Chapter Text
Fyodor is trapped.
Like a rat enticed by cheese, Dazai had finally outsmarted him along with his detective friends, the power of the bookmark and the vampiric companion of his left by Stoker.
Of course. It was unexpected on his part, certainly. However the power of the bookmark prevailing in such an instance could be called nothing but extraordinary
If it didn’t mean his current imprisonment that is. Truly a pitiful existence for the once great, centuries old demon, in a space he could hardly lay down straight in, and if he could it would only be as uncomfortably as the jagged, damp stones are to already stay sat on.
Usually in such a predicament Fyodor would simply call his allies. Goncharov. Gogol. No. He truly didn’t account for such a display of disgrace on his part, he’d be damned if a clown or a measly butler were to ‘rescue’ him.
Fyodor hums, placing his back against the wall fully, his posture never waning or failing to be perfect, as he would never let the agency’s members see him in such a state, alongside his allies as mentioned before. Still, he acts prideful, as if he has a plan. It may keep him in here longer, yes. But that simply bides him enough time for a real plan to come.
“Fyodor.” Ah. A familiar voice. How unpleasant.
Sigma stands high and mighty in front of Fyodor’s rotten cell, holding a tray of the bare minimum. just a glass of water and a measly bread roll. Oh how the mighty have fallen, if this were any other day he’d be dining like a king on top of the world.
“Sigma, how lovely of you to grace my presence. I trust the agency is treating you well?” He purrs, his eyes looking up at the boy, much healthier than he once had been.
Sigma truly had joined the agency, with Dazai’s suggestion to their leader. Despite his position in the Decay of Angels the director had opened his arms and let him into their mismatched family of revolting ability users.
After much hesitation Sigma replies. “They have been. Better than you ever had..” Sigma’s fingers tighten on the tray, before slipping it through what one could call a small dog door in the bars concealing him from where he wants to be most. “Bread and water.”
“Ever the genius.” Fyodor reaches further without any hesitation, pulling the tray to his side. He supposes less room space wouldn’t hurt.
Sigma eyes the tray and purses his lips, but moves his eyes back to Fyodor. They sit there for just a single moment, Fyodor’s expression twisting into a sickening smirk as Sigma has seen many times before.
Fyodor would be damned if he were to let him see his state as rotten, like the cell. And he finally prevails, as Sigma turns from him, his jaw clenched and fists tight, he may finally be exiting, which would leave only the cameras constantly trained on him, to watch his every movement.
The clacking of heels moving away from him slowly confirms his hypothesis, that Sigma had in fact left. Well, until they stop for a second, which makes him question himself. But no, they continue on.
By then, it feels only a few days have passed by since his imprisonment, yet he’s well aware of the effects imprisonment can have on the human mind. With this in mind, perhaps months have even passed, no… weeks? Truly fascinating. Not even someone like him could keep count with something to base it off of, and knowing Dazai’s role in his imprisonment? It’s most likely he’s making it most difficult for Fyodor to escape, whilst still placing him in such a stereotypical cell simply to anger him.
Fyodor won’t let him.
———————
The next time Sigma had been the one to offer him food, he was much more headstrong and confident in himself, it seems the agency had watched their little exchange and is using him as some sort of exposure therapy.
Disgusting.
“Bread and water.”
Fyodor simply chuckles at the sight of Sigma before him. It’s quite amazing how much somebody can thrive in an environment best suited for them.
“Ah, again? This may be the seventh time this week.” Fyodor carefully pushes the tray handed to him previously through the dehumanising door in the cell.
“It’s only Tuesday.” Sigma states curiously. Ah. So it had definitely been more than a week since his imprisonment, good to know his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. No need to question his intelligence.
“Hm… Time sure does fly when you’re having fun.” Fyodor tilts his head, taking the square, metal tray handed to him through the door and placing it beside himself, once again, and Sigma the opposite, picking up the tray he had passed through and humming with furrowed eyebrows, whilst Fyodor raises one of his own questioningly.
“Fun? I should have known you’d still be as sadistic as you were.” Sigma looks down at him, in the dank, dark room.
“Oh don’t mistake my words for truth Sigma.” Sigma tilts his head questioningly at him, before shaking his head and turning to leave once again. Ah, but Fyodor can’t guarantee he’ll see the boy again. He might as well have his fun whilst he still can right?
“Sigma, tell me. Have you finally found what you were looking for?” Fyodor smiles, his cheeks raising as far as he can push them, in a way Sigma should be familiar with.
“You won’t manipulate me any longer.” Sigma turns to him with conviction in his steps, a newfound confidence Fyodor himself could never seem to find out of the man when he was a reliable puppet of his.
“To answer your question? I have found everything I’ve ever needed. Which I suppose..” Sigma thins his eyes, and has a thoughtful expression on his face.
“You had promised me a home, and never gave me a true purpose, of love. Only of need. But with the agency.. with everyone. You lead me to them.”
Sigma closes his eyes before turning away from Fyodor once again. “Although I don’t suppose you would even know what a home is like either, would you?” His voice is laced with venom and his breathing deep, his heels once again, clicking against the floor is the small sign he’s leaving.
Fyodor only replies with a small laugh of interest. Sigma has become such a wildcard recently. Maybe one day he’ll be able to see whatever limit Sigma could be pushed to.
———————
The final time Sigma comes to visit Fyodor he brings a meal filled with treats from his home country.
A delicious dish of beef stroganoff, served with rice and some cloudy water with a lovely little bendy straw placed inside. Pretty and pink. Certainly the Edogawa boy’s doing. Humiliating.
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice in the menu. Perhaps next time you may serve me with a key to my cell?” Fyodor smirks and looks up at Sigma through his eyelashes, watching as the other boy analyses Fyodor’s body with a furrow in his brow, for certain conflicted with the current times.
“Eat up.” Is all he says. Perhaps he was wrong in his previous judgement of confidence?
Which is proven to be wrong. As Sigma kneels in front of Fyodor’s cell, simply slowly moving the old tray slowly from where Fyodor had readily placed it in the designated food slot, which is the name he has chosen for it, and they make their usual exchange.
Fyodor places the tray provided by Sigma beside him.
Fyodor raises a brow at the company, moving a strand of his unkempt, unusually greasy hair from his face and crossing his legs on the ground whilst leaning on the wall slowly
“You cut your hair.” Fyodor states. It’s true, the boy had finally let go of the trashy layers he had not had time to take care of when he was manager of the Sky Casino, and has embraced shoulder length hair like him. Sigma doesn’t reply, and Fyodor’s curious.
“How? How do you do it?” Sigma finally speaks up. Hm, perhaps his slow brain at last conjured up some words in the emptiness belonging to his head?
“How do I do it? May you elaborate?” Fyodor smiles, as if he doesn’t already know what Sigma does. He simply wants to watch the man whine and wail his anecdotes. It would make a much more interesting thing than watching the wall for any changes.
“You hurt people without a second glance.” Fyodor tilts his head, his smile turning more cruel.
“You- you nearly ended the world, killed so many- and yet you’re just sitting here, wasting away into nothingness but you’re still confident! I don’t-“ Sigma makes a sound of frustration. “I hate you.”
Fyodor rests his hand on his chin thoughtfully “Are you questioning my confidence or my nature? Perhaps both.” He then moves his hand to tap on the ground softly, rhythmically, soothingly, but to most it could only feel mocking coming from this man.
“To seem confident to outsiders, to kill without second thought… All it takes is to lose everything to gain everything. If you truly have nothing to live for then you will live for everything.”
Silence ensues, before the sudden click of shoes tells Fyodor he frustrated his little guest, as he stands and glares at the prisoner.
“Dazai told me I should expect some lies from you. You never lost yourself have you? You spent thousands of years- probably longer! just trying to eradicate your own kind. That can only come from a cold hearted man like you.” And the man walks off. A shame. Perhaps he should have made the conversation feel more genuine? outsmarted his detective friend watching them? Ah.. truly a thought for the next person who comes to wish him luck in his situation.