Chapter Text
Mori Ougai sits at the opposite end of the meeting table.
He doesn’t look different from the man in his memories, but something about his presence feels surreal, foreign and wrong. The boss of the Port Mafia belongs to the nighttime, to the bloodied walls of the underground dungeon and the massive office with a sweeping view of the Yokohama skyline. He belongs on chess boards, and in nightmares.
Not here, in this little bubble of light Dazai has managed to find within the darkness. Not in the ADA office.
Dazai looks at everything except Mori. He grins and pokes fun at Kunikida, clicking open a pen to doodle on the man’s book of ideals and casting curious glances, greeting the other members of the mafia with bright grins like they’re old friends. To everyone else he comes across as unaffected, but he can feel the tremble in his own fingers.
It isn’t a result of confidence. It’s terror. He can’t even bring himself to meet the man’s gaze.
In his peripheral vision, he catches Mori smirking at him like he knows. It sends a chill of ice straight down his spine.
Kunikida, meanwhile, had been complaining about Dazai’s attempts to scribble over his schedule before he noticed the boss smirking in their direction. Not just in their direction, he realizes, but directly at Dazai.
The boss of the Port Mafia always holds an aura of confidence and power which rivals even the president's, plus his chilling malice and amusement. It had taken until their first meeting with the mafia to recognize that some of these traits also reflected within his partner, and taken until now to actually wonder why. He’d brushed it off as coincidental similarity until he caught a glimpse of those crimson eyes cutting across the table, that mouthful of teeth he called a smile.
The look in his eyes isn’t casual hostility towards members of an enemy organization. It’s mean, and nasty, and painfully personal. It occurs to him for the first time that Dazai knows these people on a personal level from his time in their organization.
He glances towards the others seated around the table for a hint of recognition. Dazai seems completely unfazed while Fukuzawa glares across the table, daring the opposing boss to meet his gaze instead. It makes him uneasy. On the mafia side, Gin glares daggers at Dazai while an older man presses his lips into a line, deep in thought. Although he doesn't know the details, the meeting is presumably related to the ability-user they've been tracking, but both sides seem too wrapped up in personal conflicts to care.
“Mori-sensei,” Fukuzawa says, sharply. “I believe you have come here to discuss business.”
Mori blinks in slight surprise as he glances towards the president, a sly grin spreading across his face. Watching those two is like witnessing a pair of telepaths holding a silent conversation. He wonders if Fukuzawa started speaking to draw attention from his subordinate. Dazai definitely looks relieved beside him, if only for a moment.
Dazai finally forces himself to look at his former boss, and the sight is unwelcome.
Same black coat, same scarf, and eyes, and smile. All of them jagged and sharp enough to slice right through him. “Of course,” the man purrs, in that sickly-sweet voice he knows all too well. “A business meeting is often used to discuss business, is it not?”
Dazai already senses something off about the meeting. Something dangerous lurking in the edges of his smile, a hint of smug satisfaction and victory clinging to his clothes like smoke. Mori is definitely planning something, and if the way he was eyeing Dazai earlier is any indication, it’s something that involves him. The thought alone sends a shiver down his spine.
“Get to the point, then,” Fukuzawa says, “What have you called us here to discuss?”
Mori sighs dramatically, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, nothing of great importance. I would just like to borrow one of your subordinates for a while, considering our ongoing alliance.” Fukuzawa stiffens slightly beside him, but the mafia boss continues. “It seems a number of those in the lower ranks have… forgotten their place. Now, it would be a simple matter to have one of my executives step in and resolve the issue, but all of their plates are already full dealing with outside conflicts.”
“And so I thought to myself,” he says, sliding his gaze towards Dazai again. “Who better to remind the lower ranks of their place than the infamous demon prodigy?”
Kunikida stares across the table, feeling the hefty weight of the silence on his shoulders. His head spins with questions and emotions and nonsense. Is he asking Dazai to rejoin the mafia? Is he really just asking to borrow him? Can he be trusted? What exactly does ‘reminding the lower ranks of the place’ entail? And most of all…
…did he just refer to Dazai as the demon prodigy?
Fukuzawa looks furious, but Dazai pipes up before he can object. “Oh, how far the organization has fallen in my absence,” he says, tone apathetic despite the sharpness behind his eyes. “Mori-san can’t even keep his own subordinates in line. Maybe the Port Mafia would’ve been better off if I had taken the throne, instead.”
Kunikida stiffens in his seat. He’d never considered how high in the organization his partner had been, but he was clearly someone of important status. While he would’ve liked to believe the man didn’t commit any major crimes and simply worked as a lower level strategist who slacked off his paperwork, the evidence is impossible to ignore. Not only was Dazai in a high enough position to be familiar with Mori Ougai, but high enough to have potentially taken his throne.
How much else about his partner doesn’t he know?
Mori, meanwhile, looks positively delighted in the most vicious, feral sort of way. “An intriguing proposal, Dazai-kun, considering you choose to leave the organization of your own accord. I always did wonder why…”
He left the mafia of his own accord? Kunikida always thought he knew his partner well, but he’s beginning to realize he’d only just scratched the surface of the mystery behind the man. He’d never bothered to consider his motivations for joining or leaving, and he feels his gaze drifting sideways towards the man as he wonders. To someone completely unfamiliar with his body language, the smile might appear convincing enough, but Kunikida knows better. He sees the lines of tension in his shoulders.
“I think both of us know why,” he says, “But that isn’t the matter at hand tonight. With anyone else I would reject your request immediately, but considering who I’m speaking with, I assume you have sufficient compensation in exchange for my assistance.”
Mori grins. “I’ve missed our conversations, Dazai-kun.” he says.
“I haven’t.” Dazai says through a tight smile.
Kunikida feels the hatred and malice radiating from them both like a physical heat enveloping the room, and he can’t help but swallow thickly. Mori holds his stare for a moment longer before turning back to Fukuzawa. “As your subordinate so cleverly predicted, I have something to offer in exchange for his help.” He slides a photograph across the table. Kunikida immediately feels recognition light up within him at the sight of the man in the picture.
“I know the current location the ability-user you have been searching for,” Mori says. “I’m sure Dazai-kun has already informed you that your current numbers are insufficient to win against his organization. In exchange for Dazai’s temporary return to our ranks, I will provide the location of this man and whatever resources the agency deems necessary to capture him alive.”
Kunikida feels unease rising in his gut. Although he would never ask his partner to return to the darkness on the promise of a madman, the possibility of capturing their fugitive is tempting. The agency has been hunting him down for weeks now, always just too late to prevent the tragedies and massacres he leaves like ghosts in his wake. If he could be successfully captured, dozens if not hundreds of innocent lives could be saved.
Fukuzawa stands with his hands clenched into fists. “Absolutely not,” he says, voice firm. “I will not place my subordinate into the potential harms of enemy territory under any circumstances. Dazai is with the agency now, not the mafia.”
“Oh?” Mori says, raising a brow. “If you knew anything about Dazai-kun, you would already understand that no harm would become of him within the halls of our headquarters. If anything, he would be the one causing harm to my subordinates. They called him the demon prodigy for a reason. Isn’t that right, Dazai-kun?”
Kunikida risks a glance over to find Dazai drilling his eyes into the surface of the meeting table, hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. He takes a moment to respond, then another, and a thick silence settles over them as nobody dares to move.
“How long?” Dazai says through gritted teeth. “How long will you own me?”
Something in Kunikida’s stomach twists at the words, something primal and ancient that just screams wrongness. Dazai sounds pained and resigned to his fate, like he’s already accepted the exchange as inevitable punishment, and the phrasing of ownership leaves something angry and buzzing deep inside his core—
“Now, now,” Mori begins, “I never said—”
“We both know what this is,” Dazai snaps. “It’s useless to pretend we don’t, so just tell me how long.”
Mori blinks in surprise before an amused smile flickers over his face. “Oh how I’ve missed our talks,” he sighs, nostalgic. “But I suppose we should get to business. The length of time depends on the quality of your work, as I would hope the great demon prodigy hasn’t grown rusty living in the light. I estimate would require your assistance for about a week.”
Kunikida feels the words like a stone dropping in his stomach. A week. He can’t even imagine subjecting himself to a day in enemy territory, being forced to aid murderers and remaining on edge for fear of backstabbing. But to Dazai, this is clearly something deeply personal. He can’t imagine how painful it must be to even consider returning there.
“Enough,” Fukuzawa says, sharp. “There will be no exchange. I refuse to even consider handing him over.”
“President,” Dazai says, quietly. All heads turn to him.
“We need to capture him, president. Innocent people will die.”
Fukuzawa looks outraged. “Would you suggest sending Kunikida, then, if it were him in this position? How about Kyouka or Atsushi? Would you have them subjected to the will of killers in exchange for information we could gather ourselves given a few days’ time?”
“We don’t have a few days’ time!” Dazai shouts, throwing up his hands. “His stunts have just been getting worse and worse! There might be hundreds more dead before we manage to track down his location ourselves, and we cannot allow innocent lives to be lost where there is another solution!”
“You’re an innocent life,” Fukuzawa says, eyes blazing. “You’re an innocent life, and I won’t risk losing you either.”
Everyone watches the exchange intently, holding their breath as Dazai pauses. A thick silence settles over the room, making the near whisper of his next words painfully audible in the quiet. “Am I, though? Am I really an innocent life?”
Fukuzawa opens his mouth to respond, but laughter cuts him off. Mori Ougai’s laughter. It’s an awful, crooked sound which carries through the silence of the room perfectly, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “It seems I was correct in my assumption that you don’t know him well, Fukuzawa-dono,” he drawls. “If you could see the things I’ve seen, you wouldn’t refer to him as innocent so carelessly.”
Kunikida has heard enough. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve seen,” he says, fighting to keep the tremble of anger from his voice. “Dazai is with us now. He might be a useless slacker, but he’s out there every day fighting for Yokohama. His life holds value.”
Meanwhile, Dazai stares across the table at him, taking in the determination written into the lines of his face, the protectiveness and anger and caring. It’s foreign. Baffling. He can’t really comprehend why anyone would defend him so passionately after everything he’s done, and something about it leaves a feeling of warmth glowing inside his chest.
The warmth drops away the moment Mori Ougai opens his mouth again.
“The task itself, should he agree to the terms of our exchange, will be simple for Dazai-kun. He has quite the track record for wielding violence as a tool to keep his subordinates in line, and I won’t even require him to execute anyone.” Dazai stiffens in his seat, feeling questioning eyes burning into the back of his head as Mori smiles. “Although, he never had difficulty killing, either. Such an efficient little tool. In addition to being an excellent negotiator and strategist, he always excelled in the less savory aspects of our work as well, especially torture and interrogation. It was incredibly useful having him around.”
His heart pounds loud enough to drown out the noise of the room, if there had been any. Everyone has simultaneously agreed to hold their breath. Dazai feels the confusion and disbelief weighted in Kunikida’s stare, and he can’t bring himself to turn and meet his gaze. Fukuzawa drills his eyes into the tabletop, pained and clearly disappointed in his subordinate.
He wants to lunge across the table and strangle the smile off Mori’s face. He wants to bash his skull against the wall until it cracks, and throw him out the window, and shove him into oncoming traffic. The desire burns inside him like a primal flame surging to engulf the sense of morality he’s been struggling to build, carelessly crumbling the foundations of his hard work.
Dazai almost laughs to himself.
He had really begun to think he could become a better man.
“Everything will be taken care of,” Mori continues, ignoring the tension in the room. “I will ensure he rooms in his old penthouse for the duration of the arrangement and treated as well as an executive. Expense-free with no requirements beyond completing his mission. If he agrees, I will reveal the last-known location of the fugitive and call everything you need immediately.”
He opens his mouth to accept the offer, but the syllables catch in his throat like bile. It burns. As much as he sees the logic in accepting the offer, he can’t even look across the table without catching reflections of scalpels and blood, the smooth manipulation and merciless boots kicking into his already broken ribs. He feels like he’s signing over his soul.
Dazai has no guarantee of returning home. He knows Mori. He knows this is likely another scheme to collar him again like a dog, an intricate spiderweb of manipulation and pretty lies to tempt him into the trap. The thought of losing everything he’s managed to build for himself here is unbearable, but if turning himself over would save those innocent civilians…
…well, he supposes he could always kill himself in the end, anyway. Then he wouldn’t cause anyone problems anymore.
Before he can accept, Fukuzawa straightens himself. “I will not allow this,” he says. “There will be no further negotiation or discussion of the matter. Leave this place immediately or I will have you forcibly removed.”
“No,” Dazai objects, heaving a deep breath. “I agree to the terms. I’ll go with you.”
A wicked smile spreads across Mori’s face as Kunikida stands abruptly, his chair screeching across the tile floor. “Are you out of your mind?” he demands, glaring across the tabletop with a crazed look in his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere with him. I’ve seen enough to know it will bring you nothing but suffering. It’s against my ideals to allow an innocent life to suffer needlessly before my eyes, nevermind a coworker—”
Kunikida hesitates, swallowing hard. “—nevermind a friend,” he finishes, voice tight. There’s something so raw and painful lurking behind his voice, something that somehow manages to remain simultaneously soft and powerful, and it slams into Dazai like a tidal wave. Fukuzawa shifts to place a hand on his shoulder, and Dazai finds the same determination burning in his eyes.
“We’re a family here at the agency,” he says, “Whether you believe it or not, you’re a member of that family, too. I won’t allow my family to suffer. We’re going to figure everything out, so just allow us to handle this case.”
Kunikida feels something burning inside him, something resembling fire and rage despite brimming inside his chest like warm compassion. He doesn’t understand it, but it’s racing through his blood like a shot of adrenaline and his hands shake with the intensity of it.
He watches Dazai’s expression in the moments after Fukuzawa speaks, the slight furrow of his brows before his jaw tightens, eyes shining with some unreadable emotion before he manages to grab ahold of his facial expression again. It’s only a fraction of a second. Just a momentary crack in the mask, and he already knows he’d kill for whoever still hides underneath it. The thought is incredibly unideal and he immediately squashes down the reaction, but it’s still there.
It takes him a moment to register that Dazai isn’t looking at them anymore and another to realize he’s looking back at Mori. The boss smiles across the table with nothing but malice in his eyes, and it makes the emotion raging through him twist into something ugly and hateful. “Come on,” he says, grabbing Dazai by the arm. “We’re leaving. This meeting is over.”
Dazai opens his mouth to protest, but he catches a glimpse of Kunikida’s expression and falls silent. He isn’t sure what his partner saw lurking within his gaze. It might be hatred or caring or some surge of powerful protectiveness he can’t quite name, but the determination must hold because Dazai doesn’t protest as Kunikida hauls him towards the door. Behind them, he hears the beginnings of Fukuzawa repeating that the meeting is over, emphasizing that he won’t be seeing Dazai again.
Whatever Mori replies with, neither of them hear. They just pass through the doorway with nothing but a hint of a smile.