Chapter Text
Chuuya doesn’t remember much of what happened, which is definitely a bad sign.
A bad sign of a concussion, that is. Otherwise things should be relatively fine, but they’re not. Because the redhead can’t make out any of what is in front of him as he stares blankly, unable to determine if it’s the darkness or if he’d by some means had gone blind. Because the smell of dust is engraving his lungs, like little sharp pebbles have entered with no way of exiting, rendering his breath shallow and him and mostly hacking. Because as he’s lying on his back there’s a bunch of things poking him like needles, that he can’t even turn around to cuss out or inspect, because he’s motionless, paralyzed, a ton of things weighing him down, and he can’t for the life of him decide whether it’s literally, or metaphorically…
Because he can’t feel Arahabaki within, which is always an indication of things being much more alarming than they seem…
“Fuck…” He rasps as his head lolls to the side, hissing.
Chuuya does remember the underground organization him and Dazai were ordered to deal with, his annoyance with the amount of members in it– despite it barely being its third month in creation, and he can recall a few moment of him battling midst flames and fire, but everything after that is a blur-
Cough
The teen mafioso’s body tenses once he registers that the echoing sound hasn’t come out of him, but rather someone really, really near,
“Shit- You’re here too?”
It was meant to come off as a complaint, but with his aching head all he managed was a tone of curiosity. He didn’t sense Dazai beside him at all, which is a testament to how bad the concussion’s getting him. The cough sounded wet and painful, Chuuya realizes. Wonderful, he’s stuck with the one person who’ll never admit how hurt he actually is. Man, the lack of sight is gonna be a pain in the ass, isn’t it?
Dazai doesn’t answer. Alright, not awake yet, it seems, and Chuuya flails a little with his -gloveless- outstretched right arm -the only thing he can move beside his head- in order to inspect.
As the cough suggested, Dazai’s pressed against him on his right, just beside the redhead’s waist, messy hair ruffled under Chuuya’s shaky hand but also a bit sticky. Upon further assessment he can tell that the younger’s lying on his abdomen, as opposed to Chuuya. His face is turned away, since the redhead can’t discern anything besides the head of bandaged hair, and he travels further to press on the other’s neck, arm sore and uncomfortable but he brushes past that with a wince in order to check the pulse. Rapid. Okay.
At least the idiot’s alive. Of course he is, who’s he kidding? The suicidal maniac could never let something as trivial as this end him off.
Whatever this is, because Chuuya still has no idea what the hell happened…
His whole body is numb, but now that he’d moved a little he can tell that his blood circulation is improving, and can truly feel how utterly crushed he is. There’s a great weight pinning his left arm down completely, his whole lower half basically in the same dilemma. No matter how hard he tries, his ability’s refusing to work, to shift the gravity of whatever’s flattening him against the ground; instead, Arahabaki is stubbornly quiet, and Chuuya tries to recall if he’d been drugged with anything prior to whatever’s happening right now, hand still absently ruffling the other’s hair-
“Tactile today, aren’t we…?”
Chuuya pauses at the feeble, horrible, raspy as fuck sounding question, all of which somehow doesn’t erase the snarkiness and suggestiveness of it. He immediately takes his hand back, aiming to rest it on his chest.
“You little shit- don’t get any ideas…” Words honestly feel like shrapnel in his throat, with the remark not having its usual angry bite to it like it should. He grimaces in annoyance.
“I’m not exactly the ‘little’ one here, Chibi…” He hears Dazai huff humorously, sending a wave of vibrations at their point of contact, and it’s all fine and well until Chuuya actually manages to rest his hand on his chest, where he finds a lanky limb rudely acting as an obstruction-
“The hell?” He clutches on said limb, discerning how it starts from Dazai’s shoulder, and ends on where Chuuya’s heart should be, fingers cold and slightly trembling against his undershirt.
“Ow, you’re too rough…” Dazai whines fakely like the baby he is, Chuuya growls under his breath,
“Shut up, mackerel.” So that’s why it feels like his powers are nullified, because they basically are, “And get your hand off of me, it’s gross.”
“Rude.” Dazai is quick to riposte, but doesn’t make any action indicating that he’d move. Chuuya waits for a beat and when nothing happens, his snarl deepens tenfold, not minding his aching chest, or his sore ribs,
“Get your hand off of me so we can get the fuck out of here.” He repeats, louder, shoving the arm away, which doesn’t go very far. It lands on his navel limply without fight, Chuuya shivers.
“I don’t know what to tell you, slug…” Dazai rasps lowly, still mischievous, and the redhead can’t fucking take it. He can’t think. He can’t see. He’s suffocating-
“You need fucking help or something?!” He grasps Dazai’s shoulder in an effort to roll him over, catching the strained gasp the other emits though never faltering. Chuuya honestly doesn’t know where he’s going with this, frustration blinding him from the fact that rolling the brunet over might be near impossible if he was crushed the same way the redhead is, and his arm trembles at the force he’s applying to push the other away-
“What are y- Wait, WAI- AGH!”
Chuuya’s offending hand freezes entirely, whole body going rigid at the shriek that rippled through the air, ringing in his ears.
The pained shriek…
Dazai’s body flops back where it was, arm trembling way stronger than before, fingers twitching against Chuuya’s chest and breaths so fucking labored he wonders if his partner’s even breathing at all-
“Shit- Dazai, what-” The words are caught up in his throat, now panicking because it may be the first time he’d ever heard the other this agitated. Dazai normally has an above average pain tolerance, Chuuya losing count of the amount of times he’d witnessed brunet getting hurtled from great lengths or bleeding through his bandages all without batting an eye.
For him to scream-?
“Explain. Now.” Chuuya grits once he’d regained his bearings, offending hand burning from the latest touch. Dazai’s panting is still loud, groaning ever so slightly, and overall sounds like a fucking mess,
“R-Radial nerve damage… I think…” Dazai admits faster than Chuuya accounts for, coughing. Something wet hits Chuuya’s jacket upon that, which meant that the younger’s head is apparently facing him now. The redhead frowns, trying to remember where the radial nerve is through his foggy mind, where Mori had given him an in-depth session about any medical complications that might occur during a mission, and his eyes widen when it clicks,
Dazai’s arm is paralyzed.
Chuuya’s breath hitches, fingers landing once again on the trembling limb he’d tried to shove away earlier, tracing it until he reaches the other’s fingers. They’re unresponsive, twitching, now Chuuya aware that it’s wholly involuntarily.
Fuck.
The redhead finds himself squeezing them weakly, heart pounding a little at the thought of Dazai losing his entire right arm because of whatever the heck happened. If it’s intact, though, he’s half-sure their boss might be able to repair the damage extensively.
Hopefully…
That’s not enough to cause Dazai to scream that way, however, and it annoys Chuuya that Dazai would think he’d still be asking about why he isn’t moving his arm away.
“Not that.” He hacks a little, lungs heavy and stinging, “What hurts? What else can’t you move?”
Dazai snorts through his shivers, breath hitting the redhead’s jacket, “I believe Chuuya’s p-put that to the test already…”
“Answer the damn questions.” Chuuya hisses, squinting at the ringing of his own ears, “We need to find a way to get the hell out of here. ‘M sick of the dark…”
“Aww…” Dazai doesn’t cooperate, intentionally getting on Chuuya’s nerves, “Should I turn on the nightlight so Chuuya can have a good night’s sleep?”
Chuuya’s body tenses in anger, but decides to suppress it down or else he’d inflict another injury on the -apparently- already battered idiot. He simply punches the concrete pinning his other arm down without enough force to break it, knuckles sore from the impact but they’d gone through much worse.
“You keep on with that and I might believe you actually wanna die here…” He snarls, ribs burning, tired.
“No way.” He can hear Dazai’s smile as he quietly says, “Too painful of a way to go. And I would never let myself die with you being my only company. Eugh…” Chuuya feels a shiver run through the other, not entirely sure if it’s just for emphasis.
“Too painful, huh?” Chuuya recites. So the waste of bandage is in a lot more pain that he’s letting on. But he’s also fucking stubborn about it. Great.
The redhead sighs as closes his eyes, covering them with the crook of his arm. His ribs flare up in protest, “If only I can remember what the hell actually happened…”
“Figured you wouldn’t.” Dazai sneers lowly, breath hitting Chuuya’s torn and dusty jacket, “Chibi’s too-small brain was rocked back and forth upon impact, after all, and it was hilarious to see.”
Chuuya stifles down the million insults he wants to holler, not letting Dazai get his twisted little way. “And you can?” He scoffs sarcastically instead, having learned in those few months that to really get something out of Dazai, he’d have to elicit a challenge first. Let him think he’s being demeaned, or question his certainty of things. “That dirty mop you call a hair is pretty fucking soaked. Bet you can’t even remember what we had for breakfast this morning.”
“Ah, I can tell what you’re trying to do…” Dazai heaves, for Chuuya to roll his eyes, then wince at the split it caused to his head. “But, I’ll let the fact that you are trying to psychologically manipulate me slide-”
“I wasn’t-”
“- just because it sounds like you’re worried about me-”
“I’m not-!”
“-and I’d hate to do that to my dog. So-”
“Teme…” Chuuya gives up.
“-as a matter of fact, yes. I do remember the moment the building collapsed on our heads, because I haven’t exactly ‘passed out’ since that took place like someone. And I do recall the natto and rice we’ve had this morning…”
Chuuya’s bubbling rage takes a halt, listening as Dazai seemed to take a breather after muttering all that. They’re under a building?!
“How long was I out?” Chuuya rasps promptly, eyes wide as he stares at eternal darkness.
How long were you alone? is what both of them translate.
“Mm, twenty minutes, I think…?” Dazai says easily, though Chuuya can sense he’s wavering. He slowly goes back to squeezing the hand on his chest -Dazai feeling none of it-, the teen mafioso discreetly finding the contact comforting. He’d lie if he claimed he wasn’t at least a bit scared, considering he’s with little memory of what had happened, and a little idea on what is going to happen.
“You really can’t move at all…?” He lets go of the frigid fingers, hoping his ability would activate that way. It doesn’t, leaving Chuuya to groan, because somehow their predicament of falling on top of each other in dire situations is nothing new, but it becoming a hindrance?
Now that’s a first…
“‘fraid not.” Dazai says simply, still not elaborating on his condition.
“What about your left arm?” He asks, trying to coax anything out of the younger, “Can you feel it?”
“Mm…” Is about the most direct answer Chuuya knows he’ll get from the mackerel, but said mackerel surprises him when he adds, “Useless, though. Can’t sit up…” The redhead hears subtle shifts, like a limb dragging on concrete, followed by a low groan. Chuuya can’t find it in him to pry.
“Then what are we gonna do…?” He asks under his breath, mostly to himself, but with all the silence filling the air, it wasn’t easy to miss.
He feels Dazai’s shoulder grind against him in a shrug, “Wait and see, I guess…”
Dazai never ‘waits and sees’; he always has a plan, a back-up plan, and a back-up plan for the back-up plan. The fact that he’s said that only means two things,
Either he’s hiding his scheme from Chuuya for some reason, or,
Dazai is actually hopeless, believing that they’re not gonna make it.
“Don’t bullshit me.” Chuuya decides to test which theory is more plausible, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut, “What’s your actual plan?”
“Well…” Dazai’s tone shifts, “my initial plan was to make you use corruption to free us, but seeing as we’re stuck, I’m not sure anymore…” He stresses, voice growing weaker by the second. Chuuya groans as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply only to wince at the pull of his -probably cracked- ribs, back feeling sorer and sorer as time goes on…
Use corruption to free us
He doesn’t know why this line stands out for some reason. Like a wave of Déjà vu. Chuuya frowns deeply.
Use corruption to free us
Use corruption…
“USE CORRUPTION, CHUUYA!”
Wide, blue eyes lock with reddish brown for only a second, heart pumping wildly in his ears. His gloves are gone, but too many people. There’s too many people-
“THERE’S NO TIME, WE’LL GET BURIED IF Y-!”
A loud BOOM ripples the air, an explosion rattling the old, unstable building. There’s an escape to the surface ahead, the too-many underground members fighting to go through, that he, too, wants to grab his partner by the wrist and bolt towards, but they’re too far, they won’t make it in time-
He's shaking. He’s stuck. He’s still.
“CHUUYA!”
He looks back to his partner, finding him running towards him with an expression so foreign on his face that Chuuya’s momentarily confused…
Worry? Surprise? Fear?
He gets tackled, quite literally, before he gets the chance to decide; everything playing out at a snails’ pace as things unfold before him a bit too quickly for his mind to register-
Dazai using his right arm to throw him backwards, a hand on Chuuya’s back as they fall…
The sharp, two foot rod that was aiming for him, lodging itself in his partner’s back with a sick, brutal stab-
The explosion, sending them flying even before they touch the ground…
The screaming, the blood, the heat, the shock, the sickening crack to the head before everythinggoesblack-
Chuuya’s eyes open with a small gasp. Heart thundering in his chest.
What the hell was that…?
Was that a dream? Did he just wake up-? No. That happened, that was real-
“D-Dazai…” He whispers wildly before he can ever grasp any of what his mind had just shown, fingers clenching the cold, numb hand in a trembling death grip, “What the fuck…”
“Hm…?” It’s a low, calm hum, a mockery to Chuuya’s panicked and baffled thoughts and labored breaths. He can’t even articulate sentences,
“What the fuck…” He echoes like a broken record, chest rising and falling irregularly, pupils hastily shifting from left to right, haunted by the repeating memory before him amidst the void.
“What’s wrong…?” Dazai has enough courtesy to sound the least bit concerned, “Your pulse’s wonky.”
“You say you haven't passed out once…” Chuuya heaves, basically whispers, about to lose it from all the red he’s seeing, “How the hell are you even still awake...?”
He feels the body beside him tense a little, minus the arm on his chest, and in a very low form of acknowledgment, “Got your precious memories ba-?”
“How can you even carry a conversation with me like things are fucking DANDY?!” The lump in his throat threatens him, giving an emotional edge to his exclaim, cracking his syllables. Chuuya loathes it.
Dazai, for once, says nothing, and does nothing. And Chuuya, for all his hurt and anger and frustration, thinks Good. The selfish bastard is probably low on blood anyway, most likely dying, and speaking the way he has been –in a bratty, colorful, way-too-normal tone that Chuuya didn’t catch anything wrong with it beside the raspiness and even that he chalked it up to him being concussed that selfish, selfish moron- was wearing him out, basically a faster way to shut him down.
“You piece o-of shit…” Chuuya purses his lips, inhaling rubble bits through his nose, managing in a hushed, hoarse whisper, “You’re dying because of me…”
Dazai should be fully aware how big of a deal it is to Chuuya, always one to despise losing his coworkers during missions, loathing Arahabaki for being indiscriminate, taking breaks after each and every quest where there would be just too many causalities…
He hates his comrades getting hurt, let alone getting hurt because of him.
And Dazai knows all that, yet he still decided to jump in and save him. He still decided to take the hit for him…
All feared Demon Prodigy, decided to fucking get stabbed for him.
Was this Dazai finally declaring how much he truly despises him?!
Chuuya’s vibrating hand travels to where the head of hair is, curling his fist on it, wishing he could yank it all out from how much he’s left fuming, but never daring to tug on the strands to the point where it will actually hurt.
“If I do manage to die here,” Dazai speaks again, with Chuuya now hyper-fixating on each subtle break in the sentence, each pained stress on a word, “it’ll be in the way you and I hate.” The younger snorts, and Chuuya actually considers massacring him himself, “Sounds fair, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not letting you.” Chuuya says definitively, blinking back the wetness in his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. Dazai pauses at that. “You’re not getting off that fucking easy. We’ll get out of here, and before you even get the chance to receive treatment I’ll punch you so fucking hard in the gut you’ll wish you died instead.”
Dazai’s silent for a few minutes, breath audibly shallow now that he’s not trying to hide anything, then sneers, “Is that your version of a prediction?”
“Damn right, it is.” Chuuya rasps, just as confidently as before, chest shaking from suppressing his coughs as he laces through the brown locks, where Dazai can actually feel his rumbling rage, “Now, fess up. Where exactly were you impaled? How much time do you have?”
“Basing a prediction without vital information-?”
“I’m not joking, Dazai.” Chuuya doesn’t let the younger start averting the issue at hand again, heart straining at how the other’s voice seemed to spasm and waver in fatigue, “Stop being a pain in the ass and come out with it. This isn’t funny.” He rocks his body to the right as emphasis, jabbing the other lightly.
Dazai lets out a hiss, muffling it in the redhead’s jacket as he nuzzles against it, maybe in an effort to hide it from Chuuya, but the older hears it all the same, “It was funny t’me…”
Chuuya can feel the veins on his temple bulging from how much he’s seriously considering killing the mackerel himself, knowing exactly who to blame if he’d ever got an aneurysm, “Would you rather I find out myself?”
Because he technically can reach the bandaged idiot’s shoulder blades, and waist if he managed to lean a little. If the rod isn’t lodged in either places, then it’s most likely in the lower back, having pierced either a kidney or the intestines. Which is what Chuuya hopes had happened, since that would mean there is a bigger chance for him to survive…
Dazai’s breath stutters at the offer/threat, but doesn’t answer right away. Chuuya lets go of his hair and the younger’s body stiffens.
“I’m blinded, so it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.” The redhead clarifies, as if Dazai didn’t know that already, though he doesn’t make any sort of move without the brunet’s permission first, hand faintly hovering above his own chest-
“S-Splenic stab… Pretty deep…” Dazai finally, finally admits, Chuuya sighing in both exhaustion and fucking relief. He couldn’t tell how tense he was being until he let his body relax, easing in the fact that Dazai’s injury isn’t as immediately life-threatening as he’d imagined. At least not at the moment. He can hold out for an hour or two, tops. Though he doubts Mori would take that long to get them out.
Damn, for the metal to perfectly wedge itself in the spleen, despite the ribcage protecting it, it had to be at a very precise angle. Dazai’s luck really worked against him back then, huh?
“Rod’s still in?” He makes sure, knowing how much of a difference that will make.
The brunet nods shakily against him, and Chuuya relaxes even further (how is that even possible?). Dazai’s muffled voice is weak as he says, “I hate you…”
“You were the one being stiff-necked about it.” Chuuya reminds him, hand carefully aiming towards Dazai’s quivering shoulder, now that he’s aware where the injury’s supposed to be. Under his left shoulder blade, the mafioso can feel the slick blood overspreading the shirt's white fabric -Mori's black coat has likely got lost during the nightmarish ordeal-, staining it. He knows that if he leans in just a little, he’ll reach the rod, but he doesn’t in fear he’d sloppily hit it or move it in his blind search, and his partner’s had enough of what he despises most for one day…
Dazai doesn’t really flinch from the touches, Chuuya hearing him focus more on his rugged breathing, trying to even it out, and basically failing to do so. Chuuya coughs once, reminded of his own stinging lungs, groaning,
“You just had to fall on top of me, huh?” He complains for the umpteenth time, still not getting why his partner would ever do what he did. Chuuya is the physical fighter here, the tougher one, with how the metal rod was aiming for his right lung, there wasn’t a big chance it’d actually manage to pierce him deeply, ribcage and all. And even if it did, Chuuya wouldn’t have a hard time handling the pain -since he intermittently feels like death anyway-, and would proceed deal with it accordingly, i.e. staunch the blood flow, because he knows how to take care of himself unlike someone.
But Dazai… Dazai hates pain, can’t even bother asking for help, takes decades to finally admit what’s wrong, and right now he can’t even think clearly enough to whip up a plan-
Chuuya isn’t as intellectually gifted as his partner is, but even he can tell that that was the utterly wrong move to make.
“What the hell were you thinking…?” Scratch that, was Dazai even thinking at all back then? It’s a ridiculous concept, that Dazai of all people would act impulsively, but… he pictures the brunet’s face as he was running towards him, seconds away from shoving him back, his one visible eye open wide, his hand outstretched and ready, and… maybe it was fear. But that would be crazy, right? Dazai, Demon Prodigy, his biggest rival, the one who exchanges death threats with him every single day, with Chuuya reciprocating by telling him to off himself in the most nonchalant matter… afraid? Of what? That he’d get hurt? He gets hurt every other mission. It couldn’t be…
Maybe there was a reason behind it. An underlying plan he isn’t aware of yet. Maybe Dazai knew Chuuya would hate him for doing that, would lie restless in his bed tormented by the moment the younger chose to get hurt for him for weeks on end, and decided it was worth it. That it was worth making Chuuya suffer at his expense. He wouldn’t put it past him.
Though, still…
Chuuya sighs exasperatedly, concussed head hurt from all this thinking, and then pauses. His eyes flutter unseeingly, frowning at nothing upon realizing that a certain someone has been uncharacteristically silent despite each and every question being aimed at him,
“Oi…” His ears sharpen, listening for the typical hoarse breathing that’s been the only thing filling the silence, only to come out empty-handed. In fact, Dazai’s breathing is frighteningly quiet all of a sudden-
“Shi-” His hand immediately touches the other’s hair, heart straining as his fingers proceed towards the forehead -his skin is clammy and burning shit shit shit- then the eye, confirming it's closed. He gets no reaction upon the prodding, and hurriedly -almost too shakily- aims for the expectantly open lips, trying to feel for something, anything-
A whiff of air hits his fingers, warm, stiff. Chuuya sighs in relief, just realizing that he’d been holding in his own breath…
He can’t let Dazai pass out on him, however, in the off chance he won’t be able to wake himself back up again-
“Oi, mackerel,” He way-too-gently shakes the other, fatigued from the earlier scare, “now’s not the time to get some beauty sleep.” Not that the waste of bandages gets any in normal circumstances, anyway, “Rise and shine-”
Dazai’s body goes insanely rigid at the second shake, stiff as a board against Chuuya’s body to the point it hurts, and the older’s breath hitches at the unexpected jabs at his ribs-
“Ow- what the-” He pauses at the sound of Dazai’s panting, suddenly way faster and louder than before, barely even taking any breath. Chuuya can immediately tell that something’s not right,
“What?! What is it?” He freaks out, because Dazai’s freaking out about something, and Dazai never freaks out. He goes to shake him again, prompt any kind of answer-
Dazai yelps, then instantly collapses. Body trembling.
“Dazai- are you okay?!” Chuuya feels his own chest contracting, panicked beyond belief. The breaths are back to being gravely silent- what’s happening?! “Dazai!” His voice cracks, shaking him again, strongly. By now he can tell what these symptoms are through his frenzied mind, Mori never failing to miss a thing with his medical sessions…
Twenty seconds
That’s all his mind can offer right now, somehow this being the most prominent thing he can remember. Chuuya shakes, panicked, confused, Dazai isn’t responding-
“Come on, you-” He heaves, unable to utter a single insult to his disdain, eyes burning.
Twenty seconds
His mind counts down despite it all, the twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight ringing his ears like a ticking time bomb in horror of something he knows is about to come, but can’t currently determine what exactly.
“No, no, no, no, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Three, his hands travel to the bloodied bandages on the other’s neck, ripping them from the front.
Two, he places his right arm under Dazai’s head promptly, acting as a head-rest.
One, he holds his breath, scrunching his eyes. And waits.
Even when expected, it surprises Chuuya all the same…
The first lurch is the one that hurts the most, grinding against his sore ribs painfully, and his eyes open, fist clenching and closing-
“Ngh…!” Dazai’s body repeats the process, promptly convulsing then relaxing, head jerking from one side to another, again and again and again, and Chuuya keeps his arm as still as possible, knowing that he’s unable to hold him or keep this from happening. He’s powerless to do anything-
Grand Mal Seizure… Mori’s voice echoes in his ear, mind finally giving a belated context on what’s happening.
Chuuya swallows with closed eyes, trying not to flinch from each jab, each hit he gets, trying to count in his mind in order to time the seizure but it’s impossible when all he can think about is how Dazai might die from moving this much with the rod still in him, opening crevices that will definitely resume the blood flow. It’s impossible when he’s overwhelmed at the thought of what caused the seizure in the first place, it being either the insane amount of blood loss or the hit to his head, maybe even an infection to the wound that he didn’t realize the younger was having due to the lack of lighting.
It's impossible when his eyes tear at the fact that this is all happening because of him.
Because he didn’t fucking react quickly enough when the time needed it.
Because he can’t believe how much he cares…
Because if Dazai dies here, his last words to him would be ‘I hate you’.
The thoughts derive an actual, genuine sob out of him, hitched by another jolt and Chuuya steadily takes it- “Please, please…”
He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, his own voice not even recognizable to him, squeaked and hoarse from the amount of gravel he’d inhaled. Dazai’s body involuntarily rocks against him again. Chuuya steadily takes it.
The arm placed on his chest is still, barely twitching, rising and falling as Chuuya pants and heaves, panicked and scared and overwhelmed and he wishes he could go back to bickering with the idiot because this is way worse and why was he even complaining- A ram to the hip, Chuuya steadily takes it.
“Please…” Chuuya doesn’t know how much more he can take it.
Crack-
His lids open, breath hitching at the sound coming from above. His eyes keep hyper focusing on where the sound came from, never faltering, not sure if that was real or a fragment of his imagination. Chuuya holds his breath, hoping upon hope to hear it again, to have a shred of faith, to finally get out of here and get Dazai the treatment he fucking needs-
Crack!
Chuuya slowly smiles, then chuckles tearily, heart painfully swelling for an entirely different reason. He tries to collect himself promptly, the contracting of Dazai’s form still very evident, persistent, but Chuuya doesn’t care,
“HEEEY!” He screams as his throat aches, and his voice cracks. He attempts to breathe through throbbing ribs, “W-WE’RE DOWN HERE! OOOI!”
“I can hear something!” Someone from above says, Chuuya’s tears double,
“WE’RE H-HERE! WE’RE DOWN HERE!” He insists consistently, arm curling a little to touch the other’s shoulder without grasping on it, smile so wide it’s gonna tear his face apart.
Crick… Crack- CRACK!
Light. Light that blinds him instantly, eyelids pressing against each other in an effort to adjust. The voice he hears is like heaven on earth,
“Chuuya-kun! Dazai-kun!” It’s his senior Odasaku, and Chuuya wants to wail. He opens his eyes despite how torturous it is, desperate to see a reassuring face after being in the dark for so long. Oda’s features are shadowed by the sun, but Chuuya can sense how his aura shifted to one of sheer horror, and shit, do they look that awful-?
Oda quickly addresses someone above, “GRAB THE MEDICAL STAFF! STAT!” And immediately jumps down. Chuuya relishes the fresh air he’s breathing, the warmth of the speck of sunlight above, before a sudden weight drops on his legs-
“AGH!” His pupils whip towards where Oda hopped, which apparently was the part of the building pinning his leg down, “SONNUVA- SHIT!” He stops before finishing the first profanity, not having the heart to cuss his senior like that.
“I apologize!” Oda doesn’t spare a second to jump from it, landing on their level and pushing away the piece of rubble just beside Dazai, the redhead’s tired eyes following him. Oda quickly tries to grab the younger in his arms, and Chuuya panics-
“No, no- No wait!” He heaves, trying his best not to look at his partner in that state, as to spare whatever dignity Dazai had left, and maybe because he knows the sight would forever plague his nightmares. Oda eyes him in confusion. “Don’t- Don’t move him! He’s having a-a seizure!”
And it’s true, with how the prodding and jabbing was still on. Oda gasps silently, then something seem to shift in his eyes as he addresses him, “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
Chuuya shakes his head while trembling, adamant, and he doesn’t know why, but Dazai’s state matters too much at the moment. His arm is around his partner almost protectively, like he’s glass, too fragile he’d break with the slightest touch.
And maybe that’s actually the case.
“Chuuya-kun.” Oda sits on his knees, as Chuuya’s panting grows louder. The threat of wailing is probably the most consistent, here. “I know you’re afraid I will hurt him, but please, his condition can’t wait.” The oldest of the three sounds genuine enough that Chuuya loosens his hold a little, “We need you to lift the concrete, and you can’t do that with Dazai-kun against you. I will be gentle. I promise.” He repeats, and at the thought of Dazai’s annoying face, teasing and smiling and alive, Chuuya finally nods, just as he feels Dazai’s seizure reach its end, taking his arm for himself.
Oda drags the brunet away gently, just as promised, and barely enough that there is no point of contact between them, seeing as how Dazai’s legs were pinned, as well. Chuuya feels cold, empty as he senses Arahabaki again, but decides not to dwell on the fact that much. He blinks his residual tears away, looking anywhere but at the direction of his partner, and lifts the first chunk of rubble pinning his left arm. It’s expectantly shredded, sleeve torn, arm bloody and numb. He doubts his legs will be any different.
Everything from then on goes by like a blur… The lifting of the concrete, being carried by Oda out of the rubble, the horror on Ane-san’s face, the conversation he has with Mori on the phone about what happened, the words ‘it’s my fault’ letting themselves out without his consent… Everything…
He doesn’t become lucid until he’s in the ambulance, taking in the open door, the disheveled building they were under outside, how he’s sat on a chair, shirtless and icing his left set of ribs, how his bloody arm and legs are cleaner than before, though not bandaged yet. And good. There’s someone else who needs the focus more, anyway…
He numbly turns to the stretcher, where doctors are obstructing his view to see the one laid in it. Chuuya silently turns back to hanging his head, and daydreams…
“Gonna punch me, yet?”
Chuuya blinks, a little gasp caught in his throat, slowly turning to the stretcher with wide eyes. Dazai is laid on his left side, doctors gone, both eyes visible and open. How long has it been?
“Come on. I’m waiting…”
The redhead silently pries himself upwards, aiming to step towards the stretcher but catching Dazai’s alarmed eyes before he finds himself falling. Right, his legs are in casts. He quickly manipulates his own gravity, floating towards the source of the hoarse, croaky sentence, whose face is deathly pale, bits of dust and soot still on his skin, and eyes lost like they aren’t there. Whose smiles is untypically weak as he stares at him approaching, and who stupidly tries to get up, pushing his body with one arm like the waste of bandages he is,
“Hey, hey,” Chuuya can’t believe how feebly he says it, landing on the bed gently and turning Dazai’s shaky body around to face him as best as he could with one hand, catching his head that’s inches away from the pillow. Dazai is rendered breathless after all that shifting, eyes rolling slightly, but he’s still giving that smile. That annoying, teasing, shitty, missed smile.
Chuuya finds out that he can’t really control his emotions at the moment, frowning so deeply as his body shudders, heart finally feeling something since he was carried out of there, and tearing up with pressed lips. Dazai’s smile falters a bit at that.
He wants to punch him, he really, really does, but Chuuya grabs him in an embrace before he openly cries instead, not letting the dazed brunet see him like that. He’ll never hear the end of it.
“Fuck you, y-you piece o-of shit…” Chuuya whispers against the crook of his neck, pressing his hand on Dazai’s nape to stabilize him, and his injured arm on his waist, just in case.
He doesn’t mean it. They both know that.
“Missed y-you too, slug…” Dazai says, breathing even, alive. He openly relaxes in Chuuya’s hold, probably haven’t expected to get hugged at all.
“Why?” Chuuya silently hiccups, and he doesn’t need to elaborate on the question.
“It was aiming for your head…”
The redhead tenses, then wraps the other tighter to the point of shaking, minding his injuries. Never really took that into account, huh?
“Downsides o-of being chibi.” Dazai sneers lowly, and Chuuya doesn’t get offended in the slightest. “I could never.”
“Sh-Shut up…” Chuuya chuckles, “Don’t ever d-do that again.”
“Sure. Go die in a ditch, see if I care.”
Chuuya nuzzles further in Dazai’s coat, smiling, “As if I’d care, either, idiot…”
Days from now, they’ll never speak of this day, will pretend that it was their typical mission-gone-wrong, will act like this moment never happened, and will make sure it never gets the chance to happen ever again.
But right now, Chuuya focuses on his partner’s heart beating against his, on his body still and warm and slowly recovering, finding comfort in the ruffle on the other’s hair or the weak tugging of his coat. Never, in a million years, admitting that out loud.
And as Dazai’s shaky, cold fingers finally manage to touch him back, Chuuya knows that this is all it takes to make him feel whole again.