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“Get some rest,” Yosano calls to Kunikida as the office swings shut behind him. He waves over his shoulder in response. Really, he should be telling her the same thing, but he knows she won’t listen. She’s been almost obsessive lately, preparing herself and the infirmary for any kind of medical emergency. They’re just about drowning in medical supplies. Which, he supposes, is not a bad thing to have too much of.
It’s pointless, though, and they all know it. Because there’s only one person Yosano would really need all these supplies for, one person she can’t heal as easily as she can snap her fingers. And although he is the one in the most danger right now, he also hasn’t been heard from in months. Not since Mori cashed in on the deal.
Not since he took Dazai with him.
After Ame-no-Gozen, things had been supposed to go back to normal— whatever normal means for the Armed Detective Agency. At the very least they were supposed to be together again. Isn’t that what they’re meant to get out of this? That they’re stronger together? That somewhere along the way, they’d all started to need each other?
But with radio silence from Dazai, and with Fyodor, fucking Fyodor, still at large… nothing has ever felt less right.
Dazai had told them, before he left, to leave Fyodor to him.
It was the last anyone had heard from him in months.
Now Yosano stockpiles supplies, and the president doesn't leave his office anymore, and Atsushi scours the streets in his free time like he might just run into his mentor outside a corner store. And everyone is working overtime to try to fill the gap Dazai left behind.
It isn’t working. Dazai isn’t just a solid half of their brainpower, he’s a pillar of how they operate— Kunikida in particular. He can’t remember the last time he'd had to take a case start-to-end without his partner. And sure, he’s a detective in his own right. He does alright, just like he did before Dazai came along. But it’s exhausting, and lonely, and most of all, wrong. Then one time Sigma offered to accompany him on a case, and that felt even worse.
It isn’t Sigma's fault. Somewhere along the way, Kunikida has just forgotten where he ends and Dazai begins.
But he keeps working. He stays strong, pushes forward because someone has to and he’ll be damned if it isn’t him.
He leaves time, however, for the newest and most important addition to his schedule. A request from Dazai.
Six Months Earlier
They’re almost to the meeting room when Dazai, out of nowhere, takes Kunikida by his ribbon tie and wrenches him into a supply closet. Kunikida is used to Dazai’s antics by now, but he still sputters, swatting Dazai’s hand away and reaching for the doorknob.
“Whatever this is, there will be time for it later, Dazai—”
“There won’t.” Dazai grabs his outstretched arm, pulling it away from the door, and that’s what gets Kunikida’s attention.
“Listen,” Dazai says in a low voice. “Mori is going to choose me.”
Kunikida tenses. The thought has crossed his mind. They’ve all spent the weeks since their public acquittal speculating, if only to themselves, about the outcome of this meeting. But the certainty in Dazai’s voice…
He pushes down the heavy feeling in his gut. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Dazai’s grip tightens around his wrist. “Look me in the eyes and say that again.”
So Kunikida does. It’s dark in the supply closet, because of course Dazai hadn’t bothered to get the lights. His eyes trace over the silhouette of Dazai’s clenched jaw, his furrowed brow. His eyes are as dark as ever— darker, even— and yet they pierce through the shadows.
“We won’t let him,” Kunikida mutters. “The president won’t— I won’t—”
“What, so he can take one of the kids instead?” Dazai hisses. “If you try and stop him, that’s exactly what he’ll do. And none of them— Atsushi, Tanizaki, or shit, Kyoka— will come back from that.”
He’s right. Kunikida feels the weight of that knowledge settling in his bones. But Dazai doesn’t so much as tremble.
“You knew,” Kunikida realizes. “You’ve known this whole time.”
Dazai shrugs. “It was the most likely scenario. But I couldn’t be certain until roughly two minutes ago.”
Kunikida stares, incredulous. “You were wasting time on the couch two minutes ago. I saw you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Dazai says, wagging a finger at him, and it’s so Dazai that Kunikida doesn’t even care. “I was gathering information using state-of-the art mind-reading technology. Top-level stuff, you couldn’t even imagine—”
Kunikida gives him a look.
“Fine.” He pauses. “I saw Chuuya.”
Kunikida frowns. “I have the entire meeting agenda copied in my notebook. There’s nothing about Nakahara being in attendance.”
“Yeah, well. I guess Mori really wants to rub it in.” Dazai’s eyes dart away from him. “I saw them out the window when they arrived. And Chuuya saw me. And the expression on his face pretty much confirmed things.” His gaze settles on the tiles beneath their feet. “Anyway. That’s not what’s important.”
“Not what’s important? What else could possibly be—”
Dazai presses a finger to Kunikida’s lips, effectively shutting him up. “Listen. They’re not going to let me contact any of you. In fact, they’ll probably threaten you to keep me in line, so stay on your toes. And I doubt I’ll be allowed to even take a piss without a guard making sure I don’t drown myself in a toilet. Which is why I need you to promise me something.”
Kunikida’s ideals take promises very, very seriously. To break one's word is a grave transgression; therefore, be careful when you give it.
“Of course,” Kunikida says without hesitation “Anything. I swear.”
Dazai’s grip relaxes, just a little. “You know I, ah, spend time at the cemetery. Once a week, usually.” Kunikida nods. He’s tried not to pry into Dazai’s life outside of work, except when… medically necessary. But after all these years, some habits are hard to miss. “There’s a grave under a tree. S. Oda. It would… mean a lot to me, if you’d visit. Since I can’t.”
Kunikida places his free hand on Dazai’s where it’s still wrapped around his wrist. “You have my word.”
Dazai gives a crooked grin. “I hoped you’d say that.” He squeezes his hand, gently, just once, then breaks away. “Oh,” he says, stopping with one hand on the door. He glances over his shoulder. “One more thing.”
In that half-second, the weight of the world roots Kunikida to the floor, and he has to force himself to nod.
“It’s a bit silly, honestly, but I don’t have a will. Never got around to it. But—” Dazai clears his throat— “in case anything happens. There’s an empty plot under the tree. By Odasaku. Just… keep it in mind.”
And then he’s gone, rounded the doorframe and already halfway to the meeting room, and Kunikida thinks he might be crying.
Kunikida had walked out of that supply closet with a new weight on his shoulders, one that oozes down his limbs and into his mouth, his stomach, his lungs.
It hasn’t gone away. And he never can decide if it’s better or worse on these trips, when he brings offerings to the grave below the tree. He doesn’t know S. Oda or what he would’ve liked. Supermarket flowers will have to do, just like the past two dozen times he’s been here.
When he rounds the corner by the cemetery, the sight before him punches him in the gut.
His partner— ex-partner— his friend sits leans on the gravestone, staring the other direction with his chin resting on his hand. The detective in Kunikida— the friend in him— instantly takes stock of what he sees.
Dark circles. Hollow cheeks and chapped lips. His hair is messy and unwashed, and the thick black overcoat draped around him only makes him look paler.
Kunikida drops the flowers. Dazai shrinks back, lips parted in surprise, as he seizes his shoulders, feeling down his torso, shoulders, arms.
“You could least take me to dinner—” Dazai starts, but Kunikida cuts him off.
“What happened, Dazai?” he demands. “Are you injured?”
Dazai pries his hands off his shoulders. “I’m fine, Kunikida. Honestly, can’t I just visit a friend?”
“Don’t even try that with me.” Kunikida does step away, though his eyes continue to sweep over Dazai’s body, searching for signs of… anything, really. Any clues to what the hell his partner has been up to in the past months.
Dazai catches him looking and just a hint of a frown forms between his eyebrows. Then he tilts his head and pats the grass beside him. “Well? Aren’t you going to join me?”
Not entirely sure what else to do, Kunikida complies. He reaches a hand toward Dazai’s knee, then thinks better of it. He digs his fingers into the ground instead. Cool, dewy dirt collects beneath his fingernails.
And then— to his disbelief— Dazai sets his hand on his.
“Now, now, Kunikida,” he says in that sing-song way of his. “Desecrating graves? Is this the true face of the Armed Detective Agency’s second-in-command?”
“Don’t,” he hisses, twisting his hand to squeeze Dazai’s fingers. “Don’t— don’t try to distract from— whatever this is.”
“I told you. I’m visiting a friend.” He wipes a smudge off the gravestone with his thumb. “Two friends, even. Can’t I have that?”
It’s just a smudge, but Kunikida stares at the spot where it used to be. He should’ve kept this place in better shape. He shouldn’t have let Dazai down, shouldn’t be letting Dazai down, shouldn’t—
He doesn’t know. None of this makes sense.
“Dazai,” he says quietly. “Are we being watched?”
An eye roll. “Paranoid as ever, Kunikida. Of course not. I’m better than that.”
“You said they wouldn’t let you out of their sight.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been good.” Dazai makes a face. Kunikida can’t bring himself to ask what good means to the Port Mafia. “And the slug covered for me.”
“Nakahara? He would do that?”
“I think he feels sorry for me.” He flicks glumly at the grass. “Maybe I should light his hat on fire.”
“You really shouldn’t.”
“Aw.” Dazai slumps sideways and rests his head on Kunikida’s shoulder. “You’re no fun.”
Kunikida’s immediate reaction is to stiffen. Then he forces himself to relax, acutely aware of the way Dazai nestles into the crook of his neck. “You can’t go around antagonizing everyone around you. You need allies.”
“Allies…” He feels Dazai’s head turn, just a little, to look up at him. “Including you, Kunikida?”
“Of course it includes me, dolt. Why wouldn’t it?”
Silence. Kunikida keeps so still he barely even breathes. There’s a long moment before he hears Dazai mumble, “I’m not… good.”
“I know you feel that way.” It’s not their first time discussing this, but it’s the first they’ve been sober. “But I disagree.”
“I’ve done bad things.”
Kunikida gathers the courage to wrap an arm around his shoulder. “You were a child, Dazai. We’ve been over this.”
And Dazai— Dazai shrugs the arm away. “I mean now. To get to be here. To get to see you.” He pushes himself upright, looking anywhere but Kunikida— or the gravestone. “I’m going to do something good, though.” A deep breath. It looks like it takes effort. “I tracked down Fyodor. I have a plan.”
Kunikida scrambles forward. “Dazai, that’s— that’s incredible. Do you need Agency support?”
“No,” Dazai snaps. Kunikida flinches. “...No. I don’t want you to see this.”
Kunikida’s blood runs cold. “What does that mean.”
A shrug. Again, Kunikida grasps his shoulders. Their faces nearly touch, and there’s nowhere for Dazai to look but directly at him.
“What does that mean.”
Dazai’s voice comes out weak and quiet and mostly just… tired. “It’s his ability, you know? With the body-swapping. If I kill him myself, he should stay dead. But I’ll have to get up close and personal. And that means… Well, it’s Fyodor.”
“You’re expecting to die,” he chokes out. “That’s what you’re saying.”
“He won’t go down without a fight.”
Kunikida leans back on his heels. “I need you to be honest with me. Please. Is this all some kind of elaborate suicide attempt?”
Dazai sighs. “Would you stop me if it was?” The look on Kunikida’s face must snap some sense into him. He folds his arms. “Fine. No. I’m doing it because it’s the only option. But I wouldn’t mind so much if I just happened to…” He slides a finger across his throat, giving Kunikida a sidelong glance. “Are you going to get in the way? Because, just so you know, the Mafia’s on my side here.”
“They know?”
“Mori does. It’s why he chose me, I think. Well, besides his freaky little power play. He wants the Port Mafia to get the credit for offing Fyodor.”
“And you’re fine with that?”
Dazai chuckles. “If I’m lucky, it won’t be my problem anymore.”
Slowly, Kunikida slides off his glasses and rubs his eyes long and deep enough to see blurs of color. When he pushes them back on, he finds Dazai watching him intently. “You need to promise me something.”
Dazai’s lips twist into that cheeky grin of his. It’s stupid and irritating and Kunikida has missed it so, so badly. “Do I, now?”
“I made you a promise, and I kept it. Now it’s your turn. Promise me you’ll try to make it out of this. That you won’t just let him kill you.”
As if considering, Dazai taps his chin. “And if I die anyway?”
“Then…” Some impulse takes over him, and he pulls Dazai toward him. He feels him more than hears him gasp softly against his chest. “I’ll know there was no other way.”
They stay like that for a moment, rocking gently back and forth. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t ever not be like this.
“...If I were a better person,” Dazai murmurs, “would you try to stop me?”
Kunikida holds him tighter. His eyes sting. “I don’t think I could stop anyone from trying to save the world. I shouldn’t— I can’t be a hypocrite”
Without leaving his arms, Dazai brings a finger to Kunikida’s face, wiping away a hot tear. “But you are a little.”
Kunikida cups his hand, pressing it to his cheek. “I am. So promise. ”
“I’ll try to come back. I don’t know, but… I’ll try.”
More tears fall. He lets them. “Thank you.”
“Kunikida?” Dazai whispers.
“Yes?”
“You remember about the empty plot?”
“I remember.”
A slow nod. “I’m going to save the world, Kunikida. I think he would be proud of me.”
He doesn’t have to ask who he means. There’s only six feet between them, after all.
“He is.” Kunikida breathes deep, taking in grass and cemetery dirt and Dazai. “So am I.”