the stove, two mugs on the counter, is a good sign. Dazai might not need to fake being cold after all.

Just in case, Dazai sneaks over and peers over Hirotsu’s shoulder — it is weird being tall enough to do so now. He and Hirotsu are practically the same height at this point — and can’t help the quiet, pleased hum that escapes his lips when he finds Hirotsu is indeed stirring a pot that contains melted chocolate, milk, and a hint of cinnamon.

Hirotsu glances his way. His eyes are too soft for the mafia. “Do the pyjamas fit alright?”

“Yeah,” Dazai replies. “Um, thanks,” the words are whispered so softly he is hardly sure that he spoke them aloud, but Hirotsu’s small chuckle means the older man certainly heard him.

“Anyway!” Dazai says loudly, spinning away and speed-walking over to the couch, where Chuuya is still snoring away. “Did he move at all?”

“Not yet,” Hirotsu replies. There is a soft clinking as Hirotsu sets down the now-steaming mugs of hot chocolate at the four-person round table near the center of the room. “Come sit, Osamu. Why don’t you tell me what happened tonight?”

It is not a request so much as a polite demand. “Okay.” Dazai spins on his heel and sets to marching over to the table, only to freeze mid-step when he happens to glance at the refrigerator. It is messy. Magnets pin the most horrendous crayon drawings and watercolor or acrylic paintings that have ever graced this earth to the surface of the fridge in a chaotic fashion that leaves hardly any visible metal left.

“You kept them?!” Dazai gasps, almost offended. “Hirotsu, why?! They’re so bad!”

Hirotsu follows his gaze and chuckles. “I think they are quite charming. Some of the best art I own, I’d wager.”

“No!” Dazai wails, crossing the rest of the way to the table so he can slump in his seat and let his forehead plonk down on the scratched-up wooden surface. “They’re embarrassing! You should burn them all.”

“I would rather not,” Hirotsu replies easily. Dazai groans into the table. Another chuckle and a warm hand settles in his hair, giving the fluffy brown strands a gentle ruffle before withdrawing.

Dazai peeks up and finds Hirotsu watching him with soft eyes and a soft smile that really makes him look a lot more like a friendly grandfather than a high-ranking member of the mafia.

“Whatever,” he mumbles, sitting up and pulling his mug — the same one with the blue octopus handle that he has been using since he was ten — closer. “It’s not like my art skills have gotten better, so I guess those are as good as you’ll ever get.” He raises his mug to his lips and takes a small sip to test the temperature. Still a little too hot to drink, so Dazai wraps his hands around his mug and lets the heat seep into his palms while he waits for the drink to cool.

“A shame,” Hirotsu comments, “I always thought you had quite the talent for watercolors.”

Dazai raises an eyebrow and glances back to the fridge. “We’re looking at the same thing, right?” Most of the watercolors ended up grey because he let the colors bleed together. And most are just weird splotches. “Even I can’t tell what they are supposed to be.”

“Quite a number are meant to be fish,” Hirotsu replies. “I have also taken the liberty of writing down on the back what you told me they were supposed to be.”

“Ah.” Dazai nods and takes another sip of his drink. It’s slightly cooler now, so he takes a longer drink than before. Hirotsu seems far too fond right now, and while the warmth in his chest is nice, Dazai does not want to let it last. It’ll only hurt more later when he is back in the cold of his shipping container.

“So,” he clears his throat, “I wanted to get Chuuya drunk so he would tell me all his secrets, he won’t even tell me his ability, but I miscalculated. I did not think it was physically possible for someone to get that drunk so quickly, yet here we are.” Dazai pauses. Maybe it is not possible for humans to get drunk that quickly, but perhaps his guess on how dragon physiology works was backwards: instead of giving Chuuya any sort of alcohol tolerance, it made him more vulnerable to it. It is a plausible theory, anyway. He’ll ask Chuuya when the drunk chibi dragon wakes up.

“Ah, I see.” Hirotsu pauses to drink from his own mug, a truly horrible un-mug-shaped contraption Dazai recalls making in a poetry class he attended when he was twelve. His cheeks flush; seriously, why did Hirotsu keep all this stuff?

“Perhaps,” Hirotsu continues, “you might try asking nicely.”

Dazai stares at the older man. “I’ve already tried asking! He said asking for someone’s ability is too personal to share or something stupid like that.”

“Well, have you told him about your ability?” Dazai pouts and averts his eyes. “I will take that as a no. Osamu,” a wrinkled hand taps on his bandaged forearm, forcing his gaze up from the table, “you need to open up too, otherwise this new partner of yours will not trust you. I’m sure that if you tell him your ability, he will do the same.”

“Maybe,” Dazai mutters. “But probably not. Chuuya is stupid and weird.” His lips quirk up. “But he is quite short and that can be really funny.”

Hirotsu raises a brow. “Did you pick him to be your partner because of his height?”

“No.”

“I see.” Hirotsu’s brow raises higher as if daring Dazai to try to lie to him again.

Dazai crumbles. “But it’s really funny!” He whines. “You saw how silly he looks in my coat, right? I laugh every time I look at him!”

“Ah,” Hirotsu’s voice suddenly sounds strained. “I see. You, ah, enjoy seeing him in your clothes?”

“Yeah, they’re too big for him and it’s great.”

Hirotsu sighs. “I knew this day would come,” he mutters to himself in a solemn tone that makes it clear Dazai was not meant to hear that. “Alright.” Hirotsu sighs again. “Osamu, there are a few things I have not necessarily brought up when you were younger that are perhaps relevant here. At this point in your life,” Hirotsu’s face is slowly going red, “I am quite sure that you have figured some things out on your own, but no amount of, ahem, porn can prepare you for—”

“Wait,” Dazai cuts Hirotsu off, his own voice pitched higher than he would like. “Wait, are you about to give me a sex talk?” Hirotsu winces. “Please don’t,” Dazai practically begs, his own face feeling just as flushed as Hirotsu’s is at this point. “I don’t— I’m not interested in any of that stuff, so you really don’t have to say anything more.”

“Very well,” Hirotsu hastily agrees. “So long as you know you can come to me with any questions, should they arise.”

“They won’t,” Dazai insists, unable to look Hirotsu in the eyes at this point, “so please let’s never talk about this ever again.”

They both sit there in awkward silence, finishing off their hot chocolates, until a pained groan from the couch offers a welcome distraction.

“Chuuya!” Dazai calls, setting down his empty mug and scampering over to the couch. “How are you feeling?”

Sleepy blue eyes blink at him blankly.

“Chuuya?” Dazai tries again. “You don’t look so good.” That is true, the chibi’s face seems rather pale, but the way his hair has become a mess thanks to rainwater and sleeping on the couch is really funny and that is what Dazai is referring to.

“Shh,” Chuuya mumbles, rubbing at his temples. “Too loud.”

“Ah, sorry, Chuuya.”

“Stop it,” Chuuya grumbles, wiggling around on the couch to arrange his spine in what looks like an even more uncomfortable position than how he was lying. “’m not Chuuya. Go bother him and leave me alone.”

Baffled, Dazai stares down at the sleepy, possibly still drunk dragon. He pokes Chuuya’s warm cheek. “Silly Chibi!” He croons, “what do you mean? Of course your name is your name.”

“Chibi,” Chuuya repeats softly. He blinks and looks slightly more awake. “That is me.” He squints. “Dazai? Why are you a fuzzy blob?”

“You’re a bit drunk, Chibi,” Dazai states solemnly.

Chuuya scoffs. “Do not be silly, Dazai,” he mumbles, eyes drooping shut again. “I do not get drunk. I am too powerful for such a plebian thing.”

“Right.” Dazai looks over the couch to Hirotsu. “Can we dump water on him? Your couch has been through worse.”

“Go ahead.”

“Yay.” Dazai patters back to the kitchen, quickly locates a bowl, fills it with cold water, and returns to the couch to promptly dump the water he gathered onto Chuuya’s face.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Chuuya leaps to his feet, sputtering and shaking his head like a wet dog trying to dry off. And while Dazai is fully prepared to laugh at that, he is absolutely not prepared for Chuuya to suck in a deep breath, exhale into hands that are cupped before his mouth, and set his head on fire.

Dazai shrieks and does what is clearly the only rational thing he can do at this point: he chucks the bowl in his hands at Chuuya’s face as hard as possible.

The bowl hits its target with perhaps unfortunate accuracy, making Chuuya yelp and stumble back a step, one hand rising to touch his forehead. However, it also serves as such a bizarre distraction that the fire crackles out of existence. Only the smoke floating off Chuuya’s hair is proof of what just happened.

“Ow,” Chuuya shoots Dazai a look, “why did you throw that at me?”

“You set yourself on fire,” Dazai deadpans.

“I was wet?” Chuuya looks puzzled and Dazai slowly starts to realize that perhaps he should have accounted for random bursts of fire. “I did not want to be wet, so I got rid of it.”

“I see,” Dazai mumbles. A frown takes over his lips as he ponders this new information. He simply cannot have Chuuya setting himself on fire at random intervals, or even when he is wet. They live in a port city, at some point or another, Chuuya is bound to fall in water while helping Dazai with some mafia mission. Or while fishing Dazai out of his favourite river, but that is inconsequential in comparison.

“Ahem,” Dazai tenses as Hirotsu clears his throat. “Do I not need to call for medical assistance?” Hirotsu has risen from the table and has his cell phone in one hand and a small fire extinguisher in the other.

Dazai glances at Chuuya, who is clearly awake now and peering around curiously, tongue flicking in and out rapidly.

He looks back to Hirotsu. “So, does Mori have cameras in here?”

“Of course not,” Hirotsu replies. Good. As far as Dazai is aware, Mori never planted cameras or microphones in this house, and there really wouldn’t be reason to do so when Dazai was no longer here, but he still had to ask.

“Okay, that’s good. So, uh, long story short: I found Chuuya the other day, he happens to be a dragon and was asleep for the last bunch of centuries and thus missed the whole dragon extinction thing, and we agreed to team up.”

“Ah,” Hirotsu nods, “the castle request makes much more sense now.”

“I thought I was not to tell people about my species,” Chuuya mutters, narrowing his eyes Hirotsu’s way. “Should I eat him now that he knows?”

Dazai quickly stops that for occurring. “No! No, there is no need to eat Hirotsu. I— I trust him. Who knows, maybe he can help. He might not have read the books that I have, but I know I’ve told him a great many summaries of the stuff I thought was cool.” Hirotsu nods, a small smile on his lips, no doubt remembering all the times Dazai had found something interesting in his readings and decided he simply had to go tell Hirotsu right away. Dazai scowls and narrows his eye, silently ordering Hirotsu to say nothing of the sort. He cannot have Chuuya thinking of him as weak or — he shudders — childlike. Dazai is the Demon Prodigy. He is a very scary, very powerful, full-fledged member of the mafia now. His childhood is inconsequential.

“It smells like you in here,” Chuuya comments, his forked tongue flicking out again. “Do you come here often, Dazai?”

“No, not really,” Dazai replies quickly before Hirotsu can say anything. He grabs Chuuya’s shoulders and starts steering the dragon towards his childhood bedroom. “Anyway, now that you’re feeling better, Chuuya, maybe we should get some rest—”

“Wait.” Chuuya halts and no amount of Dazai’s tugging can get him to move. “Is that…?” Dazai follows his gaze to the framed photos scattered around the walls and winces.

“Chuuya, come on,” Dazai pushes harder on the dragon’s shoulders, but Chuuya is unmoveable and continues staring with wide eyes.

In fact, he does the opposite of what Dazai wants and starts moving closer to the wall. Dazai groans. Hirotsu chuckles. Chuuya makes an oddly pleased noise when he gets close enough to stare at the image that caught his attention.

“You are so tiny,” Chuuya muses, a finger lifting to touch the edge of the picture frame. The photo in question is one Dazai recognizes from when he was nine. There was a festival — he cannot remember what it was for anymore — taking place that he really wanted to go to. Naturally, he asked Hirotsu to take him. They spent the better part of the afternoon and evening exploring the festival activities, watching the events that took place, and Dazai even won a prize in, obviously, a shooting game: it was a blue crab plushie. Unless Hirotsu threw it out, that plushie should still be living in his old bedroom.

The photo itself is a polaroid that neither of them took. Some random mid-twenties stranger took the picture. Dazai just remembers asking Hirotsu to carry him up on his shoulders so he could better see the fireworks. Then, after the fireworks were over and Dazai was back on his own feet, the stranger tapped Dazai’s shoulder and handed him the photo. They told him they were in a photography class and were taking photos for free today, and to give the photo to his dad since it turned out so well. Dazai had gone still and did not reply, but he took the photo and stared at it. He was confused at first, since it was a picture of him up on Hirotsu’s shoulders, his father was, like usual, nowhere to be seen. Then it clicked and Dazai wished the stranger’s words were true.

“I quite like tiny Dazai,” Chuuya declares, turning from that photo and heading straight for the next one on the wall, an embarrassing photo of eight-year-old Dazai clinging to a kickboard and flailing around in a pool, trying to learn to swim.

“Chuuya,” Dazai whines, tugging more insistently on the dragon’s arm, “please, stop.” His reputation would be utterly ruined if Chuuya told anyone that he had seen Dazai’s childhood photos.

“But I would like to see more,” Chuuya pouts, his shoulders drooping. “Though,” he adds, looking rather thoughtful, “I suppose I do not have images of my tiny self to share. It is not quite a fair exchange. Nevertheless, I would quite like to keep looking.”

Unable to help it, Dazai replies with: “You mean at some point you were smaller than you are now?”

Chuuya growls at him. “I am not small!” He shrieks, glowering up at Dazai. Dazai smirks back and makes sure to tip his head and make it more obvious that he does, indeed, need to look down to meet Chuuya’s gaze. The dragon snarls again, this time with some smoke escaping from the edges of his mouth.

“Might I request that you do not burn down my house?” Hirotsu interrupts before Dazai can come up with another clever way to insult Chuuya’s height.

“Fine,” Dazai sighs, taking a step back. “I guess you can look at the pictures, Chibi, but you have to promise to never mention them to anyone ever, okay?”

“Okay!” Chuuya nods enthusiastically, then takes a step for the first one.

Dazai clears his throat. “Actually, now that I think about it, maybe you’re right and it isn’t fair that you get my baby pictures and I don’t get anything.”

“Oh, okay. What do you want to know?”

Maybe this is a longshot, but: “Tell me why you didn’t think your name was Chuuya when you were drunk.” When Chuuya goes completely rigid, Dazai knows he has just stumbled upon something that is incredibly important. He has no idea why a name would matter so much, but Chuuya has already gone pale and his hands are trembling, so this clearly means something.

“I—” Chuuya swallows and looks away before forcing himself to meet Dazai’s gaze again. “My magic ability is gravity manipulation.”

Dazai blinks. That was not the answer to the question he just asked. However, given the way Chuuya’s eyes are wide and shadowed with fear, Dazai decides to accept that response. For now. The name thing can wait till he has had time to think about it some more.

“Gravity manipulation,” Dazai murmurs, a smirk crawling across his lips. “That sounds rather useful. Is it effective in a fight?”

“Of course,” Chuuya scoffs, clearly trying to shake off his fear and focus on this topic, “Only morons think they can defeat gravity.”

“Good,” Dazai hums, “I think things are looking up for us, Chibi. Go ahead and look at the pictures some more, okay? I’m going to go see if my bed is made.”

“Okay.” Chuuya is obviously happy to accept that deal and eagerly hops from one framed photo to the next. Leaving the dragon be, Dazai meets Hirotsu’s gaze, then heads for his old bedroom. He was not lying when he said he wanted to see if he could sleep on his bed. They’re here, it’s late, and he kind of wants to. Just once. Surely Mori will not care if it’s just once.

Dazai takes a deep breath, then twists the doorknob and steps inside the room. It is exactly how he remembers: Bed — the bedspread is, predictably, ocean themed — shoved in the left corner, desk alongside the opposing wall, window with blue curtains across from the door, and tiny closet set into the wall adjacent to the door. His lips quirk up when he spies his blue crab plushie sitting on his pillow. There are stacks of decorative dragon books lined up on his desk, along with a large, no doubt messy, notebook where he used to write down the important things he wanted to ensure he remembered to tell Fyodor next time they met.

For curiosity’s sake, Dazai peeks into the closet too. His old clothes are still hung up, but, to his surprise, there are a few outfits that, while too small for him now, are ones that would’ve been too large for him back then. Nor does he recognize them. And the price tags are still attached.

The gentle tap of knuckles against his open door draws Dazai’s attention.

“Did you buy me clothes?” Dazai asks.

“Ah, I’ve been found out,” Hirotsu chuckles. “Yes, I did. I wanted to be prepared in case you happened to stop by.”

“Oh.” Dazai swallows around the odd lump in his throat and quickly closes the closet door. “So, uh, about that house I asked you to look for. I guess I can be more specific now that you know, but basically I need a place that is large enough for Chuuya to fit when he is in his dragon form, which is quite large. Like, really large. I’m fairly certain his teeth were as tall as me. You wouldn’t really think he would be that big since he is so short—”

“Osamu.”

“Right, staying on topic,” Dazai rolls his good eye. “I figured a basement would be the easiest way to go. That way there would be no windows so no one walking by could accidentally see Chuuya. I do not plan on telling anyone what he is.” Dazai meets Hirotsu’s gaze, silently asking the older man to do the same. Hirotsu gives a small nod. Dazai’s shoulders relax.

“I will widen my search and see what I can find,” Hirotsu says. “And you know you can trust me not to say a word of any of this to the boss.”

“Good. Thanks, Hirotsu.”

“Of course.” Hirotsu takes a step back, then pauses in the doorway. “You seem tired. Why don’t you head to bed? I will chat with your partner until he falls asleep again.”

“Oh, okay.” Sleep actually does sound kind of nice right now.

“Goodnight, Osamu.” Hirotsu offers him another of those too-soft smiles along with a quick ruffle of Dazai’s hair, then clicks the door shut as he steps outside. Dazai’s room drops into darkness, but it is brighter than his shipping container so he can still see.

Dazai hesitates only briefly before crawling into bed, hugging his crab plushie to his chest, and letting the soft mattress, familiar cotton sheets, and the overall knowledge that he is home and safe lull him to sleep.

Chapter Text

Chuuya might have a horrible headache, no memory of what happened after he got his wine, and no idea where he is, but he quite likes it here. There are pictures of various tiny Dazais on the walls and that amuses him. It is nice to know that, at some point, his human was small. Plus, Dazai smells a lot happier here than he has anywhere else they have been so far. So, if Dazai likes it here and feels safe, then Chuuya will like it too.

Soft footsteps draw his attention from the current small Dazai picture he is looking at. The older human with grey hair is watching him carefully. Best to get introductions over with quickly.

“I am Chuuya,” he says. “I have sworn to ensure your son’s survival until he dies of old age, you’re welcome.” The older human blinks.

“Ah, I see. I’m Ryuurou Hirotsu and I— I am not Osamu’s father.”

Chuuya frowns. “Who is Osamu?” He looks around and flicks his tongue out to taste the air. “I did not think there was another person here.”

“Ah, I was referring to Dazai. His given name is Osamu.”

Chuuya gapes. “He has two names?” How odd… perhaps Dazai would understand if Chuuya were to tell him— no. No, he would not understand. There is no point saying anything.

“Most people do,” Ryuurou Hirotsu says, “it is not uncommon.”

“How strange,” Chuuya murmurs. He taps a claw against his lip. Doing so makes his sleeve flop against his arm. He does not like the way the material is heavy with water. Frowning, Chuuya grabs the bottom of the shirt and decides to simply take it off. Dazai did not seem to appreciate him setting himself on fire earlier, so removing the wet clothing is the option Chuuya is left with.

“Ah, one moment. I will get you some dry clothes.” Ryuurou Hirotsu slips into the room Dazai disappeared into and returns a moment later with some soft-looking clothes. “Here.”

Chuuya takes the offered gift and hums his approval; the material is pleasantly soft. “Thank you, Ryuurou Hirotsu.”

The man chuckles softly. “You don’t need to say my whole name. You can just call me Hirotsu.”

“Oh, I see.” Chuuya nods to himself. Yes, it makes sense. Even if humans have two names, they also pick one to share and use casually.

“Change, then come sit with me on the couch, Chuuya.” Hirotsu walks past him and sits on one side of the thing he woke up one, so Chuuya figures that means he is supposed to join the man on the squishy piece of furniture rather than sit on the floor. He quickly changes into the new, dry clothes, abandoning the wet ones on the floor. He patters over and sits, curling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. The couch is still as squishy as when he woke up on it.

“So,” Hirotsu starts then pauses. The man shakes his head and sighs. “I suppose there is no easy way to put this. Are you actually a dragon?”

“Yes,” Chuuya replies quickly. “Obviously. Do I not look like a dragon?” Hirotsu looks at him and raises an eyebrow. Chuuya scowls. “Well, I am in my human form right now, but I can shift forms easily enough to prove—”

“No need,” Hirotsu interrupts. “From what Osamu told me, I doubt your dragon form would fit in my house.”

“Oh, I see.” Chuuya nods. He glances up at the roof and nods again, more firmly this time. That is a correct assumption. If he were to change forms right now, he would undoubtable destroy this home.

Hirotsu clears his throat. “I know it is hardly my place to ask, but how are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” Chuuya asks, befuddled.

“Well, perhaps I am mistaken, but I imagine it would be rather jarring to wake up one day and have the world be so drastically changed.”

“Oh.” Chuuya glances away, letting his gaze linger on the picture of tiny Dazai beaming up at the camera, flowers and grass splayed around him. Chuuya’s lips quirk up for a moment before dropping once more. He is glad Dazai got to have a happy childhood. “Yes, it is odd.” He hopes his flat tone will stop Hirotsu from asking more questions. Chuuya does not want to dwell on the fact that he is all alone again. His friends, the one he called his sister… he knows they are gone. Has accepted that fact. He does not want to talk about it.

A moment of silence passes, then Hirotsu clears his throat. “Would you, perhaps, want a hug?”

Chuuya gapes. He changes his mind: this human must be insane. “Do not jest,” Chuuya huffs, hugging his knees closer to himself.

“I’m not joking.”

“Then you are a fool,” Chuuya mutters, a hint of a growl lingering around his words. “I am— I do not require childish comforts.” Hirotsu chuckles at that, so Chuuya peeks over his knees and glowers at the human. “Why does this amuse you?”

Hirotsu smothers his laughs. “I’m merely starting to see why Osamu was so taken with you.”

“Of course he likes me,” Chuuya huffs, smoke hitting his knees and curling upwards, “he is my human.” He doubts Dazai would want to create such a bond had he not found Chuuya likeable to some degree.

“Can you explain what you mean by that?” The question is kind, but Chuuya tenses anyway.

“Is it not obvious?” Chuuya tries, averting his eyes once more and looking back to the picture of smiling tiny Dazai for support.

“No, not really. Have you… placed some kind of claim on him?” Hirotsu’s face scrunches up in thought. “The way you phrased that sounded meaningful.”

Chuuya sighs. He did not think this would be an issue. “Dazai is my human, and I am his protector,” Chuuya says as simply as he can. “We made a pact and dragons always keep their vows. He helps me navigate this strange modern world and build a hoard, and I ensure his survival.” The terms of their agreement are rather simple, all things considered.

“I think I understand,” Hirotsu says in response. “May I ask why you chose him?”

“He was not afraid of me.” The answer comes easily. Though it rankled his pride to have Dazai laugh and mock his height when they first met, his human had, in fact, laughed at him. He had not run away or screamed. He laughed.

“I see.” Hirotsu clears his throat. “If I am understanding correctly, I have a rather selfish request to make.” Hirotsu shifts closer and glances to Dazai’s door, relaxing when he finds it closed. When he looks back, Chuuya straightens. For some reason, he instinctively knows that this next part of their conversation is the important bit, the part Hirotsu has been wanting to bring up from the start.

“Earlier,” Hirotsu begins, “you met with a man named Mori Ougai.” Chuuya’s nose wrinkles. He already hates that man. That bullet was very gross. “I— well, first, it might be best to explain the situation. What has Osamu told you of the Port Mafia?”

“Oh,” Chuuya nods, he remembers the mafia thing, “that his job is protecting his territory and that I am allowed to eat the trespassers.” Not exactly what Dazai said, but that is close enough.

Hirotsu hums and leans back. “I see. So he told you practically nothing.” Chuuya frowns, wanting to leap to the defense of his human, but holds his tongue. He has a feeling Hirotsu does not mean to insult Dazai in any way. “The first thing you need to know is that Osamu was unlucky enough to be born into this world. His father was the pervious leader of the Port Mafia, though that man rarely bothered to remember that he had a son— ah, I’m off track.” Hirotsu clears his throat, then keeps talking. Chuuya listens.

“The important part is that Mori killed Osamu’s father in order to take over. He made himself Boss and used Osamu as his witness. Now, the power system of the mafia is not strictly based on bloodlines, but bloodlines are always considered anyway. Those that were loyal to Osamu’s father remain loyal to Osamu, not to Mori. Because of this, Mori keeps Osamu close and relies on the fact that he is loyal to the mafia to keep everyone else in check. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“No one likes Mori because he has bad snacks.”

“Ah.” Hirotsu blinks. He looks very lost.

“And,” Chuuya decides to spare the man, “Mori is dangerous. I already knew this. I wanted to eat him earlier, but Dazai said I could not.” Chuuya would want to be rid of Mori regardless of anything the man did or said: the way he makes Dazai uncomfortable is reason enough. It is Chuuya’s role to protect his human; it is well within his right to kill Mori and be rid of the nuisance. The only problem is that Dazai told him not to. Listening to each other is crucial to maintaining a strong bond, especially in the early years, so Chuuya is a bit stuck.

“It would be treasonous for me to ask you to kill the boss,” Hirotsu says carefully. “However, for the last seventeen years, it has been my job to look after Osamu. It would not be amiss to mention my concern of the way Mori treats Osamu, especially now that he only has a year left before he turns eighteen, an age that would make him considered an adult and thus capable of taking over the mafia, should he wish too. As it is now, he would have a hard time convincing some of the more old-fashioned supporters to follow someone they consider a child.”

Chuuya examines the man before him thoughtfully. “You suspect Mori will try to kill Dazai over the year.”

“I cannot confirm that.”

Chuuya nods; that is a good enough answer. “I see. You need not worry: Dazai is my human. I will not allow harm to come to him.” He can tell from the man’s eyes that his words are not enough to convince Hirotsu that his son is in safe hands.

Humming softly to himself, Chuuya considers his options. He might not need to have Hirotsu’s approval, but, for some reason, he really wants it.

“I am very powerful,” is what Chuuya settles on saying. “Among the dragons, I was feared. After all, dragons know better than most how dangerous gravity can be.”

Hirotsu nods slightly. “You mentioned your ability was gravity control. To what degree? What can you control?”

“Anything,” Chuuya replies immediately. “Gravity is the ultimate tool of destruction, the force that nothing can hope to defeat.” He meets Hirotsu’s considering gaze, his head held high. “And I wield it.”

“What else?”

Chuuya gapes. What else? What more could Hirotsu possibly need to hear to understand that Chuuya is unbeatable? He quickly wracks his brain.

“Well, I suppose when I was last awake, none of the weapons humans had created could cut my flesh. Of course,” he scoffs, “nothing created on this world could pierce my scales, but my human form flesh is slightly weaker. Still, I cannot— well, I can recall the last time I bled, but I do not wish to share that memory. It is not a reflection of my battle prowess,” Chuuya hastens to correct before Hirotsu can think less of him, “the only other human I have ever taken into my protection decided to betray me and tried to severe my neck.” He motions to the scar on his throat. Chuuya grimaces; great he went and shared that memory even though he did not wish to.

“I can fly,” he adds, in case that one is not obvious, “and, as I can breathe fire, am fireproof. I am fast and strong and know how to signal for animals below me to go away. I have already scared off a bear for Dazai.” Chuuya frowns, unsure what else to say.

“Do you have any skills in battle?” Hirotsu asks.

Chuuya tenses up but gives a small nod. “Yes. I have received training on how to fight in all my forms. I spent,” he swallows heavily, “a great many years training to become strong enough to protect myself, then to protect others.”

“And you’re confident whoever trained you was good? I can supply a martial arts teacher if needed—”

Unable to stop it in time, Chuuya growls angrily at the man. Hirotsu freezes, his eyes widening slightly, as the loud noise ripples through the home, breaking any tranquility.

He cuts the sound off. “Apologies,” Chuuya mutters. “I know you did not mean to insult—” He glances at Dazai’s door. It is still closed. If he listens closely enough, Chuuya is pretty sure he can make out the sound of his human’s steady heartbeat. Dazai is still asleep.

Chuuya swallows again and glances up at Hirotsu. “My dad taught me,” Chuuya says quietly. “I do not wish to speak of it any further.” He knows the council is not here, not waiting to catch Chuuya in the act of breaking yet another law they made up by speaking about his dad, but it is not so easy to break certain rules when he has been living by them for centuries.

“I see. I apologize for bringing it up.”

“It is fine.” Chuuya picks at the material on his raised knees. He knows Hirotsu is just testing him, but he does wish doing so did not involve thinking about things he would like to leave buried.

“Oh.” An idea comes to him. He cannot believe he did not think to do this earlier. Without giving Hirotsu any warning, Chuuya calls on his magic. Red swirls around him, visible to even the human eye, then lashes out to loop around the couch and Hirotsu as well. Chuuya seizes control of all the gravity holding them to the ground and tampers with it. When they rise to hover in the middle of the room, Hirotsu hums softly. Chuuya puffs up his chest. Clearly Hirotsu can tell that Chuuya is showcasing his control: it would be easy to add or remove gravity completely from an object but controlling it so that they hover in the room at a constant rate is a much more difficult task.

“Well,” Hirotsu says once Chuuya has set them back down and withdrawn his magic, “you certainly can make things float.”

Chuuya’s tongue slips from his mouth. What?! That is all Hirotsu got from Chuuya’s impressive display of power?!

“You try lifting the couch,” Chuuya growls back, huffing some smoke from his nostrils. “It was much bigger and thus harder than catching the bullet Mori threw at me.”

Somehow, the bullet catches Hirotsu’s attention. “You stopped a bullet?”

“It was not tasty,” Chuuya replies. He cannot believe Dazai let him eat it in the first place. It truly did taste dreadful. Worse than the rotted skunk meat he ate that one time.

“But you stopped a bullet. That Mori shot at you.”

“Yes, it was quite easy.” Chuuya frowns, puzzled. Is Hirotsu upset he missed that demonstration of strength? “Lifting the couch was a more impressive display of power, I assure you.”

“I see.” Hirotsu is looking at him differently now. There is more approval. Chuuya perks up. Perhaps Mori’s nasty bullet has a purpose after all.

“I have already begun a hoard too,” Chuuya adds on. Surely all humans know that the larger a hoard, the stronger the dragon guarding that hoard is. “It will be much larger soon, but I have got a jeweled book, a shiny knife, and a pretty hat.”

“Well done?”

“Thank you!” Chuuya also thinks that getting three things already is quite impressive. Sure, he knows dragons like Kouyou had way more things than three, but, in the past, one item — and one hardly counts as a true hoard — is all Chuuya ever had, so three is a very good start.

They sit there in silence for another minute or two before Hirotsu glances at the clock and stands.

“It’s late. I think I’ll head to bed now. I have no idea if dragons sleep, but if you are not planning to, please do not burn anything down overnight.”

“Okay,” Chuuya agrees. He can do that. After all, it does not look like there is anything super flammable nearby, and Chuuya has long grown out of sneezing out fire (the action that initially got him banned from the libraries).

Once Hirotsu has slipped away into a room, leaving Chuuya alone, he looks around once more at all the photos of tiny Dazai, then heads over to sit on the floor outside of Dazai’s room. Here, he closes his eyes and settles in to listen to his human’s heartbeat for the rest of the night.

Chuuya is woken from his slight doze when the door he is leaning against is yanked back and he flops against the floor.

“Ow,” Chuuya grumbles, pushing himself to his feet and shooting a small glare up at Dazai, who seems all too amused.

“Why Chibi,” Dazai drawls, “if you missed me that much, you could have come in. I’m sure there was space on the floor next to my bed.”

Chuuya bristles, sure that is meant to be an insult, only to pause. Then he stares, jabbing an accusatory finger into Dazai’s chest.

“You do have two eyes!” He proclaims triumphantly. Dazai still looks far too amused, but Chuuya does not care right now. Reaching up, Chuuya grabs Dazai’s shoulders and tugs, dragging his human’s face closer to his eye level. Dazai’s smirk grows.

“What, can’t see good from down there?”

Chuuya kicks his human’s shin. “I am not short,” he mutters, “and I want to see your hidden eye. Does it work?” He pokes at the skin around his human’s right eye, careful to not cut Dazai with his claw. Despite the proximity of Chuuya’s claw to Dazai’s eye, his human does not flinch. Internally, Chuuya is immensely pleased: clearly this means his human trusts him and is still not afraid of him.

The eye in question is a bit glassy and cloudy, like a window someone has forgotten to clean for a long time. Chuuya wonders what happened to make it stop working, but he is not quite sure that is a question Dazai would like to answer only moments after he has woken up. He will hold onto the question for now and ask later. Maybe after food. Chuuya is kind of getting hungry, so Dazai must be hungry by now too.

“Not really.” Dazai shrugs. “I get bits of light when it’s bright. That can be distracting, so it’s easier to cover it up.”

Chuuya nods. “I will get a golden eyepatch for you,” he declares. “With jewels.”

“Ah, no thank you.”

“You need it,” Chuuya insists. Dazai tugs out of his hold and marches through the home, yawning, until he reaches the table and slides onto one of the chairs. He folds his arms and slouches his back until his chin can rest on them.

“Dazai, you need it,” Chuuya repeats when it seems clear his human was not listening. “If you are going to cover it anyway, then you need to use something pretty and shiny. It is basic logic.”

“Mhm, sure thing, Chibi.”

“Excellent,” Chuuya hums, pleased that his explanation has won over his human. “I will find you something nice, do not worry. I am very good at finding things.”

“Sure, whatever. I probably won’t wear it, though.”

Chuuya scoffs; he knows Dazai is just saying that to challenge him to find something truly worthy of decorating and protecting his human’s eye at the same time. He is more than ready for such a task.

“I’m serious, Slug,” Dazai continues. “A jeweled eyepatch would not match my reputation at all. I’ll stick to bandages.”

“…I could get you gold bandages?”

“No.”

Chuuya pouts and resigns himself to looking for a fancy eyepatch. Surely once Dazai has it in hand and can see how nice it looks, he will agree that a jeweled eyepatch is the way to go.

They do not stay in the home for long.

After Hirotsu makes some food (and Chuuya watches hungrily as the two humans eat. While Hirotsu offered him some food, he decided not to risk trying new things when his instincts crave meat), Dazai insists that they leave. Chuuya does his best to protest since Dazai wants to go back to that nasty building where Mori and all the evil cars are, but his human cannot be swayed. They both change into their clothes from last night; Chuuya is a bit sad to have to wear all the black again, but the coat Dazai gave him is quickly becoming a favourite, so it is not all bad.

Hirotsu drives them to the place Dazai calls Port Mafia Headquarters. The route there is silent. Chuuya spends the time staring out the window, watching the world. He scoffs at a few of the feebler humans: they are using the protective hand-in-hand walking formation even though it is daytime, not night. Clearly they must be low on the food chain, even amongst humanity.

Once there and out of the car, Hirotsu offers them a tiny nod before heading off. Chuuya nods back, but Dazai does not acknowledge the action whatsoever.

They make it all of five steps into the building before some scrawny human with odd hair is marching towards them, a strange glint in his eyes. When the human reaches to grab Dazai’s arm, Chuuya reacts on instinct. He feels the squish of bone under his knuckles before he recognizes that he has moved to defend his human.

The human he hit flies back and slams into a wall.

Dazai sighs. He pats Chuuya’s hair twice before dropping his hand. Chuuya hums, pleased with himself. Obviously the head pats mean he did the right thing.

“Get up, Akutagawa,” Dazai says in a cold tone. Chuuya tenses slightly. He does not like it when Dazai uses that voice.

“I’m fine, Sir.” The boy, Akutagawa, rasps. He pushes himself off the wall, legs trembling, and winces as he pokes at his cheek. Chuuya does not feel bad for cracking the boy’s jaw. He should know better than to attack Chuuya’s human like that.

“I didn’t ask,” Dazai replies evenly. “Do you have a report?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then deliver it in my office. I should not need to tell you this.”

“Sorry, Sir,” the boy mumbles. Then he breaks out in a series of rough-sounding coughs. A wince follows every cough thanks to the injury Chuuya just dealt. Chuuya frowns. He flicks his tongue out, trying to get a sense for what ails the boy. Now he feels a bit bad for hurting the boy’s jaw.

The scent he gets from Akutagawa is one that has him stiffening.

“Dazai,” Chuuya mutters, tugging his human’s sleeve.

“Later,” Dazai snaps back. “We’ll talk in my office.” It is only then that Chuuya realizes Dazai has been leading them down a hall, away from the curious eyes of the random humans loitering about. Akutagawa follows behind them, clearing his throat or coughing every so often.

They reach a door and Dazai opens it, stepping inside. Chuuya trails after him, noting that there is very little in here. A desk in the center of the room with papers strewn about, two chairs, one behind the desk and one facing it; a full bookshelf off to the left; a window with the blinds drawn down behind the desk; a large, locked cabinet in the back right corner; and a map pined to the right wall. Chuuya’s eyes are caught by the glint of jewels in some of Dazai’s books, so he patters over to investigate. As he suspected, they look similar to the pretty book that is part of his hoard.

“Dazai,” Chuuya points to the pretty books, “can I have these?”

Dazai, who has moved to sit behind his desk, glances to see what Chuuya wants now and shrugs. “Sure. I’ve already read them all. You might be better off keeping them here until we get a house; my shipping— current abode is not the best environment for books.”

“Okay,” Chuuya hums, quite pleased, and sets to taking each individual book off the shelf to admire them properly one at a time.

Akutagawa clears his throat. The boy is standing before the desk, not taking the available seat, with his hands clasped behind his back. It is only when the boy clears his raspy throat that Chuuya remembers what he was supposed to tell Dazai.

“He is dying,” Chuuya says before Akutagawa can say whatever it is he is here to say. The boy grows pale and snaps his attention to Chuuya, eyes wide.

Dazai’s own single visible eye (the other wrapped in boring white bandages again) narrows. “Akutagawa. I thought you were taking antibiotics.”

“I am,” Akutagawa replies in his raspy tone. “I take them every day as instructed, Sir.”

“Chuuya,” Dazai turns his attention to him, “what do you mean?”

Chuuya shrugs. He flicks his tongue out again, trying to think of how to describe what he can taste in the air. “There is something wrong,” he starts with. “It tastes rotten, but not quite rotten. In between rotten and something else. Sour, maybe?”

Dazai sighs. “Akutagawa, finish your report then head to the infirmary.”

“Yes, Sir.” The boy stiffens and shoots Chuuya a little glare, which the dragon promptly ignores in favour of tracing the pretty sapphires on one of his new books. “The acquisition was successful. As expected, there were mercenaries who attempted to interfere and steal our merchandise, but I took care of them.” The boy lifts his chin, proud of himself.

“…You killed them all?” Dazai asks, his tone dangerously soft. Chuuya looks up from his new pretty book.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Akutagawa,” Dazai says, rising from his seat and rounding the desk to stand in front of the boy. “I told you to leave one alive to interrogate.” The boy freezes.

“I apologize, Sir. I tried, but—”

A sharp crack rings out as Dazai slaps Akutagawa across the face, hitting the same spot on the boy’s jaw that Chuuya cracked earlier. Pain flashes on Akutagawa’s face, but he does not cry out.

“Go to the infirmary for your lungs,” Dazai snaps. “And brainstorm some ways you can stop being a useless disappointment.”

“Yes, Sir,” the boy croaks. Water builds in his eyes, making them glassy. He leaves without another word.

Once he is gone, Chuuya sets his book back on the shelf and frowns at Dazai.

“Why were you mean to him?”

Dazai walks back around his desk and sits once more. He opens a drawer and pulls out a small black rectangle and a larger one.

“Akutagawa won’t learn without discipline,” is what Dazai finally replies with.

Chuuya’s frown deepens.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Dazai continues, taking the large black rectangle and opening it in half so it forms a strange L shape. “You’re the one who broke his jaw.”

“He grabbed you,” Chuuya replies. “I responded to the threat.”

Dazai snorts. “Akutagawa hardly counts as a threat, but I would have punished him for grabbing me as well, so good job.” Chuuya nods a bit hesitantly. “Besides, it is none of your business how I deal with Akutagawa or any of my subordinates.”

That is probably true. Dazai undoubtably has a better grasp of how human relations work, but, “If you treat him to fear you, he will not care when you die. He will not try to protect you as much as he would if he were fond of you.”

Dazai stiffens. His fingers still where they are tapping at funky buttons on his weird box. “I know. But,” Dazai’s eye flicks his way, “I have you protecting me, right? So it does not matter what Akutagawa does.”

“I would like it if you reconsidered,” Chuuya says quietly. He knows it is not his place, but he cannot help wanting to step in. He can tell from the loyalty Akutagawa holds now that the boy could be a good friend for Dazai, and Chuuya has decided just now that he would like it if his human had more friends. Friends are nice and helpful, so Dazai should have some more.

“Go back to looking at your books,” is what Dazai replies with.

Chuuya does so since he wants to finish examining them each, but he knows he will not be letting this go so easily. He will make it his goal to help Dazai make friends — an exchange for the pretty books Dazai gifted him today. That seems like a reasonable trade.

Once night falls, Dazai leads Chuuya out of the building. They head down to where all the cars are. Dazai picks one seemingly at random, a car Chuuya has not seen yet so he glares at it to scare it into submission from the start, and climbs into the passenger seat. He does not try to be the one controlling the car again, not with how mad Dazai got last time (even if Chuuya is pretty sure he did an excellent job making the car go where he wanted).

A few minutes into the drive, Chuuya decides that he wants to know what is going on.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dazai replies. Chuuya’s jaw tenses. That is not much of a response.

“What are we doing?” He tries again, keeping his tone level. This is a civil conversation with his human, who will surely realize that sharing information is a good thing. No need to lose control of his temper; he has been doing a good job with that so far.

Unfortunately, “You’re too short to understand,” is Dazai’s response.

Chuuya slams his hands on the car surface in front of himself, denting it, and growls lowly with his fangs bared. “I am not short!” He snarls, unreasonable anger snapping in his veins. “Take it back.”

“What? No. Besides, I can’t take back the truth.”

“Take it back,” Chuuya hisses, “Or I will slaughter you and everyone you care about—” He pauses. His stomach growls. Ah.

“Apologies,” Chuuya mutters, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. “I did not realize how hungry I am.”

“Ooh, hangry Chibi… that’s a new one.” Before Chuuya can ask what ‘hangry’ means, Dazai continues, “But don’t worry. We’re heading out to get you some people to eat right now.”

Chuuya perks up. “Really?”

“Yep! My surveillance team— eh, I guess you won’t understand most of that. Some people stole some stuff from us, so we’re taking it back. Once we have all the things, you can eat as many humans as you’d like.”

Humming a pleased note, Chuuya nods. “That would be nice.”

“Now then, how good are you at following directions?”

Chuuya just stares blankly his human’s way. Is it not obvious that he has been listening and following Dazai’s lead this whole time?

“I’ll take silence as a positive response. Okay, so the plan is pretty simple, I didn’t want to overload your tiny lizard brain—”

“Hey!”

“—so all you need to do is keep the dozen or so people occupied while I sneak around back and check through storage to find our stolen goods. Got it?”

“When do I eat them?”

“I’ll give you a signal— or, I guess, you can just eat them as you please. But no one can escape, got it Chibi?”

He nods. “Break their legs first. Okay.”

“Excellent. I knew I liked you for a reason.” There is a small, dark smile on Dazai’s lips. Chuuya is not quite sure what to make of the expression, so he turns to look out the window.

When Dazai makes the car stop moving, they are at a short, square building near a large body of water. There are many short, square buildings, but Dazai points out the nearest and tells him to go to that one, so Chuuya does. He does not bother watching as his human sneaks around the back; he does not care what the reason they are here is. He is hungry and that is reason enough.

Chuuya wastes a moment trying to figure out how he is supposed to open the door, then gives up and just kicks the thing in. The humans on the inside yelp, and clicking noises draw his attention. When he can see them, he finds they are holding guns, which are the things Dazai said have bullets. Chuuya frowns. He does not like bullets very much.

Nevertheless, Chuuya smirks. He knew he picked his human for a reason (Fate and whatnot disregarded): he doubts many other humans would be happy to serve up a buffet of their own kind. He licks his lips, claws curling eagerly, as the small feast spread out before him shuffles nervously. They are shouting at him now, words Chuuya does not care to listen to.

Power surges through him, red rising to the surface to envelope his form, and the ground starts to tremble as his magic lifts him off the floor by an inch. The humans shout more words. Chuuya flicks his tongue out and grins. He can taste their fear.

The humans respond as he suspected they would and begin shooting bullets his way. Chuuya scoffs and delights in the way their fear only becomes more obvious when, as they approach him, the bullets glow red and halt, caught in Chuuya’s web. He hums thoughtfully, examining the bullets. These are designed to hurt humans, so maybe he can use them. Dazai did say to stop them from running away.

While the humans are busy gaping, their hands trembling as they try to lift their guns to throw more bullets his way, Chuuya tests out his new theory by taking a single bullet from among the mass that is floating before him, and making it fly at one of the humans. It goes straight through the human’s knee, making them cry out and wail as their blood seeps into the air.

Chuuya’s grin widens. He chuckles softly, then his chuckles turn into full, loud cackles that only serve to make the humans more afraid. Good. He likes it when their blood tastes of fear. But honestly, what were these humans thinking? Why would they be dumb enough to create a weapon that can hurt themselves as well as others? That is just bad planning.

It takes a flick of his wrist to send the rest of the bullets soaring back at the humans. Save for making sure one or two hit knees, Chuuya does not care where the bullets hit. It does not matter. They will all die one way or another. The screams and futile tears flooding out from those now lying on the floor, their own blood slowly seeping out to form puddles, only rile Chuuya up more.

He calls his magic back, the red outline disappearing as he drops to the ground. Chuuya glances around, contemplating the space, then signs. There is not enough room to change forms. How annoying. It is always easier to eat in dragon form.

Oh well.

Chuuya grins, baring his sharp fangs, and prowls over to the first of his prey.

Chapter Text

Dazai skips down the unlit hall, humming a song under his breath. He does not need to be quiet, not when he can hear Chuuya cackling and the idiots who thought stealing from the Port Mafia was a good idea screaming. He hums louder, pleased with how this is turning out. If this keep up, then good things will come to pass: Dazai will be able to make the plans, then sit back, kick his heels up, and get Chuuya do all the physical labour! Dazai truly must be some kind of genius because this is the best plan he has had in months.

Once he has found the bins the weapons are tucked away in and marked them appropriately (with a tiny x from the pen he found in his pocket — must have accidentally stolen another pen from his office, whoops), Dazai heads out into the main area of the warehouse.

He finds the space bare save for blood and bullets littering the floor, and Chuuya. Chuuya, with red splattered around his mouth, who is grinning, showing off sharp, bloody teeth. Dazai wrinkles his nose. There are bits of flesh stuck between his teeth. Gross. Maybe he will need to introduce Chuuya to the art of brushing one’s teeth and flossing sooner rather than later.

“Chibi!” Dazai calls. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Chuuya replies. “I used the bullets to hurt their legs and ate them all.” He seems a lot more relaxed than earlier. Kind of unfortunate, really; Dazai was a little curious to see what happens when a dragon is hangry.

However, “What was that about the bullets, Chibi?”

Chuuya frowns. “I used their bullets to hurt their legs,” Chuuya repeats. “Why are bullets so interesting? Hirotsu also wanted to ask more about the bullets than about the couch.”

Dazai has no idea how Hirotsu plays into this — he assumes this means they talked last night. If Hirotsu said anything embarrassing about him, Dazai might need to fire him — but it is intriguing to know… well, really, he can’t know for sure unless he tests it out.

Without giving Chuuya any sort of warning, Dazai whips out his gun and shoots at the dragon.

As expected, as it did in Mori’s office, the bullet glows red and floats a few feet from Chuuya.

“Why did you shoot at me?” Chuuya asks, clearly puzzled.

“I’m testing a theory. Show me how you hurt their legs.”

“…Are you certain?” Chuuya frowns, more puzzled.

“Yes, hurry up.”

“…But—”

“Chuuya,” Dazai sighs, exasperated. “Just do it.”

He gets one more pointed look from Chuuya, then the dragon sighs. “If you insist.”

The bullet disappears from sight.

Pain erupts in Dazai’s knee.

He bites his tongue to stifle a scream as he crumbles to the ground, unable to hold his own weight.

“What the fuck?!” Dazai shrieks, staring at Chuuya, who just fucking shot him. “What were you thinking?”

“You— you asked me to do it?!” Chuuya shrieks back, eyes blown open wide.

“I didn’t say to shoot me!”

“You asked me to show you!”

“Why would I want you to shoot me?! I hate pain!”

“Well, you should have been more specific! You— you ass!”

Dazai gapes.

Chuuya huffs, smoke curling from his nostrils.

“…I need to teach you better swear words if ‘ass’ is the only thing you thought to call me.”

“What do I use to call you stupid but in meaner words?” Chuuya demands immediately.

“I can’t think great right now, so I’ll get back to you,” Dazai pokes at his bloody, ruined left knee and hisses. Ow. “I’m still blaming you for actually being dumb enough to shoot me.”

“You told me to! After I tried to protest!” Chuuya glowers, his eyes narrowed. “I have been doing an excellent job listening, so it is clearly you who made the error. Though I do agree that if injuring you is in your plans, then I need to adjust how willing I am to follow along with your ideas.”

“Whatever,” Dazai grumbles. It doesn’t actually matter whose fault this is. His knee is still ruined, which means a nice, totally pleasant trip to Mori’s office is required. Hooray. This was so not on his to-do list today.

Sighing, Dazai unwraps the bandages on his forearm and transfers them to his knee. Spots of red are already poking through the cloth. Great.

“Carry me back to the car, Chuuya,” Dazai orders. At least it is his left knee; Dazai can still drive. After all, there is no way he is ever willingly sitting in a car with Chuuya driving ever again — once was more than enough for an entire lifetime.

“Okay,” Chuuya agrees. “Try not to shoot yourself again on the way.”

Dazai gapes. Before he can come up with a properly scathing retort, Chuuya has scooped Dazai up. But, instead of being thrown over the chibi dragon’s shoulder, Dazai is being held carefully in his arms. A princess carry. Oh, no. This is not allowed. If anyone were to see him (Mori or Fyodor, whichever annoyance is watching him through CCTV cameras right now), he would never live it down.

“Wait,” Dazai protests, squirming as Chuuya starts to stroll out of the warehouse. “Wait, put me down, Chuuya.”

“No.”

“Just put me down!” Dazai snaps, shoving at Chuuya’s chest as hard as he can. Considering Chuuya does not budge, it is not very effective.

“No,” Chuuya repeats, a frown on his lips. “You are injured, so I will carry you. Besides, you asked to be carried.”

“Well, yes, but not like this!” Dazai’s scowl darkens.

“Too bad,” Chuuya shrugs. Dazai’s weight does not seem to impair the movement at all. “I am no longer listening to you when you say stupid things. You are hurt, so I will carry you.”

“I am not saying something stupid, this is actually quite a reasonable request. Just carry me on your shoulder like last time.”

“No. This way is better when someone is injured.”

Dazai wants to scream. However, they are now outside and approaching the car, a pesky, old camera swiveling to follow them. Dazai scowls and flips off whoever is watching. The camera blinks its green light at him in response.

“Since you are injured,” Chuuya continues, “I will control the car—”

“No,” Dazai interrupts immediately. “Absolutely not. My right leg is fine, I’m still driving.”

“But—”

“No.” Dazai says it as firmly as possible, needing Chuuya to understand that this is not a negotiation.

Chuuya hisses softly. “Fine. But if the car smells your weakness and starts attacking, I get to kill it and tell you that I was right and should have been controlling it.”

“Sure, whatever.” Dazai rolls his eye.

Dazai drives them back to HQ quickly, trying to ignore the pain in his leg and the way black dots keep popping up in his already-limited vision. He doesn’t crash, so it’s a successful trip.

Once there, he needs to suffer through the entire walk into HQ with Chuuya carrying him princess-style. People stare. Of course they do, it is not every day that the Demon Prodigy is brought in injured, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment of his predicament. Only slightly flushed though, since his knee is still bleeding an alarming amount so there is not much leftover blood to flood his cheeks.

“Dazai, how do we fix you?” Chuuya asks once they are on the stairs (no amount of attempted bribery worked to get Chuuya to take the elevator, not even saying it would be faster).

“Mori,” Dazai grumbles.

Chuuya stops walking.

“Chibi?” Dazai pokes his shoulder. “Hey, come on. We need to keep going up the stairs.” Dazai’s vision is swimming at this point, so he really needs to get to Mori, explain, and convince the doctor to fix him up before passing out.

“No.” Chuuya starts walking back down the stairs.

“Wh— hey. Turn around, go back up. Mori is a doctor, so I need his help to patch me up.”

“No,” Chuuya repeats. “I do not like Mori, so we will go to Hirotsu. He is nicer and you like him better.”

Dazai sputters for a moment, unsure how to reply and hoping Mori’s cameras did not pick that comment up. “Look, Chuuya, just take me to Mori or I’ll walk there myself.”

Chuuya frowns at him. “No.” The dragon keeps walking down the stairs.

How utterly infuriating. Dazai liked it a lot better when Chuuya listened to everything he said without question.

“Chuuya,” Dazai starts, his tone low and dark, “I’m not asking you. Take me to Mori, now.”

Chuuya’s shoulders stiffen, but he does not stop going down the stairs.

Time for the trump card, then: “If you don’t get me to Mori, I will die.”

Chuuya halts. Dazai resists the urge to cheer. Finally.

“You will die?”

“Yep, I’m bleeding a lot, you know. We’ve already wasted time, so I might die before we get there,” Dazai sighs. “If I die, then I guess it’s your fault for not listening to me.”

Chuuya snarls, the sound echoing in the stairwell, then spins around and starts sprinting up stairs. Dazai fully expects to be jostled horribly, but the ride is not that bad. Chuuya keeps Dazai held tightly — without putting any pressure on his knee — and they make it up to Mori’s floor in under a minute. Kind of impressive, but Dazai is not in the mood for complimenting the dumb dragon who shot him, so he stays quiet.

However, instead of putting him down now that they are on flat flooring, Chuuya keeps Dazai in his arms and kicks the door to Mori’s office open before Dazai can try to talk his way out of the hold. Great. Even better.

Chuuya strides into Mori’s office without invitation. Dazai meets Mori’s smirking gaze and shrinks in on himself before straightening his shoulders and trying to look unaffected. Given the gleam in the boss’s eyes, he is not all that successful.

“Dazai is dying,” Chuuya declares loudly, “fix him or I’ll eat you.”

…Ah. Dazai winces. That could have been phrased a lot better. Given the way Mori’s eyebrow is quirked ever-so-slightly, the doctor is intrigued. A Mori that is interested in anything related to Dazai does not bode well, especially not for the whole ‘not telling Mori that Chuuya is a dragon’ plan.

“I’m not actually dying,” Dazai pipes in before Mori can say anything.

“What?” Chuuya frowns at him. “You said you were.”

“I lied.”

Chuuya stares at him for five silent, tense seconds, then drops him.

Dazai manages to stifle his initial yelp of panic at suddenly being mid-air, but fails to hold back a small shriek as, upon impact with the floor, his knee throbs painfully. Clenching his teeth, Dazai rolls to sit on the tiles, taking weight off his injury, and glowers up at his stupid, annoying partner.

“Why did you drop me?!”

“You lied,” Chuuya growls, baring his teeth and snarling Dazai’s way. Dazai blinks. Has Chuuya honestly not realized that Dazai lies rather often? It is practical: lying gets results when honesty does not.

“As amusing as this little chat is, I would like to know what happened,” Mori finally pipes in. The doctor rises from his desk and rounds it, hands clasped behind his back as his eyes flick from Dazai and Chuuya, lingering too long on the chibi for Dazai’s comfort.

“I got shot,” Dazai mutters. “Chuuya took out the assailant. It was my fault for not being aware of my surroundings.”

Mori hums. “You,” his cold eyes are fixed on Chuuya, “is that really what happened?”

Dazai freezes. Well, fuck. Dragons don’t lie. It’s part of their whole caring-about-honor thing. He really should have considered this before—

“Yes, that is what happened.” Chuuya’s words reach him, then Dazai’s brain jolts to a halt. Chuuya lied for him. Dazai didn’t think that was possible.

Slowly, he peeks up at Chuuya, who is watching him with narrowed eyes. The dragon observes him for a moment, then sighs, smoke curling from his nostrils, and marches over, scooping Dazai into his arms once more. Dazai does not protest the princess carry this time.

“Do not lie to me,” Chuuya grumbles. Then he turns to Mori, his lips pulling back from his sharp teeth. Marching up to the doctor, Chuuya holds Dazai out a little and nods toward his knee. “Can you fix him or not?” Mori leans in to look at the injury — at the blood-soaked bandages and ruined pantleg, really — and Dazai catches himself leaning away, trying to hide in Chuuya’s arms. He halts the motion and holds himself still.

“I suppose I could,” Mori says slowly, “but not for free.” Dazai barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eye. He already knew Mori would want something in return, that’s how this works.

“I agree,” Chuuya gives a resolute nod. “You fix him and I do not kill you.”

The gobsmacked look on Mori’s face has Dazai snorting. “I don’t think that is the payment he meant, Chibi.”

“Too bad,” Chuuya grumbles. “I do not like him, so that the deal.”

“Tell me what you are,” Mori counters with.

Chuuya shoots Mori a dark look. “I am human.”

“Don’t lie, we both know you are not human.”

“Yes, I am,” Chuuya lies. He does it so easily that Dazai is momentarily stunned. If today is the first time the chibi has lied, he is doing it exceptionally well. “Do not be daft, bitch.” Dazai snorts again; he forgot that he told Chuuya to call Mori that. Though, if Chuuya is realizing that Dazai lies, perhaps he has figured out that ‘bitch’ is not exactly the polite label Dazai claimed it was.

Unfortunately, Mori’s lips are pursed and there is an angry gleam lurking within his eyes. Better get this over with quickly before Mori decides to try his hand against Chuuya — Dazai is not quite ready to see how that would turn out. He knows better than to bet against Mori, but Chuuya is a dragon and that has to count for something.

“Same deal as usual, Boss,” Dazai says in a flat tone. “You patch me up and I do a job for you without complaint.”

“Aw,” Mori fakes a pout, “how boring! Don’t you think it’s time to change up this little game of ours, Osamu?”

The moment Dazai’s name leaves Mori’s lips, Chuuya growls angrily. Dazai finds himself shifted to be held by a single arm, the other lashing out faster than either human can react. Chuuya’s fingers close around Mori’s throat and squeeze. The doctor’s fingers scramble in attempt to pry Chuuya’s grip loose. Given the shade of his face, Mori is not successful.

“Do not,” Chuuya snarls, “say his name.”

Dazai blinks, puzzled. That is what this is about? “Chuuya, it’s fine,” Dazai mutters, brows drawing together. “Mori is just using my given name to be annoying, it’s fine.”

“It is not fine,” Chuuya hisses. “We do not like him, so he is not allowed to use your secret name.”

“Secret—? Chuuya, my name is not hidden or all that special. Put him down.”

Chuuya snarls again, his grip tightening around Mori’s throat so that the claws tipping Chuuya’s fingers pierce flesh and draw blood. Then, in the corner of his eye, Dazai spots a flicker that signals Mori’s ability is being summoned.

“Chuuya, put him down,” Dazai orders in his darkest, angriest tone. As he expected, Chuuya flinches and drops his grip on Mori. He takes a handful of steps back, growls at Mori once more for good measure, then spins on his heel and stalks out of the room, heading for the stairwell immediately, shifting Dazai back to two arms. Now, while it should not be the priority and Dazai knows he is not the heaviest, it is still kind of… impressive? Strange? Exciting? to be carried around so easily. Whatever this feeling is, he is not vocalizing it or giving it any more attention.

The priority right now is figuring out how to get Chuuya back in Mori’s office. His knee is still injured, that has not changed.

“Chuuya—” Dazai starts. His words come out a little heavy on his tongue. And his vision is a little blurrier than normal. Oh dear. See, this is why he needed to deal with Mori and not have his stupid slug get all annoyed and huffy.

“Chuuya,” Dazai starts again, talking slow so his words don’t blur together. “I’m going to pass out now, okay? I’m not dead, so don’t freak out.”

“What?! Dazai, what do you mean? What am I supposed to do? How do I help you?”

Unfortunately for Chuuya, Dazai slumps into the dragon’s chest and passes out before he can reply.

Waking up hurts. Not only does his leg ache, but his head is sore and the lights he blinks his eye open to are far too bright.

“Ugh,” Dazai groans.

Immediately, there is a head blocking the light bulb above him. Given the red hair, Dazai’s first guess would normally be Oda, but the clawed finger poking his cheek says this is Chuuya. Plus, the slug’s hair is a little longer than Oda’s.

“I’m fine,” Dazai mumbles, swatting Chuuya’s poking finger aside.

“Dazai is alive!” Chuuya calls over his shoulder to whoever else is here. A chuckle and the warm hand that settles on his shoulder says that Oda is here too. Oh, good. Both Oda and Ango know first aid, so one of them was probably able to patch him up well enough. If his knee needs surgery, then Dazai will need to figure out how to bargain with Mori — or go to another doctor, but Mori is a familiar evil, so it’s easier to stick with him — but for now, Dazai will settle for sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

However, when he goes to sit up, two small but strong hands grab his shoulders, pining him down.

“Chuuya, let me up,” Dazai grumbles.

“No.”

Great, they’re doing this again.

“Chibi, I need to sit up,” Dazai tries to reason.

“No,” Chuuya repeats, pushing more firmly on Dazai’s shoulders to keep him on the… couch? He can smell paper and old ink, so they are probably in Ango’s office. That’s good; there should be some more shiny dragon books in here that he can use to distract Chuuya.

“Chuuya—”

“Stay put, Dazai,” Oda says. His voice is close, so Dazai tips his head and finds his friend sitting on a chair next to him, looking far too amused. “You scared your partner pretty bad, so stay put for a few minutes at least.”

“Not my fault,” Dazai huffs, “Chuuya is the one who pissed off Mori and ruined my chances at medical aid.”

“I can go kill him if that would help.” Someone snorts. Dazai just hopes it wasn’t him.

“No, don’t kill Mori,” Dazai says for what feels like the millionth time in the last few days.

“It would be easy,” Chuuya insists, finally letting go of Dazai’s shoulders. “I can go there, kill him, and be back in five minutes.”

A slightly tempting offer, but: “No. And we’re not discussing this further.” Chuuya hisses at him but does not say anything more on the matter.

“Go look at the pretty books and leave me alone for a bit,” Dazai continues. He points in what he hopes is the right direction. “They should be over there, top shelf, might be behind some dictionaries.”

Dazai keeps his eye on Oda, whose lips are still quirked up, and has to wait almost ten seconds before Chuuya gives in to his urge to see the shiny books and — though he grumbles something about ‘stupid humans’ — patters off.

“Finally,” Dazai grumbles. “What a nuisance.”

“Ah, yes,” Oda nods sagely. “How annoying it is to have someone care for you.”

“Shut up.”

Oda does not shut up. “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone that panicked,” Oda continues. “Your partner kicked the door right off the hinges and barged in, demanding that Ango and I fix you. Ango cleaned and bandaged your wound, and he said that you should not put any weight on it for at least a couple weeks. Might not be a bad idea to get a doctor or nurse to look at it, but Ango did not think it needed surgery, and I am inclined to agree.”

“Oh, good.” Surgery is always an incredible nuisance, especially when Mori conveniently forgets to give him an anaesthetic.

“While I am not happy to see you injured, I am glad that you have made a friend, Dazai.”

Dazai pauses to digest that sentence, then frowns at Oda. “What on earth are you talking about?” He and Chuuya are not friends. He is extorting the dragon, and he has a feeling that Chuuya must be using him somehow as well — the promise of a hoard and a house cannot possibly be the only reason the dragon has stuck around.

“He was worried for you,” Oda says like it is the simplest concept in the world. “Like a friend would. He hovered right behind Ango the entire time Ango was checking your knee, and threatened to disembowel us if we did not manage to save your life.” Oda pauses. “That part was a bit strange.”

“Ha.” Dazai gulps. Chuuya is doing a horrible job pretending to be human. Still, “We’re not friends, Oda. I don’t know where you get these silly ideas, but you’re wrong.”

“Mhm, sure. So, how did you get injured?” Oda glances across the room to where Chuuya is sitting in mid-air, legs crossed, and glowing red as he examines the jewel-decorated books he has pulled from the top shelf. “I might not know exactly what he is, but he seems strong and not like the type that would let you get injured. So, how did you get hurt?”

Dazai averts his gaze. He looks for Ango but finds his other friend absent. He probably couldn’t get any work done with this interruption and moved to another location.

“Dazai?”

He sighs. “Chuuya shot me.”

A moment of silence, then: “What?” Oda sounds completely bewildered. Good. That’s what he gets for thinking Dazai could possibly be friends with Chuuya. The Demon Prodigy doesn’t get to have something as childish as friends.

“Well, I guess it was a moment of miscommunication.” Dazai sighs louder. He doesn’t want to say, but Oda will find out eventually, so Dazai might as well get it over with now. “Chuuya’s ability is gravity manipulation, and he said he could control bullets, so I asked him to show me how he did it. He took that as meaning that I wanted him to jam a bullet through my knee.”

“…I see?”

A delighted shriek calls Dazai attention to Chuuya in time to see the dragon stop glowing red and flop to the floor with a loud thump. However, when he scrambles to his feet and dashes over, there’s a big smile on his face.

“Dazai!” A book, open to whatever spread caught Chuuya’s attention, is shoved into his face close enough that Dazai cannot see anything. “Dazai, look! It’s Kouyou!”

When Dazai pushes the pages back from his face and can make out the image, he gapes. “Your sister is the Golden Demon?” He blurts, his eye wide. History has labeled Golden Demon as one of the most dangerous dragons, one known for being particularly vicious and wrathful. She was a high-ranking member of the dragon council, and when she voted in a matter, few dared to oppose her decision. Archaeologists found a piece of golden horn that is said to belong to her and it is now in a museum under the highest security, keeping out those who would try to steal something that has been deemed priceless.

But what Dazai always found interesting about her was the giant, katana-wielding spirit she could summon. Battling against a massive, ferocious, golden-scaled dragon would be difficult enough, but her spirit was said to be able to wipe out towns in a single swipe of its lethal blade.

This information, that Chuuya is related to her, changes… well, not much of anything. But it is still good to know. More information is always better.

However, “I don’t recall ever reading that she had siblings.” If Dazai is remembering the family tree correctly, Golden Demon was an only child and was the last of her line; she never had children. And her ancestors all shared the genetic that gave their scales a more metallic tint, like golds, silvers, and bronzes. Red scales, like Chuuya’s, do not fit.

Dazai narrows his eye and Chuuya fidgets slightly under the scrutiny. Chuuya pulls the book back and flips the page towards himself, smiling softly at the image of the fierce, golden dragon burning down a town that is drawn on the page. “I was, uh, taken in? I always wanted to call her my mother, but she did not like that, so she was my sister instead.”

“Golden Demon adopted you and that is not recorded in history?” That is beyond strange. Council members, especially powerful ones like Golden Demon, were the most studied and researched. If she had adopted Chuuya, there is no way that knowledge could have escaped being written down.

“Not my fault if you are bad at writing things,” Chuuya grumbles. “I do not know how you humans record anything with these meaningless scribbles.” Oh, right. Dazai had forgotten Chuuya cannot read modern day writing. Eh, he’ll figure out how to deal with that (as in if it is beneficial to teach Chuuya to read or not) at a later date.

For now, Dazai needs to deal with the wide-eyed look Oda is giving them.

“Care to explain?” It is not a question so much as a politely worded demand. Dazai winces. He got too caught up in learning that Chuuya knows one of the most influential dragons in history and totally forgot that Oda is also here and not supposed to know that Chuuya is a dragon.

Well, at least it’s just Oda. It won’t be the worst thing in the world if he knows now too. Hirotsu already knows, and Dazai is willing to bet that Mori will figure it out before too long, so Oda might as well find out before Mori.

Still, Dazai sighs and sweeps his gaze around the room, checking for any hidden cameras. He is pretty sure that all the recording devices in here are gone, removed by himself a long time ago, but who knows if new ones have been put in.

“So,” Dazai starts then stops. There really isn’t a way to ease into this, is there? “Chuuya is a dragon, I found him and thought it would be fun if he were my partner.” Dazai risks a glance Chuuya’s way, finds the dragon still, eyes wide as he stares at Dazai, then decides to go for it. Besides, he needs to distract Chuuya somehow and prevent Oda’s untimely murder. “He’s also really short and that amuses me.”

“Hey!” Chuuya snaps, baring his teeth Dazai’s way. “Take it back and stop being mean. I am not short. You are just tall!”

“I know the truth can hurt, Slug, but at some point you’ll just need to accept the facts.”

“Stupid, slimy, annoying human,” Chuuya grumbles, “Dumb like a fish.” Chuuya growls at him one more time for good measure, then turns his back and stomps off, floating up into the air to return to looking at the books about dragons. Dazai sticks his tongue out at Chuuya’s retreat.

“Anyway,” Dazai turns his attention back to Oda, who is back to looking far too amused for the situation at hand. “Any further questions?”

An eyebrow raise warns him that Oda is not taking this seriously. “Are you certain that you two are not friends?”

Dazai lets out an exaggerated groan of fake pain at the mere notion—

“You had better not be shooting yourself more!”

—ignores Chuuya, and wishes his best friend was a lot less annoying. Caring. Whatever the word is, Dazai wants Oda to stop it.

Leaving Port Mafia HQ that…evening? Apparently Dazai was asleep for longer than he thought — ends up being another problem.

Namely, Dazai does not have permission to walk on his own, is trying to barter for crutches, and Chuuya keeps insisting that him carrying Dazai around is the best solution. And all Oda does is sit back and smile with that irritating glimmer of joy in his eyes.

“Dazai, you do not weight very much, so it is very easy for me to carry you,” Chuuya says yet again.

“No,” Dazai also says yet again.

Chuuya frowns and takes a small step closer. “I think this is one of those times where I tell you that you are being stupid and carry you anyway.”

“No!” Dazai says louder, clinging to the couch for support as Chuuya comes over, determination steeling his serpentine eyes. “I need the crutches. It makes sense and will allow me more mobility. Plus, you can’t defend me very well if you are carrying me.”

“Yes, I can,” Chuuya insists.

“I’m getting the crutches and that’s final,” Dazai declares, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his head back so he can glare down his nose at the dragon scowling at him.

“But—”

“Chuuya, let him have this one,” Oda — finally — chimes in. “He’ll be insufferable otherwise.” Dazai gapes. Betrayal. Absolute and complete betrayal. Oda just offers a tiny, not-all-that-apologetic smile.

“Fine,” Chuuya huffs. “But if something happens and your crutches,” he eyes the two metal crutches one of the Akutagawas, Dazai is pretty sure it was Gin, brought in, “are not capable of assisting, then I get to carry you.”

“Sure, whatever.” They are going to Dazai’s shipping container, so nothing bad will be waiting there and there is zero risk in making this agreement.

Which is why is it totally not fair that, when Dazai drives himself and Chuuya home (Oda tried to weasel his way into driving, but Dazai pointedly reminded him that he has orphans at home waiting for his return and Oda left not long after), he finds a particularly unpleasant smell loitering around his shipping container. A familiar odor indicative of someone who has not bathed in many long weeks, nor gone outside, and most likely just used the sewer system to arrive in Japan unnoticed by the authorities. How he does so remains a question Dazai does not want answered.

Stepping out of the car, Dazai, moving slowly on his crutches, does a loop around his container, eyeing it critically for damage.

“Dazai, it smells—”

“I know,” Dazai mutters without looking at Chuuya, who has been following him and eyeing his crutches the whole time. “Don’t say anything. He’ll be upset if we point it out.”

“Who?”

Sighing as they reach the front of the shipping container, Dazai tucks his crutches under his arms as best he can and leans forward to tug one of the screeching metal doors open.

“Who are you?” Chuuya growls immediately, shoulders tensing and eyes narrowing as he stares into the darkness of the container. Dazai cannot see anything at first, then his eye adjusts and he scowls.

“Did you seriously ruin my favourite chair?” The armchair in question bears a soaked, dripping coat that is currently being dried from mysterious and unidentified substances.

“I was doing you a favour,” is the sly reply that comes from the furthest corner of the container, indicating that Dazai’s mattress has been infested. “That chair is hideous.”

“Who are you?” Chuuya snarls again, taking a step to place himself between Dazai and the uninvited interloper. Red flickers around the chibi’s form, warning Dazai that they have only seconds before Chuuya decides to crush their only current home.

He quickly reaches over and grabs Chuuya’s wrist, No Longer Human doing what it does best and canceling Chuuya’s ability— hey, he never did think to question why his ability works on a dragon. Well, a question for later. For now, introductions.

“Chuuya, this is Fyodor Dostoevsky, human embodiment of a sewer rat. No, you cannot eat him,” Dazai adds as he sees Chuuya’s lips part. “Fyodor, this is Chuuya, he’s my new mafia partner and no you cannot steal him.”

“Oh? Are you sure about that, Dazai?”

Dazai scowls at his oldest… frenemy and slowly crutches his way into the container, heading for the back corner where the mattress is. After a moment’s pause, he can hear Chuuya’s footsteps following. The door screeches as Chuuya tugs it shut.

“Just don’t try,” Dazai grumbles, reaching his destination and smacking Fyodor’s skinny legs so that the lanky nineteen-year-old has to move and allow Dazai some space to sit on his own bed. Sitting is difficult to do without bending his left leg, but he promised Oda to keep it immobile and allow it to heal, so Dazai makes do with a bit of awkward shuffling.

“Not try to sway such a powerful being from your side to mine?” Fyodor chuckles. “Only a fool would waste such a chance.”

Great. Dazai really should have expected this encounter. Sure, he knew Fyodor would find out eventually, but Dazai did not think it would be this early and right after he has been wounded and thus thrown off his game.

“Well, I should warn you now that you will be unsuccessful,” Dazai tries for a bored tone, but can’t read Fyodor’s expression all that well in the dark, so he is not sure if he succeeded. “Besides, he already has my coat, and I doubt he’d want to replace it with yours.” Dazai points a lazy finger towards the monstrosity that is ruining his chair.

“I—”

“It’s late,” Dazai interrupts. “Let’s sleep, then talk in the morning. I’m sure you’re exhausted from your travels.”

There is a brief glint of white as Fyodor smirks. “Very well. Don’t let me keep you awake, Dazai.”

“You’d better sleep too,” Dazai grumbles as he lies down next to Fyodor. The smell is worse from this close, but he is, unfortunately, kind of used to it. “I’m not dealing with you when you’re sleep-deprived.”

A small shrug is his answer. That’s good enough. They spent many nights awake together, reading books under the covers and whispering new theories quietly so Hirotsu — who was in charge of keeping an eye on them when their fathers dropped them in a hotel room together so they would not interrupt whatever important meetings were happening — would not catch them. Dazai is mildly certain they were never quiet enough, but Hirotsu never said a word to discourage their very sneaky staying-up-at-night strategies. Either way, Dazai knows Fyodor dances with insomnia as often as he does.

The idea that Fyodor, someone who is technically supposed to be his enemy, is lying next to him as Dazai’s breaths even and his eyelid flutters shut, flitters through his mind, but does not bother him in the least. If Fyodor were to try to kill him, he would be creative about it. And probably fail on purpose; it’s hard to come by someone of decent intellect these days.

It does, however, seem to bother Chuuya.

A low growl rings out every time Fyodor so much as twitches. Dazai quickly realizes that if this keeps up, none of them are sleeping tonight, which will make tomorrow so much more difficult to deal with.

“Chuuya, shut up,” Dazai grumbles.

“I am ignoring you,” Chuuya says back.

Fyodor snorts, but wisely keeps his lips shut.

“Look, just— okay, how about you come lie down too?” Is Dazai’s mattress meant to hold three people? Absolutely not. However, two of them are skinny, underfed, and mostly made of bones, and the other is really short. So, with a bit of manoeuvring (Dazai is kind of certain that Chuuya tried to push Fyodor right off the mattress, but the rat weaseled his way back on), they are all able to lie down for the night. Chuuya, content with his place between Dazai and Fyodor, stops his warning growls, but, given the tense back muscles Dazai can feel pressing up against his side, is not inclined to relax whatsoever.

Oh well. There are no more growls or other noises — save for the continuous dripping of Fyodor’s coat — so Dazai manages to fall asleep after a couple hours.

Chapter Text

Chuuya knew something was wrong the moment they got home, but nothing prepared him for the sight of some… some smelly human loitering in Dazai’s den. Had Dazai not told him to not eat this one, Chuuya is certain he would have incinerated the man where he sat. A person invaded their home, yet Dazai does not seem concerned! This stranger could have been stealing Chuuya’s hoard, or waiting to attack, or— or something else that is surely nefarious.

So, lying on his side to keep his back to Dazai, Chuuya glowers at the newcomer. Fyodor. For whatever reason, all Chuuya’s instincts are telling him to be wary of this human. Listening to his gut warning, Chuuya keeps his eyes open all night, tracking any and every move Fyodor makes — which is not much considering Fyodor falls asleep after a couple hours — ready and waiting for the man to try something.

Unfortunately, the night passes, Dazai and Fyodor wake, and Fyodor has not tried to kill them. This leaves Chuuya’s nerves raw and twitchy, his eyes rarely leaving Fyodor as the man sits up and twists to crack his back. It is a little difficult to rely solely on eye-contact to track the man, but Chuuya has already tasted his scent in the air once and has since been making a conscious effort to keep his tongue in his mouth.

“Alright,” Dazai grumbles, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “Five minutes to wake up, then we’ll get into it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Fyodor replies smoothly. There is something about Fyodor’s voice — not the accent, Chuuya has heard many accents over his existence and this is hardly the strangest — but something about the tone has Chuuya’s claws curling in preparation of conflict. The man’s purple eyes flick Chuuya’s way. He bares his fangs and growls in the back of his throat. Chuuya may not know what Dazai and Fyodor are talking about, but he does not like it.

“Do you have any coffee?” Fyodor asks after a moment.

Dazai scoffs. “Oh, please. Like you didn’t snoop around the second you got here.”

“You know me too well,” Fyodor chuckles. “May I help myself to an energy drink?”

“Take a purple one,” Dazai grumbles, yawning again. “I hate those ones. And get me a red one.” Fyodor hums an agreement and slides off the bed, sauntering over to the opposite corner where the cans live. And where Chuuya put his hoard. His eyes narrow as Fyodor approaches, but the smelly human does the smart thing any only takes two cans; he does not touch Chuuya’s hoard. Returning with the cans, Fyodor tosses the one with red markings on it to Dazai, keeping one with purple markings for himself.

Chuuya flinches when, simultaneously, both humans pull the little tab at the top of the cans, making double popping noises ring out. He glares at the cans for good measure, annoyed that such a tiny thing managed to startle him.

Catching Chuuya glowering at the can, Fyodor raises a slim brow. “Oh, did you want one as well? My apologies, I assumed one of your kind—” there is an emphasis there that has Chuuya wanting to rip the rat-man’s throat out “—would abstain from such human drinks.”

Chuuya opens his mouth, fully prepared to give a detailed description as to how Chuuya would much rather drain the blood from Fyodor’s body and use his skull as a glass, but Dazai replies first.

“Probably best to keep energy drinks away from him, actually.” Dazai takes a sip from his own can before continuing. “Chuuya got drunk incredibly quickly the other night, so I do not want to find out what happens if he gets any kind of caffeine.”

“Ah, yes,” Fyodor nods along, “That does seem like a good plan.”

It is quiet for the next four minutes as the humans sip their drinks and slowly look more awake. Both Dazai and Fyodor have the same intelligent, calculating glint in their eyes (or eye), and that has Chuuya on edge even more than before. Something is happening and he has not been informed of what it is and thus is not sure how to prepare. Something tells him that, no matter what ends up occurring, Dazai will still not let him eat Fyodor and solve all their problems. How annoying.

Huffing a bit of smoke from his nose, Chuuya stomps over to examine his hoard. It has been too long since he last admired his pretty things. After a moment’s consideration, Chuuya puts his hat on. He hums, happy with that decision. It settles over his head as a comforting weight and the shiny chain is in flicking distance if he wants to play with it. Just as a precaution, he slips his knife into one of the pockets of his coat (it is officially his now, Dazai has not asked for it back and Chuuya wants to keep it) and clutches his book to his chest. He does not want to leave his hoard lying about for Fyodor to steal. Logically, Chuuya is sure humans know better than to steal from a hoard, but he cannot be too sure with someone who prickles his instincts like Fyodor does.

“Are we ready to begin?” Fyodor breaks the silence. He has claimed a spot on one end of Dazai’s bed, and Dazai sits facing him on the other. They have both finished their drinks and set the cans aside.

“I think so,” Dazai replies easily. “Chibi, come over here.” Dazai pats the spot next to himself, so Chuuya patters over, claws clacking on the metal underfoot, and settles on Dazai’s right, covering his human’s blindside. He sets his book on the ground next to him for later. If he sits a little closer to Dazai then is appropriate, then he can blame it on the size of the mattress rather than his need to reaffirm that Dazai is his human and Fyodor had better not try to do anything to steal him away.

“Let’s start this off simply, shall we?” Fyodor turns to Chuuya and offers a sly smile. “I know what you are,” Chuuya cannot help the way his form stiffens; he does not like the gleam in Fyodor’s eyes, “and I know I can provide for you better than Dazai can. He is affiliated with the Port Mafia, whose stronghold in only here, in Yokohama. Whereas I am the head of a Russian mafia known as the Decay of Angels—”

“Since when?” Dazai interrupts.

“Oh, a few months now,” Fyodor replies with a shrug. “My father happened to accidentally ingest a lethal dose of rat poison.”

“Ah yes,” Dazai nods sagely, “a true accident that no one could have foreseen.”

“Exactly. May I continue my offer?” After Dazai’s small, terse nod, Fyodor continues. “Now then— Chuuya, was it?” Chuuya just glares harder at the man. “I understand that Dazai will have tried to convince you that the Port Mafia is a very influential organization, but the Decay of Angels has strongholds set up across the world. In other words, we are more powerful. I could provide for you better than Dazai ever could.”

Chuuya blinks slowly. Is… Is Fyodor trying to steal him away? He is not trying to steal Dazai?

Dazai scoffs. “Okay, my turn for talking. Fyodor is a liar and has already lied; the DOA is not a worldwide organization. They only have bases in Russia, France, England, and Japan.”

“We have been expanding, it just takes time to establish a lucrative business. Something the Port Mafia would know nothing about.”

“Anyway,” Dazai ignores Fyodor’s jab, “Fyodor smells bad so you really wouldn’t want to spend prolonged time around him.” Chuuya’s lips quirk up; he thought Dazai said not to mention the smell, and given the way Fyodor scowls, his human was saving the comment for this moment.

“Dazai is a pathological liar,” Fyodor retorts. “And only uses people for his own advantage. If he is the one you stay with, he will manipulate and use you as he sees fit, then discard you.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrow to slits. He does not like that Fyodor is insulting his human and gives a small hiss to vocalize that feeling.

“Like you would be better,” Dazai scoffs. “At least I care about Chuuya. You just want to sway him to your side with a few meagre promises of gold.”

Against his will, Chuuya perks up slightly at the mention of gold.

Fyodor notices the reaction and latches onto it immediately. “I doubt Dazai would be able to offer you real gold, but my family has been collecting treasures for centuries; agree to join my side and all the gold and jewels I possess would be yours.”

Chuuya does not want to admit it, but that is a very tempting offer. To have a hoard that is properly full of real gold…

“Here,” Fyodor extends his rectangle device and shows Chuuya the photo on the screen. “This is hardly an eighth of what we have stored.” A pile of glimmering golden coins, goblets, and plates; silver coins, swords, and armour pieces; and jewels of all sorts scattered about, either loose or in other items, meets his gaze. Chuuya’s eyes widen. From the sheer amount, he doesn’t doubt that it would be large enough to sprawl over in his dragon form. Plus, if that is only a portion…

“You are offering me a hoard,” Chuuya breathes. A real, proper, large hoard.

Dazai swats Fyodor’s hand aside, a scowl on his lips. “I already promised to get you a hoard, Chibi. One that is larger and better than anything Fyodor could offer you.”

Fyodor raises an eyebrow. A small, victorious smirk dances across his lips. “You let Dazai call you such a demeaning nickname?” Next to Chuuya, Dazai freezes.

“What do you mean?” Chuuya asks, “he said that chibi means friend.”

“It is an insult to your height,” Fyodor corrects. Dazai mutters a nearly inaudible curse.

“What?” Chuuya croaks out, feeling a sudden stab of betrayal. Fyodor could be lying… but what if Dazai really has been tricking him the whole time? He glances his human’s way and finds Dazai scowling at Fyodor, avoiding Chuuya’s questioning gaze.

“Unfortunately, you should not be surprised that Dazai has been lying to you for so long. It is in his nature to do such a thing,” Fyodor sighs. “I, on the other hand, would never dare call you such things. I know who you are and would gladly give you the respect you deserve.”

“What do you mean?” Dazai blurts before Chuuya can consider Fyodor’s words. “I didn’t recognize him, and we always shared everything we learnt with each other.”

“Most things,” Fyodor corrects. “We had different books and I know you kept some things from me. It is only to be expected that I do the same.”

Dazai opens his mouth, but Fyodor cuts him off. “Now then, Chuuya.” The man says his name with a small smirk, and that’s when it hits him. He understands the point Fyodor is trying to get across. “As you know, someone’s ability tells you a lot about who they are as a person. I suppose Dazai has kept his ability a secret, but, then again, Dazai is only using you as a pawn, so why would he trust you with that information? I have no such qualms. My ability is called Crime and Punishment; I seek a world where everyone can live equally, and those who break the rules and ruin that peace are dealt with accordingly. Is a world of true equality not one that you have long dreamt of seeing?”

Reluctantly, he nods. That is something he has wanted for a long, long time. A world where no one, no matter who or what they are, has to hide just because they are different. The kind of world he dreamt of on the cold, scary nights long, long ago where Dad would hug him tight and they would hope no one would stumble upon their home while they took turns sleeping.

“Working together, you and I can make that dream a reality. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

He nods again.

“Woah, hang on,” Dazai protests. “Chuuya, you aren’t seriously listening to this rat, are you? We tested it once and he lies even more than I do! His dream is not one of equality, but of world domination; you don’t want to rule the world, do you?”

He shrugs. The power simmering in his veins crackles to life, delighting in that idea. Being in charge, having the ants bow down before him, like they should. No one being able to challenge him should he decide to destroy the world and anything else that may be in his path.

“Of course you suddenly want that,” Dazai grumbles. “You’re not making this easy, Slug.” He twitches at the nickname but does not reply. There is too much happening right now for him to know what words to say. It is easier to stay quiet and take deep breaths so strength floating under his skin clams down.

“You can simply give up,” Fyodor says, smiling sweetly Dazai’s way. “I would not mind.”

“Fuck you, Fyodor,” is Dazai’s response. “Chuuya was my partner first, you don’t get to swoop in and steal him. I was the one who promised to help him adjust to a human-run world, find a proper home, build the most magnificent hoard ever, and help him with anything that came up along the way. What have you done other than show up, stink up the place, and throw some fancy words and empty promises around?”

“I am not afraid of him,” Fyodor replies. Turning to him, Fyodor continues. “I am not like the rest of my kind. Even Dazai, for all that he pretends, will be afraid when he finds out what I know. Do you want to risk that? Being stuck with a human who lives in fear of you? Because if you come with me, then you never need to worry about that again. I would be happy to let you do as you please. If you have enemies, I’d gladly help you remove them. Places you want protected? I’ll make it happen. People to worship you? I could have hundreds of shrines set up in your name within the week. And if you just want to destroy everything, well, I will be honored to watch the world burn at your side.”

“What about that equality of yours, Fyodor?” Dazai snipes.

“Everyone is equal when they are dead, Dazai.” While Dazai wrinkles his nose, he does not argue Fyodor’s point.

“Well, in any case, you can’t just claim that I’ll be afraid of little Chuuya! You’ve seen him, right? How could anyone be afraid of someone so miniscule?”

It is a bit shocking to go from one human promising to basically devote themselves to him, to having his height insulted. But still, “I am not small!” He snaps his teeth Dazai’s way for good measure.

In return, Dazai wraps an arm over his shoulders and plants a hand in his hair, long fingers slowly scratching at his scalp. It is just as nice as last time, so he goes quiet and still, trying to silently convince Dazai to keep going.

“That looks an awful lot like cheating,” Fyodor comments.

“Well, you’re keeping secrets, so I think that if anyone is cheating, then it’s you.”

“Does it really matter?” Fyodor sighs. “We both know I can offer him more than you can, Dazai. I run a powerful organization; you’re a slave to one.” A pause, then: “That being said, you are very welcome to defect from the Port Mafia and join me. I would be happy to demote Nikolai should you decide to become my right-hand.”

“No thanks. We both know that can’t happen, so there’s no point in asking,” Dazai sighs. “While working with you would be fun, our ideals would clash eventually, and the fallout would be disastrous. Plus, Mori would never let me leave so easily.”

“I could—”

“We’re not eating Mori,” Dazai interrupts before he finishes his very logical solution.

“See, if you were on my side, I would let you eat whoever you wanted,” Fyodor chimes in. “I know better than to try to control someone as great as you.”

He glances Dazai’s way, only to find his human’s eye is dark and glaring at Fyodor. He pokes his human’s arm. As much as he does not want to interrupt the head pats he is receiving, this is necessary. “Dazai, go wait outside. I need to talk to Fyodor alone for a moment.”

“What? No, you can’t kick me out of my own home—”

“Dazai,” he repeats, adding a small growl to his tone to indicate that this is serious. His human gives a long sigh but stands, albeit a bit wobbly.

“Fine. Just know that this is not my defeat, I am merely listening to my partner’s request, like the nice, caring, considerate person that I am.” With those words, Dazai sneers at Fyodor once more, then spins on his heel and slowly limps out. The door to Dazai’s den clicks shut loudly, indicating that they are alone.

“There are no cameras or microphones,” Fyodor starts with, “so we can speak freely now. Though I suspect Dazai will try to listen in, so we should keep our voices soft.”

“Okay,” he agrees and does drop his volume. “Tell me what you know.”

Fyodor grins. “Oh, I was hoping you would ask something like that, Arahabaki.”

Instinctively, he stiffens, eyes narrowing and lips curling back from his teeth. “Do not call me that name. I am going by Chuuya now.”

“Why?” Fyodor frowns at him. “You are the most powerful being on the planet, why hide? There is no dragon council to hunt you down, not anymore. Why not live as you are and let yourself be free?”

He opens his mouth to reply, only to not have any words.

Instead, he shrugs off his coat and lets the power in his veins crawl to the surface in a way that he has not been allowed to do for many years. Red erupts across his skin, leaving marks that look like curling blood behind. Wings, dark red and leathery like those a dragon would have, but thicker, with spikes crawling along the top ridge of bone, and, obviously, smaller, unfurl from his back, splitting his ugly black shirt down his spine. Their weight, familiar even after so many years, has him relaxing. The air around him begins to shudder as his power leeches off him — he has to make a conscious effort to keep his hat on his head — making his skin glow an inhuman white. When he finally meets Fyodor’s gaze, he knows his eyes are entirely red.

He bares sharp, canine-like teeth in a feral grin. “Are you still unafraid, human?” The words rumble in the air, his power making them echo slightly.

But rather than flinch back or scream or run, Fyodor leans forward. His lips are parted, his eyes are bright. While it has rarely been pointed his way, he knows that expression: awe.

“You are magnificent,” Fyodor breathes. “Tell me what you need, what you want, and it’s yours.” A hand is extended his way. “Come with me. Together we will change the world.”

Araha— he considers the offer and eyes the extended hand. Fyodor is practically trembling. He can tell that one word from him would make the human drop to his knees and bow.

Somehow, while the option of having that power over another is so incredibly intriguing, taunting, even, he does not find himself longing for it. He can make people bow at his feet, make them fear him whenever he wants to — the ease at which he could chose to do so was what made the dragons so afraid of him.

But he does not know how to make someone laugh at his height and call him a slug.

“No,” he says, keeping it simple. He draws his power back. The red bands fade, his skin stops glowing. His wings tuck away, the rips in his shirt covered when he pulls his coat on.

“What?” Fyodor blinks, clearly baffled. “I– I don’t understand. I can give you everything you could possibly want, why would you refuse?”

Chuuya shrugs. He stands, places his back to Fyodor with little concern since he is relatively sure the human will not waste time attacking him, and marches over to the front of Dazai’s den. He unlatches the door and flings it open, finding Dazai in the middle of pacing—

It is only then that Chuuya remember his human’s injury.

He hisses sharply and scoops Dazai into his arms.

“Wha— hey! Put me down!” Dazai whines, wriggling in his grasp.

“You are injured,” Chuuya snaps back. “I apologize, I should not have made you move.”

“I’m fine, Chibi. I had a whole night’s rest and everything! It barely hurts.”

Chuuya does not need to flick his tongue out to taste the lie. “Oda said no walking. You have your dumb crutches and should have used those.”

“I don’t need them,” Dazai whines as Chuuya carries him inside, “I’m healed!”

“I am ignoring you again,” Chuuya solemnly informs his human. He has decided that letting Dazai know when he is doing the ignoring is a good plan; it helps communicate his intents and allows him to do the ignoring.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dazai grumbles. But he does stop squirming and lets Chuuya carry him back to the bed, where Fyodor has flopped onto his side, greasy hair falling in his eyes.

Once Dazai probably settles back down, Chuuya eyeing his knee to see if he can do anything for the injury, Dazai reaches over and pokes Fyodor’s shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be gloating right about now?” Dazai says.

“Not this time,” Fyodor sighs, shifting to lie on his back. “It appears that I have failed to sway Chuuya to my side.”

“Really?” Dazai sounds far too shocked. Chuuya growls softly; he must not have been clear enough if his human truly thought Chuuya might abandon him, even if the promise of gold was rather tempting.

“Indeed, I was shocked as well. However, as I have the rest of the day until I need to return home, shall we chat? It has been a while since the last time we’ve seen each other.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Dazai agrees. “Hey, Chibi, if I give you directions and Fyodor gives you cash, could you go to the convenience store and get us snacks?” Chuuya stares at his human blankly. No matter how much Dazai seems to trust Fyodor, Chuuya is not about to leave anyone alone with his injured human.

“Right, of course not,” Dazai sighs. “We’ll work on that. You’ll be an excellent fetch— shopper in no time. After all, it’s a valuable human skill, so I ought to teach you.”

“Not today,” Chuuya protests. “Your knee is bad again.”

“Yeah, yeah, not today. Today, I suggest you nap since Fyodor and I are going to talk about a bunch of human stuff that is probably very boring for you.”

Chuuya shrugs. He might nap, but not yet. Instead, he pulls his book onto his lap and starts slowly flipping through pages, admiring all the colorful drawings inside, and drowns out the voices when Dazai and Fyodor start talking about “profit” and “new supplies” and whatever else.

Later, when Dazai has convinced Fyodor to venture into the public world to go get them food, an act Chuuya approved of, Dazai turns to him.

“Okay, tell me for real: why did you stay with me instead of accepting Fyodor’s offer? We both know it was a really good offer.”

For a moment, Chuuya considers telling Dazai what really happened.

Then he shrugs. “He smells bad.”

Dazai squints at him with that one suspicious eye, then blinks. “That’s it? Seriously?” Chuuya nods. “Wow,” Dazai snorts, “Okay then. Remind me to never forget to bathe for too long, otherwise you might leave me too!”

“You would smell bad,” Chuuya agrees, “like a slimy, gross fish.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with fish?” Dazai protests. “I like fish.”

“Fish are nasty. They taste bad.”

“Well, you’re mean! Fish are nice and have lots of different colors, and I’m pretty sure that a couple kinds have distant relations to dragons, so you should really treat them with more respect.”

Chuuya pauses. Then he decides that Dazai is lying about fish being related to dragons and smacks his human’s shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Do not lie to me,” Chuuya grumbles half-heartedly. He kind of does not mind when the lies are about silly things, but he will not be informing Dazai of that.

“But I’m injured! You can’t hit poor, weak, little old me when I’m injured!”

To prove that he can, Chuuya smacks Dazai’s shoulder again — though he does so softer this time. After all, Dazai is his human, and he would never actually hurt his human on purpose.

“Mean!” Dazai wails anyway. “Such a mean chibi brute!” He pouts dramatically and clasps his shoulder as if mortally wounded, but his visible eye is light and playful.

Chuuya huffs back, sending a cloud of smoke to engulf Dazai’s face.

“Ew,” his human mutters, waving a hand around to disperse the cloud. “That was gross.” Then he pauses and tilts his head, considering something. “You know what, you should do that to Fyodor when he gets back. If he reeks of smoke, maybe it’ll get past his nose-blind-ness and force him to have a good long shower.”

“I will,” Chuuya vows. After listening to them talk all afternoon, it does seem like Fyodor is Dazai’s friend, and if Dazai’s friend is going to come back ever, Chuuya would rather he not reek like a sewer rat. If blowing smoke in the man’s face is what it takes, then Chuuya is happy to help.

Chapter Text

Fyodor heads out later that night, after choking on the large cloud of smoke shoved in his face courtesy of Chuuya. For once, Dazai is not upset to see his frenemy depart. Sitting there and listening to Fyodor explain all the ways that he is so much better suited for manipulating the dragon that Dazai already called dibs on was oddly horrifying. Add in the fact that Chuuya snapped at him to leave, having forgotten about Dazai’s injured knee, and Dazai was ninety-seven-point-five percent sure that Chuuya was going to go with Fyodor. The Russian certainly thought that would be the case, what with his trip back home scheduled hardly twenty-four hours after his arrival.

Then Chuuya said no, he won’t go with Fyodor because Fyodor smells bad, and Dazai had been so close to laughing hysterically at his good fortune. It is not often luck is on his side, but Dazai had never been gladder that Fyodor hasn’t grown into showering or any other kind of self-cleanliness over the last years.

However, Dazai knows better than to rely on luck. He knows Fyodor will be back and he does not intend to get caught off-guard again. Hence his current plans for bribery— er, a gift.

“Where are we going?” Chuuya asks yet again. Dazai merely hums and continues making his way down the street. They have made it to the downtown area of Yokohama and have been passing shops for a while now, but there is one in particular that Dazai is keeping his eye open for. Not that it is easy to be on the lookout when he has a single eye to work with and has to also make sure not to run into anyone. Crutches really are annoying to manoeuvre in crowded areas. It doesn’t help that it’s dark out this time of night despite it being barely into the evening and that Chuuya, for whatever reason, keeps trying to hold his hand even though his hands are very busy manipulating his crutches.

“Dazai,” Chuuya whines, “tell me where we are going.”

“Nowhere that special,” Dazai replies flippantly. “I just figured I ought to get Chibi a little reward for having to put up with Fyodor all day.” As anticipated, Chuuya perks up.

“You are going to get me something?”

“Mhmm. You’ll like it, I promise.” After all, Dazai has already withdrawn an exorbitant amount of cash off one of Mori’s stolen credit cards — kept in separate locations for maximal security, can’t have Mori stealing them back — in preparation for this purchase. Considering the purchase in question, Dazai is extra glad his own funds are not going towards this; such a sum would make his account cry.

Chuuya huffs and doesn’t seem at all pleased about the secrecy but does stop asking.

A moment passes before the slug speaks up again.

“You know, we could move faster if I carried—”

“Ah, we’re here!” Dazai announces, turning into one of the many shops. “Come along, Chibi.” Shockingly, despite Fyodor’s revelation that Chibi is not a perfectly nice nickname, Chuuya has not asked him to stop using it. So, Dazai is making the most of whatever limited time the very fitting nickname has left and is still using it whenever it pleases him to do so, which is rather often.

“I like this store,” Chuuya mumbles, his eyes roving over all the jewellery in sight as he follows Dazai inside.

“Yeah, I figured you would.” Dazai smirks to himself, glad he is already proving his superiority over Fyodor, then his smirk slips away as he sees Chuuya’s eyes locking onto all the things in the shop. Dazai did not pick out enough money for buying out the whole store.

So, stopping Chuuya before the dragon gets all clingy to stuff that isn’t his, Dazai grabs Chuuya’s hand, puts it on his arm alongside a stern glare that silently conveys Dazai wants him to hang on, and crutches his way up to the counter. Thankfully Chuuya does follow, though his steps are slow and his gaze lingers on the larger, sparklier piece in the store.

“Hi,” he smiles pleasantly at the woman working behind the counter, “I placed an order this afternoon to reserve an item. It should be under Shuji.”

“One moment please.” The lady takes out a logbook (ew, who uses physical logs these days? Dazai can see the monitor that’s, like, two feet away) and scans down the page until she hums, tapping a pink nail on the last entry.

“Here you are. Cash or credit today, sir?”

“Cash,” Dazai replies easily, “but we’d like to have a look first before purchase.”

“Of course.” The woman reaches under the counter and sets a slim, blue velvet box on glass countertop.

Because Dazai is not sure Chuuya knows how to open boxes, he does so for the slug, then turns the box the dragon’s way.

“Well?” Dazai prompts after Chuuya stares, unmoving, for nearly ten seconds. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” is the immediate reply. Chuuya’s throat bobs as he continues staring, his fingers curling and reaching for the object, a black choker with sparkly diamonds decorating it, though he does not actually pick it up. Dazai takes pity on him.

“You can try it on,” he suggests. “Might as well make sure it fits while we’re here.”

“I can wear it?” Chuuya breathes, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Dazai, leaning his weight on his good foot, reaches over and — after checking to make sure Chuuya won’t bite his head off — scoops the necklace up. It takes a bit of effort to get Chuuya to face the other way, but eventually Dazai manages to clip the choker around his partner’s slim neck. It fits perfectly, covering the scar across Chuuya’s throat. While Dazai would love to know the story behind said scar, today is not the right time to ask.

Chuuya swallows again, then starts making his happy rumbling noise. Dazai is immensely pleased with himself; this was a genius idea. Now Chuuya will associate staying with Dazai, not leaving for other, richer people, with earning nice presents. It’s like training a dog.

“We’ll take it,” Dazai says, passing over a wad of bills to the lady waiting for his money.

“Thank you for your purchase,” the woman replies. “Is there anything else you needed help finding?”

“Nope, this is all for today, thank you.” Once the lady has passed the very little change back over, Dazai — after placing a rather dazed Chuuya’s hand on his arm so the dragon follows along — heads out of the shop. Chuuya, who is too busy trying to crane his neck to see the choker and running his fingers over the diamonds, doesn’t seem to notice when they leave the store. Good. Leaving without having purchased everything was the part Dazai was worried about.

They make it back to Dazai’s shipping container with little hassle.

Even better, since there are still leftover snacks that Fyodor bought, Dazai gets to flop down in bed and grab a bag of plain, salty chips and enjoy the way Chuuya flinches when the bag pops as he tears it open. The dragon scowls at the bag, then goes back to running his fingers on his choker.

“Hey, Chibi, wanna look at it?” Dazai retrieves his phone from the depths of his pockets and, after opening it to the camera app, tosses it over. “You can see yourself in here. If you press the white button, it will take a photo so you can look at it later, too.”

“Ooh,” Chuuya squints at the phone, then his eyes go wide. “It is like a mirror! This is a very neat tool, Dazai.”

“Try taking a picture.”

“Click the white button?”

“Yep.” Dazai watches, while savouring his chips, as Chuuya slowly learns to take photos. His expression shifts from confused to delighted to absolutely enthralled. Dazai has a feeling he won’t be getting his phone back anytime soon, but that’s okay. The more photos the chibi takes, the more potential blackmail material Dazai will have: he didn’t tell Chuuya how to delete pictures, after all. So if Chuuya takes any bad ones, then Dazai will have those to enjoy. What a genius idea, if he does say so.

Come morning, Dazai is surprised to find that he wakes up not entirely exhausted. How strange. Anyway, a quick look at his phone informs him that it is just past six and he already has a text from both Mori and Hirotsu. Obviously the one from Hirotsu gets clicked on first. After reading the short message and deciding to ignore the one from Mori, Dazai grins.

“Chibi!” He calls, pretty sure that Chuuya is lurking around somewhere nearby. “Pack up and get ready to go, we’re moving!”

“To the castle?” Chuuya replies quickly, his face popping into view as he leans over Dazai’s horizontal self. Movement draws Dazai’s attention, showing him the black and red can dangling from Chuuya’s fingers. For one fearful moment Dazai is certain that Chuuya has been drinking it, then the energy drink is passed to him and Dazai frowns. He shrugs it off, deciding that It must be a mistake that Chuuya got him a red one, his favourite, over any of the others.

“Ah, I guess we’ll find out! I’m not sure what Hirotsu picked out for us, but he found something. I’ve got the address, and I think we’ve still got a car parked outside, so we’ll move this morning.”

“I can—”

“Pack everything into the back and sit in the passenger seat?” Dazai interrupts. Chuuya pouts, but starts slinking around the shipping container, picking up the few things loitering around. There is not much, so it takes only a handful of minutes before Chuuya has his ‘hoard’ stuffed in his pockets and Dazai’s remaining energy drinks and the snacks Fyodor left bundled in his arms.

“Okay,” Chuuya declares at that point. “I have found all the things.”

“Good job,” Dazai says. Chuuya preens at the praise, but Dazai hardly notices given he is busy trying to figure out if it is worth moving his mattress or chair to the new location. He decides against it. If he ever needs to use his shipping container as a safe house or wants to come back (if Chuuya leaves) then it would be good to have things set up and ready for use. He’ll just hope Hirotsu bought some furniture — or that there is some nice corner Dazai can put pillows near and nap in. Plus, his chair is probably ruined from Fyodor’s nasty coat laying on it for a whole night.

Once Dazai has made his way over to the car, he directs Chuuya to place the snacks in the back seats, then has to grab the dragon’s shirt, catching him as he tries to sneak around Dazai and get into the driver’s seat.

“No,” is all Dazai needs to say on the matter. Chuuya pouts some more at him, but Dazai steadily ignores it. Chuuya does not get to drive ever again and that’s that.

It takes a bit more effort to pack his crutches in with the snacks, then actually get into the car, but Dazai is resourceful and figures it out. He’s had two nights of rest already, so his injury is practically healed. Obviously that is how gunshot wounds work. Who needs weeks of bed rest?

While the phone in Dazai’s pocket practically burns as he drives past the turn he would normally take to get to the Port Mafia, he ignores it. Mori can wait. Hirotsu got him a house, the least Dazai can do is attend to those matters first. It’s not a choice of sentimentality and who Dazai would rather spend his time with, he’s clearly being very practical.

It helps that Chuuya has been humming happily this entire time. With the promise of a castle — hopefully the place Hirotsu found can be classified as such — the dragon does not seem as bothered by being in the car as he normally is.

“Dazai,” Chuuya begins, “do you think we can have a shelf for my books?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t there be a shelf?”

“Oh, well, I was not sure what the rules were for shelves. I do not want my books to be part of my for-sleeping-hoard, and I quite like the shelf in your tiny room—”

“My office?”

“—so I thought it would be nice to have one of my own.” Chuuya perks up. “Maybe I can decorate it too, and my shelf can also be nice and sparkly.”

“…Sure. Knock yourself out, Chibi.” Dazai is keeping his eye on the road, but he can feel Chuuya’s confusion. “What is it, Slug?”

“Well, why would I want to knock myself out?”

Ah. Dazai snorts. “It’s another human expression. It means ‘go for it’, so I’m saying you can decorate your shelf if you want to.”

“Oh, I understand. I like that expression. It sounds violent but it actually nice. How silly.”

That being said… “Hey, Chibi. Wanna learn some other fun phrases?”

“Okay.”

Dazai grins. This is going to be fun.

Almost an hour later Dazai is parking the car at the top of a long driveway. He spent the ride teaching Chuuya how to swear somewhat accurately, and taught him a bunch of phrases that are not so accurate. Dazai is practically grinning as he imagines all the chaos that will be unleashed… it will be glorious.

But that’s for later. Right now, Dazai hops out of the car, offers a very professional nod to acknowledge Hirotsu’s existence — to which the man responds with a too-friendly and too-soft smile — and gathers his crutches so he can actually go inspect the very large property sprawling around them.

“Ooh,” Chuuya is quick to get out of the car and his eyes are wide as he looks around the property. Dazai takes another look too: There are tall hedges framing the house itself while still leaving a significant slice of carefully maintained grass as a proper yard, the gravel driveway places them away from the road, and any possible neighbour is about a five-minute drive away. All good things.

The house itself is almost over-the-top. It looks like a haunted mansion out of some old gothic novel. Arches curve every door and window, the place is colored in greys and blacks with the white of the windowsills serving as a stark contrast. The place must be three or four stories tall and is both wide and deep. It is not perfectly rectangular: there are two towers diagonal to each other with cone-shaped roofs pointing up to the clouds, and there is a shorter section jutting off the right side of the building that looks to be a pathway leading to a glass-sided greenhouse that seems far too full and healthy; Hirotsu should know by now that Dazai can’t keep plants alive, so the pretty greenhouse is likely to rot away. The towers are kind of neat though. At least one will become a good book-cove.

“There was budget for this?” Dazai mutters as he moves to stand near Hirotsu. The older man just shrugs.

“You wanted a large house, so I bought you one. The finances will work themselves out.” That is a suspiciously vague answer, but Dazai hates dealing with money, so he just nods and decides that he does not care how Hirotsu arranges things.

“Is there a basement?”

“An unfinished one that seemed to be used as a cellar. However,” Hirotsu continues before Dazai can complain, “there is a very large ballroom in the center of the house, thus lacking windows to the outside. I figured that would be an adequate replacement.”

“Hopefully,” Dazai sighs. “Alright, let’s go in and see what we’re dealing with.”

Hirotsu chuckles. “You could sound more excited, Osamu. This is your first proper home of your own.”

“My shipping container was basically a cheap apartment,” Dazai grumbles. He can’t deny that it is a little exciting to be stepping into what looks and feels like a castle, knowing that it is his and he will be living here. Living in a castle may possibly have been one of his ridiculous childhood dreams.

The interior proves to be as nice as the exterior. Red carpets lining the floors, glimmering handrails curling with the staircases, and even massive chandeliers shimmering above them. There are few decorations on the walls, save for elaborate swirls in the build itself, but there are lights every few feet to ensure the long hallways do not become too dark and spooky. Not that Dazai thinks he would be scared by something as boring as the dark, but maybe Chuuya is afraid of the dark, and if that’s the case, then he doesn’t want the dragon getting spooked and lighting their house on fire.

Add in the fancy rooms that are fully furnished, the large kitchen and dining room, the entire library (with books still on the shelves!), comfy-looking lounge rooms, and Dazai is sold. He may not understand why the previous owners left behind all their stuff, but he won’t be complaining.

Then they reach the ballroom. Letting his eye sweep across the room, taking in the sheer volume of empty space around them, Dazai silently agrees that this should work for Chuuya. It can’t hurt that there is yet another sparkly, gold chandelier hanging in here. There are viewing windows lining the top of the room that lead to the third floor of the building, but nothing that leads outside.

“Wanna try it out, Chibi?”

“Yes,” comes the quick reply. “Move, please.” Chuuya takes off his coat, his things in the pockets, and, after only a moment’s hesitation, hands it to Dazai to hold. He tries not to smirk victoriously. The hold he has got on Chuuya must be better than he thought if the dragon is willing to trust Dazai with his hoard.

Once Hirotsu and Dazai move back to stand in the doorway, the open double doors providing enough space for them to stand side-by-side, Chuuya shifts to his dragon form.

Even though Dazai has seen Chuuya’s dragon form before, his breath still catches as room flashes red and, once the light fades, glimmering ruby scales fill a good chunk of the large ballroom. Next to him, Hirotsu stiffens. Fingers curl in Dazai’s sleeve, holding him still as Hirotsu shuffles a step forward, putting Dazai behind him. Dazai scowls at Hirotsu and tugs his arm free.

Chuuya does a slow circle of the room, proving that there is plenty of space for him to move about, even when looking like this. Sharp, black claws clack against the marble floor, no doubt leaving scratches that Dazai doesn’t care about. Chuuya’s long, slim tail sways lazily from side-to-side as he investigates the ballroom, his forked tongue flicking out every now and then. Finally, Chuuya stops walking around and flops down. He wiggles around, getting his legs settled comfortably, and stretches his wings out — only the very tips brush the walls, so that should be fine — before resting them against his back again, then stretches his neck out so his snout is only a few feet from the doorway. Dazai is half-tempted to reach out and poke the smooth-looking red scales.

Eh, why not.

He sets Chuuya’s stuff down and moves around Hirotsu, deciding to go for it. Planting his hand on the side of Chuuya’s snout, Dazai fights back the urge to grin. He’s touching a dragon. A very real, very short, dragon. His younger self would be so jealous.

After running his fingers over the small, deceptively soft crimson scales, Dazai decides to go one step further. While he is strongly tempted to blow air into one of Chuuya’s nostrils just to see the reaction that would earn, Dazai decides against it. Getting eaten is not on his to-do list.

So, conscious of the way Chuuya’s large eyes are watching him, Dazai flops forward, leans his weight against the snout that is about as tall as he is, and spreads his arms wide against the thicker scales lining Chuuya’s jaw. As expected, the dragon goes rigid. The thin lines of smoke rising from his nostrils, a sign that he is breathing, abruptly cut off.

“This is a hug, not an attack,” Dazai mumbles. His cheek is squished against the warm scales, so his words are a bit muffled, but still audible. He figured he ought to clarify before either Chuuya or Hirotsu freak out.

After a still moment, Chuuya starts breathing again. A second after that, there is a gentle pressure pushing against Dazai’s back. He very nearly startles but recognizes the thickness of Chuuya’s tail from the imprint it left on his ribs after that one flight and manages to stay still. The tail creeps closer once it is clear Dazai is not moving, curling further around him until the tip has wrapped around his shoulder.

Sure, he’s just doing this to ensure that he carves out his place as Chuuya’s favourite person, but it's… shocking not as awful as Dazai thought.

Then he hears a small chuckle and is reminded that Hirotsu, while the man isn’t stupid enough to take a photo since Mori totally hacks their phones on a regular basis, is still here and watching.

Dazai clears his throat and pushes himself off Chuuya, who makes a small noise that might be a complaint. He rounds up his crutches, which had fallen to the floor, and moves back to the door.

“Anyway,” Dazai starts, trying for a professional tone and glaring at Hirotsu when the man looks far too amused. “I’m heading off to HQ, feel free to stay here and nap or something, Slug.”

“I will come too,” Chuuya says, his words clipped and growly thanks to his large, pointy teeth. There’s another flash of red, then the chibi is chibi size again. “I want to come,” Chuuya repeats. “We left my other pretty books in your tiny room, so I will come with you and we will go get them to bring here.” Chuuya looks far too pleased with himself for the idea, so Dazai sighs and decides to graciously allow Chuuya to keep him company.

“Fine.”

“Would you like a drive?” Hirotsu offers.

Dazai shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I brought a car and you probably have stuff to do.”

“I don’t mind—”

“Come along Chibi!” Dazai calls without looking back, making his way out of the room and trying to remember which hall brings them back to the entryway. He does not. With a frown tracing his lips, Dazai looks between the hall on the left and that on the right and debates flipping a coin.

Before he can, a small finger pokes his arm.

“Dazai, you stopped moving. If you go this slow, it is you who should be called a slug.”

“I’m injured, don’t insult my speed,” Dazai grumbles on reflex. “Hey, Chibi, pop quiz: to see how well you remember the house’s layout, why don’t you lead the way out?”

“Do you not know the way?” Chuuya sounds perplexed.

“Obviously I know the way,” Dazai huffs, “I just want to make sure you don’t get lost.”

Chuuya hums in a way that says he does not believe Dazai (rude, really. Dazai misses the days when the dragon believed his every word without hesitation) but Chuuya starts making his way down the left hall nonetheless. Hirotsu follows behind them without saying a word, so they must be going the right way.

It only takes a handful of minutes — long, tedious minutes, Dazai’s armpits are starting to hurt from using the crutches… maybe he can tell Oda he’s all healed now and stop using them — before they reach the front door. Upon arrival, Chuuya turns to face him, one slim red eyebrow raised and his chest puffed up proudly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dazai rolls his eye, “good job or whatever.”

“Thank you. I am good at directions. It is extra easy to find the outside when all I have to do is go towards fresh air.”

Hirotsu clears his throat, interrupting their banter before Dazai can decide whether to call Chuuya his personal map or bloodhound.

“I will head out as well,” the man says. “The kitchen is not yet stocked, so I will be gathering some groceries for you, and some of the appliances need replacing.”

Hirotsu looks at him expectantly, so Dazai stares back blankly.

“Was there anything in particular that you would like me to get, Osamu?”

Oh, now he gets it. “Not really—” Dazai pauses. If he lives all the way out here, an hour and a bit from Mori and the rest of civilization, shopping for snacks whenever he suddenly feels snackish will be a pain. “I want snacks,” he decides. “A whole bunch and in variety; some salty, some sweet, some savoury. And canned crab,” he tacks on hastily.

“Alright,” Hirotsu nods, that look on his face saying that he’s making a mental note. “Anything else while I’m at the store?”

“Chibi wants a bookshelf,” Dazai says after a moment’s pause to wrack his brain. “And he wants to decorate his shelf. Maybe get some fairy lights or something…” Dazai trails off, not actually sure what people use to decorate shelves. He offers a tiny shrug and hopes that is explanation enough to indicate that Hirotsu should just buy a bunch of random shiny baubles and call it a day.

“I do want a bookshelf,” Chuuya agrees. “My books would be very sad if they got squished being part of the sleeping pile.”

“…Right.” Dazai decides to ignore that statement. “Okay, enough talking. Let’s go.”

“Dazai, are you sure I cannot try to drive—”

“Get in the passenger seat, Chuuya.” Though there is significant pouting and one attempt to pick Dazai up and physical carry him to the passenger seat, Dazai does manage to fight his way to the driver’s seat yet again.

Upon arrival in the parking garage under Port Mafia HQ, Dazai’s phone starts pinging over and over. He ignores it. It is obvious that Mori is just trying to get a rise out of him; the doctor undoubtably saw Dazai’s arrival on the cameras and is just being a nuisance.

“You pocket is buzzing,” Chuuya says, hunching his back to squint at the pocket in question.

“It’s just my phone,” Dazai grumbles. “Mori is being annoying.”

“I—”

“No.”

“I did not say anything!” Chuuya protests.

Dazai rolls his eye and gets out of the car. “You still can’t eat Mori, no matter how annoying he is.”

“Fine,” Chuuya huffs. “I will stop asking.”

“Finally.”

Dazai heads for the elevator, only for Chuuya’s hand to wrap around his arm, halting him.

“Chibi,” Dazai bites back a sigh, “I can’t go up stairs with my crutches.” Technically he could, but it takes a lot of effort and there are a lot of stairs between here and Mori.

“I can carry you.”

“Look, how about I take the elevator and meet you at my office? I need to stop there quickly. Head up to floor twenty-four and I’ll meet you there, okay?”

Chuuya’s brow furrows as he debates this offer, then gives a tiny nod. “Fine. Today I will let you go in the small box. Next time I will carry you.”

“You— okay, whatever.” Dazai heads for the elevator and is oddly gleeful to be able to click the buttons, then sit back and relax as the elevator carries him up. So much easier than being thrown over the chibi’s shoulder. Unfortunately, being alone in the elevator gives him some time to check his phone. Ugh. The messages from Mori aren’t even important. Save for the first one the boss sent, one that politely orders Dazai to stop by today, they are mostly just one-word messages or emojis sent to annoy him into actually checking his phone.

Maybe he should’ve read Mori’s message this morning after all. Boss does get bitchy when Dazai ignores him.

Eh, whatever. He’s here now. Unfortunately.

The elevator dings, informing him that he has arrived at his destination. Dazai moves out of the elevator and quirks a brow at the scene before him.

There is a man, a goon, more likely, given the man’s large, bulky stature and the cruel, dumb sneer on his chapped lips, poking one porky finger into Chuuya’s chest (Dazai is not all that shocked Chuuya reached this floor faster than the elevator), throwing words the short redhead’s way. Chuuya, wearing both his hat and choker and nearly drowning in Dazai’s coat, does not really fit into the general Port Mafia atmosphere, so Dazai can kind of understand why the goon is picking on him. The dragon also just seems really confused.

“I am asking you where the box brings people.” Is the statement Dazai overhears as he moves a bit closer. The scene has drawn a small crowd, so he lingers on the outskirts, curious to see what will happen next, an action that totally has no correlation to trying to procrastinate visiting Mori.

“And I asked you to apologize for running into me,” the goon sneers. The man plants a large hand on Chuuya’s chest and shoves, clearly trying to push the other into the wall behind him.

Unfortunately for the goon, Chuuya just cocks his head to the side, widens his stance slightly, and stays put. “You are being very rude,” Chuuya informs the goon in a solemn tone.

“Do you even know where you are?” The goon huffs. “This is the executive floor.” He waits a moment as if that information is going to scare Chuuya. When all he gets is a blank look, the goon continues. “You need permission to be here, brat.”

See, technically, this is the moment Dazai should step in. However, just as Dazai prepares to call Chuuya over and thus inform all the losers watching that the short, itty-bitty redhead is the Demon Prodigy’s new partner, Chuuya speaks up.

“Okay, well, I fucked your mom.”

Dazai snorts. He claps a hand over his mouth immediately to stifle any giggles — giggling is not allowed on Port Mafia territory. He totally forgot that he told Chuuya that phrase was good for helping de-escalate a tense situation.

Given that the goon turns tomato-coloured and punches a very surprised Chuuya in the face, the chibi is probably figuring out that Dazai may have lied about that one.

Chuuya stumbles back two steps before regaining his balance. “You do not hit very hard,” he mumbles, poking at his cheek and apparently determining it to be uninjured. “I apologize, it appears that phrase does not do what I thought—”

“I oughta beat you into a pulp for this disrespect!” The goon growls. A meaty hand reaches out and grabs Chuuya’s diamond-studded choker, trying to anchor the redhead as the man pulls back his other hand to try for another punch.

Unfortunately for this particular moron, the moment his fingers touched Chuuya’s choker, the dragon went stiff and his eyes turned glacial.

The sharp snap of bone rings out. The goon wails as Chuuya pries the man’s broken wrist off his necklace. Chuuya’s grip tightens and the goon’s fingers crunch until they resemble cooked noodles more than fingers.

“Do not,” the dragon growls, “touch my shiny neck decoration.” The goon opens his mouth to say something, but Dazai doesn’t really want to hear it, nor give Chuuya time to decide that turning this guy into a roast is a good idea. Too many witnesses.

So, Dazai takes care of things by lazily taking out his gun and shooting the goon clean in the head. The crowd that had been murmuring to each other, no doubt placing bets, goes silent.

“Come on, Chuuya,” Dazai says in a bored tone. “You’re taking too long.” As he speaks and draws attention to himself, people recognize him and the whispers start up again.

“Oh, Dazai,” Chuuya smiles at him and scampers over to his side. “There you are. I was not sure where the box went.”

“It’s in sight of the stairs— you know what, it’s fine. And your ‘shiny neck decoration’ is called a choker, by the way. Or a necklace.”

“Oh yes,” Chuuya nods, “I remember now.” The dragon huffs, a bit of smoke seeping from his mouth. “I cannot believe that human grabbed my choker like that! Can he not tell that it is pretty and shiny and part of my hoard?”

Dazai winces slightly at the volume with which that question is posed, but the onlookers seem more concerned with the corpse on the floor by the stairwell than listening to what gibberish Dazai’s partner says.

“He probably didn’t know, Slug,” Dazai admits. “But he seemed stupid so I’m not all that annoyed to have killed him.”

Chuuya hums a quiet note, then looks up at Dazai. When he does, his eyes are soft, softer than Dazai has seen yet, and it is momentarily shocking because no he is not allowed to think of the dragon’s serpentine eyes as pretty—

“Thank you for killing him and helping protect my hoard,” Chuuya says quietly.

“Yeah,” Dazai clears his throat, not sure why he suddenly feels awkward. “Sure. Anytime. We’re partners, right?” Chuuya nods his agreement.

There is a lull of silence, so, for once, Dazai is thankful when he spies a familiarly scrawny figure.

“Akutagawa,” Dazai calls. The teenager jerks to attention, having previously been leaning against the wall like some emo at a school dance.

“Yes?”

“Take Chuuya to my office and help him pack up whatever books he wants, okay? I need to go have a meeting with Mori.”

“But Dazai—”

“Sir—”

He ignores both protests and sweeps away, moving as quickly and elegantly as he can given his predicament. He makes it back to the elevator in record time and hits the button for floor thirty-three, settling in for it to bring him to Mori. Honestly, running into Akutagawa was a stroke of luck; Dazai was not looking forward to giving Mori more time to silently observe and examine Chuuya. The dragon is bad enough as it at pretending to be human, putting him and Mori in a room together won’t end well.

This way Dazai can deal with Mori as he always has: alone.

Sweeping dramatically into an office is a lot harder to do when on crutches, but Dazai thinks he manages just fine. Though he did have a bit of difficulty opening the door; the handle was oddly sticky and kind of gross to touch. Someone must’ve had blood on their hands and accidentally gotten it on the doorknob.

“Ah, Dazai.” Mori sets down the file he was reading when Dazai entered. “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost!”

“I shot a guy on my floor,” Dazai replies smoothly. “You might want to send someone to clean that up.”

Mori pauses for a mere millisecond, the only sign that he faking the shocked expression his facial features shift into. “Oh my, Dazai! Shooting our own, valuable employees? Why, I never would’ve thought—”

“We both know he was useless.” A thought occurs to Dazai. “Well,” he says slowly, his mind whirling to process and ensure he is correct before the guess slips from his lips, “maybe not worthless to you. I mean, it was you who told him to go pick a fight with Chuuya, was it not?”

Mori smiles in that sugary-sweet way he does that inevitably pisses Dazai off. “Why, I certainly don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh huh.”

“In any case, you’ll need to clear your schedule for the rest of the day,” Mori comments, glancing at his wrist, where a watch rests.

“No thank you.”

“I was not asking, Dazai.”

Dazai’s expression pinches. Great. This means Mori actually does want something and didn’t call him over just to be annoying.

“See,” Mori stands and moves around his desk, leaving only a few feet of space between the two of them. Dazai’s shoulders tense. “We both know that new partner of yours is not human.” Unfortunately, there is not much Dazai can do to deny that; Chuuya really does suck at pretending to be human.

“While it would be much easier if you simply told me what he was, I doubt you will.”

“Correct.” Information that he has over Mori is something to cling to, no matter what it is.

“As I assumed,” Mori nods. His slimy lips are still curled upwards at the corners. “And because you, dear boy, are so very important to me—” Dazai snorts “—it is only right that I test your new partner. Make sure he is capable of protecting you and all that.”

“You could just not,” Dazai suggests. “Really. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, don’t be so stingy, Dazai!” Mori laughs. It is not a nice noise. “One simple little test for your Chuuya, then I suspect all my questions will be answered. It’s no big deal.”

“Well—” Dazai pauses. His tongue feels oddly heavy. He swallows to wet his mouth, then tries again. “Well, I have already taken him on a mission and it was completed easily, so there is not need to test his capabilities.”

Mori hums. The doctor is leaning against his desk, watching Dazai with eyes that are far too amused. Like he’s already won whatever game they were playing.

Dazai tenses up. His head is starting to spin. “What did you do?”

“Honestly, Dazai,” Mori chuckles. “No need to be so tense! I just need to borrow you for the afternoon. One little event, one little test for that thing you made your partner, and it’ll be all over! No harm, no foul.”

Dazai’s vision has gone dark at the corner. Standing upright it suddenly way more difficult than it was before.

“What did you do?!” He asks again, leaning his weight on his crutches to stay upright.

“Oh, just gave you a little bit of a new substance I’ve been playing around with. I sprinkled some on the doorknob before you came in. Do let me know when you get back if you’re suffering from any headaches, okay?”

The last thing Dazai sees before his eye goes black and he accepts that he has fallen unconscious is Mori’s stupid grin.

He kind of wishes he had just let Chuuya eat the damn doctor.

Chapter Text

Chuuya stares at the small human before him. The boy stares back. While Chuuya would really like to rush after Dazai and make sure his human does not have to deal with Mori alone, this could be a good opportunity for Chuuya’s help-Dazai-make-friends plan.

He nods to himself. Yes, this is an opportune time for executing his plan.

“You do not smell like death anymore,” is what Chuuya decides to break the silence with.

The boy scoffs. “I would’ve been fine.”

They stand there for another awkward moment before Chuuya remembers that they have a task to complete.

“Where is Dazai’s tiny room?”

“…His office is down the hall,” the boy mutters. He spins on a heel and start stomping off. Chuuya follows. He is starting to realize that he is not quite sure how to go about making friends for Dazai. He never had to try to make friends before; the Flags decided one day to be his friends and that was that. Plus, humans are stranger than dragons ever were. Chuuya is confident in his ability to pretend to be human — it may not be a perfect act yet, but given a few more decades, he will have it down for sure — but knowing things like this is tricky.

He settles for asking. “How do you make friends with someone?”

The boy startles and shoots him a dark look. “I don’t. I am a member of the Port Mafia, not some child who needs something as plebeian as friendship.”

“Oh, that is too bad,” Chuuya frowns. “I thought you and Dazai could be friends.”

“Me and—?!” The boy snaps his gaze to Chuuya so quickly that Chuuya is momentarily concerned for the boy’s neck. His eyes are wide, shocked. “That— that is utterly ridiculous! I don’t know where you got such an absurd idea!”

“I just thought it would be nice,” Chuuya snaps, his shoulders hunching defensively. He is tempted to use a phrase Dazai taught him this morning but has already been duped once and does not want to accidentally miscommunicate again. He still is not quite sure why the human earlier got so offended.

“Well—”

“Ryuu.”

The boy stiffens and flinches at the call from the shadows. Chuuya watches, a little impressed, as a tiny girl slinks into view. She tugs the boy’s sleeve and her dark eyes flick Chuuya’s way. It must be a silent question because the boy sighs.

“This is Dazai’s new partner,” the boy grumbles, “the one that hit me the other day and also sent me to the nurse to get new meds for my lungs. I am to bring him to Dazai’s office and help him pack up some books.”

The girl looks at Chuuya again, this time with a more contemplative gaze. Then she holds her hand out towards him and offers a small smile.

“Gin,” she says. Chuuya thinks that must be her name.

He squints at her outstretched hand, thinking back. Yes, Dazai did teach him this one. He lightly smacks her palm with his own, completing the ‘high-five’. She looks confused.

“Did I do it wrong?” Chuuya asks. He thought the act was easy when Dazai explained it to him.

“No?” Gin looks to the boy — Ryuu, presumably — and they frown at each other. Neither says a word, so Chuuya huffs and decides he does not care.

“You should be friends with Dazai,” Chuuya tells Gin. “Friends are good and he needs some more.”

But, instead of agreeing cheerfully, the girl scowls and her eyes go dark. “No.”

“Why not?” Chuuya asks, baffled. He figured humans would want to befriend each other.

“Dazai is mean to Ryuu.”

“Gin, he took us in when no one else would—”

“I told him to be nice,” Chuuya says. The boy and girl, siblings, likely, gape at him. “So if Dazai is still mean to you, tell him to stop.”

Ryuu sputters. “I— But— I cannot tell Executive Dazai what to do! That’s just— I can’t!”

“Will he listen to you?” Gin asks in her quiet voice.

“Of course,” Chuuya nods, “I am his partner.” Though, that being said, Dazai does like not listening when Chuuya has good ideas. “If he does not, then come tell me and I will whack him for you.”

“…Thanks,” Gin says after a moment’s pause. Ryuu is still gaping, shock painted over his features. “Want help finding Dazai’s office?”

It is then Chuuya notices that they have stopped in the middle of the long hallway and are no longer moving towards Chuuya’s books. “Yes.”

Gin leads the way this time, her brother trailing after her, and Chuuya brings up the rear of their tiny group. It only takes them a couple dozen steps until they halt outside one door. When Chuuya flicks his tongue out to check, this room does give off a faint whiff of Dazai-smell.

After she tugs at the door and cannot seem to open it, Gin frowns. “…We don’t have a key,” Gin says softly.

“The door is stuck?” Chuuya asks, confused. The door was not stuck last time. “Let me try.” Gin and Ryuu step aside, giving Chuuya space to glare at the door, then grab the tiny handle and yanks at it a bit. The door does not push or pull. Chuuya scowls at it.

“I do not like this door,” he declares. “Is it important?”

“What door ever is?” Ryuu mutters.

That sounds like permission.

Chuuya shuffles back a pace, then shifts his weight to one foot and uses the other to kick at the door as hard as he can. Wood cracks under the force of his blow, splinters flying in random directions, as the door caves and allows them entry to Dazai’s room.

Ryuu makes a panicked, strangled noise, while Gin hums a very pleased one. Chuuya pays them little mind as he walks through the opening he created, shoving wood aside where needed, and sets to finding his pretty books. Thankfully they are where he left them, on Dazai’s shelf, so he wastes little time gathering them up in a neat stack. Though his arms are short, Chuuya can carry them all at once. The top book is tucked under his chin for extra stability.

“Okay,” Chuuya turns to the siblings, “I have gotten my books.”

“Do you want a box?” Ryuu asks. “Dazai said to help you pack them.” Without waiting for a reply, the boy heads to a corner of the room and digs around in the stuff piled there until he retrieves a brown box.

The box is offered to Chuuya, so he sets his books down on Dazai’s desk and gently places them one at a time into the box. Carrying them this way will be easier, he supposes.

“Okay,” Chuuya looks to the siblings once all his books have been placed in the box. “Now what?” Realizing that he has gotten his books and that Dazai is still talking to Mori, Chuuya answers his question himself. “We go find Dazai,” Chuuya says, nodding firmly. That said, he looks between Gin and Ryuu, not sure which one will lead the way this time. He does think that Dazai needs to be present for these humans to decide to be friends with him. Plus, Chuuya really hates Mori.

“We’re not allowed to interrupt the boss when he’s in a meeting,” Ryuu mutters after a moment. “We’re better off waiting here for Dazai’s return.”

Chuuya frowns. He does not like that plan. “I do not like Mori,” he says and promptly ignores the dual gasps that statement earns, “and do not like that Dazai is alone with him. We will go there now.”

“But— we can’t—”

Ignoring Ryuu’s sputtering, Chuuya turns to Gin. “Where is Dazai?” He means to say that he does not remember the way to Mori’s room, and, given that the tiny girl nods, spins on her heel and begins silently marching off, Chuuya thinks she understands.

With both Gin and Chuuya are marching down the hall, Ryuu stops protesting long enough to join them and not fall behind.

When Gin goes to grab the handle to Mori’s room, Chuuya stops her.

He is not sure what, exactly, is wrong, but he does not like it. His instincts say that something happened, something is off.

“You should wait in the other hall,” Chuuya says. He passes his books to Gin, then pats her dark hair. “Protect my books, please.” Then he turns to Ryuu and has to stretch up on his toes to pat the boy’s hair as well. “Thank you for showing me the way.”

The siblings both stare at him with wide eyes, so Chuuya takes their silence as agreement that they will look after his books. After a moment, they shuffle back the way they came and are out of sight.

Because there is still something wrong with the door, Chuuya decides to open this one like he did last time and simply kicks hard at the wood, caving it in. Mori, looking as slimy and worm-like as last time, looks up as Chuuya stomps his way inside.

“Oh my, I was not expecting visitors. To what do I owe the pleasure?” His words sound pleasant, but Chuuya growls an angry note in response. His tongue flicks out, rapidly tasting the air. He can smell Dazai, knows his human was here, but Dazai is clearly not here anymore.

“Where is Dazai?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Mori frowns. The man folds his hands together, elbows on the surface of his desk, and leans his chin on his clasped hands. “Dazai left, oh, a dozen minutes ago. Did he not return to you?”

“No,” Chuuya snarls. He takes a threatening step forward. “Where is he?”

“How should I know?” Mori replies smoothly. “He is clearly not here.”

Chuuya’s lips pull back from his teeth. Mori is not lying, but Chuuya doubts the man is telling the whole truth. Something is off. He does not like it one bit.

Growling, his power flickering around him just enough that the air because a bit heavier, Chuuya points a clawed finger Mori’s way. “Tell me what happened,” Chuuya hisses. “Or I will rip your limbs from your body and tear out your spine—”

“Oh my, how violent.” Mori laughs like Chuuya has not just threatened to murder him. “If I’m dead, well, how would you find Dazai?”

Chuuya stiffens. “So you do know where he is.”

“No, no,” Mori gives him a smile that makes him feel stupid. Chuuya would like to shred that smile off the man’s face. “But I am very good at finding people. Would you like my help?”

“No,” Chuuya snaps on impulse. Then he hesitates. Does he need Mori’s help? He does not want it, not at all. But if Dazai is in danger… and his human is already injured…

He shakes his head. “No,” Chuuya repeats firmly. He turns around, hating the way this exposes his back to Mori, and stomps out of the room.

“Come back when you change your mind!” Mori calls after him. Chuuya does not bother with a reply.

However, once out of the room and stalking away, Chuuya realizes he does not have a plan.

“Where do you look for Dazai when he is missing?” Chuuya asks as Gin and Ryuu come into view. Gin has Chuuya’s box of books clutched to her chest and Ryuu is leaning against the wall, looking sleepy.

“Ango’s office,” Ryuu mutters, “or wherever Oda is.”

“Okay,” Chuuya nods. “Lead me to one of those places, please.”

Ryuu and Gin exchange a small glance. The girl shrugs, the boy shrugs back, and Chuuya holds out his arms so that Gin will pass his books back to him. She does.

“I will show you,” Gin says. Ryuu sighs loudly but does not argue.

“Thank you.”

They head off, marching in their tiny group and glaring at people who get too close. Or maybe that is just Chuuya and Ryuu. Gin does not seem too bothered by the humans who walk near them.

Soon enough they are walking into the library room where Chuuya found his first book. The man with glasses, Ango, is sitting at his desk clicking away at his black machine. He looks up when the three of them walk in.

“Oh, hello. Can I help you find something?”

“Dazai,” Chuuya replies immediately. “He is gone.”

Ango rolls his eyes. “He’ll turn up.”

“But—”

“Dazai runs off on his own all the time,” Ango interrupts. “He’ll be back eventually.”

Chuuya frowns. He does not like how unconcerned Ango sounds. Dazai is missing and the instincts that say something is wrong are gradually getting louder and louder.

Just as he figures out what words to say, Ango has turned back to tapping at his box and is ignoring them. Chuuya’s lip curls as a flash of anger spears through him.

The room rumbles in response. Chuuya’s aura floods red. Ango’s desk cracks down the middle and is promptly flattened as gravity slams into it. Ango shrieks, panicked, as whatever was in the desk is crushed alongside the previously pristine mahogany.

“Help me find my human,” Chuuya snarls. Something is wrong and Dazai was already injured; Chuuya does not have the time for this human, one he thought was Dazai’s friend, to be unconcerned.

“Your… human?”

“Yes,” Chuuya snaps. He does not care one bit for the odd looks the three humans are giving him right now. His anger nearly flares out and crushes Ango, but he manages to keep it restrained. Ango lives. “Dazai is mine and is injured. I need to get to him. Tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know where he is!” Ango snaps back. “I haven’t seen him all day! Did you check with Oda? Or the training room? Sometimes Dazai likes to go down to the shooting range.”

Chuuya turns to Gin and Ryuu and waits.

“I suppose Dazai did tell me to help you,” Ryuu sighs. “My other tasks can wait.” The boy slouches and sets off, leading the way down yet another hall. Chuuya kind of wishes he would walk faster.

“Hey, can you put my desk back together?” Chuuya hears the call as they leave and does not bother answering. After today he is not particularly fond of Ango; maybe that is a rash judgement, but too bad. He has more important things to worry about, such as where his human has gone and what Mori did — the man may seem uninvolved, but Chuuya has hated him from the start for a reason and he doubts his instincts would lead him astray—

Chuuya halts in the middle of the hall, making Gin bump into his back.

His shoulders are tense and his hands, fingers digging tight into his book box, are shaking. Hirotsu warned him that Mori may try to have Dazai killed. He was a fool to forget such a warning.

What if—

No. No, Dazai is not dead. Chuuya would know if his human was dead; he would feel their bond snap. If Dazai were dead, then this world would be on the path to complete annihilation—

He blinks, taken aback by his own thoughts. Obviously he cares about Dazai. His human is his to protect and he does not want to fail that calling, but destroying the entire world in return, having nothing else to live for and falling into his deepest, more violent instincts…

Maybe it is because Dazai is not just his human. They are partners. That is something more than what he had when bonded with Shirase, who just wanted to use him for his power. Partners are equal and he quite likes that idea. Dazai laughs at his height and teases his lineage, but also buys him shiny necklaces and gifts him pretty books; that is far beyond throwing a few nice words Chuuya’s way and hiding behind his power when needed, let alone turning on him because of a meager bounty.

In any case, Dazai is alive, but also injured and missing. Chuuya’s frown deepens. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he has no proof that Dazai is missing; he just assumed given his human was not with Mori. It is entirely possible Chuuya is overreacting and Dazai is fine. Maybe he went in the box and is already back at his office.

“Can you call Dazai?” Chuuya asks. He does not direct his question to either dark-haired sibling, not wanting to limit his options.

“Oh. I should’ve thought of that.” Ryuu takes out his little communication box — the phone, Dazai told him lots about phones today in the car — and taps the screen a few times before holding it to his ear.

They wait in tense silence as Ryuu’s phone rings over and over. The longer it goes on, the more Chuuya’s worry grows. He knew something felt off, but upon realizing that maybe he was wrong, really hoped he was wrong.

Ryuu’s phone rings out. Dazai does not pick up.

Slowly, Ryuu brings the phone from his ear and winces when he meets Chuuya’s gaze.

“I’ll try calling Oda? I think he gave me his number a while ago…” It’s a weak offer, but Chuuya nods immediately. Calling seems to be much faster than looking for the other red-haired man.

It takes Ryuu a while, but he does eventually bring the phone back to his ear. The boy is biting his lip nervously, glancing Chuuya’s way each time the phone rings yet again.

On the last one there is a click and Chuuya can hear a small, rough voice come through the box.

“Hello?”

“This is Akutagawa,” Ryuu says stiffly — ah, whoops. Chuuya has a feeling “Akutagawa” is the boy’s regular name and “Ryuu,” the name his sister called him, is his secret name. Chuuya has been using the wrong one all along. “Is Executive Dazai with you?”

“No,” comes the reply. “What happened?”

“Dazai is missing!” Chuuya leans in towards Akutagawa and shouts, not sure how loud he needs to be for the phone to hear him. Given Akutagawa winces, he was perhaps too loud.

“Did you check the closet by his office? He likes to nap in there.”

Chuuya turns his attention to Gin, waiting to be led back to the office. She nods and they set off. Akutagawa and Oda on the phone come along too, though in-person Oda says he will go check the shooting range thing that Ango mentioned.

However, both Dazai’s office and the tiny closet nearby that Oda directs them to are empty.

“Nothing here,” Oda says. “Any luck on your end?”

“No,” Akutagawa replies for them. Chuuya glares at the empty closet. This is absolutely ridiculous. Where could Dazai have gone? At this point he is confident that they have walked through just about every hall in this huge building, gone up and down the stairs multiple times, and even sent Gin to check in the box to see if Dazai was going from floor to floor that way.

Chuuya hisses. His skin crawls, his claws ache, his throat burns with the need to quench it in a certain annoying, slimy human’s blood— but they may be out of options. He does not want to waste time when it is Dazai’s safety at risk.

“Fine,” Chuuya growls.

“What are you—”

“Thank you for the assistance, now please stay here. Guard my books.” Chuuya pats both Gin and Akutagawa on the head again, hands Gin his box of books, then spins around and sets off for Mori’s office. He does not need a guide; he knows the way now.

“Where are you going?” Akutagawa calls after him.

“Mori!” Chuuya shouts back. Silence is his only reply. Fair enough. Chuuya is more surprised by his decision to go to Mori for help than anyone else. The only reason he is doing so is because right now his only other option seems to be shifting into his dragon form and flying around the city, tracking Dazai’s scent. However, they are still keeping Chuuya’s dragon form a secret, so he does not want to use that option. Unfortunately, returning to Mori to beg for help seems to be the best option, no matter how much it rankles his pride.

Ultimately, if Mori is useless and wastes his time, then Chuuya will just kill the man and tell Dazai that it was an accident later. He is relatively sure Gin would help him make it look like an accident; her scent was saturated in violence. And if Gin helps, then he suspects Akutagawa would as well. With two humans helping, Chuuya is sure they could make a missing head and crushed corpse look like an accident.

Entering Mori’s office, the first thing Chuuya sees is the man’s knowing smirk. Mori is nearly crushed to a bloody paste right then and there.

“So you did decide to return,” Mori comments.

Mori is once again nearly murdered. Chuuya really deserves some kind of present after all this is over for the sheer restraint he has exercised in the last five seconds.

“Tell me where Dazai is or I will—”

“Kill me in some gruesome manner?” Mori raises an eyebrow and does not look nearly concerned enough. Chuuya snarls, the sound vibrating low in his throat; a warning to back off.

“No need to be so aggressive,” Mori says, smiling at Chuuya like he is an amusing child. “I’m not sure why you think so low of me, but I only want to help. While you and the Akutagawas were scurrying around the building, I took the liberty of checking the security cameras. Would you like to know what I found?”

Chuuya just glares. His lips curl back from his teeth, barring his fangs at the man.

“I’ll take that as agreement. Come here.” Mori has one of those rectangle boxes open on his desk. Chuuya narrows his eyes to a steely glower. The request, going to Mori’s side, would mean approaching the man and allowing him in reach of Chuuya’s throat and back. Snarling quietly, he stomps across the floor, not caring if his claws tear it up or not, and rounds Mori’s desk to stand at the man’s side. Chuuya leans down to have a better look at the image on the rectangle and squints at the grainy picture. Then he realizes that Dazai is in the picture and that the picture is moving.

Watching with careful eyes — his full attention is on the screen. If Mori attacks him now, then so be it — Chuuya tracks the way that the group of humans drag Dazai through the building. Dazai seems to be asleep, his head lulling side to side as the humans lug him around. On numerous occasions, Dazai’s feet, which are trailing along the ground, hit something and Chuuya growls at the screen; his human is still injured. These other humans are doing nothing to prevent him from obtaining further injury.

Then the humans and Dazai are swallowed up by a car that drives off the screen and Chuuya cannot see his human anymore.

“This was nearly an hour ago now,” Mori says. “I checked the timestamps. I’m not sure what Dazai has told you, but the boy is my heir and I care for him very much. I want to retrieve him just as badly as you do. I can have a search party organized in ten minutes—”

“Stay out of it,” Chuuya snaps. He does not care that Mori is pretending to help and is saying words that would be comforting were Chuuya not able to taste the sourness of the fake persona the man is displaying on his tongue. “Dazai is my human and I will get him back. Anyone who dares get in my way is dead.”

“Do you want my guess as to where they took him?” Mori offers. Chuuya’s instincts immediately scream that this is a trap. Something is definitely wrong. Why would Mori need to organize a search if he already has a guess as to where Dazai is?

But Chuuya has no guesses and does not know his way around this human town.

“Fine.”

“I don’t give favours for free, you know,” Mori says, his words almost lazy given how thick with syrupy fakeness they are. “If I do a favour for you today, I’d like one in return sometime.”

A horrible deal.

“Fine,” Chuuya snarls anyway. “Just tell me where Dazai is.” He really hates the smile that crawls across Mori’s lips.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing the address down.” The man hands Chuuya a slim slip of paper that bears ink scribbles on one side. Since Chuuya has already agreed to give this man a favour and wants nothing more to do with him, he snatches the paper and stomps off without asking for any clarification. He does not need Mori knowing he cannot read this language.

However, he cannot read this language. Nor would he likely know how to navigate if he could read the scribbles.

Frowning at the paper, Chuuya heads back the way he came, planning to find Akutagawa and Gin, only to run into another redhead. Oda. Chuuya squints up at the man, then decides to trust him and holds out the paper—

“It’s an address to an abandoned fairground. About a twenty-minute drive from here. I can take you.”

Chuuya’s frown deepens. “How do you know that?”

“It’s my ability,” Oda shrugs. The man turns and begins walking, so Chuuya, with little other option, follows. “I can see a few seconds into the future, and since you were about to show it to me, I figured I would save us a few seconds and just head there with you.”

“Oh.” Seeing the future. What an interesting magic. “Why are you coming with me?”

“Dazai is in trouble,” Oda says as if that is answer enough. Chuuya nods his agreement; that is a fair answer, and one that raises his opinion of this human. Maybe Dazai does have some good friends after all.

They march, nearly jogging, through the building until they reach that under-the-floor room where all the cars live. Chuuya eyes flick over to where Mori’s screen showed the car that took Dazai away. The space where the car lived in empty, but there are marks in the ground that show which way the car went—

Chuuya tips his head to the side, considering it. He sticks out his tongue and lets it linger in the air, tasting for a car that is gross and tangy like all cars, but also has a bit of Dazai-smell to it. While not a strong scent, Chuuya does manage to pick it out of the air. With a scent and tracks to follow, he may not need Oda’s assistance traveling to the location Mori wrote on the paper.

“You take the car,” Chuuya decides. “I will go myself.”

“Do you know where to go?” Oda asks, opening the door to a car.

“I think so.” Chuuya wishes he could be more certain, but this should work for now. “If I get lost, I will come find you.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you there, then.” Oda climbs into the car and clicks the door shut, letting the car swallow him. The car starts rumbling only moments later and runs off, taking Oda with it.

Now alone, Chuuya sets to following the tracks and scent. He pulls on his magic until it makes him glow red and hover in the air. Flying like this, without wings, is way more difficult than doing so with wings, but is still much faster than running. As such, when he kicks off the air and sets on his path, the world gradually blurring around him, Chuuya has a feeling that he will arrive at their destination long before Oda’s stupid, clunky car will.

Chuuya lands in the middle of what he presumes must be the so-called fairground. Granted, with all the strange metal structures crawling about and lack of rows of colorful tents, he is not sure how this place counts as a fair.

In any case, upon landing, there is no one in immediate sight, but there is one larger tent directly ahead of him. He can hear humans inside, can taste Dazai’s scent in the air. As badly as he wants to storm inside and murder them all for daring steal his human, Chuuya knows he must be patient. He has to go in and take stock of the situation at hand. Mainly, if Dazai is badly injured, then he needs to get his human medical help first, then murder all the fools that dared take what belongs to him.

With that in mind, Chuuya stomps his way into the tent.

Upon entry, he can taste blood in the air. That alone has his instincts snarling, raging against the confines of his flesh. He also finds a bunch of red lasers pointing his way, but they do not do anything, so he pays them little attention. Nor does he care much for the dozens of humans lazing about, who straighten and look more alert as he walks in.

No, his attention is fully devoted to Dazai, who is on his knees — his injured knee — in front of some of the other humans. Dazai, who is clearly the source of the blood Chuuya can taste in the air. There is a long cut on his forehead, allowing said blood to drip down to fall in his eye. His cheek looks red and swollen, one of his arms is hanging at an unnatural angle, and his hands are tied together behind his back. The bandages that normally wrap around his head are gone. For some reason, that fact infuriates him almost as much as the injuries his human has obtained.

“Oh, is this tiny fellow your partner?” Some inconsequential ant sneers. The words ring out and echo in the large tent, yet he barely hears them. He is still staring at Dazai. His hands are trembling. That ant kicks Dazai in the ribs, making his human gasp. Smoke flares from his nostrils as the pure, unrelenting fury simmering in his veins sparks and crackles, eager to leap to the surface and annihilate these fools. He curls his fingers into fists, trying to calm down by using the pain from his claws piercing his palms to ground himself. He needs to act with a clear head. Dazai is injured. His human’s safety takes priority. He needs to get his human medical help. Then he can destroy this place.

“Too late, really,” another insect drawls. “It’s not like one guy can get through, like, a hundred of us before we put a bullet in this one’s skull.” The insect pulls out a knife and stabs it into Dazai’s shoulder. His human cries out. The note is strangled and pained, like Dazai did not want to make it but it climbed from his throat anyway. Dazai said that he hates pain. The new wound that causes a fresh ribbon of blood to spiral down his human’s arm certainly looks painful.

A deep growl — monstrous, like they always said he was — rumbles from his chest, announcing his declaration of death to all those standing between him and his human.

The humans do not understand. One of them draws a gun and points it Dazai’s way. As if they will actually pull the trigger and kill him. They already dared hurt his human, now they threaten him further? How utterly foolish.

A loud bang rings out. Power and rage flood through him. Arahabaki roars and the world goes red.

Chapter Text

Since being forced to join the mafia, Dazai has discovered that he hates a lot of things. At the top of that list are pain, idiots, and Mori. Unfortunately, he has now had to deal with all three of those today and thus that means today sucks.

First Mori drugs him, then he wakes up in a smelly car with his hands cuffed behind his back and his knee throbbing, then the goons Mori (probably) hired to capture him drag him into a lame looking circus tent that still smells like popcorn and butter no matter how many years that have passed since this place was shut down. The goons get bored like three minutes into the kidnapping and take turns whacking at him like he’s their own personal pinata, and someone decides it’ll be funny to steal Dazai’s eye bandage. Since then, he’s had to make a conscious effort to keep his eye closed, otherwise blotchy light spots flood in and give him a headache.

So, yes, today fucking sucks.

He has given up trying to talk his way out of this since the goons just hit him whenever he speaks up and so he has decided to await rescue. Maybe if he tells Mori that this experience has traumatized him, Mori will let him quit.

Ha. Yeah right.

Anyway, Dazai has been amusing himself for the past few minutes by pretending that he is the princess in this fairytale that needs to be saved from all the mean, dumb knights by his tiny-but-fearsome dragon. A much better narrative than any Disney film he watched in his childhood.

Lo and behold, the tent curtains are shoved aside and in stomps Dazai’s chibi dragon in all his itty-bitty glory. Chuuya is glaring at everything, clearly furious, and does not seem to care for the sniper rifles trained on him. No, his eyes have locked on Dazai so fiercely that Dazai has to fight back a shiver at the intensity of the look.

One of his captures says something lame and boring and insults Chuuya’s height (his funeral), but, shockingly, Chuuya does not react.

Since Dazai is busy watching for the dragon’s reaction, he is not prepared for the boot that drives into his ribs, shoving the air from his lungs, and wheezes appropriately. Smoke curls from Chuuya’s nose. Good. Clearly Dazai has cemented his place as someone the dragon cares about if he is getting riled up at such a tiny injury.

Take that, Fyodor. Just try to steal Dazai’s dragon away now.

Then Dazai is reminded that he really should be paying attention when the sharp sting of a knife piercing his shoulder draws him back to the present. Unable to help it — he suspects that this shoulder was dislocated earlier during the totally fun and great Dazai-pinata — a small, shrill, shriek leaves his lips.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Dazai tries to focus— and feels the cool presence of a gun pressing against his temple. Ah. Great. Well, fuck you, Mori. Dazai hasn’t particularly wanted to die recently since Chuuya was making life interesting again, but, well, if this is it, at least he never needs to see Mori again.

Though Hirotsu and Oda might be sad. Hopefully not. He doesn’t want them to be upset. He wouldn’t mind if Fyodor cried for him though — that rat really could use a bath, even if it’s his own tears.

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut and tries to prepare himself. There is no way Chuuya can get here in time. That is simply unrealistic. There are dozens of meters between them, dozens of goons, and only a split second between the bullet and Dazai’s brain. Not even a dragon can overcome those odds. He hopes Chuuya doesn’t blame himself. This is Mori’s plan, so it’s Mori’s fault, as most things are.

The telltale bang of the gun sounds, but the pain doesn’t hit. Or, rather, the pain doesn’t end. Tentatively, Dazai cracks his eye open and realizes that he is not dead.

Then he sees what’s happening around him. Now, when Dazai tricked a dragon into agreeing to work for him, he knew he was getting a good deal. No human can beat a dragon one-on-one, that just never happens. Dazai has read all the books, he knows how formidable dragons can be.

However, nothing he ever read said anything about the sight before him.

Chuuya — who does not look dragon or human, but like something entirely other — cackles maniacally and tosses a huge black orb at the screaming goons who seem to have already given up on fighting back. There are bullets strewn about on the ground, as if the goons tried shooting Chuuya and he couldn’t be bothered to waste time redirecting them and simply let them fall. The orb hits and swallows up everything in its path: people, ground, tent, whatever. When the orb vanishes, it leaves nothing in its wake.

Chuuya turns and tosses a few more of those black orbs, the world around them shuddering as the orbs swallow up more matter — human or otherwise. Dazai’s eye widens, stinging as the movement prompts blood to drip into it. Chuuya’s magic is gravity manipulation. Those are black holes. That’s why they’re devouring whatever is in their path. Holy shit.

People run in the opposite direction, scrambling and shoving each other in their haste to get away.

Dazau watches, transfixed, as Chuuya raises one hand — one glowing hand wrapped in the blood-like ribbons that curl around all his visible skin — and all the people running away are slammed into the ground by an invisible weight. They do not get up or cry out, they crunch on impact and blood begins pooling around them, leaking from bone-punctured flesh.

When Dazai dares peek around, he finds that the small army of goons Mori amassed are gone. Wiped out in under a minute. The ground is dented in multiple places where those black holes swallowed the earth whole, not even leaving corpses behind.

The destruction wrought is… horrible. Glorious. Devastatingly beautiful.

He turns his attention back to Chuuya and just stares. The chibi is still glowing an eery, iridescent white that offsets the blood-red marks crawling around his skin. His eyes, normally a blue color Dazai is totally not sort of fond of, are completely red. There is nothing human in those eyes. Heavy-looking red leather wings have sprouted from the chibi’s back, the thick ridge of spikes crawling across the wing bone and the slightly tilted arch informing Dazai that these are not mini dragon wings, but something else. When Chuuya turns to him and approaches, the air itself feels like it’s trembling in fear.

“You are hurt,” Chuuya says, his words rumbling in the air. His black shirt is hanging off him in tatters, the wings protruding from his back and lazily waving about are clearly to blame for that.

“Your teeth are pointy,” is what Dazai says in response. As soon as the words pass his lips, he blames the shock and the injuries he recently sustained. Chuuya’s teeth have always been pointy, they just look a little more so now.

“Oh.” Dazai blinks, then Chuuya looks human again. “No, they are not.”

Dazai shoots the chibi an unimpressed look. “Are you trying to pretend that didn’t just happen.”

“I do not know what you are referring to.”

Dazai just stares at him. That’s not even a good lie. That doesn’t even count as a lie, just a bad attempt at deflecting.

“You’re kidding, right?” Dazai says slowly. “You just went all glowy and stuff.”

“No, I did not.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You must have hit your head and are seeing things.” Chuuya takes a hesitant step closer, eyes, blue and with pupils, albeit oval ones, wide and flicking between Dazai’s injuries.

“I didn’t hit my head,” Dazai says, annoyed now. “Chuuya, I know I saw something just now. I don’t know what, exactly, that was, but if you would just tell me what’s going on—”

“Nothing happened!”

“Yes, something did happen!” Dazai snaps, a bit of anger tinting his voice.

“Stop it,” Chuuya snarls, rising to match Dazai’s anger. “Nothing happened, so leave it alone.”

“Obviously something happened, just fucking tell me what’s going on—!”

“It does not matter!” Chuuya shouts back. “You are injured. I need to help you. Nothing else matters!”

“It does matter!” Dazai scowls at the dumb slug. “Look, I don’t care what you are, okay? If you aren’t a dragon that’s okay—”

“I am a dragon! What else can I be?!” Chuuya takes a step back, arms closing around his stomach to hug himself. Dazai doesn’t think the chibi realizes he’s doing that. “Stop asking stupid questions, Dazai.”

“Just tell me what you are and I won’t need to ask anymore.” This could explain so much— namely why Dazai doesn’t recognize Chuuya from any of his books. “Tell me,” Dazai can hear the pleading note in his own voice but doesn’t care right now. This is more important. “Please, Chuuya, tell me.”

But Chuuya takes another step back, flinching at the sound of his name.

“Chuuya—”

A gust of wind ruffles his hair. Dazai blinks. When he opens his eye, Chuuya is gone.

“—trust me,” Dazai whispers to the empty air around him. He closes his eyes and lets his head droop until his neck starts to ache.

Great. He pushed too far and Chuuya ran. He should’ve just stopped asking.

Dazai sighs, looking around the destroyed, crater-filled tent, wiggles his wrists to see if the cuffs have loosened (they have not, and his lock picks are missing, which he also blames Mori for), and his whole body still hurts, so Dazai decides to sit here and wait for his chibi maybe-dragon to come back and complete the rescue. Clearly he needs to educate Chuuya in the careful art of rescuing a damsel in distress if he is going to run off and not actually do the rescuing part. Maybe Hirotsu kept the Disney movies Dazai watched growing up. It might be funny to see how Chuuya reacts to something like Sleeping Beauty, which has a cartoon dragon in it.

Thankfully Dazai only needs to wait a few minutes before he spies red hair peeking through the tent curtains. He perks up.

“Chuu— Oda!” He changes his call halfway through when he realizes the height of this particular redhead.

“Dazai!” His best friend calls back. Oda abandons caution and rushes into the room, moving around the large divots in the earth that Chuuya made.

“Are you hurt?” Oda asks as he arrives as Dazai’s side and kneels, untying Dazai’s hands quickly. See, Chuuya? This is how to properly rescue someone.

“Yeah,” Dazai grumbles. “And Chuuya ran off after killing everyone. Today really sucks.” Dazai pauses. Oda looks worried, and that’s no good. Dazai is sore and aches and really hates pain, but he won’t die from any of these injuries. There is no need for Oda to worry.

“Carry me?” Dazai says in his whiniest voice. “Chibi wouldn’t rescue me, so Oda should carry me home and pamper me and show Chuuya just how it’s supposed to be done.”

Oda sighs fondly. “Of course I’m going to carry you, Dazai. You’re injured. But I want to check to make sure you have no serious wounds that need to be taken care of immediately before trying to move you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dazai rolls his eye, “I just want to go home and sleep and wake up without any injuries.” He sighs. Times like this, it would be really nice if healing abilities worked on him. Having to heal the normal-person way really sucks.

“Yeah, I know, kiddo. But we need to have medical take a look at you first.”

“Can’t you just do it?” Dazai grumbles. If he goes to the Port Mafia med bay, then Mori will show up and he really wants to avoid Mori today.

“Sorry, Dazai, not this time. I’m really worried about your arm.” Oda is frowning at Dazai’s dislocated-and-stabbed shoulder, which really does hurt a lot. At least its his left arm; Dazai is right-handed and is more confident in his one-hand driving with his right hand.

“So,” Dazai starts as Oda begins pulling Dazai into his arms to lift him, moving slowly to prevent aggravating injuries, “I think Chuuya is faking being a dragon.” Dazai sees shock flicker over his best friend’s face, then is lifted and promptly passes out when his injured flesh screams at him all at once.

Dazai wakes up, sees Mori’s face smiling down at him, and immediately tries to punch the doctor in the face. His attack is foiled by the band tying his right wrist to the metal bars circling the hospital bed. He scowls.

“Ah, good morning, Dazai.” Mori’s smile widens. “Awake, are we?”

“Unfortunately.” He frowns and tugs at his wrist. It does not loosen.

Mori chuckles. “You woke through the night a few times, though you were not overly coherent; you kept trying to hit me!”

“Sounds like coherence to me,” Dazai grumbles under his breath. Mori eyes darken at that, but he keeps his slimy smile present nonetheless.

“Well, now that you’re feeling better, we have a few things to discuss.” Dazai closes his eyes and pretends to have fallen asleep. He even slows his heartrate and parts his lips slightly to really sell it. “Dazai, stop being so childish,” Mori scolds.

Dazai pretends to be asleep for another few heartbeats, then Mori pinches the soft skin on Dazai’s inner arm and he yelps, not expecting the sharp pain.

“Ow,” Dazai grumbles, glaring up at his boss, “that hurt.”

“Maybe you should learn to pay attention when I’m talking to you,” Mori replies without missing a beat, his stupid smile still present. “Now that I have your attention, you’ll be pleased to know that I am graciously giving you a week’s vacation to heal up. I’ve been experimenting with a drug that should help boost your recovery time. It will make you sleepy, so you should expect to sleep for most of the week, but, if things go well, then your pesky injuries should heal right up!”

“And if it doesn’t go well?” Dazai asks. The way Mori’s smile strains for a fraction of a second says it all. “Great. Well, guess I’ll try to not die. I really hate being your guinea pig,” he grumbles.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Dazai!” Mori pinches his cheek like an affectionate grandparent would, expect that Dazai’s cheek is swollen from being punched in the face multiple times so the touch stings. He glares at the doctor and tries again to yank his right hand free from the restraint so he can punch the man. “You’re an adorable lab rat.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“In any case,” Mori continues, pretending to not have heard Dazai, “you’ll be pleased to know that your partner has passed my little test. Unfortunately, the cameras that were so conveniently set up in the fairground were all crushed before I could see anything useful, but he does owe me a favour now, so that’s exciting.” Dazai stiffens. There’s no way Chuuya was stupid enough to make a deal with Mori, right? Surely not. “Well, I suppose I won’t be able to cash that favour in if he doesn’t come back. Seems oddly suspicious that someone so worried for you wouldn’t come visit. It’s been a whole night and your feisty little ginger is nowhere to be seen.”

Chuuya… hasn’t come back? That’s odd. Obviously Dazai knew that he pushed too far with his questions, but he is a bit shocked Chuuya hasn’t gotten over it yet.

Dazai may need to call Fyodor and make sure the maybe-dragon hasn’t run off to join that rat’s side. Who cares if Chuuya is only part dragon or whatever, Dazai still called dibs first.

“Anyway, you had better get some rest. I took the liberty of putting the first dose of my new healing drug in your IV, so don’t yank it out, please.” Mori pats his hair, to which Dazai scowls, then the doctor prances out of sight. Dazai glares at the stupid IV inserted in the back of his hand and wishes he could contort his fingers far enough to pull the damn thing out. But alas, with his right hand tied to the bed and his left annoyingly sore and stuck in a sling, he has limited options and cannot think of a way around it before Mori’s drug kicks in and sleep claims him.

Though Dazai should’ve expected it, he is still annoyed to wake up the next morning in the Port Mafia infirmary. He kind of hoped someone, Hirotsu or Oda, would’ve moved him elsewhere while he was sleeping. But alas, being injected with Mori’s new experimental drug is probably cause for the stupid doctor to force Dazai to stay here rather than go home for his week of rest. How annoying; Dazai doubts he’ll get any proper rest while here.

More annoying is that only Oda is sitting at his bedside when Dazai blinks his eye open. Not that he expects much (Dazai shudders at the thought of waking with Akutagawa staring at him), but Hirotsu is usually present when Dazai gets hospitalized.

As such, the first words out of Dazai’s mouth that morning are: “Where’s Hirotsu?”

“He said he’d be here soon,” Oda replies. “I tried calling, but he must have been in the middle of something since he didn’t pick up. He answered my text though and said he would be here as soon as he was able.”

“Oh.” Dazai slouches in his hospital bed, hating that he feels irrationally upset because Hirotsu didn’t drop all his important work stuff and rush to Dazai’s side.

“Want to talk about what happened?” Oda asks. When Dazai glances his way, Oda’s face is carefully blank, not giving clues to what he wants to discuss: Dazai’s kidnapping, injuries, desire to punch Mori in the face, or that Dazai kind of dropped the fact that Chuuya is probably something other than a dragon on his best friend before passing out. He has a feeling it’s the latter. That is more important than some measly injuries anyway.

“Not in here,” Dazai mumbles, looking around the infirmary. Thankfully they have him in an isolated room, not in the general pit where side-by-side beds lie full of injured mafioso and busy nurses rush about. Still, Dazai has no doubt that Mori has this room bugged to hell and back. The conversation would be too easy to overhear — another reason Dazai is annoyed to be stuck here for the next week. He can never do anything productive with Mori sticking his ugly nose into things.

Which reminds him— “Hey, Oda. Do you know if Chuuya made a deal with Mori?” He doesn’t care if the doctor hears him asking about this, this is need-to-know information. As in Dazai needs to know how badly Chuuya fucked up and what he will need to do to fix this. Chuuya can’t owe Mori a favour. There is no way that such a thing will end well for Dazai.

“I’m not sure, but after searching the building with the Akutagawas—”

“What?”

“—and when we still couldn’t find you, Chuuya did rush up to Mori’s office. I was headed there myself when I ran into him. He had a paper with the fairground’s address on it, so I guess it would make sense for Mori to have given it to him.”

“Damn,” Dazai mutters, a frown tugging his lips down. “I knew Mori was up to no good.” He pauses, nibbling on his lip. “Oda.” His best friend straightens at the seriousness in Dazai’s voice. “If Chuuya asks, I orchestrated the kidnapping, okay? To test him.”

“Dazai—”

“Promise that’s what you’ll tell him.” Dazai doesn’t have proof Chuuya will ask around, but it is better to be prepared than not. “It wasn’t Mori’s plan, it was mine.”

“Dazai,” Oda tries again, louder and firmer this time, but Dazai still ignores the protest.

“Chuuya will kill him,” Dazai admits in a quiet voice, hoping whatever microphones are around won’t pick his words up. “The mafia will be in chaos. I’d have to lead.” While he tries to keep emotion from his tone, Dazai looks up and meets Oda’s gaze. In this glance, he allows one of the few people he trusts in on the secret revealed in the silent plea held in his visible eye: Dazai does not want to run the Port Mafia. He has never wanted to. Part of the reason he seeks death from time to time is to get away from the looming responsibility everyone assumes he will take on. If it is death or leading the mafia, Dazai has already made his choice.

After a small pause, Oda nods. “Okay. It was your plan.”

Dazai nods back. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Of course. Now, you should have something to eat. Boss said that you’d need extra energy for your healing medicine, so I got you some curry.”

“Oda!” Dazai whines, “why not canned crab?”

“Curry has better nutrients,” Oda supplies as he plucks a take-out container from a bag on the floor Dazai hadn’t noticed before and hands it to Dazai along with utensils. “Now eat up.”

“My good hand is tied to the bed,” Dazai points out.

“Oh.” Oda takes the container back, then shuffles closer. Dazai tries to squirm away; he knows what Oda is going to do and would like it if Mori did not have such a scene on video.

“Oda, no!” Dazai whines, slinking into his pillow and turning his head away as his best friend scoops up some curry with the spoon and starts extending it towards him. “Just untie my hand!”

“Not allowed,” Oda shrugs. “Boss’s orders. He said you’d pull out the IV, so you are to remain restrained for the week. There’s a note.” When Dazai glances to the right, he does find a pink post-it note near his tied wrist stating that no one is to release Dazai from his imprisonment. Dazai scowls and makes a mental note to kick Mori extra hard when he gets the chance.

Unfortunately, he is kind of hungry. And Oda will just keep bugging him until Dazai caves, so he sighs and decides to admit defeat on this one, letting Oda feed him the curry.

On the plus side, he gets Oda to tell him the whole story about yesterday, which apparently involves Chuuya teaming up with the Akutagawa siblings, crushing Ango’s desk, and becoming a bit of a legend in HQ for the speed at which he goes up and down stairs.

Alas, Oda has an actual job to do and has to leave midway through the morning, leaving Dazai alone and bored. He was hoping Hirotsu would be here by now, but the man is still nowhere to be seen.

Lacking company and the ability to move out of his bed, Dazai finds himself bored enough that he just closes his eyes and lets the weird stuff in his veins pull him back to sleep.

Waking, Dazai expects to find Hirotsu waiting there. But, when he slowly climbs back to full consciousness, Dazai notes that it is already nightfall, and he has no visitors. No Hirotsu, no Oda. No Chuuya.

Dazai bites his lip, glancing out the nearby window at the moonlight streets of Yokohama. He cannot imagine Chuuya walking among them, not without Dazai there to show him how to navigate around buildings that are so much taller than the chibi. It is technically possible that when Chuuya ran off he got lost and couldn’t find his way back to Dazai. Or maybe Chuuya walked into a street and got hit by a car (he still doesn’t seem to understand how those work) so what if he is injured somewhere?

No, no that’s irrational. After what Dazai saw the other day, he doubts anything could hurt Chuuya — the guy was chucking around black holes, for fuck’s sake. Besides, if Chuuya were injured, there’s not much Dazai could do right now. There is no use thinking such panicked things; Dazai blames the new drugs. They must be muddling his brain functions.

Though, Dazai might like to call Fyodor and just make sure that the rat hasn’t slipped in and stolen the chibi away with more promises of gold. Or ask if Fyodor has heard anything about tiny gingers being in car accidents—

Shaking his head, Dazai scowls at the blank, white ceiling looking down at him. There is no use worrying. Chuuya will realize that running off after literally the dumbest fight possible (Dazai was just asking a question! If Chuuya didn’t want him to ask, then deflecting in the most uncreative way was not a smart move) and will come back. When he does, Dazai will not ask again. This time he will not let his curiosity get the best of him and will wait for the chibi to tell him what species he is. Besides, it’s not like it matters all that much. Chuuya is still incredibly powerful (and short), so Dazai wants to keep him around. His own ability literally names him as No Longer Human, so he certainly doesn’t care about someone’s species—

Dazai frowns. Has he told Chuuya about his ability? He doesn’t think so. Maybe that would be a good place to start. If Chuuya understood that Dazai might not be human, then maybe he would see that Dazai truly does not care if Chuuya is a dragon, unicorn, funky chihuahua, or whatever else.

Yes, he nods to himself, that sounds like a good plan. Once Chuuya is here, Dazai will explain his ability, then Chuuya will likely decide to share his own species. Dazai does consider the fact that this would mean he is sharing more of himself than he thought he would want to, but he finds himself not minding the idea of sharing his ability with Chuuya. While he has no source for the thought, he feels that Chuuya might be rather good at keeping secrets — after all, he has been pretending to be a dragon so well that even Dazai was fooled. So, Dazai might not mind having to share secrets with Chuuya, not if that means the chibi is back and not making Dazai worry about where he is.

Sighing, annoyed that he is so worried about the slug when it was Chuuya who panicked and ran, Dazai leans back and decides to sleep some more. Maybe when he wakes up, Chuuya will have decided to stop being stupid and will come back.

This time when he wakes, Dazai is not disappointed.

While it is not Chuuya sitting at his bedside, a cup of tea in one hand and a newspaper in the other, a wide smile still tugs Dazai’s lips up.

“Hirotsu!” Dazai exclaims, drawing the man’s attention. “You’re here!”

“Apologies for the delay,” Hirotsu says, folding his newspaper and turning to give Dazai his full attention.

“What happened?” The wrinkles on Hirotsu’s face look more prominent than usual; a sign that the man is stressed about something.

“Well,” Hirotsu takes a sip of his tea, “I never take any pleasure in seeing you admitted to the hospital, Osamu.” Dazai feels his cheeks tint pink and really hopes Mori isn’t listening in right now. “I also had a rather… illuminating conversation with Chuuya.”

“Did he get hit by a car?” Dazai immediately blames the drugs for the way he blurts that out.

Hirotsu just blinks, then rolls with it. “No, not to my knowledge. He did seem rather panicked. He was rather vague about what happened but seems to believe that you hate him now. I did my best to reassure him otherwise.”

“I don’t hate him,” Dazai mutters, brow furrowing as he wonders how on earth the chibi came to that conclusion. “Well, he did do a bad job rescuing me, but I’ll train him to do better next time.” Actually, if Chuuya was talking to Hirotsu, and Hirotsu is here now…

Dazai glance around the room, hoping to spy a tiny ginger hovering in the corner or something. He tries not to look disappointed when the room turns up empty.

“Where is he?” Dazai asks.

“I’m not sure,” Hirotsu admits. “After our… interesting talk, he mumbled something then leapt out the window. When I looked to make sure he had not hurt himself, he was gone.”

“Typical stupid chibi,” Dazai grumbles, slumping against his pillows. “Probably ran onto the road and attacked a car.”

“Perhaps,” Hirotsu agrees passively. “Now, how about you stop worrying about Chuuya and worry about your own health.”

“I’m basically fine!”

“Oda has already informed me of everything,” Hirotsu continues, leaning over and picking an entire picnic basket up off the floor, “so I have taken the liberty of being prepared. I have packed all your favourites.”

“Hirotsu!” Dazai whines, “you’re embarrassing me!” What if someone came in right now and saw Hirotsu fussing over him? That would be disastrous! Dazai has an image to uphold.

Hirotsu, completely unbothered, continues unpacking numerous Tupperware containers holding different meals and snacks, arranging them on Dazai’s bedside table so that he can see the options and pick what he wants to eat. Dazai puffs his cheeks up but admits defeat.

After letting Hirotsu feed him some rice (mixed with canned crab, obviously), Dazai eyes his— Hirotsu, and bites his lip. He wants to ask, but is too wary of the fact that Mori might be listening in.

He caves.

“Hey, Hirotsu?” Dazai asks in a small voice.

“Yes?”

“Can you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep again, I mean.”

“Of course, Osamu.” Hirotsu smiles at him, then shifts closer to gently brush Dazai’s bangs out of his eyes. The hand lingers on Dazai’s head.

“Thanks,” Dazai mumbles, leaning into the warm touch that is far too reminiscent of sleepless nights from his childhood. When he does manage to drift off, the worries that had been plaguing him don’t seem nearly as bad.

Chapter Text

Arahabaki— Chuuya— whoever he is, he knows he is being a coward. Only a coward would run like that, leaving their injured human behind just because the tightness in their chest and the urge to flee far, far away overtook them.

Pathetic.

He wraps his arms around his knees, pulling them to his chest and shivering as a strong breeze passes over the tall rooftop he has chosen as his perch. He curls his wings tighter to his sides, trying to block some of the wind. Without his shirt, his chest is cold. Odd, really, considering he went years without anything covering his torso. A small lump sits in his throat when he recalls the way his coat, the one Dazai gave him, was torn to pieces earlier when his wings snapped into existence and he let his rage take over.

Shaking his head, he tries not to dwell on what has already been lost. While he is not really sure how he got here, he does not plan to move for a while. Why should he bother moving? He has no purpose anymore, no reason to exist. After all, Dazai must hate him by now.

There is no other possible outcome. He should have known better, should not have tied his soul to a human’s again — last time hurt enough, why was he so desperate to feel pain like that again? Maybe Kouyou was right when she called him a fool. It is inevitable at this point. Sooner or later, Dazai will sever their bond, and he will be left with nothing: no family, no friends, no hoard, and no human to call his own.

He hugs his knees tighter, resting his chin on them. Left with nothing, what is he supposed to do? He could give up and return to his slumber, sleep for a few hundred more years and hope someone will wake him someday, but Chuuya does not want to give up. He likes the current world and wants to learn more about it. Maybe, with enough practice, he could blend into humanity well enough to be accepted into their world. Maybe someday he could find a new purpose.

One hand rises to trace the diamonds wrapping around his throat. Despite knowing that he should not have this anymore, that his choker is a hoard gift from Dazai and that, since the human will reject him sooner or later, Chuuya needs to return it alongside his hat (which he is keeping on his head with a bit of magic so that no pesky breeze can steal it away), he cannot bring himself to take the choker off. The moment he put it on, it became something more than just a shiny thing to wear around proudly. It covers the scar on his throat. In some symbolic way, it is a sign that Dazai has surpassed Shirase for he gifted Chuuya something precious and wonderful rather than a painful scar and a wounded soul.

Not that it matters now. Chuuya was stupid for letting himself get so attached so quickly. Breaking the bond will hurt far worse this time, and this time he has no Kouyou there to help him through it.

Maybe it would be better if he just went back to sleep. At least then the pain would be dulled.

Sighing, Chuuya hugs his knees tighter and watches the sky, hoping the stars blinking down at him will offer some kind of assistance. He is not that hopeful; reading prophecies in the skies was never part of his skillset.

As expected, by the time the sun starts peeking out and the stars dance away, Chuuya’s mind has not been soothed. If anything, he is more nervous than ever. It has been hours at this point, yet Dazai had not broken their bond. Could it be that the human is not going to break it? No, he shakes his head softly, that is ridiculous. There is no way Dazai does not hate him — fear him — so the human must be drawing this out for some other reason.

Maybe he wants Chuuya to return the things that technically belong to him first. That thought aches almost as much as the idea of losing his bond with Dazai does, but it prompts Chuuya to stand up, shaking out his wings as he goes. He may be a weak, pathetic coward and a fool, but he can at least face this head-on and return the hat and choker Dazai gifted him, no matter how much he hates the idea of doing so.

With that thought firmly in mind, Chuuya leaps off his rooftop, spreads his wings wide to catch himself in the air, and flaps hard, propelling himself through the skies to the wonderfully large house he was so excited to call his home.

Upon arrival, Chuuya notes that there is one vehicle parked near the house and it is not the shiny black car Dazai normally drives. From his place in the clouds, he can see Hirotsu’s grey hair as the man heads for the vehicle. Without truly thinking it through, Chuuya drops down. Maybe he can ask Dazai’s father when the human plans to break their bond.

Landing a few feet from the man, Chuuya calls his power back into his veins, hiding it away. Not that it matters much, considering Hirotsu saw his other form during his descent, but this is good practice for learning to be human.

“Hirotsu,” Chuuya starts. He has to pause when his voice comes out all crackly and small.

“Are you alright, Chuuya?” Hirotsu asks. “I’ve received news that Osamu is in the infirmary and was just on my way to see him, would you like to come with me? We can talk about what’s bothering you on the way.”

Chuuya shakes his head rapidly, rejecting the idea. His arms wrap around his sides, hugging his stomach. “No, no that is a bad idea. Dazai hates me.”

Hirotsu stares at Chuuya for a long moment, then makes an odd, aborted snorting noise. It takes Chuuya a second to realize he is being laughed at, but once he does, he scowls.

“I am being serious! Dazai certainly hates me now, so I doubt he would want to see me. Unless he wants to break our bond in my presence and watch the pain it causes me,” he mutters, brow furrowing. Could that be what Dazai is waiting for? His shoulders slump. It does not matter. That is not what he is here for.

“Here,” Chuuya takes off his hat and holds it out for Hirotsu to take. That one is easier to part with than his choker. Still, his hand shakes. “Since he will get rid of me soon, it is only right to return the pretty things he bought for me.”

Hirotsu still looks far too amused for the situation. “You do not need to give anything back, Chuuya.”

“Yes, I do. If Dazai is not my human anymore, then I cannot have his things.”

“Osamu bought those for you,” Hirotsu says slowly, as if explaining to a child, “they are yours to keep. Besides, I know Osamu is not planning to ‘get rid’ of you. Now, why don’t we go inside and have a cup of hot chocolate? Osamu is likely sleeping at this hour anyway, so I can delay my visit for just a little while.”

Though Chuuya wants to protest, wants to rip off the bandage and just get this all over with, he does not fight when Hirotsu places a hand on his upper back and gently guides him inside.

The first thing Chuuya notices is how warm the house is this time. Last they were here, it was cold, like a ghost lived here before them and never bothered to light a fire. Like this, however, Chuuya does not doubt that there are a few fireplaces around, and a fireplace sounds pretty good right about now.

“Is there a fireplace?” Chuuya asks, his voice still too small for his liking.

“Five, actually. We are near the parlor, so allow me to lead you there. We’ll get you settled, I’ll make some hot chocolate, and we’ll talk about how you do not need to worry about Osamu not wanting you around anymore, okay?”

All Chuuya can do is nod and let himself be guided to a comfy little room he has not seen before. There are three plush, red armchairs, a wide, black-and-gold rug lying between the three, a giant window taking up a whole wall, and a huge fireplace set in the wall facing the armchairs. There are still-smoking logs in the firepit; likely Hirotsu doused the fire on his way out.

“Allow me to fetch some matches—”

Chuuya shuffles closer to the fireplace, sucks in a sharp breath, warms it in his throat, then exhales and sets the logs ablaze.

“Ah. Well, that is much faster, isn’t it?” Hirotsu chuckles, though the noise cuts into something akin to panic when Chuuya crawls on top of the logs and curls up in the warmth of the hearth.

“Are you… comfortable?”

Chuuya nods even though the logs are a little too thick to be comfortable to lie on. They are smooth, so it could be worse. As it is, he does not care much for the type of log: the act of being surrounded by warmth like this, listening to the crackle of flames, is the kind of comfort he was looking for. It brings him back to the days of being with his dad, who was always warm when he hugged Chuuya at night. Or with Kouyou, who enjoyed basking in flame and rarely minded if Chuuya wanted to slink beneath her wing and cuddle close while she did so. Kouyou always said that it was important for scales to be set on fire at least twice a month to maintain maximum sturdiness, but Chuuya is still sure that she just liked the way fire made her golden scales glow.

“Alright. Well, I suppose I will go fetch our drinks. Feel free to stay put, but please don’t hurt yourself.”

“I will not,” Chuuya says. His mumbled response must be good enough, since Hirotsu leaves the small room.

Alone again with his thoughts, Chuuya starts by placing his hat back on his head. Thankfully he had the foresight to use some magic to protect his things so that they do not start to burn in the fire. Hirotsu said Dazai did not want them back, so he can keep them for now. Hopefully the same rules apply to his choker. Though, considering Hirotsu did not ask for it back, the rules must be the same.

Chuuya sighs, reaching out to let a piece of flicking flame twine around his fingers. The fire gleams off his black claws. Maybe Dazai would have hated him eventually anyway, no matter what Chuuya is. His human disguise is not good enough. Maybe if he had tried harder and focused more magic into his smaller features—

He slumps further into the flames, causing sparks to erupt around him as he jostles the logs. There is no point thinking of all the things he should have done better.

Footsteps signal Hirotsu’s return. Chuuya peeks up, squinting to better peer through flame, and watches as the man approaches, sets a steaming red mug near the fireplace, then retreats to one of the armchairs with a mug of his own clasped in his hands. Hirotsu does not ask him to talk. Rather, the man sips calmly at his drink, his gaze switching from lingering out the window and checking to make sure Chuuya is still doing alright in the fireplace.

After a few minutes of silence, Chuuya shuffles around, extends a hand, and grabs the mug sitting on the floor. Red magic envelops the cup as he brings it into the fire, preventing the heat from reaching it. Curious about the thick-looking brown liquid staring back at him, Chuuya flicks out his tongue. It smells okay. Better than okay, actually. It smells sweet and that is enough for him to bring the mug to his lips and try a small sip.

Chuuya hums contently as he swallows and warmth floods down his throat and to his insides. He quite likes this drink: it smells and tastes good and is a bit like liquid fire given how it makes him feel warm. He takes a longer sip.

Unfortunately, the mug is not endless, so it does not take long before Chuuya is frowning at the cup, upset that the tasty drink is all gone. With a small sigh, he pokes his arm out of the flames and sets the cup on the brick lining the fireplace.

“Do you feel up to talking?” Hirotsu’s question startles him; Chuuya had forgotten the man was there.

“There is not much to say,” Chuuya replies sadly. “Dazai surely hates me now and will break our bond. I am certain of it.”

“What happened?”

“I scared him and ran, like coward, leaving him alone even though he was injured.” Chuuya lifts his gaze from the log he has been staring at and meets Hirotsu’s eyes. Surely the man understands how badly Chuuya messed up.

But Hirotsu huffs, as if amused. “I doubt you scared him. Osamu only has a few fears and I don’t think you are a dog, a spider-eel from the bottom of the sea, whatever that is, or Dr. Mori.”

“No, I am not one of those.” Chuuya hardly thinks before the words fall off his lips: “My true name is Arahabaki and I am the god of calamity.”

“Well, gods are not on the list of Osamu’s fears, so I think things will work out just fine.”

Chuuya blinks. Then blinks again. Hirotsu merely raises an eyebrow.

“Even if— even if that is true,” which he sincerely doubts, “I left him alone. Injured,” Chuuya stresses that fact, trying to get Hirotsu to see how big a problem this is.

“You were scared,” the man replies instead. “If you explain that to him, then I’m sure Osamu will understand.”

“But he was injured! What if someone hurt him and I was not there to protect him? It would be my fault—”

Hirotsu snorts softly. Chuuya glares at the human. This is hardly a laughing matter.

“I am not sure what he has done to make you think he is uncapable of protecting himself, but Osamu will be just fine; I trained him, after all.” A smile softens Hirotsu’s face. “Besides, I was informed that Oda got there soon after and brought him to the infirmary. You are not the only one who cares about Osamu and wants to keep him safe.”

“But—” Chuuya hisses, frustrated that he is not conveying the importance of the fact that he needs to be the one protecting Dazai. That is how their bond works. “I let him down,” he tries. “He will surely break our bond—”

“What bond are you talking about?”

Chuuya looks at Hirotsu like the man has lost all intelligence. Is it not obvious?

“Our soul bond,” he says slowly. The human just looks confused. Chuuya’s brow scrunches in response. “We made a deal, so I bound our souls. Do humans not do soul bonds anymore?”

“Ah, no. Not really.” Hirotsu leans back in his seat, a contemplative look on his face. “May I ask what this ‘soul bond’ means to you?”

“He is my human, and I am his,” Chuuya replies immediately. “It is an equal partnership. One that Dazai will surely break soon, and that will be incredibly painful for me.”

Hirotsu sighs. “I suspect Osamu has no idea that you two are soulmates—”

“Soulmates?!” Chuuya shrieks, his eyes snapping open wide and blood rushing to flush his cheeks. “D-do not be ridiculous! W-we are not mates!” Chuuya buries his face in his hands, mortified and astonished that Hirotsu would think so low of him. If he were to take a mate, he would do so properly after years of courting, not on a whim!

“Apologies,” Hirotsu sounds amused and not apologetic whatsoever, “it appears I have upset you. I merely wished to state that, to my knowledge, humans are not capable of tampering with their own souls, let alone the souls of other beings.” Chuuya peeks between his fingers, unsure what Hirotsu is getting at. “While I am certain Osamu does not want to break this soul bond of yours, I doubt he could even if he did want to.”

Chuuya’s face falls. Oh. That would explain why the bond is not yet broken: Dazai is waiting for Chuuya to do it himself. Somehow that prospect seems impossibly more difficult than waiting for it to happen.

“Are you alright? I thought you would be glad to know Osamu is not planning to break your soul.”

“I do not want to do it either,” Chuuya says miserably.

“Well, I assumed not,” Hirotsu snorts. “Why would you want to lose your soulmate?”

Chuuya squeaks, flinging his arms over his head to hide his furious blush. The air ripples around him, making the flames dance and sputter, as his wings pop into existence and he curls them around his sides.

“You cannot say such things!” Chuuya manages to say, peering over his arm to glare at Hirotsu. The man is biting his bottom lip to keep a straight face, making Chuuya think he said that on purpose this time. He scowls. He can see where Dazai got his skill at teasing from.

“Ah, yes, my bad.” Hirotsu leans forward. “I think it is about time that I head over to the infirmary. You should come with me. I’m certain Osamu would be quite pleased to see you.”

Chuuya shakes his head. Not yet. He cannot face his human yet. While Hirotsu seems rather certain Dazai will not ask him to break their bond, he does not want to risk it. He would like to keep the certainty of their bond for just a little longer.

“Chuuya, I really think it would do you both some good if you came to visit him at the infirmary.”

All Chuuya can do is stare blankly at the man and continue hiding in the comfort of his wings and the flames around him.

Hirotsu sighs. “Very well. I suppose it is your choice, in the end. I will not tell him what we spoke of, I will leave that to you.”

“Thank you,” Chuuya says. “I… I think I shall visit, but not right now.” Slowly, a plan comes to mind. He thinks it seems like a good plan. “I need to go somewhere first.” He nods to himself and crawls out of the fire. His magic suppresses the flames, killing the fire, once he is out.

“Thank you for the tasty drink,” Chuuya says before dashing for the window and leaping straight through it. He can hear Hirotsu call something after him but has already started flying toward his destination and pays the words no mind. Though he does feel a bit bad for breaking the window. Alas, getting to his destination — going home — suddenly seems like something he cannot put off any longer.

Going home is both the easiest thing to do and the hardest.

The direction to home is instinctive; he does not need to find a map or ask any nearby humans for the route. Despite having not been here for centuries, his wings carry him through the skies as if he had been here only a day ago. His muscles remember how to glide across the lake, avoiding rocks; how to dip and curve around the mountain peaks that are so tall they disappear into the clouds and are difficult to see; and how to slip between two sheer cliff faces and land in the spacious cave that was once home to three.

It is difficult because with each firm flap of his wings, Arahabaki is reminded of the long years he spent away from home. First when their home was discovered and they were forced to leave, then later when acknowledging his past was seen by the dragon council as some kind of treason.

Yet, now, it only makes sense. There is nothing stopping him from visiting, and he desperately wants his dad’s advice; maybe home can offer some kind of clue as to what to do. After all, Dad had a human mate, so surely he understands humans better than Arahabaki does. Hirotsu seemed sure Dazai would not want their bond broken and if Dad can reassure him of the same thing, then maybe Arahabaki will believe it.

His bare feet tap down on the smooth obsidian rock. Arahabaki looks around and a pang of longing stabs his chest. The place is empty. The years have stolen away the marks his childhood once left. It is odd seeing a place that is so similar yet so changed from the home of his memories:

The crevice where he used to hide in when he was small and Dad would leave him alone to go hunt is filled with moss and bugs.

The overhanging rock where they would sleep — and the smooth rock nearby where Arahabaki slept once Arthur came into the picture and his dad wanted his mate close at night are rough and uneven, no good for sleeping anymore.

The deep divot in the earth in one corner of the cave, made by Dad’s claws, where they could store prey so they would not need to hunt so often has sunken through the ground, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

The bracelet of pretty seashells Arthur made for him a few days after Dad brought his human mate home for the first time—

He blinks, red eyes going wide, and kneels. Reaching a tentative finger out, Arahabaki pokes the bracelet. It does not shatter beneath his touch. He stares, lips parted in shock. Dad reinforced the bracelet with a bit of magic so that he would not accidentally break the pretty shells Arthur used to craft the band, but he never would have thought that same magic would preserve the bracelet — the single item he used to call his hoard — for centuries.

Dropping to sit on the smooth cave floor, Arahabaki stares at the gift. It is odd to see something he thought was forever lost. He remembers sobbing for hours when Dad rushed him and Arthur out of their cave that fateful night and realizing he left his precious thing behind. Yet here it is. The white, blue, and black shells shine just as nicely as they did in his youth.

Carefully, Arahabaki picks the bracelet up and holds it in his palms. A smile dawns on his lips. It is a gift from Arthur, yet he can feel Dad’s magic intertwined in the object. He slips it onto his left wrist, where it used to sit for days on end, only to be taken off when it was time for hunting since he did not want to stain the shells. His chest, even with the lack of cloth, feels warm again.

His eyes sting and Arahabaki realizes he is crying. Odd, considering Dad and his human mate have been dead for years, but reclaiming his old bracelet brought up memories he has not thought of in a very long time. He cannot change the fact that he was away for so long, but maybe he can start visiting more often. After all, this is the only place he has left of the family they used to be. When Arthur died, Dad went with him, unable or unwilling to survive without his soulmate. The dragon council burnt his body and scattered the ashes in the wind against Arahabaki’s pleas for them to let him bury his dad next to Arthur — their argument was that they could not risk a god of Dad’s stature coming back to life. They did not understand that Dad was not coming back unless Arthur could too.

Instead of listening, they ignored him and capitalized on his grief, his moment of vulnerability, locking him in the cage until the darkness and lack of food weakened him to a where point they decided they could safely control him.

A shiver runs down his spine, rattling his wings, at the thought of the cage. He wants to go check to see if it still exists, and shatter it if it does, but also never wants to see that place again.

Maybe another day.

He has a feeling it would not be so scary if Dazai came with him.

Arahabaki pauses, considering that thought. He thinks it over again and finds that the sentiment rings true.

“Oh. I see. Thanks, Dad,” he murmurs into the silence of the caves. The answer here is clear. Maybe it has always been clear, but he would like to think that his dad had some sway in guiding him to the truth: Dazai has helped him with new human things, fought to keep him from Fyodor the Rat, protected him and his hoard by finding the perfect home, and proven time and time again that he values Chuuya. Sure, Dazai calls him chibi and slug and teases him by telling him funny phrases mean things they do not actually mean, but he also killed the human that dared touch Chuuya’s choker. A human that helps protect a hoard is not so easy to come by.

Smiling at his old home one more time, Chuuya spins around and flies off. It is time to face his human and apologize for running like he did.

Having realized that he should bring a gift as an apology, Chuuya landed in the streets a few minutes ago — disguised in human form once again — and has set to peeking through the windows of the shops he has stumbled upon to see if they have anything good for Dazai. His first instinct was to hunt down some kind of prey, something large and dangerous to prove how sorry he is, but Chuuya has a feeling that dumping a bleeding carcass at Dazai’s feet may not be as effective as he wants it to be. Hence his search for a more human gift.

Humming to himself, Chuuya turns away from the window he was looking through — it was a place full of pretty, shiny things that he wants, but Dazai does not seem interested in collecting a hoard of his own — and starts across the pathway to reach the other side where more shops lie in wait—

A furious screeching noise draws his attention just in time to see the blaring, bright lights of a car sprinting towards him. Startled, by both the lights and the noise, Chuuya is not quick enough to react and cannot defend himself from the car’s attack.

It collides with his side painfully, bones creaking and groaning beneath the force, and sends him flying back a good several feet, knocking him onto his back. Chuuya gasps, staring up at the sky, then scrambles to his feet to prepare in case the car decides to attack again.

Well, he tries to get up. When he goes to move, his head aches and spins, prompting him to stay on the ground for a moment longer and hope that the car thinks he is dead. Maybe they do not attack dead prey.

“Sir!” Someone calls out. Chuuya doubts they are addressing him, so he keeps blinking at the clouds, his vision clearing with each blink.

“Sir, are you alright?!” A hand grabs his shoulder. Chuuya hisses at the touch, jerking away and glaring at the human that dared grab him. The human smells like panic and looks about the same: eyes wide behind framed lens, face pale, blond hair slipping from its tie at the nape of the man’s neck as if some strands were pulled free.

“You must be hurt, we should call an ambulance,” the man is still talking. Chuuya frowns, examining the human. He takes back his earlier assessment: this one is younger than he thought at first. Maybe even close to Dazai’s age.

“You should be friends with my human,” Chuuya informs the blond boy solemnly.

“Good god, he’s gone delirious!” The human cries in response. “Quick, someone call for an ambulance!”

“No thank you,” Chuuya tries, sitting up. His head has mostly stopped spinning. “But if you saw the car that attacked me, please have it put down. It is clearly feral.”

“He’s delusional too!” The boy wails. “This is all my fault! I swear I will pay any hospital expense that occurs! Oh, I knew I should have waited another year to acquire my driver’s license, this is why one should never go off schedule!”

Chuuya is starting to think that this human is the delirious one. “I am fine,” Chuuya says, pushing a palm against the ground and slowly rising to his feet. Though he is starting to think that this human is too loud to be friends with Dazai.

“Sir, please stay still!” The boy shrieks. “I do not want you to worsen your injuries!”

“I am fine,” Chuuya repeats. He decides to try another of Dazai’s phrases. Hopefully it means what his human said it does. “Fuck off.”

Considering the blond human gapes and goes quiet, the phrase seems to have been effective. Chuuya hums, quite pleased with himself. He rather likes the phrase for how it effectively tells others to leave him alone. Plus, it is a human phrase, and using human phrases only helps with his human acting skills.

“Sir,” the boy sputters, “please wait for the ambulance. The paramedics can check your injuries—”

Chuuya turns around and starts walking away, ignoring the human’s babbling. Maybe the phrase is not as effective as he first thought.

The humans in the surrounding area stare at him as he leaves the scene of the attack, so he ignores them all too and decides to find a gift for Dazai another time. If cars are out and attacking today, then he does not want to risk it. He may be a god, but that single attack hurt. Chuuya is not interested in finding out what a car is capable of in a true battle.

Following Dazai’s scent, he finds himself back at the Port Mafia building. Chuuya hisses, already planning ways to murder Mori should the man be in sight— expect that he promised Dazai he would stop thinking about killing Mori. He sighs, shoulders slumping. Maybe someday Dazai will allow him to take back that promise.

In any case, Chuuya heads into the building and wanders around, following the Dazai-smell until he bumps — literally — into Oda.

“Ow,” Chuuya mutters, wincing as the sore bones from the car’s surprise attack jostle.

“’Ow’?” Oda echoes, peering down at him with concern. “Are you okay? You’ve been MIA for a while, did you get hurt?”

“A car attacked me,” Chuuya replies. “Be careful and do not go outside today. They may still be in search of prey.”

“Ah.” Oda nods, “I understand. I will not let any cars attack me.” Oh, right, Oda can see into the future. Hopefully that magic is good for avoiding attacks.

“Good plan,” Chuuya nods back.

“Are you here to see Dazai?” Chuuya nods again. “I just came from there. I can show you to his room.” Oda turns around to retrace his steps, Chuuya following at the taller redhead’s side.

It only takes them a few turns before Oda is knocking at a door, then going inside. “Dazai, you’ve got another visitor.”

“Oda!” Dazai’s voice seems sleepy, but hearing his human’s voice and having physical proof Dazai is still alive is a relief. “I thought you had to go. I mean, your job did sound really boring, so you can stay here all day if you—”

Chuuya pokes his head around Oda, who is standing in the doorway, and Dazai cuts off when they make eye contact.

Dazai looks away first, tipping his head up and scoffing. “You had better have been hit by a car, otherwise you have no excuse for taking so long—”

“How did you know?!” Chuuya gapes. “A car did attack me!”

Dazai’s lips part. “Oh. Huh. I was not actually expecting that. Are you… hurt?”

“Not really. My bones ache a bit, but they will be fine in an hour or two.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls. This is why Chuuya should have brought a gift; a gift would bridge this awkward pause.

“Well, I do have to go,” Oda says softly. “I’m already late. Bye.” The redhead slips away, pushing Chuuya into the room and clicking the door shut behind himself, leaving only Chuuya and Dazai in the room.

Chuuya clears his throat, trying to break some of the awkwardness. “I wanted to get you a gift,” Chuuya mumbles. “To say sorry for leaving when you were injured and prove my sincerity. But a car attacked me, so I do not have a gift today. I will try to find one tomorrow.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need gifts.”

“Dazai,” Chuuya takes a deep breath, stepping forward. “I do need to tell you—”

“Later,” his human interrupts. “I’m not feeling up for heavy conversation right now, so let’s talk later, okay?”

“Oh. Alright.” Dazai is not demanding he break their bond immediately so that must be a good sign. Chuuya glances around the tiny room, having not done so before, and notes three important things: first, Dazai’s hand is stuck to the bars around the bed, which Chuuya really does not approve of. Second, there is a chair next to Dazai’s bed that looks rather inviting, especially after the attack Chuuya just lived through. Third, and perhaps most important, there is a shiny new black coat sitting on the little table between the chair and Dazai’s bed.

Chuuya makes a happy noise and scampers over, snatching the coat up. “You got me a new coat!”

“Er, not really—”

“I was very sad the other one got destroyed,” Chuuya continues, running his fingers over the fabric. It feels thick, sturdy, and warm, but is still nice to touch.

“Well—”

Chuuya unravels the folded coat, still humming happily as he slides it on. He immediately feels much warmer.

Dazai sighs. “Yeah, sure. It’s yours. Pretty sure he said it was fireproof, so that’s a bonus.”

“Fireproof? Clothes can do that without magic?” Chuuya hesitantly huffs a bit of flame onto the sleeve. Shocking, the flames roll right off and do not damage the coat.

Chuuya turns to his human, a happy smile brightening his face. “Do not worry, Dazai,” he says. “I will find you a nice gift tomorrow. Though I do not think it will be better than a fireproof coat, I will try my very best.”

“Sure,” Dazai sighs, rolling his eye. “I guess you can get me something. Maybe get someone to go shopping with you. I have a feeling you don’t have any money and stealing is kind of attention-grabbing if you don’t do it right.”

“Okay, I will.” Chuuya is sure Hirotsu will come if he asks; Dazai’s father might like to get Dazai a gift too.

Sensing conversation has died down for now, Chuuya crosses over to the other side of the room and examines Dazai’s trapped hand. There is a tiny note with squiggles on it, but, as Chuuya cannot read them, he ignores them. It takes little effort to grab the thing trapping Dazai’s hand and crush it, freeing his human.

That done, Chuuya heads back to the chair and sits down, clasping his hands in his lap, and decides he had better tell Dazai all about the feral car that attacked him. Who knows when the same thing may happen again. At least it attacked Chuuya, who survived relatively unscathed. Someone like Dazai could get quite injured, so sharing his experience in immense detail could help Dazai to be extra careful around cars in the future.

Chapter Text

The next time Dazai wakes, Chuuya is still there. The chibi is sitting in the chair near Dazai’s bed, but instead of being awake and yapping about the car that hit him, Chuuya’s head is tilted back and he is snoring loudly. Dazai’s lips twitch up.

Then he spies the figure lurking in the corner and his relatively good mood vanishes.

“Mori,” Dazai says flatly. “What now?”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” the doctor hums, “I’m just checking in on my dear patient.”

Dazai scoffs.

“Did you not like the new coat I got for you?” Mori asks. His words are polite enough, but the flash of anger in his eyes has Dazai averting his gaze. He immediately hates himself for doing that, for showing that tiny glimpse of weakness. Mori is too good at capitalizing on weakness for Dazai to be making such mistakes.

“Chuuya liked it more,” Dazai says once it is clear Mori expects an answer this time.

Mori says nothing back. Dazai fights to keep his face blank and his heartrate — that the pesky heartrate monitor is broadcasting — steady. Despite his efforts, his heartrate does jump up a notch.

“I took the liberty of restraining your right hand anew,” Mori finally says. Dazai blinks; he didn’t notice his hand was tied to the bedrail again. “It seems someone did not heed my orders. Perhaps punishment is needed.”

Dazai forgets to breathe for a moment. That is all it takes for his heartrate to jump a noticeable amount before he can wrangle it back under control.

Mori smirks.

It is also this moment that Dazai realizes Chuuya is no longer snoring.

“We are going now,” the chibi announces, standing up. Both Dazai and Mori turn to stare at him, incredulous.

“Chuuya—”

“You think you can just take him?” Mori laughs. “Oh, what delightful naivety.” He checks his watch. “I have an appointment, but I will be back to take Dazai’s vitals in an hour. Until then, Elise will keep you company.” Dazai bites his tongue to keep from groaning out loud. He really hates Mori’s ability — and he cannot cancel it out without touching Mori. So if the doctor is not in the room, there is no way to get rid of it.

Mori sweeps out of the room, white coat flaring around him, and Elise prances in. Clad in her current favourite, a frilly pink dress and pigtails, the ability grins at him. Dazai scowls back.

“Osamu! It’s been so long since we last played together! You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?”

“Yes,” Dazai replies flatly.

Chuuya is staring at the ability. His forked tongue flicks in and out, and a furrow wrinkles his brow.

“Dazai,” Chuuya turns to him, “I do not understand. She does not smell real, but I can see her.”

Dazai sighs and leans back in the bed. Might as well get comfortable; there is no sneaking out of here with Mori’s ability on guard duty. “This is Mori’s ability. He calls it Elise.”

“Oh, okay. Goodbye, Elise.”

“Goodbye?” The ability pouts. “But I just got here!”

Then Chuuya picks Dazai up, bed and all — the machinery and IV stand glowing red — and suddenly they are outside, floating in midair. When Dazai peeks back the way they came, he finds a very large hole in the infirmary wall and Elise shrieking after them. Yikes. Hopefully that doesn’t come out of his pay.

“Time to go home,” Chuuya declares.

Without giving Dazai any time to protest, Chuuya shoots forward, making them fly through the air. Dazai carefully tucks his hands under the blanket and settles in. At least this flight is significantly more comfortable than the last.

When they land after thirty something minutes on the pristine lawn of their new mansion, Dazai decides he has made peace with all this. Mori will be furious, but that is a problem for later. Dazai does prefer resting away from HQ, so he is not mad Chuuya broke him out. Not right now, anyway. He reserves his right to be angry later when this causes Mori to retaliate in some way.

Still: “You know that was stupid, right? Mori will be furious.”

“I do not care,” Chuuya says as he carries Dazai (and all the attached medical equipment) into the house. “Mori can be mad. It does not matter. Should he attack, I will kill him. It is quite simple, Dazai.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Chuuya nods firmly. “I— I may have lied. I am much stronger than I initially claimed.” Dazai nearly rolls his eye. He almost thought Chuuya was going to tell him about whatever that was back at the circus tent.

“You know, I kinda gathered that. I never heard of dragons being able to throw around black holes.”

Chuuya winces. “Yes… That is not an ability that was passed down to them. It is too dangerous.”

Here Dazai stays quiet, waiting for Chuuya to fill the silence and elaborate. Unfortunately, the chibi misses his cue and also remains quiet.

Once inside the house, Chuuya carries Dazai to the ballroom. He sets Dazai’s bed down in the middle of the room, puts all the medical equipment down nearby, closes the doors, and once again tears away the bindings keeping Dazai’s right hand immobilized.

With that complete, Chuuya looks around a bit, then hops onto Dazai’s bed, sitting on the edge, and shifts to face him.

“Are you going to die?” Chuuya asks quietly.

“What?”

“Since I took you away. I brought all the thingys stuck to you just in case, but is that enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” Dazai says. This time he does roll his eye. “I prefer to rest at home anyway, where Mori cannot bother me.”

Chuuya nods hesitantly. “If you start dying, I will go get Oda.”

“Oda is not a doctor.”

“But I like him and he is a good friend for you. So he will help if you start to die.”

Dazai opens his mouth to retort something about Oda not being much help since his ability to see into the future does not work with No Longer Human interfering, but then another thought crosses his mind.

“Hey, Chuuya. Have you ever met kids before?”

Chuuya cocks his head to the side. “Tiny humans?”

“Yeah.”

“Not really. I saw them from afar but was not allowed to go close. They were taught to run away if I approached.”

“Well, do you want to meet some?” When Chuuya’s eyes light up, Dazai decides that is enough of an answer. He slips his phone out of his pocket as Chuuya stammers something about not wanting to scare or hurt tiny humans, and texts Oda. His phone beeps almost immediately with Oda’s response. Dazai’s ignores the various ‘I heard you got kidnapped from the infirmary’ ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘Please let me know if I can help’ messages and focuses on ‘We’ll be there by dinner’. Excellent. Dinner in Oda-speak means five-thirty, so that gives them nearly three hours according to Dazai’s phone. Three hours is plenty of time to get down to business.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says, cutting the chibi off from his rambling about children and how he should probably not be near them. “I want to tell you something.” Chuuya shuts up and gives Dazai his full attention immediately. It is a bit unnerving to be stared at so intently, but not necessarily in a bad way. Not if it’s just Chuuya.

“I want to tell you about my ability,” Dazai starts. The words come easier than he expected them to. “I didn’t explain before, but some humans have magical abilities too. Fyodor mentioned his, if you remember. Mori can create Elise to do his bidding. Hirotsu has one too. Mine is called No Longer Human. It allows me to cancel out anyone else’s ability with a single touch.”

Chuuya’s eyes go wide. “Incredible,” Chuuya breathes, still staring at him. Dazai feels very betrayed when his heartrate speeds up and his cheeks warm.

“It’s not that great,” Dazai mumbles. Compared to gravity, nullification does not seem nearly as impressive — even if it does have plenty of uses.

“Yes it is,” Chuuya insists.

Then, without warning, Chuuya grabs Dazai’s hand. Dazai’s cheeks flush further, but the stupid chibi seems unaffected as he stares with wide, shocked eyes at their linked hands.

A long few seconds pass before Chuuya drops Dazai’s hand. “I could not feel my magic at all. That is amazing. If no magic abilities work on you… Dazai, I think you are the most powerful person I have ever met.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chibi,” Dazai scoffs, tucking his hands under his blanket again. “That’s not possible. Your sister is Golden Demon.”

“Yes, and she was rather formidable, but I could beat her in a fight. I can beat anyone. But Dazai, you can cancel out even my abilities. So that must mean that you can beat everyone too.” Chuuya’s eyes are gleaming and a happy rumble fills his throat. “I knew you were a good human to bond with.”

“You’re being impractical,” Dazai mumbles, averting his gaze. “That logic makes no sense.”

“I think it does.”

Dazai snorts. “Of course you do.” He pauses. Chuuya does not jump in; the chibi seems content to sit and keep watching Dazai with far too much attention. “So, are you going to ask about the name of my ability?”

“I did not plan to.” Chuuya tilts his head to the side and frowns. “Is it important?”

For a moment, all Dazai can do is stare.

Is it important. As if the name of his ability hasn’t haunted him since he learnt it. As if it didn’t give his father and Mori a reason — a justification — to treat him as less than human. As a monster. A demon. A weapon.

Yet… It is thanks to his ability that he was kept alive. That his father allowed Hirotsu to raise him. It is because of his ability that he was able to try pottery classes, learn to swim, dabble in painting, learn about dragons and sea life. The potential and uniqueness of his ability is what allowed him to have some semblance of a childhood, to learn what life is meant to be, before he turned thirteen and Mori decided that was old enough to be a member of the Port Mafia.

“I don’t know,” Dazai says after a pause. “I thought so.”

“It is okay to not know. My dad always said that sometimes it takes a while before we understand something.”

Dazai perks up. “Your dad?”

Chuuya hesitates only briefly before elaborating. He does so by scampering over to his pile of books (Hirotsu must have brought them over from HQ) and returning with a book bound in purple leather with tiny black diamond shards decorating the cover. Chuuya sits again, flips through the book until he finds a page, then turns to present it to Dazai.

The page is the first of a chapter on dragon myths and legends. Dazai never paid them much heed; Fyodor was the one who was intrigued by those. On the page, beneath the heading, is a shadowy behemoth that looks nothing short of monstrous.

Chuuya points to the picture. “It is not a very good picture, but I think this is supposed to be my dad.”

“Your dad is a shadow monster?”

“No, silly Dazai.” Chuuya shakes his head. “My dad was the god of vengeance. His name was Verlaine. Gravity was his magical ability too, but he always said that mine would be stronger one day.” Chuuya frowns. “I cannot imagine such a thing. In my memories, my dad was always so strong. The strongest. It would be a much different world today had the dragon council not killed his soulmate.”

Dazai gapes. “Wait, your dad is the reason the dragons are all dead?” Suddenly the dragon extinction makes sense. They were all murdered by Chuuya’s shadow-monster dad.

“What?” Chuuya’s brow furrows. “No. When his mate, Arthur,” here Chuuya sets the open book in his lap and starts fiddling with a pretty seashell bracelet around his wrist that Dazai did not notice before, “was killed, my dad could not bear living. He passed too.”

“Let me guess, Arthur is actually some kind of lava demon? Maybe a god of fire?”

“No. Dazai, I thought you were smart, but you are saying lots of silly things right now. Arthur was human.”

“Right. My bad. Human should have been my first guess.”

“Exactly.”

Dazai waits, but Chuuya is now staring at the image in his book and seems done explaining. Which simply won’t do since Dazai is still has zero answers.

“So,” he prompts, “One of your parents was a god and the other was human. What’s that make you?”

“Huh?” Chuuya looks up from his book, brow furrowed. “Arthur did not help create me. Dad found him later.”

“Oh, sorry. So, what was your mother then?”

Chuuya’s brow pinches further. “Dad created me,” he says slowly. “He made me from the earth, used the energy of the natural world, and gave a portion of his power to bring me to life. Do humans not create their little ones this way?”

“Uh. No. Not exactly.”

“Oh. Then how do humans—”

“Ask Hirotsu,” Dazai blurts before Chuuya can ask. “He’s much better at explaining it.”

“Okay.” Dazai lets out a relieved breath. “Anyway, I suppose you ought to know that by the time Dad created me, dragons, humans, and other animals were already inhabiting the earth. Technically, Dad was supposed to be the last god. The others had already lived their many years and passed. To make a new god, it was not uncommon to need two or three giving their power for the new god to come alive. But Dad was strong and he decided to try anyway. Then I was created.”

Here Chuuya goes quiet and stares at his book. Hesitantly, Dazai reaches over and brushes the tips of their fingers together. Chuuya peeks up. He takes a breath, then closes the book and shuffles a bit closer to Dazai.

“The dragon council was not happy. The reign of gods was supposed to be over once my dad passed. They thought I was an abomination and decided that they needed to hunt us down. Dad didn’t want to hurt them, even if he could. We hid lots,” Chuuya continues, his voice quiet, “and were very good at hiding. Plus, if any dragons did catch us, they could not beat my dad. As I got older, they could not beat me either. So, when they found out about Dad’s human mate, they went after him. Mates can share their life-force. If they are of different species and their lifespans do not line up, they can choose to die or live together. By giving up a portion of his lifespan, Dad could have brought Arthur back. He was not fast enough.”

This time when Chuuya goes quiet, Dazai does not prompt him to continue. He can guess what happened next.

But he does not like the sad look on Chuuya’s face.

“So, does this mean you are a god?”

Chuuya nods.

“The last god?”

He nods again.

“The god of chibis and slugs?”

Chuuya gets halfway through a nod before he snaps to attention and scowls at Dazai. “No! I am certainly not that. I am the god of calamity.” Chuuya hesitates then adds, “My true name is Arahabaki.”

“Okay.”

When Dazai does not say anything else, Chuuya squints at him. “Do you have no questions?”

“I mean, I still want to know if you’re related to snakes—” Chuuya smacks his right arm. “Fine, fine. Well, do you want me to call you Arahabaki?” When Chuuya stiffens, Dazai knows what the answer will be. “I mean, Chibi is still the most appropriate name for you, but I can be flexible. If you want.”

“Not now,” Chuuya says, giving his head a small shake. “Maybe… maybe someday I will want my old name again. But I will stay ‘Chuuya’ for a little longer.”

“Okay, Chibi it is.” Dazai’s arm gets swatted again. But Chuuya is almost smiling and there is not any pain in his right arm, so it’s worth it.

They both settle in comfortable silence, thinking over the secrets and truths they shared.

Then Dazai realizes one very strange thing.

“Hey, I do have a question. How are you able to have human and dragon forms?”

Chuuya shrugs. “Dad taught me. He told me that since gods came first, we can blend into any other species if we so choose to. We each had a dragon and human form. My dragon form is much better than my human one since, when I lived with Kouyou, I was expected to live as a dragon and pretend to be one. The council did not want me to grow into my god powers, so they did this instead: if I were just another dragon, then I had to follow their rules. Eat as they do, sleep as they do, and be punished should I step out of line. I am very glad I got to stay with Kouyou instead of another council member.” Chuuya clears his throat. “In any case, I got better at paying attention to the details needed to make my dragon form realistic.”

“So,” Dazai starts slowly, “you could literally be a slug. Or a snake. Or a fish.”

“I suppose,” Chuuya says thoughtfully. “I have never tried. I did not see a reason to hide amongst such easy prey.”

“Try to be a fish.”

“No.”

“Come on,” Dazai goads. “I want to see what a chibi fish would look like!”

Chuuya scowls at him, but a look of concentration pinches his face for a long moment. Then Chuuya averts his eyes.

“You can’t?”

“I do not know enough about fish to be one,” Chuuya mutters.

“Maybe try something closer to yourself,” Dazai suggests, “like a snake. Your distant blood relatives.”

While Chuuya does scowl at him, he also scrunches his brow and his eyes go distant as he concentrates. Dazai stays silent, watching. He has no idea how this… shapeshifting works, but it would certainly be a neat skill. Plus, if he got Chuuya to be a snake and let snake-Chuuya rest on his shoulders, it would be like having a personal people-deterrent. Most people — especially Mori — are not fond of snakes.

“I do not think I can,” Chuuya admits after a pause. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. You’re still chibi-sized, so that makes you pretty perfect.”

It is only when Dazai finds Chuuya is staring at him, wide-eyed and flush-cheeked, that he realizes what he said. He opens his mouth to somehow turn that into a joke and make it less awkward, but finds his tongue tied. So, instead of saying something witty, Dazai just sits there dumbly with his mouth open.

“A-anyway,” Dazai stammers after a long pause, “Oda and his gremlins are coming over later, so hide anything you don’t want them getting into.”

“Gremlins?” Chuuya parrots.

“His kids. He has five orphans that he’s raising. Soon as he buys a big enough house, he’s going to adopt them all.”

“We have a big house!” Chuuya exclaims. He does a strange little happy wiggle. It should look ridiculous, not cute. “With lots of rooms!”

Dazai blinks. “We’re not inviting Oda to live with us.” As much as he can stand Oda’s kids, he does not want to be around them all the time. No way. That is not happening.

At promptly five-thirty, there is a knock on their door signalling Oda and his crew’s arrival.

Dazai, stuck in his stolen hospital bed in the mansion ballroom, does not hear this knock. He does, however, hear Chuuya’s excited shout of: “DAZAI! THE LITTLE HUMANS ARE HERE!”

It only takes a moment before the ballroom is flooded with people. The gremlins, all five of them, rush in first. The boys, Kosuke, Katsumi, Yu, and Shinji, are running around gleefully, loudly proclaiming how cool this place is. Sakura, the youngest and the only girl in the group, totters in after them, shouting for them to slow down. Oda trails in after, one eye on his kids and the other paying attention to Chuuya, who is grinning and saying something that Oda looks far too thoughtful about.

As they approach, Dazai’s suspicions are confirmed.

“So,” Oda says, stopping near Dazai’s bed. “I hear we’re invited to live with you.”

“No,” Dazai scowls. “Chuuya is just saying—”

“We get to live here?!” Yu shrieks, having overheard them. The kids cheer and jabber at each other in equally loud voices. Chuuya looks far too pleased with himself.

“It is not the worst idea,” Oda says. That’s when Dazai knows this is happening and there is nothing he can do to stop it. He slumps against his bumpy pillow. “It’s far enough out of the city that the kids would be safe.”

“I’d keep the tiny humans safe,” Chuuya jumps in. “They are very small and have no claws of their own, but Dazai and I are strong so they would be very safe here.”

“Chuuya—”

“We have many rooms. More than enough for you, Oda, the tiny humans, and Hirotsu.”

“Since when is Hirotsu living here?”

Chuuya gives Dazai a little look, then continues. “Plus, we have lots of fireplaces, food, and space for the little ones to run.” He frowns, then turns to Oda. “What else do tiny humans like?”

“They like to play,” Oda offers. “They’re really into play-wrestling right now, but a place like this has all kinds of space for outdoor or indoor games.” Oda grimaces. “The only downside might be how long hide-and-seek will take.”

“See?” Dazai grumbles. “This is a bad idea.” Despite being the resident prodigy, no one listen to him.

Instead, Oda tugs Chuuya over to introduce him to the kids. It does not take long before one of the kids shrieks and jumps onto Chuuya’s arm, trying to tackle him. The look of confused awe on their faces as Chuuya lifts his arm easily, peering at Katsumi who is dangling there, is amusing.

When the other kids have latched onto limbs, pushing and shoving to make tiny Chuuya topple over, yet remaining unsuccessful, Chuuya looks to Oda.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Fall down,” Oda advises.

“Will they try to eat me?” Dazai snorts.

“No, they will not.” Somehow Oda manages to keep a level voice.

So, Chuuya lets himself flop to the ground. The kids cheer, keeping their tiny hands over Chuuya’s limbs to trap him there. Chuuya still looks rather confused, but he seems happy that the kids are having fun. Dazai catches himself chuckling and realizes that maybe inviting Oda to stay is not such a bad thing.

Well, not for himself, anyway. Depending on how Chuuya does, the chibi may tire quickly. He is, after all, the new, interesting person whose ability to play games needs to be tested.

For now, Dazai lets his eyes drift shut and finds himself quickly falling asleep. Ah. Yes. He never did take out the IV Mori jabbed him with. Oh well. It’s been there this long already and he hasn’t died, so maybe it really will speed up his recovery time. That wouldn’t be so bad.

When he wakes next, night has fallen, but Oda and his kids are still here. Maybe they decided to spend the night and pick out bedrooms. Dazai would not be shocked if Chuuya offered such a thing.

What is interesting is that, while the boys are running around, playing some version of tag, and Oda is hovering nearby in case someone approaches injury, Chuuya is sitting so his back leans against Dazai’s bed with Sakura in his lap. The little girl has Chuuya’s choker in her hands. She plays with it for a bit before setting it in her lap and twisting to face Chuuya better.

“What’s this?” She asks, her hand tracing the scar on Chuuya’s throat, her young eyes wide and curious.

“My last human learnt that a neighbouring village placed a small bounty on me. He tried to sever my head but was far too weak to cut through my neck.” Chuuya’s reply is far too casual for such a topic. Dazai’s fingers curl tight in his bedsheets.

“What does ‘sever’ mean?” Sakura asks innocently.

“It means—”

“Wow, I’m feeling so very hungry,” Dazai announces, interrupting whatever gruesome and un-child-friendly answer Chuuya was about to give. “What did Oda make for dinner?”

“We saved food!” Sakura exclaims, beaming up at him. “Daddy!” She calls as she crawls off Chuuya’s lap and races for Oda’s legs, latching onto his pants. “Osamu is hungry!”

“Really?” Oda meets his eye from across the room. Dazai shrinks back. “Good. I made curry.” Dazai nearly snorts. How utterly predictable.

“I will get the food from the kitchen,” Chuuya states, standing. “Do not worry, Dazai, I will get the best food.” Chuuya’s hand pats his hair. Dazai’s cheeks immediately flush at the gentle touch. Chuuya’s fingers linger for a moment, sliding through the dark locks, before Chuuya drops his hand and spins away, darting off.

The moment he is out of sight, Oda slides up. There is a coy smirk twisting his lips up.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” Dazai mutters.

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you blush like that.”

“I am not blushing!” As if on cue, Dazai feels his cheeks warm anew. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Sure. If you say so, kiddo.” Oda pauses. Then, with that same far-too-smug look, says, “Well, I’m pretty sure Hirotsu likes him. And, if it helps, the kids think he’s fun. I’m still not sure what to make of him, but I’m sure I’ll approve sooner or later. He has a kind soul.”

“I— shut up.”

Oda does not shut up. “Even the Akutagawas like him. So he’s got family approval—”

“Shut up,” Dazai repeats, pulling his blanket over his head to physically block out the conversation. Oda laughs and pats his shoulder.

Moments later Chuuya dashes back in carrying a tray with a huge bowl of curry on it. Dazai’s not-very-hungry stomach rolls.

Yet somehow (maybe the way Chuuya’s eyes gleam every time Dazai takes a tiny bite), Dazai eats the whole bowl. He feels incredibly sick afterwards and promptly falls back asleep. Hopefully he will no longer feel like a bloated whale when he wakes.