Chapter Text
“Consider us even. Away with you, you fool.”
It was almost scary how the words just came to him. He barely had to think. He had no way of knowing the fate that would meet him as he stared that blade in the face - the same blade that he’d watched cut down every single person that had tried to help before him. He was no different, he supposed. He wished he could look as strong as Kunikida did. He had such an influential line before he went. Was his good enough?
He could sense Akutagawa behind him. Well, what was left of Akutagawa. He was different. He had no memories of him, no nothing. He had different clothes, a different face, a different mind. He wouldn’t even understand his final words. Nobody was with them on the boat, nobody would ever be able to recount it to him. A stranger, sacrificing himself for him like they’d been close for years.
The picture of Akutagawa telling him nearly the same words was fresh in his mind. He had barely gotten the words out before his throat was split in two, spurting blood like a cruel fountain. Akutagawa, of all people, giving his own life and yelling at Atsushi to run away. It was in his nature to be a coward, wasn’t it? He had tried to convince him to run away the moment they came into contact with Fukuchi. He wished he’d been a little more convincing.
Akutagawa was stubborn to a fault. He wouldn’t run now, and he wouldn’t have ran back then. There was no use even telling him to do so. Begging would fall on deaf ears.
Regardless, Akutagawa was a strong fighter who hadn’t watched multiple of his friends die. A fighter uninfluenced even by Atsushi sacrificing himself. He could only pray he’d figure it out. He knew he wouldn’t give up.
Deep breath in. It had been an interesting life.
“Weretiger!”
And darkness.
He awoke with a start.
Cold - that was the first thing he could notice. It was like ice giving his body an uncomfortable hug. He could feel wind biting and nipping at his skin.
His first thought?
He was in Hell.
He supposed he sort of deserved that, not that it made it any less cold. He thought it was supposed to be hot. Well, he never read the Bible. The verses his Headmaster spat out at him were cherry-picked and blurry in his head by now.
A deep breath racked him, and he was startled at how much of an effort it took. He felt weak, to put it simply. Small, sore, and weak. He managed to get to his feet after a second, trying to ignore the hole in his stomach.
Metaphorical hole. It might as well have been a hole, though. It felt like it’d been carved out of him, tied to the rest of his system with hot wire.
Words rang through his head. “Check your condition,” it said. “Figure out what you can do and what you can’t.”
He could move. He raised his arm tentatively. It was thin and shaky, but in the air nonetheless. He wiggled his toes next. He blinked and squinted. That was probably the basics of his functions.
He could move, he could see, he could think.
Pain clouded the rest of it. He was a close friend of pain. Countless nights of dancing didn’t get him used to it, though. It only made it less surprising (and often, he just had to suck it up anyway because of the circumstances). He identified the main pain as hunger. Another close friend of his, considering his past. That must have been the clawing. It had been a while since he felt like that. Months of good meals in the Agency softened up his stomach - it was a distant memory.
Well, the memory was slapping him in the face and berating him right now.
He blinked again. He pressed his eyelids together as hard as possible. Think.
“Identify your surroundings. Use your senses. Even if some are useless, it strengthens the other ones.”
He was in an alleyway. Darkness settled over it like a thick blanket. He could make out some sort of streetlight far in the distance, probably on a road that wasn’t quite as sketchy as this back alley. It reminded him of the one he met Akutagawa in. God, he hated remembering that. Not even just because of the pain - because of the embarrassment. He’d admit he’d gotten better at fighting since then.
Akutagawa would probably call him a weak cat. Scold him to get his head in the game, that there was valuable time to be using to figure out how to get back home.
Home? Did home exist anymore?
He had died. The adrenaline of waking up nearly made him forget. He felt himself shrink against the wall behind him. It didn’t, did it? He was alone now in this stupid alleyway.
He couldn’t confidently say he regretted sacrificing himself, though.
“Getting stuck in your head doesn’t help anyone. Take a deep breath.”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Where would he even be without Dazai’s voice of reason?
The moon was high in the sky; it had to be a little past midnight. Dawn wasn’t coming anytime soon, anyway. He glanced around. The alleyway was lined with overflowing garbage bins and the stench of blood and grime. He wrinkled his nose. Maybe it was a good idea to get out of here.
Eyes set on the streetlight, he took a few slow steps. His legs were far too stiff for his liking. He stretched them out, wincing at the loud popping noise that resulted. It was like he hadn’t moved in months. With that in mind, he stretched his arms out, too. They made a similar disgruntled sound. He just sighed.
The streets were empty. Businesses had their lights off, and the neon signs in their windows flickered dull greys. No cars passed. He was free to cross the street without even looking both ways.
The thought occurred to him, was he actually alone? Was his Hell a barren landscape with nobody in sight? Just him and himself in this lonely city for eternity?
“Atsushi,” the voice firmly started. “Take a deep breath. Stop. Focus on the essentials. You need food and shelter.”
“Okay,” Atsushi managed to mumble to himself. Okay. He could do that. If there truly was nobody here, he shouldn’t have a problem finding a place with food. His gaze went over the storefronts. A bar, a clothes store, an abandoned building, a cafe-
A cafe.
He turned on his heels, walking towards the small building concave amongst the other fronts. There was a sign just above the door, not that the basic cafe name meant much. A small outdoor table sat scooted off the side. The plastic chairs were flipped over nearby. He frowned and paused to push them right side up, situating them back where they should be. There. That was nice.
He faced the building again. He vowed to not commit crimes, but his morality after so much time in the Agency got muddled at best. It’s not like this random cafe would cry over a few missing ingredients, right? He tried the doorknob, not expecting much. Surely, a business would know to lock their front-
The door gave way with a quiet click, and Atsushi was left seriously considering his earlier idea. Was he alone? Well, then he supposed stealing didn’t matter at all - he was stealing from nobody. A completely victimless crime.
It was a small cafe and quite reminded him of the Agency. A jukebox was pushed to a corner, and dark red booths were scattered throughout the space. It’d be a pretty decent place to sleep if he could find a way to secure the door. He patted one of the seats; surprisingly plush. He’d slept on far worse.
He shook his head and quickly headed towards the employee-only door in the back. It wasn’t locked, either.
With the lacklustre security, he was almost expecting an empty kitchen. He was relieved it wasn’t. He racked his brain for what to grab.
“Pause and think. You need something fulfilling and quick to get. You can focus on a permanent food solution once you have a clearer head.”
He nodded to the voice and started rustling through the cabinets. Eggs, brown sugar, baking soda, vanilla oil, flour… Once upon a time, he probably would’ve just eaten the flour. He knew better now. Flour didn’t taste good, believe it or not.
He froze as he heard the distinct thud of a door opening, hands still in a cabinet. A security guard, maybe? Some employee that had only gone on a smoke break instead of leaving for the night? He wobbled in his place kneeled on the counter.
“I’ll be there once I finish up this survey- Oh. Hello.”
Atsushi felt his hands slowly lower, and he got down from the counter without a word. He turned around. This felt eerily familiar to when his headmaster would catch him rummaging in the kitchen at night - he hated it. He frowned, much like a child caught digging in a cookie jar.
His eyes trailed over the man before him. Tall, red hair, a tan jacket. He had the sort of face that was no doubt worn from maturity. A bit of stubble ran over his chin. A rough hand raised to rub at it as he studied him, and Atsushi could feel himself falter under the sturdy gaze.
“Give me a moment,” the man muttered into his phone, flipping it shut and tucking it into the pocket of his slacks. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m not here to harm you. Who are you?”
He blinked. Once, twice, then a third time. Though, somewhere within him-
“You can trust this man. Be honest, he’ll help you.”
He shifted on his feet. “Um. My name’s Atsushi,” he said, not sure what else to add. He didn’t feel like a detective agency member right now.
The man drew closer, discarding his jacket and holding it out. It was a strange offering. Confusion shot through Atsushi before he looked down - he hadn’t even noticed the near rags he was wearing. Ripped blue pajamas. His orphanage clothes. What?
A lot of things went through his head at once, and he paused to shakily accept the jacket. He put his arms through the holes. The sleeves were very big on him, and he stared down at the way the jacket fell to his knees. He buttoned it up wordlessly. He could pretend it didn’t exist if he couldn't see it. On the plus side, it was very warm. That was a nicer feeling to focus on.
“My name’s Oda. You’re hungry, huh? Here. I’ll make something. Go take a seat.”
His first thought was that this man was obviously a father. He wasn’t quite used to that gentle tone of voice. He was eighteen, for god's sake.
Right?
His mind was everywhere but the actual world, simply nodding and droning over to a chair nearby. He took a seat, resting his hands in his lap.
He wasn’t alone. So this wasn’t Hell. He had never been much of a detective - he only got into the Agency by happenstance. Why couldn’t Ranpo be here? He could just put on his glasses, and everything would be solved. He would’ve loved to be blessed with that power.
”Atsushi.”
He dug his nails into his palm. Think. He couldn’t do much thinking if he was just pitying himself.
Oda. The name bounced around his head. The first memory it brought up was the time he’d seen Dazai leaned against that grave. Oda S? No, Oda was a common name.
“What’s your full name?” Atsushi found himself asking.
Oda turned around from where he was pouring something into a pan. He must’ve turned a light on at some point. He clearly was a bit confused at the question; that wasn’t something typical to ask of an adult you just met when you were starving. “Sakunosuke Oda. Why do you ask?”
Plenty of people also had names that could start with an S. Oda S could exist somewhere else, right? Right? Yokohama was a large city.
“What year is it?”
He shot him another curious glance, a bit concerned at the desperation in Atsushi’s voice. “2016…?”
.
.
.
He was in the past?
The idea lingered in the air. Even if Oda had no idea what was going on, tension settled that could only be cut with the sharpest of knives.
After a moment, his bewilderment switched to relief. He was back. He could fix things - change things.
A little too far, maybe. This was four years before he was supposed to leave his orphanage. And yet, he’d simply spawned outside of it. Was a different him still trapped in that orphanage?
That’d make him fourteen. No wonder he felt so small.
He swallowed. If he spent all of his time spacing out, he wouldn’t be able to fix things at all.
He looked back up towards Oda. “Sorry. Um, say, you wouldn’t happen to know a Dazai, would you?”
“...I do.”
‘S. Oda
1993-2016’
“The man who gave me a reason to quit the Port Mafia and join the Detective Agency. If it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve still been there.”
He wished he had a specific date. There was no telling how much time he had, no telling what to look out for. He cursed Dazai for being so vague. How had Oda died? Where? How could he stop something he had so little information about?
Well, that was his first mission here. Figure things out. He could do this. Weak body or not, he knew how to use his Ability. He had nearly five extra years under his belt. (Though, granted, most of that was spent chained up in a basement). The fact that he’d be getting involved with the Mafia wasn’t lost on him, though. He could only hope he could skirt around it.
Yeah. He wasn’t nervous at all.
After a long time of awkward silence, Oda approached him, settling a bowl of curry on his lap. The bowl was hot, even through the fabric. Atsushi stared at it for a moment. How had he even managed to whip up something like this so quickly?
“Thank you,” he mumbled out of instinct before taking a hesitant bite. It’s not like it didn’t look good - it looked delicious. It was just weird to be accepting food like this. It was really reminiscent of his time in that tea shop with Kunikida and Dazai. Well, at least there wasn’t incessant arguing this time.
It was delicious. Atsushi took a deep breath and tried to pace himself so he wouldn’t just devour it all at once and hurt his stomach. Oda watched with intrigue.
The man dragged a stool over in front of him. “I’ve already got my hands full with kids. You’re not quite young enough to not be able to take care of yourself. Though, you mentioned Dazai. How do you know him?”
Atsushi supposed he should’ve expected that. He chewed a little slower to try to give himself time to think.
“Um,” he trailed off. “We’re acquaintances. Nothing crazy. I’ve run into him a few times.”
“‘Run into’?”
“Yeah. I’ve been… around here for a while.”
Not that he knew where ‘around here’ was. This had to be Yokohama, but he didn’t recognise the area at all. There wasn’t much that had dragged him into Mafia territory throughout his years.
His mind clinged onto the first thing Oda had said. He needed a way to stay around him; an unconsensual bodyguard was just a stalker. He doubted Dazai nor Oda would appreciate that.
“I have an Ability,” he piped up. “I know you said you don’t have space, but um, I can be useful. I’m good with kids, too. You must be out for work a lot, being a low rank and all, I imagine you do a lot of little things-”
Oda’s eyes widened a little. He straightened up. “Kid, how do you even know that?”
Oh.
That was a good question.
“I’m… Um, Dazai told me.”
Atsushi debated adding more, and internally berated himself for such a stupid response, until a dull ringing let out in the room. Oda pulled his flipphone out of his slacks pocket. He squinted at the screen.
“Dazai’s calling me. You wouldn’t mind me mentioning you, would you?”
“No, not at all. Go ahead,” he assured, trying to keep his hands steady. Improvisation was probably his worst flaw. AKA, he sucked at it.
There was a brief silence before a young, slightly whiny voice came out through the phone. “Odasaku! You’re gonna be late. What’s holding you up?”
Atsushi couldn’t help but just blink. God, Dazai sounded different. He’d be…what, eighteen? He doubted Dazai was the same as he was at his age. Still, it was the same Dazai. He could work with that, hopefully. Hopefully, Dazai was still reasonable.
“You’re on speaker,” Oda disclosed before he continued. “I found a boy in the building I was investigating. He says he knows you.”
“Ooh? You’ve got me interested now. Who is it?”
“Atsushi, he says.”
There was a long silence over the line, and Atsushi never could’ve wished more that he was invisible. If Dazai didn’t lie here, he’d probably be assumed to be a spy, or worse. Like he said, stalkers are frowned upon. How would he even explain he was from the future without sounding insane?
A laugh. “Oh, yeah, him. What’s he up to over there? Stealing food, or something?”
Atsushi let out a very long exhale.
“I made him some food. He looks no older than fourteen. He mentioned having an Ability, though. Speaking of, Atsushi, you didn’t elaborate on that.”
Thank god he didn’t ask Dazai, Atsushi repeated in his head. This was okay. “It’s called Beast Beneath the Moonlight. I can turn into a tiger, or just individual body parts. It gives me speed and strength and… uh, stuff like that.”
“Riiiight! The tiger boy! I remember fully now,” Dazai chirped in. “You’re in good fortune finding Odasaku. Say, Odasaku, you wouldn’t mind sheltering him for a bit, would you?”
Oda’s face scrunched up, but he just sighed and gave a nod of his head, even if Dazai couldn’t see it. “You are an Executive. I’m obliged to listen.”
.
.
Dazai had been an Executive?
Atsushi stared ahead dumbfounded. the Executives - he had heard Kunikida talk about them. Five spots in the Mafia, reserved for only the strongest and most deserving. Imagining Dazai in a position of power like that made his head spin. The same Dazai that’d lounge around on the sofa all the time and deny any chance of responsibility? That’d constantly show up late and blow off work like it was a hobby?
“Ango’s gonna be here any minute, I can feel it. You can take Atsushi here with you. I don’t mind. It’d be nice to see him again,” Dazai said with a thin, clear underlying threat buried just beneath the words. Directed towards Atsushi, of course. He couldn’t exactly be surprised. Dazai must be going through a lot of theories, none of which could be good. Acting in front of him was going to be near- no. Just impossible. It was going to be impossible.
Oda stood up. “Alright, we’ll be there soon,” he said curtly, hanging up soon after. He looked back at Atsushi expectantly.
Atsushi rose to his feet as well, doing a little stretch. After setting the empty bowl on the counter, he cleared his throat, still staring away from him as he spoke, “So… Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
.
.
.
Atsushi descended down the stairs behind Oda wordlessly. It opened up to a small underground bar - no windows, but warm lighting throughout. A lone bar counter outstretched the room, empty spare for a young man, a cat, and a tired looking bartender. It was quaint. Oddly homely.
“Odasaku! Take a seat,” the young man called, patting the seat next to him with a bandaged hand. The cat beside him quickly jumped down a few barstools, circling around and laying down into that roll-like position cats seemed to love.
He immediately identified the young man as Dazai, but he nearly ran into Oda’s back as his eyes trailed over him.
Dazai’s hair looked much flatter and unkempt. It was darker, oddly enough, like a pile of ink on an already desaturated canvas. There was a bandage over one of his eyes, the other black with little red specks. He looked much thinner, much sicker. Though, Atsushi was just left staring into his eyes. They were so emotionless, it was startling. Even his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Was this actually Dazai?
Atsushi trailed behind Oda before he sat down, and he couldn’t hide behind him any longer. He took a deep breath in and plopped down on the stool next to him.
Dazai immediately leaned forward to get a good look at him. He cocked his head to the side. “You should demonstrate your Ability for Odasaku,” he slyly asked.
“Oh- Um, yeah, of course,” he stammered out, looking down at his arm. He took another breath in before letting the blue energy flow through his veins. He himself didn’t fully know how his Ability worked - if he thought hard enough, it just popped up.
Oda and Dazai both stared at his forearm with clear looks of interest as his tiger arm did, in fact, pop up with a flash of blue light.
It was strange. He could moderately feel the way his bones would shift, the way it felt like taking a muscle and pulling it in both directions to stretch it out. It used to hurt; he was used to it by now. Small transformations like this usually left him okay.
Oda settled a hand on his arm, feeling the fur. “That’s intriguing. And you can do this for your entire body, you said?”
He nodded. This was going well, right? “Yeah! And I, uh, I can technically turn into a full tiger, but I lose control, so I don’t do it much.”
Dazai poked it with his finger, and with a zap, his arm was back to normal. Atsushi flexed his fingers once or twice before putting his hand back at his side. “Cool, huh?” Dazai drew out. “Anyway- barkeep! A vodka soda, please. No bleach this time, it’s for our new guest. Throw it on my tab.”
The rather disgruntled old man behind the bar simply sighed, giving Atsushi a look of ‘you’re clearly underage, but I don’t care,’ as he gathered a bottle and seltzer, shaking them up in the mixer. He slid the small glass across the table before returning to scrubbing at the counter. Atsushi just looked at it awkwardly. He had never drank alcohol before.
“C’mon, take a sip. It’s good, I swear.”
“You really shouldn’t be forcing your alcoholic tendencies on children, Dazai,” a low voice scolded. There was a new man walking down the stairwell, a black bag across his chest. He adjusted his glasses as he spoke. Atsushi glanced up. His eyes just widened.
“Ango?”
Ango was a member of the Special Division for Unusual Powers. He’d spoken to him briefly during a car ride - he had mentioned Dazai, of course, but he didn’t know they knew each other. How did Ango go from being in the Mafia to being in a government agency?
Ango froze. “...Excuse me?”
Dazai gave a laugh, his eyes boring into the back of Atsushi’s head. “Ango, looking good! Meet our new friend. This is Atsushi. I’ve told him about you, of course, don’t sweat it.”
Atsushi shifted uncomfortably as Ango approached and sat down on the other side of Dazai. Dazai was covering for him, sure, but he didn’t doubt he’d be drilled into the moment he was alone with him. Dazai had a good way of getting information he wanted, regardless of if you wanted to give it. And considering he was in the Mafia as of now, he couldn’t imagine Dazai would depend on psychology as much.
“I see. Pleasure to meet you. Why are you wearing Oda’s coat?” he inquired, settling his bag in his lap.
“Atsushi’s your typical orphan around here. You know how it goes,” Dazai interrupted before Atsushi could speak for himself. “We’ve been discussing getting him into the Mafia, though. He’s got a useful Ability.”
Oh.
“He seems a bit-”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover! Even kittens can be viscous. Right, Atsushi?”
Atsushi’s mouth opened and closed like a fish for a minute. “Um. Yeah, uh, yes. I have combat experience. And I’m used to pain and bloodshed.”
He didn’t know why he was making a case for himself. He had said before that he didn’t want to get involved with the Mafia. Though, judging by the glare he was receiving from Dazai, he supposed he was stuck like this. That was the problem with having someone cover for you like this - he could virtually say whatever he wanted, and Atsushi would have to accept it.
“Anyway! Ango, how was your day? Did you do anything cool?” Dazai asked quickly, leaning on his elbows.
“A business negotiation; just fishing. I managed to score an old looking watch. Authentic or not, it’ll be sold for a high price.”
Atsushi blinked at the terminology before a golden watch was put down on the bar counter. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to be examining, but luckily, Dazai seemed fine with filling the silence.
Dazai poked a finger into the middle of the watch’s strap, spinning it around with a slight scraping sound. “Your job is so boring, y’know? I’d go insane if I had to do all the business talks you do. Odasaku, what’d you get up to today?”
“Yeah, you rarely share your assignments,” Ango added in agreement.
Oda gave a laugh. “Nothing more interesting than Ango. Just a civil dispute between a division leader and his wife, and I had to dismiss a group of rowdy kids hanging around one of our warehouses.”
Atsushi supposed that’s what he should expect from a lower ranking member. Dazai hadn’t told him all that much, but he did know Oda had a penchant for nonviolence. He imagined there wasn’t much you could even assign a non-killer in the Mafia.
That didn’t spell good things for him, but he tried to ignore the thought.
These three seemed to get along. Atsushi was perfectly content sitting in mostly silence on the end of the three, just listening. He needed some sort of lead. Was it some freak accident that led to Oda’s death, or something more? There had to be a reason he was transported back to here specifically. Something he wasn’t noticing.
He hated this. It felt like he was climbing, but the next rung was just ever so slightly out of reach.
”You’re tired. It’s okay. Just gather information for tonight, and you can make inferences later.”
That was true.
He leaned his chin on his palm. Dazai seemed to have already taken his drink and chugged it himself - he couldn’t say he was surprised.
The three seemed to talk about Dazai’s apparently injury-filled day, then about work, then about some more Mafia lingo he didn’t understand. Hopefully, important details weren’t lost in translation there. Atsushi tried to pay as much attention as possible.
-Ango wasn’t in a specific division of the Mafia; he was an intelligence officer. He dealt with a lot of business dealings and public relations. Apparently, he was full of Mafia secrets. Very dangerous ones. He was an encyclopaedia of knowledge. Atsushi didn’t quite like the nonchalant way the men mentioned torture at that point in the conversation.
-Dazai was an Executive. The youngest one. Ever. That was hard to come to terms with. Either way, despite his childish exterior, he was respected and feared. He technically had superiority over both Ango and Oda, though treated them like equals.
-There wasn’t much to say about Oda. He tended to keep to himself during the conversation. Dazai did seem to address him a lot more than he addressed Ango, though. There was a clear look for validation with every sentence that came out of Dazai’s mouth. It honestly made Atsushi a little sad.
And those were the notes he’d managed to come up with.
Their conversation seemed to be coming to a close, and Ango went to stand up before Dazai exclaimed a ‘waitwaitwait!’ and straightened up in his barstool.
“Let’s take a picture! You have your camera, right, Ango? We can include Atsushi.”
“A-are you sure? I don’t, um, you guys are a lot closer than I am-”
“Oh, come on. You can be in it. We’ll just cut you out if we need to.”
Fair enough. He couldn’t deny the way the wording sent a slight chill down his spine, though.
Ango, after a few questioning comments of his own, eventually gave up fighting Dazai and dug the camera out. He situated it on the counter and turned on the timer.
Dazai immediately hoisted his leg up onto the seat, tilting his head to the side a bit. “Here, you can get my best angle,” he boasted.
Oda just gave a sigh and put his drink down, hand still wrapped around it. He gave a small attempt at a smile. It was a neutral expression at best, though.
Atsushi, having absolutely no clue how to look, just gave a small smile. He knew he probably looked pathetic - he hadn’t gotten the chance to even look in a mirror yet.
Ango clicked the button, scooting back and putting his hands in his lap.
Ting.
Ting.
Ting.
And then, a flash.
Dazai smiled brightly, grabbing the camera and fumbling with it until he could pull the small printed picture out. He held it out in his palm to show the others.
In a line; Atsushi, Oda, Dazai, then Ango.
A small ripple.