Chapter Text
Since he made the (now questionable) decision to join the Armed Detective Agency, Atsushi had learned many things. Some were emotional; he learned that he was loved, he was worthy of living, that he belonged. Other pieces of knowledge were useful; how to pay taxes and bills (Kunikida), how to avoid paying taxes and bills (Dazai), and how to avoid Dazai (all of the agency). And some facts were just good to know about the people Atsushi surrounds himself with; like how you should never let Ranpo and Dazai play chess against each other, Kenji is forbidden to drink coffee after what happened last time, and never, ever, EVER get into a moving vehicle with Dazai behind the wheel.
It’s gotten to the point where Atsushi has begun to keep a journal of his developing knowledge, much to the approval of a former teacher he works with. The weretiger originally had categories for this knowledge, but after he needed to create “Category #102: Kids and Explosives and Why Our God Hates Children Being Happy”, he resigned to scrawling bits and pieces wherever they fit. Dazai teases him relentlessly about being a mini Kunikida, which, ok, fair, but there is a original reason behind the development of his journalism that he’s slightly insecure about- he’s never had true friends, and he couldn’t risk forgetting anything important. What if he messed something up, and they hated him? Or worse, kicked him out? Over time, that reasoning has grown with him. He no longer writes to ensure he stays valued and knowledgeable enough to stay; instead, he writes when something good happens, something that takes his mind off of the fact that everyone here lacks a childhood, something that makes him feel happy, something that he wants to save forever in his memories and cling tight to and never let go. These are the entries that he reads over and over again late at night, when the nightmares about the orphanage leave him doubtful and trembling in his closet, and he needs something to silence the dark, slimy residue that hisses into his ear, “You’re worthless, nobody could ever care about you.” The writing might not mute the words- things like that tend to stick- but the more he reads, the more the voices are drowned out, and as he falls asleep to the steady breathing of his sister/roommate, life seems a bit more bearable now that he has people to share it with.
That’s not to say his life is easy- far from it. He’s had to face the Guild, the Mafia, The Decay of Angels, and Akutagawa (who he can’t even group with the Mafia, that man has his own agenda when it comes to terrorizing Atsushi) while simultaneously getting to know his new friends and himself as well. But he’s made it out so far, and now, he faces different kinds of struggles. Due to this, Atsushi’s composed a new section to his journal- his Rules (Oh no, he really does sound like Kunikida). Learned from experiences, this rules are more guides to surviving in his strange new surroundings, as well as his friends.
There were some rules that he developed through personal experience, such as;
Rule Number 3: You could trust Dazai with your life, but not with your mental sanity or general well being.
“Cmon Atsushi! As your esteemed mentor and favorite self appointed older brother figure, I am appalled at your inability to follow orders. I gave you a mission, and even gave you help to complete it!”
Atsushi nearly breaks down in tears from where he is tied to his seat, fingers clutched tightly around a pencil that is about to snap. “Dazai! For the last time, I’m not doing your paperwork for you! Kunikida would kill me, and I think I’m more scared of him than you. Also, this isn’t help! This is a bloodbath in the making!”
“I agree with the worthless idiot.” Akutagawa coughs out besides him, with an unnecessarily harsh tug to the handcuffs keeping the mortal enemies chained together. “I admire you, Dazai, but not nearly enough to put up with this nonsense. Weretiger, I take it back. You can keep him as your mentor. I don’t want praise from a madman.”
Later, Atsushi ponders this interaction while healing from his multiple injuries, both mental (Kunikidas screams of pure rage will be forever in his head), physical (inflicted on him by Akutagawa, who stabbed him with a fancy quill when the white haired detective quote, “breathed too loud”), and emotional (The overload of emotions that he felt when the one and only Chuuya Nakahara, who had received an SOS from said quill stabber, had broken through the window to rescue his subordinate, and then, after a split second of what-the-fuck-did-I-just-break-into, had the knee-jerk reaction to attack Dazai instead).
As he does his pondering, he realizes that he not only agreed with the rabid dog of the port mafia, but was able to finish two pages of paperwork with him. It’s true that Akutagawa mostly just crossed out the questions he didn’t deem necessary (re: all of them), while muttering about shredding it up into thousands of tiny pieces along with Atsushi, but still.
Other helpful tidbits were given to him by his coworkers, who had to learn the rules throughout their own experience and wished to spare him their suffering. One example is;
Rule #12: Don’t Ask Dazai About the Relationship Between Dazai and Chuuya. But Gossip/Speculation is Allowed.
It had been about as normal of a day as one could have at the agency. Ranpo was perched atop his desk, lollipop dangling from his mouth, green eyes open and concentrated, and fingers working intently as he attempted to braid Kyouka’s hair. Yosano, leaning against the wall, had already given up trying to help the self proclaimed genius who, apparently, was a master detective who didn’t need any assistance, thank you very little. Kenji was napping and sleep mumbling about his beloved cow, Naomi had dragged Tanizaki to go shopping, Kunikida was furiously typing a report to the President, and Dazai was sprawled haphazardly across on the couch, headphones on, as he…
Huh?
“Are you ok, Dazai?” Atsushi questioned nervously. “You’re actually doing your paperwork.”
Dazai glanced at his mentee from the corner of his eye, before turning fully to face him, devious grin slowly stretching out on his face.
“Whatever do you mean, Atsushi? I always do my paperwork. I am a star employee!”
As Atsushi opens his mouth to mention the hundreds of reasons why Dazai is not, in fact, a star employee, his eyes catch on what Dazai has been scribbling for the past half hour. It’s definitely not paperwork. It appears at first to be a crudely drawn gnome with its head on fire, adored with an oversized spider resting on said fire. Atsushi briefly considers ignoring it-it’s Dazai, if he asks, he’s going to regret listening to whatever nonsense the bandaged man spews out- but curiosity killed the tiger, and he pushes his chair away from his desk to cautiously stroll over to the couch.
“Come to admire my artistic genius?” Dazai asks, sitting up right, except he’s now comfortably resting on the back of the couch, not the actual seat.
Atsushi is used to Dazais antics and didn’t comment on his odd sitting habits. He frowns as he reaches for the paper that Dazai is handing him, and grasps at it in confusion with narrowed eyes.
“Um…what exactly did you draw here?”
“Come on Atsushi! Use that tiger brain of yours!” Dazai says, flicking said tiger’s forehead. Atsushi already regrets asking. His frown deepens as he tilts the paper with the hand not currently protecting his forehead, and still can’t make out what Dazais mind came up with. Sighing, he gives up.
“I don’t know. Give me a hint or something. I doubt even Ranpo could figure this one out.”
“Did someone call for a master detective?!”
Atsushi yelps and drops the paper. Really, it’s impressive how Ranpo can pick up on anything even remotely related to himself, yet loses his hearing the moment working is mentioned.
“We’re admiring my drawing! Atsushi here clearly has no taste for the arts however. Maybe a detective like yourself will be able to decipher my masterpiece!”
The praise works. Ranpo huffs as he picks up the dropped drawing and studies it for a second. Atsushi waits for an answer, but even the genius is appalled by Dazai’s utter lack of artistic talent. The funny thing is, Dazai is actually a decent artist when he wants to be. Atsushi’s seen what he doodles on his bandages when he’s bored, so he’s clearly doing this on purpose to throw them for a loop. Or as a way to insult whatever he drew. Most likely both.
Atsushi is yanked from his thoughts as Ranpo snaps his fingers in victory.
“It’s obvious. This is an overly exaggerated depiction of Mr. Fancy-“
Ranpo never gets the chance to finish his sentence.
The window above them shatters as a red blur crashes trough it with the speed of a wrathful god. Atsushi instinctively covers his neck and head as shards of glass rain down on them. Footsteps that shake and crack the floor stomp up to them, and Atsushi barely has time to react as a hatless Chuuya Nakahara yanks Dazai off the couch and holds him by his throat against the wall with an impact that sends spiderweb cracks shooting out from the pure force of the executive’s strength. Ranpo hides the drawing, not wanting that rage to be directed at him.
“Where. The hell. Is my hat.” Chuuya speaks, low and threatening but perfectly clear to the Agency members listening in.
Atsushi is Very Concerned at the fact that his mentor is currently being threatened by a member of the Port Mafia, and as Kunikida stomps over, he opens his mouth to summon Beast Beneath the Moonlight, and prepares himself to fight the redhead. Kunikida apparently has other ideas and cuts him off.
“Nakahara! I just repaired the window!”
Chuuya blinks out of his murderous staring battle with Dazai, but keeps hold of his throat as he turns to face first Kunikida, then the window he shattered. He grimaces and gives a quick shake of his head.
“Sorry, Glasses.” The mafioso sighs. “I’ll pay to fix it.”
Atsushi gapes in shock. Not only is Chuuya guilty AND apologizing, but he’s offering up his own money to pay for the damage. And he’s not currently being attacked by Kunikida, who is more worried about his wasted time than the death grip that the redhead has on his partner.
“What? Huh? I… what?” Atsushi is desperate for answers as he rapidly swivels his head to face Ranpo, who is surveying the interaction with his arms crossed and a small smug I-knew-that-would-happen-and-I-know-where-your-hat-is smile on his face. Atsushi leans over and whispers at the detective.
“Could you explain what’s going on?”
Ranpo waves his hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it. Happens constantly, and almost always at the same time. Don’t you wonder why we send you on some stupid mission right before or after lunch?”
Atsushi’s jaw drops further. “That’s why? Why can’t I see this? Why didn’t anyone tell me? I-i-is why the window is always broken?”
“It’s obvious.” Ranpo shrugs. “Nobody fully understands their relationship, and nobody wants to. Except me. I can totally understand if I wanted to. I just don’t because it’s boring and emotional stuff is stupid. But anyway, we’re trying to save your small brain from having to try to comprehend it.”
Ranpo pulls out a bottle of something, most likely sugary and overly sweet, and turns away from Atsushi.
“But the insults are funny enough, as well as the guesses, so I’m going to grab a snack and settle in.”
Biting back more questions, Atsushi snaps his jaw shut and sighs in annoyance as Ranpo walks off in the President’s office, probably to beg his dad-AHEM- boss for food. Atsushi doesn’t care. He’s too busy being upset at being left out again. He’s part of the agency, right? He should know what’s going on! Besides, it can’t be that bad. Surely it’s just Ranpo being dramatic. Then again, Ranpo said nobody, and for all the defenses he gave about how he could figure it out if he wanted to, it’s clear that the master mystery solver might not be able to solve this one. Atsushi turns his gaze once more to the trio, and tries to takes in what he’s witnessing once more.
Kunikida is pointing a snapped half of a pencil at the redhead, scolding him about his entering habits, and how doors exist. Said redhead looks annoyed and frustrated, but slightly guilty, which looks extremely out of place on the usually brutal mafioso. Dazai appears to be fighting against the smaller man, but his loose, almost tender grip around Chuuyas wrist, tiny but genuine smile, and fond look in his dark eyes tell a much different story. Atsushi is also fully aware of the gravity benders fighting capabilities. He could have Dazai on the ground and heavily injured in seconds if he wanted to truly hurt him. So why hasn’t he?
Maybe Ranpo’s right. He wants to go back to being blissfully ignorant. Questions about this moment will be swirling around in his head for days.
Dazai is clearly satisfied at seeing someone else receive his partners rage, and he grins smugly at Chuuya. As the brunette opens his mouth to say something that’s most likely mocking, both his partner and ex partner turn their attention to him.
“Shut up.”
Dazai shuts up.
After watching Kunikida and Chuuya both interrogate Dazai for the redheads hat, (Kunikida helping Chuuya is something that Atsushi is even more surprised to see, but he supposes it fits as an enemy of my enemy type situation), he joins Kenji, Yosano, and Ranpo in eating popcorn while enjoying the free entertainment. Kunikida leaves a bit later after making Chuuya promise to go through the door the next time he plans to strangle Dazai, but watching the previous partners argue lets the agency speculate on the relationship.
“They’re rivals.” Atsushi guesses as Chuuya kicks Dazai’s ribs.
“They’re friends!” Kenji exclaims as Dazai forcibly smiles and lets a wince of pain slip from the kick, only for Chuuya to become concerned and check for a previous injury.
“They’re fuck buddies.” Yosano states dryly as Dazai makes a suggestive comment about Chuuya just wanting him to take his shirt off, even though Chuuya hasn’t even made a move to ask, let alone remove it. Hm. That’s another sign of trust. Maybe? What does it mean when you don’t want to expose your rivals/friends/fuck buddies wounds in public? Isn’t not taking someone’s shirt off just basic human decency? Do mafia members have decency? Do enemies have decency towards each other?
Ranpo doesn’t join in on the speculation/gossip, just yawns and stretches, adjusting a familiar black hat, frozen solid, on his head. He had pulled out of the freezer fifteen minutes ago, but the redhead has been too busy lecturing his ex-partner on not hiding his injures to even remember why he came.
Feeling the gaze of the agency on him, silently begging for answers from the all knowing man, Ranpo looks up and rolls his eyes.
“I’m not going to try. I’d know, obviously, because I’m a genius, but I’m choosing not to for my own mental sanity.”
Atsushi can’t help but agree, and grabs his notebook to add a new rule. This one, he can bend a bit with the Agency, but he wants to respect Dazai’s privacy so he wouldn’t ask him directly. As he writes, he can’t hear the ex-assassin’s footsteps, but the monstrosity of a braid with too many bow ties and jaggedly cut strands is hard to miss as Kyouka strolls past them. She’s holding a mirror, and Ranpo is suddenly missing, and it’s safe to say he went into hiding.
“I know they’re at least roommates, I remember that from the Port Mafia,” Kyouka shares as she passes by.
Atsushi’s pencil snaps.
Screw privacy. He’s getting answers.
Two hours later, Atsushi is chasing down a runaway Dazai, who bolted the second Atsushi asked him to talk, and still does whenever he tries.