Archive of Our Own

The door slammed open, and every shred of peace he had had dissipated as the disruption bounced off the walls. Groaning, Chuuya covered his ears, his head remaining glued to his desk. 

“Go the fuck away…” he mumbled. 

No sound reached him for a moment, only for the rustling of papers to wave away the quiet air. A stack was dumped onto his head, Chuuya snapping up, his hand sticking out to grab onto the nearest article of clothing on his trespasser.

“You motherf—” he began yelling, his words dying off as his eyes settled on a fellow executive. 

“Sleeping on the job, huh?” Ranpo snorted, and Chuuya, not for the first time in a long shot, wanted to punch his smug mug. 

Shoving him away by the grip Chuuya had on his waistcoat, Chuuya sat back in his chair, grumbling to himself. 

He’d been working through a week’s worth of piled up paperwork. Usually he’d be ahead of the game, if only he and his partner hadn’t been stuck with multiple assignments throughout the week. It was a novelty for them, seeing as Double Black was only warranted for severe matters. 

Chuuya may have been behind on sleep, but who could sleep with a clingy octopus for a partner anyway?! Dazai hardly gave him a moment alone those days, and it was enough they’d been working together all week as it was! 

“God fuck…” Chuuya rubbed a hand down his face, willing his mind to be just that much more alert. “What do you want, Ranpo?” Besides making a mess of his damn workspace… 

He’d get the man back for this.

Slumping into one of the two chairs Chuuya had before his desk, Ranpo crossed one leg over the other, arms draped over the armrests. “I need you to listen to everything I tell you before you react.” 

Chuuya crossed his arms, raising a brow at the other, prompting him to continue. 

Leaning forward, Ranpo’s gaze opened, striking Chuuya far deeper than he ever liked—gods, how he hated Ranpo’s probing stare. 

“‘Zai was captured on his last assignment. Mori handed me the task to handle it,” he blandly stated, expression blanketed by a sheet Chuuya couldn’t see through. 

Not that he could right then, in any case. His hands cramping made him realize how tightly he’d been gripping his own arms, bruises surely lining his skin now—in just a few minutes, they’d be gone anyhow. 

Ranpo was sent on the assignment? Dazai was his partner, the only partner he’d go on missions with. Why was Ranpo given the job? 

Chuuya was more than aware of the brotherhood between the two, but was Mori? Chuuya figured otherwise based on observations, which further confused him on Mori’s actions. 

“Chuuya, pay attention!”  Ranpo barked, Chuuya reluctantly giving him his focus. “Mori assigned me the job, but you know ‘Zai.” Quirking a brow, he leaned back once more, saying nothing further. 

He did know Dazai, too well for his tastes. But Ranpo’s infliction told him it went deeper than understanding enough—because it’s never everything Chuuya was able to see through—of Dazai’s actions. 

Chuuya fully sat up. “They left something behind, didn’t they? That goddamn fish,” he concluded. 

Ranpo grinned, clearly pleased Chuuya caught on. “That, they did. But it wasn’t left for me,” Ranpo shrugged. 

Chuuya narrowed his brow. “That dumbass left me more work?” Then his facial muscles slowly relaxed, a smirk settling across his lips. “And the great Edogawa Ranpo can’t figure out the message, eh?” 

Throwing back his head, Ranpo loudly sighed. “‘Zai made a language with you, didn’t he? I’m not well-versed in it, for obvious reasons. Even my ability can’t see through it.” 

Chuckling, Chuuya jumped from his desk chair, grabbing his jacket. “Admit it, I’m not so stupid, am I?” 

Heading for the door, Ranpo sneaked past him, gloved hands hidden within his pockets. “Never said you were, little Fancy Hat,” Ranpo expressed, leaving the executive’s office. 

Chuuya stopped for a second by the door, blinking once as he digested the words. He supposed Ranpo hadn’t ever made that remark towards him. That had fully been Dazai’s doing. And even then, Dazai never displayed he’d doubted Chuuya's intellect. Otherwise, would he have been leaving messages for only his eyes to decipher? 

Retrieving his last train of thought, he shut and locked the door behind him, catching up to a steadily paced Ranpo. 

“I can tell you where he left the clue if you can’t already figure it out,” Ranpo said, eyes trained forward. 

Keeping in time with the other, Chuuya thought back to his last conversation with his bastard of a partner. 

Humming softly to themself, Dazai lounged on Chuuya’s couch, a mahogany eye flitting through book pages. Chuuya busied himself with some paperwork on the opposite settee, certain business dealings disgracefully calling for his attention. 

“Gods, they can’t do shit without me, the fuck is this?” He complained, taking in and remedying each mess his subordinates had made. 

Dazai sighed, “Chuu, if they’re useless without you, what does that tell you?” 

Chuuya groaned, throwing his head back until he fully flopped onto his cushions. “I need to get better subordinates, is what you’re saying.” 

“Get rid of them and restart,” the other shrugged. 

Massaging his temples, Chuuya muttered, “It’s not that simple.” 

Laying down his book, Dazai gazed over at his partner, unbeknownst to Chuuya. Smiling to himself, he stood, silently migrating over to the other couch. He threw himself over the other, Chuuya groaning once more.

“Ugh, Mackerel, give a warning, dammit,” he grumbled, yet his arm moved to hold them close. 

Cuddling into Chuuya’s neck, Dazai exhaled. Cool air blew against Chuuya, sending a shiver down his spine. “It is that easy when they’re only causing you problems, Slug.”

“But—”

“Be a good dog and let them go,” Dazai grouched, Chuuya smacking the back of their head for the “dog” remark—neither commented on how softly it landed. 

“Gods, fine…” Chuuya gave in, knowing exactly which few he’d be reassigning. 

Dazai hummed, content with the outcome, clearly. Nuzzling closer to Chuuya, he wordlessly asked for something he was missing. Chuuya could compare him to a cat twenty times over with how he acted, honestly. 

Rolling his eyes, he moved one hand that had been wrapped around Dazai’s shoulders, weaving it into unruly mocha curls. Dazai all but melted, and Chuuya couldn’t help the smile it elicited, seeing how comfortable they were with him—Dazai, with all his sharp and sour edges, could be so soft and sweet with him, and Chuuya never knew what to do with himself when he confronted that fact. 

“What were you reading?” He broke the sweetened silence, knowing his partner would love the topic regardless. 

“Cinderella,” they mumbled. “The stepsisters were essentially mutilating their feet for greed and status—”

“Jesus, bandages. The Brothers Grimm version, really?” 

“Oho, is the big bad mafioso getting squeamish?” Dazai snickered. 

“Ugh, just finish what you were saying, you annoying fish,” he digressed, simply allowing the other to continue. 

“I only read the original fairy tales. Nothing of what Disney makes of them, you know that,” he snidely remarked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Chuuya bemusedly grunted. “So what of the stepsisters trying to fit into the glass slipper?” 

Smiling, the other went on. “Obviously it didn’t fit either sister, but it went to show how far they were willing to go for royal status. How much they’d sully themselves just for a taste,” they prattled, Chuuya taking in both the commentary—Dazai’s way of viewing fairy tales at their darkest core was fascinating, he could admit—and the calm cadence they spoke with. Their voice could be so entrancing when it wasn’t spouting off about death and throwing insults. (His body unconsciously relaxed with his partner in his arms, but he wouldn’t pay that much mind to that fact, of course).

“They’d fit right into the mafia, wouldn’t you think? Or rather, those who believe they’re a part of the mafia,” they finished their musing. 

Chuuya deeply inhaled, the information—no matter how random—rolling in his mind. “Our lower organizations?” 

“The small groups or affiliates we allow into our territory until they’re useless.” 

Chuuya laughed once, entirely unamused, “Until they step over the line, you mean.” 

Dazai chuckled, “They are prone to mistakes.” 

Grumbling, Chuuya muttered, “And there we go, being sent off to more jobs because of some dumb fucks.” Coming back to the conversation, he wondered aloud, “You really think those stepsisters are like them?”

“In terms of the lengths they’d go to for power, yes.” 

Chuuya’s brow furrowed. “That’s random as hell, Mackerel.”

Moving back, Dazai grinned at their partner, an inexplicable gleam shining through their gaze. “Just watch and see, Chuuya.”

Chuuya passed a strangely smiling Ranpo—who knew what that man was ever thinking?—knowing his destination instantly. He’d need his bike… Or his car, since he had a certain executive in tow.

“So, your car or mine?” Ranpo chimed, and Chuuya clenched his jaw. He drove like an absolute maniac, not caring for anything or anyone on the road, yet legally he should be the one driving. 

Fuck that…

“Mine,” Chuuya voiced, refusing to sit in that death trap again if he had anything to say about it. 

Obnoxiously sighing, Ranpo conceded, “Fine, fine, but I’m eating in your car.” 

Chuuya felt his shoulders rise to his ears—he’d have to vacuum again soon enough. 

⚔︎

It was evident in Chuuya’s mind. He could practically envision the irritant awaiting him. In his own home, no less. Because Chuuya highly doubted Dazai would have left the message anywhere else. His own place was too obvious, and a reckless move altogether. Few were allowed into their space, and even getting in without their permission was instantaneous death. 

Chuuya was confident in his hunch, and with Ranpo idly eating away his snack beside him, his resolve further steeled. 

Reaching their location, Chuuya parked the car and shut off the engine, flying out of his vehicle. Ranpo lazily followed suit, far behind Chuuya as the younger climbed the steps two at a time. Unlocking the door to the small complex, Chuuya glanced behind him at the older. 

“Oh, fuck off, Ranpo! Hurry your ass!”

Ranpo shrugged, popping another chip into his mouth. “Relax, would you? We’ve got time.” 

Huffing, as soon as Ranpo was within his reach, Chuuya snatched the edge of his cape, hauling him inside. Ranpo complained the entire way to the elevator, Chuuya more than fine to ignore him. Throwing the man inside, Chuuya smashed the button for his floor, folding his arms across his chest as they waited for the lift to ride its way up.

Crunching another chip in his mouth, leaning his head against the wall, Ranpo spoke his mind. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday, for our most recent assignment. They’ve been lining up like crazy.” 

Ranpo nodded. “The surrounding gangs have been restless. I’ve been putting out fires throughout the city. Even our allies across the country are in a state of disarray.”

Chuuya’s expression scrunched in displeasure. He didn’t understand where this unrest stemmed from. The Port Mafia controlled any and everything that came and went through this city’s streets. Either the lesser groups were disinclined by this hierarchy, or someone was playing their hand in the pool. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time. 

The elevator rang, the doors sliding open. Chuuya led the way to his apartment, Ranpo waiting behind him as he unlocked the door. Pushing his way inside, Chuuya strided down a hallway to his right, Ranpo keeping to the main living area. 

It was a small space, the only rooms being the living room with a connecting kitchen and two other doors down a small corridor. One went to the bathroom while the one Chuuya entered was his bedroom. 

Studying the kitchen to his right, Ranpo contemplated raiding the kitchen for a quick snack to take on the next drive. He ultimately decided against it. Turning to face the rest of the room, his gaze landed on a book sitting on the low shelf on the couch’s side table. Ranpo crouched down to pick it up, finding himself facing one of Dazai’s grimm fairy tales. 

He couldn’t ignore his mind’s alarm bells much longer, the shrieks defiling the space he had covered in pretend serenity—better said, a mask of an uninhibited quietude.  

The reality was Ranpo was nigh out of his own skin with worry. He knew nothing was coincidence or accident with his younger brother, but it didn’t stop Ranpo from wanting to ring their neck for dropping off of the radar for another one of their self-sacrificing plans. Another plan where he gave himself up, left to the defense of others for the mafia’s gain. 

Ranpo grew tired and angry of watching the kid return with new scars and tales to devolve to the boss. Dazai loved his tales to tell. 

Shaking his head, masking once more, he left the book where he found it, finally following where Chuuya disappeared to. 

Brusquely entering without a word of permission, Ranpo found Chuuya eyeing his shoes that he’d placed down in a row. Chuuya studied each pair with a profound determination, and Ranpo could admit he applauded that in someone so frequently overtaken by his emotions. 

Ranpo took a glance at the scene, a realization overcoming him—how clever of the kid. He opened his mouth to voice his findings. 

Chuuya lifted a hand. “Not a word, Green Eyes. I can find…” With an indiscernible noise, Chuuya’s hand flew out, snatching the left shoe of an oxford pairing. Bringing it to his ear, he shook it, eyes igniting with recognition.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chuuya bemusedly grunted. “So what of the stepsisters trying to fit into the glass slipper?” 

Smiling, the other went on. “Obviously it didn’t fit either sister, but it went to show how far they were willing to go for royal status."

“Damn bastard put it in the heel.” 

Ranpo immediately unsheathed his right knife. He held it out for the other, Chuuya quickly making use of it, cutting through the back heel. Returning the knife, Chuuya peeled it back, finding a small incision. He slumped over in odious defeat, Ranpo snorting quietly to himself.

“Well, you have no choice but to destroy it, Chuu-kun,” he grinned. 

“Fuck. Off,” Chuuya growled, Ranpo only snickering further. Stealing back the knife, Chuuya cut more into the remaining heel, roughly removing it until the rolled up paper in the small incision could be pulled out. 

Carefully unfurling it, Chuuya attempted to read what was typed out, only to loudly groan. Ranpo chuckled to himself, bringing out an object from within his cape. “Here, this’ll help.” 

Chuuya turned toward the magnifying glass dangling in his face, a smile lifting his lips. Ranpo hadn’t known what the message was, or where it could’ve been stashed before entering Chuuya’s room, yet he’d known enough to bring the tool. 

“Sometimes, I like that ability you’ve got.” 

Tool in hand, Chuuya examined the message inscribed for his eyes alone, finding coordinates to their unknown position. Quickly memorizing it, Chuuya rose from his place on the floor. Ranpo took the slip of paper from him, heading out the door with a lighter suddenly in his hand.

Chuuya followed behind him, a brow lifted irritably. “The fuck are you? Mary Poppins?” Dazai’s indulgence in fairytales gave Chuuya a curiosity for Disney’s selection of classics, despite Dazai’s opposition to anything to do with the company. He had forced Dazai to watch it with him—his ego was stroked just that much when Dazai somewhat enjoyed the film. 

Flicking the lighter on, hearing Chuuya close and lock his apartment’s door behind them, Ranpo burned away any evidence of their findings with a swift flame. 

Leaving the apartment complex, aiming for Chuuya’s vehicle, Ranpo stashed away his items. “I’m way better,” he grinned. 

⚔︎

“West bound. Coordinates in place. Remain on standby,” Ranpo idly rambled off into his com-set to his subordinates at headquarters, which he had also procured from the air itself, Chuuya was convinced. Chuuya sped off to their location, following the directions being spoken into his ear at proficient speed—he wasn’t exactly abiding by traffic laws; he was glad for the efficiency. 

“Have they checked into the location we’re heading towards?” Chuuya pondered aloud.

Ranpo nodded, his focus on the phone screen illuminating his cheekbones, the light flickering with every new development. “Retrieving the building's structure and mapping as we speak. Accessing security cameras and built-in thermal scanners.” 

Chuuya hadn’t been on many assignments with the man, if not any—finding him in America with Dazai and returning to Japan was as close as he'd gotten to working with the man, and that was enough to put him off from wanting to cooperate with him on a mission again. Yet he had witnessed this side of Ranpo in passing, the side that gave him a revered and spine-snapping name. 

From the tone of his voice to his calculated movements, Ranpo would become a hound with the scent of cold ichor upon his nose. Chuuya would never speak it out loud, but gods, was it unsettling. 

His blades of evergreen morphed into lightless shadows the darkest forests would swallow until they were one with the underbrush. His soul kept caged away from drawn blood and captured lives as his mind compartmentalized his work from his personal life—because a mafioso could so easily lose his sanity to the bloody bullet holes and faces frozen in moments of their end forever. 

Many believed Ranpo was one with the blood he carved from skin and bone, with a smile that whispered its claim of sins with glee. Chuuya wouldn’t refute that image. He became a demon in battle, armored with knives and cutting words. 

Chuuya was no saint, and he may enjoy a good fight with torn up souls, but he didn’t revel in the hot lifeblood that stained his hands as Ranpo did.

“Location in view, scan the area,” Ranpo spoke, disrupting his thoughts. 

Chuuya found a spot to disguise his vehicle, the two slipping from the car once it was parked, the shadows of the night’s hour walking alongside them as they stalked towards the large and “abandoned” building. Ranpo displayed his screen to Chuuya, the building’s map slowly marking its pathway in Chuuya’s brain.

Ranpo dragged his finger from one end to another. “Here, we've deduced the hostages are located,” he explained. It was deep underneath the building, and the two didn’t believe it’d be easy to smash their way in. He moved to another area, Chuuya tracking his pointer as it trailed. “Here, here, and here are the entrances we’re focusing on. Their armed men change rotation every hour.” 

Chuuya’s expression scrunched up. “Is this rundown shithole that popular?” 

Ranpo snickered. “They’re highly armed and trained. Whatever they’re hiding is valuable, and we’re not the only organization aware of it. Why else would Mori hand me the job? Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Wait,” Chuuya balked. “Your job wasn’t to retrieve the mackerel?” 

Ranpo exhaled, shaking his head in open dismay. “Chuuya-kun, ‘Zai is valuable, but Mori isn’t worried about his survival. If they die here, it’s simply a red mark on their record.” 

“What?” Chuuya lowly growled. “They were supposed to save their own ass?” 

Gleaming shades of scorching green snapped open to the moon’s perview, Chuuya feeling their venom threatening to sink into his skin from the corner of Ranpo’s gaze. “You think I’d allow that?” He snarled, traces of lethality dripping in his throat. 

Chuuya knew better, better than most—Ranpo’s displeasure at his evidently thoughtless words radiated off him in waves. 

Facing forward, Ranpo directed Chuuya’s attention back to their task at hand, no longer entertaining that conversation. “You’ll make your entrance here,” Ranpo stated.

“You want me to make some noise?” 

Ranpo smiled. “Your specialty.” 

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “I have tact, Green Eyes.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ranpo waved his gloved hand. “Just follow the plan, got it? I’ll scout and see what information I can skim from this place.” Ranpo fully faced him, his smile sharpened to slice. “Don’t leave any stragglers on your way.” 

Chuuya, for all his talk of not deferring to his senior, grinned and nodded, storming hues steeled with purpose. The two listened for their cue from Ranpo’s subordinates, waiting for the proper rotation for an opening. 

“Now, Chuuya-san,” one called out. Chuuya shot off, his gravity lessened for hyper agility and speed. 

Ranpo hummed to himself, eyeing the entrances possible to him loaded up on his screen. Finding an adequate opening, Ranpo melded with the somber air, sneaking away towards his placement. 

His back to the door, he listened in for any shuffling or sounds, any that would tick him off to the guards’ current stations. 

“Mieko, status?” Ranpo whispered. The doors to the building were accessed mechanically, a control room inside in charge of every lock and pin. His tech crew was to take care of his following steps and disable the mechanisms remotely, making certain there weren’t any surprises in his path with the building’s security detail. 

Chuuya could be as flashy as need be, but Ranpo’s expertise lay in stealth and secrets. His killings were to stand without fanfare and audience. 

“Two heat signatures incoming, Ranpo-sama. Proceed,” Mieko recounted, and Ranpo swiftly slid through the unlocked door.

Two men walking to their stations immediately locked their guns on him. Ranpo ran past them, drawing his knives. Flinging himself at a wall, he kicked and spun off its surface, aiming a knife at the underling’s spine closest to him. Landing over the spluttering man’s shoulders, Ranpo turned him to face his partner as the other became trigger happy, firing bullets off that pierced in beside Ranpo’s knife. 

A shame, the man might’ve survived otherwise. 

Brushing it aside, Ranpo kicked off from the corpse, landing his second knife in the last man’s neck as his feet reached the floor. Blood gushed past his lips, his knees giving out beneath him, Ranpo cringing at the mess. 

Freeing his knife, he laggardly cleaned it on the dying man’s shirt. He glanced momentarily at the yet suffering body. Kneeling down and fishing into the man’s inner coat pockets, he took hold of an ID card. Studying the name and face, Ranpo stashed it for later use. He smiled, patting the man, giving a quiet, “Hey, you didn’t die in vain. Good for you.” 

Rising, he stepped towards the other cadaver, retrieving his second knife. Moving forward, he peeled his ears for sound, hearing footsteps and voices when a loud bang followed by the building trembling derailed the muted air. 

“Ranpo-sama,” another subordinate called for his attention. “Up in ten meters, to the left is an elevator shaft.”  

Ranpo paused in his steps. That’d be his ticket down to the hostages, though he still needed information on this group, as loathed as he was to admit it. He pressed a button on his communicator. “Give me the directions to their filing room. Direct Chuuya-kun down to the hostages and away from me.” Chuuya would lead the armed men in his direction while Ranpo went another. 

“Yes, Ranpo-sama. Turn right at nine feet. We count three heat signatures.” 

Sprinting ahead, he turned as directed, coming into contact with three more geared up personnel. Within seconds, projectiles were breaking through the air, Ranpo ducking past them, twisting his body as needed. Flicking out his right knife, he stabbed into the most left person’s arm, their gun clattering to the floor.

Spinning to put himself behind them, their screams curdled in their lungs, bullets penetrating their skin. Ranpo flew into the next body, his second knife slicing their jugular from behind. Kicking their body down, Ranpo miscalculated for a moment—he was in the direct line of the last shooter. 

He had flung his knife, the other aiming his gun in that very moment, shooting out one last bullet before the blade sprouted from their neck. The lead ran clean through Ranpo's left side, a hiss escaping him at the blooming pain opening a crimson river. Body slumping against the door behind him, Ranpo kept himself from hyperventilating, breathing in deeply through his nose, exhaling from his mouth.

“Ranpo-sama—” came through his ear. 

“Unlock this door,” he sneered, gritting his teeth. He put pressure on the wound, swallowing back a groan at the flood of anguish to his receptors from the movement. Ranpo figured it wasn’t deadly—a clean shot was better than having to dig in for shrapnel, though he’d get the full treatment later, he was certain. 

His earpiece became riddled with static, a gruff voice breaking through. “Green Eyes, my end’s practically cleared out.”  

The door clicked behind him, the mechanism releasing, Ranpo sucking in a breath before turning to push it open. “Follow their directions down. You’ll take care of the hostages,” Ranpo returned. 

“Alright,” Chuuya answered, the com going silent. 

Ranpo ducked into the tight room, eyeing the filing system before him. With a second of studying his surroundings, he headed for a direct box, pulling it free to inspect its contents. He pulled out a folder, flipping through the pages inside, dropping it and repeating with another. Drinking in monetary receipts, clientele names, phone numbers, records of shipments, Ranpo suddenly doubled over.

Covering his mouth, he felt sweat drip down his forehead, his body quivering, his knees weakened enough, he crumpled to the floor. 

Poison.  

But from where? 

Ranpo’s gaze ripped down towards his wound. The symptoms were so sudden, he hadn’t felt his skin burning where it remained torn open. His eyesight became unfocused, his body working against the chemicals entering his bloodstream.

The bullets, Ranpo belatedly realized. Their weaponry was chemically charged. He had encountered this type of weapon one other time, and he had been reading it off a shipment’s listing for the Port Mafia. One of their scientists had developed the schematics for it, the proper poison with specific effects to disarm their enemies. It wasn’t a lethal dosage, if treated properly—something only the mafia should’ve been privy to. 

There’d been a breach within their forces. 

Ranpo clenched his teeth until they ached, forcing himself to his feet, picking up one last file along the way. Stumbling, he leaned back against one of the built-in shelves, blinking his eyes repeatedly to attempt to focus on the page in front of him. 

There had been an outsider aiding in the making of these weapons, one who’d presented the idea in the first place and handed it up to the boss. A contact that had connections with another ally; a trusted enough underling that Mori took the idea in. It was no easy feat to gain the boss’ trust, and that contact had worked tirelessly to gain it. From working with the Black Lizard here and there, to aiding certain executives on different operations, and finally gaining an audience with the boss himself. 

She’d aided in blueprints, weapon handling, and intel—she’d be a tricky serpent to lose. 

And one who knew too much about too many. Ranpo hadn’t worked with her—hadn’t been remotely inclined to do so. He saw now that he’d been right in refraining, though perhaps he’d have uncovered this plan long before now had he had a moment with the contact.  

Knowing too much, well, she had to have obtained that from somewhere. 

Breathing past the effects, Ranpo stalked towards the exit. He’d been trained for this, for a level of immunity against various types of poisons. They’d cause him awful drawbacks, but they weren’t lethal to him—he’d only need the antidote for a full detox later. 

Lifting his arm felt as though it had become a cement block, his limbs weighing him down, working against him. Pressing on his communicator, Ranpo muttered out, “Chuu…ya, have you gotten down?” He could hardly speak, the height of the effects streaming through his brain. 

It was their specialty pick of the poison then.

“Close,” Chuuya responded. Ranpo could hear his questions through the mic, but their current setting prevented him from prodding.

Ranpo needed to get down there. He staggered over to the bodies, picking up his knives one after the other. The ID in his pocket would come into use soon enough. “Mieko, directions…to the elevator.” 

“Yes. Leave the hallway and make a right turn, Ranpo-sama.”  

Huffing for air, Ranpo treaded forwards, following the directives in his ear until he found the elevator shaft. Grasping the identification card, Ranpo swiped it past the scanner, a light turning green as the elevator rang upon its doors opening. Ranpo struggled inside, holding himself up against its walls, watching the doors close in front of him.

Being fairly incapacitated in a lift again was getting old quickly. 

Pressing a button for the last floor closest to the hidden basement, Ranpo waited for the box to move down through the two remaining floors. He and Chuuya had entered on the first floor level, and beneath that were three basement levels, the very last shut away with a necessity for high-level clearance. This elevator would merely be his short ride towards the next location—a second elevator he’d need his crew to hack into.

They should’ve been accomplishing as much now as Chuuya headed there. Based on his update, they hadn’t gotten through yet. Ranpo assumed eye-scanners, voice recognition, and saliva sampling—the works for an overzealous security system. 

Ranpo scoffed in its face.

His personal phone vibrated to life in his pocket, momentarily throwing him off base. Ranpo deeply swallowed down a bout of nausea, his hand snaking out the device. He checked the name shining across the screen—he sighed to himself.

He’d have to return the call later, and he knew the caller wouldn’t be too happy about it. He expected a berating afterward, yet it couldn’t be helped. They’d know immediately something was amiss, and rationality would up and leave them. Stuffing it back into his pocket, Ranpo shuffled out of the lift as the doors slid open. 

“Chuuya-san has reached the hostages, though we count various heat signatures apart from the captured.”  

More to fight off. Ranpo needed his full facilities. 

This was rather unfortunate. 

Harsh breathing sounded over the com, shouting and gunshots firing interfering with Chuuya’s voice. “You better be on your damn way, four eyes!”

Ranpo could curse the kid for the remainder of his life, because he would surely have Chuuya’s head after this. Agony mixed with a prominent and steadfast eruption of anger at his own deplorable state—damn if he’ll let it slow him any further. He had a goal in mind, and he’d reach it. 

He always achieved what he wanted.  

“Directions,” Ranpo demanded, and his subordinates responded. 

Breaking apart the cement blocks withholding his legs and arms, Ranpo whisked ahead—admittedly stumbling every other step, but he persevered on. 

⚔︎

Gravity encased his being, coveting him as he pulled at its essence to his whims, decimating the shooters with their own gunfire. Chuuya found a poetic truth in it—to be killed by your own violence. He knew this intimately, after all. Lived and breathed by it, though not of his own accord.

The hostages were locked in another room—this building was huge as all hell—these members sinking their fangs into every intruder. Just as well, Chuuya had sharp teeth too.

This group had been relentless till the end, fighting until their very last breath. Chuuya found he respected their misplaced valor, and it made his job that much more fulfilling—and exhausting; he’d be feeling sore for the next few days. 

Kicking bullets from his gravity field, one of the gunmen closed in on Chuuya. He grinned—he’d been clawing for an opening. 

Rushing forward, he struck his elbow into their stomach, gravity increased to extreme levels, their torso collapsing into itself. The body crashed into the door leading to the captured, a man-shaped hole left in its wake. Chuuya broke the rest of his way in, coming face to face with gagged and tearful civilians, and one vacantly smiling fish.

(An empty shape finding its brilliance had returned, in the form of a godling). 

Kneeling down, Chuuya removed the gag from his partner’s mouth. “Slug, you made it!” They elated, their eye yet smogged with images Chuuya couldn’t uncover. 

Chuuya grabbed a fistful of Dazai’s ruined shirt, pulling them up until their noses clashed together. “You dumb motherfucker, what the fuck did you do this for?!”

Dazai raised a brow, gaze closed and covered. “Chuu shouldn’t ask such stupid questions. Release me so we can finish this, won’t you?” 

Shoving them back, Chuuya sneered as he strode to the previous room. “Stop acting like some damsel, shithead. Release yourself.” 

Dazai whined behind him, but Chuuya knew he’d free himself soon enough—he was only biding his time until he was rescued like the prissy princess he was, after all. 

As he returned to the space, from the corner of his eye, Chuuya spotted a shadow. He blinked, the shadow disappearing just as quickly as it appeared. Random bodies dropped right as Chuuya lost sight of the flickering ghoul traipsing through the opposing forces. Most of them had already been wiped out by Chuuya himself, only a few left taking their last steps.

Bandaged arms suddenly wrapped around Chuuya’s shoulders, Dazai murmuring in Chuuya’s ear amongst the gunfire, “Did you grab my pistols?” 

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Are you in any condition to use’em, damn octopus?”

Nuzzling close, Dazai snorted. “Just hand them over, Slug.” 

Grouching, Chuuya forcibly unlatched the arms around him, facing the other and parting his long coat to reveal the stashed firearms. 

Earlier, when Chuuya had rummaged through his room, he’d found Dazai’s weapons along with the chest piece needed to secure them onto his person—the piece of shit had thought of everything, because of course they did. 

Smiling, Dazai leaned in close, unlatching them from Chuuya’s temporary chest gun holster. Faces inches apart, warm breaths mingling together, Dazai quietly whispered, “Thank you.” 

Chuuya’s lips pulled up into an involuntary smirk, shoving his partner away as he felt his ability breathe to life. “Yeah, yeah, bandages. Thank me later.” 

The two took off, Dazai engaging his weapons whilst Chuuya grazed the floor with a gloved hand, breaking it at his will. Using the fragments, he took down his side of the fight, Dazai dancing around his own crowd with both pistols smoking at the ends. The gunmen couldn’t catch him if they tried, Dazai’s moves nimble and pristine, calculated and elegant to a fault. 

Chuuya worked to focus on his task, lest he become mesmerized by his partner’s deadly choreography. 

Finally, the last gunmen stared at the pair head on, lifting his weapon, deciding between the two. 

The decision never came.

In an abrupt moment, the last one standing fell to their knees, their head lolling forward until they crashed to the floor. A dark blade protruded from their back, a gloved hand drawing it back out, spinning it in its hold before sheathing the knife. 

“Too slow,” Ranpo huffed, his breaths heaving, sweat drenching his clothes. 

Dazai blinked at the sight, dropping his guns at his sides when he rushed towards the other. “Ran? What’s wrong?” Dazai fussed, a cold hand inspecting the older’s forehead.

Ranpo patted Dazai’s wrist, a smile waveringly dressing him. “I’m fine, kid. Intel on the group,” he redirected.

Dazai scowled, begrudgingly removing their hand and walking back for their weapons. “None of the subordinates could name their leader, only referring to them as ‘P. D.’. They enjoy their solitude, it seems. Did you take note of their weaponry?” 

Chuuya folded his arms across his chest. “It’s pretty obvious. Ranpo’s about to keel over.” 

Throwing his head back, Ranpo groaned. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m fine! Remember I’m your superior, alright? So respect me!” He glared. “P. D.. Does that ring a bell, ‘Zai?” 

Nodding, Dazai hid their guns away. “Our know-it-all middleman.” Ranpo tiredly grinned. 

(Never did he doubt himself, but there came a certain delicious victory with having his deductions confirmed).  

Brow furrowing, Chuuya blinked at his partner. “Our middleman? You mean…”

Dazai smiled, eye crinkling with a speckle of warmth Chuuya couldn’t find himself looking away from. “I did tell you, didn’t I?” 

“The small groups or affiliates we allow into our territory until they’re useless.” 

Chuuya laughed once, entirely unamused, “Until they step over the line, you mean.” 

Dazai chuckled, “They are prone to mistakes.” 

Grumbling, Chuuya muttered, “And there we go, being sent off to more jobs because of some dumb fucks.” Coming back to the conversation, he wondered aloud, “You really think those stepsisters are like them?”

“In terms of the lengths they’d go to for power, yes.” 

Chuuya’s brow furrowed. “That’s random as hell, Mackerel.”

Moving back, Dazai grinned at their partner, an inexplicable gleam shining through their gaze. “Just watch and see, Chuuya.”

Unrest overtaking the underworld. Gangs in an uproar. Civilians taking a massive hit the Port Mafia did not oversee. A power hungry conman in their midst—sullying themself (herself) for the sake of imperial dominance.

Ranpo covered his eyes with a hand, attempting to massage his head back into working order. “She’s pinned numerous organizations against one another. Her plan was to decimate them one by one, causing a very bloody affair.” 

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fucking fantastic. As if we needed a repeat of the Dragon Head’s conflict.” 

“I can applaud her,” Dazai intervened. “It is no small thing she’s accomplished.” 

“How did she do it? How the fuck did she manage to gain the trust of so many organizations?” Chuuya furiously asked. 

Clicking his earpiece, Ranpo barked orders to his subordinates, their clean up for the hostages and bodies en route. “Her ability,” he plainly stated. 

Closing the distance between them, Dazai brushed a finger through a trail of blood lining Chuuya’s shoulder. “Chuu, do you remember that Englishwoman? The spunky one with the insight on our latest little turf war?” 

Glancing up at the other, Chuuya quirked a brow. “Elizabeth?” 

They hummed in affirmation. “Her ability is called ‘The Children of Men’. It allows her to take on the faces of the people she’s killed.” 

Chuuya glowered. “Are you serious?” With such an ability at her fingertips, it’d be easy to infiltrate their organizations and gain their trust with the information she gleaned. Only to turn around and hand intel back over to another group. 

Ranpo sighed. “P. D. James. A genius, so I’ve read.” 

Dazai whipped his head towards the older. “You found her file, I take it? My informants found sufficient information but...”

Grinning, waving his phone in the air, Ranpo stepped backwards, trailing towards the exit. “Thanks to a contact in the government. The paper file they had here was just another one of her undead faces.” But Ranpo knew. The Port Mafia bent to Ranpo’s word for good reason—he always saw more than anyone could ever fathom. “Come on, you two. Clean up will be here soon enough. Our job is done.” 

Drinking in a breath, Dazai took Chuuya’s wrist in hand, following after their departing brother. Chuuya drew back before they could get too far. “Chuuya,” Dazai complained as they slightly stumbled.

Hands brushed against Dazai’s waist, pulling them flush against Chuuya, their eye widening at the proximity. Tilting his head, Chuuya shot Dazai a shattering smile, a twinkle in his eye a sussur of tenderness inexplicable to them both. “I told you to thank me later, didn’t I?”

Smiling, Dazai laid their arms around him. “Oh, Chuu is ever so bossy.” 

“Just kiss me, asshole,” Chuuya snipped. 

The two smiled as their lips connected as one, Dazai gently kissing his partner in greeting as they reunited. Chuuya nipped at the other in punishment for yet another mission where he ended up bound and locked away. 

“You’re an idiot,” Chuuya mumbled between their quiet touch of lips.

Dazai only pressed closer, refusing to give into the matter. That was fine. Chuuya would prod until they thawed in his hands. He’d learned their tender points through trial and error, and no matter how masterfully Dazai hid them from everyone else, Chuuya could forever bare them open. 

Eventually, Chuuya began forcing them apart to leave the disaster zone, only for Dazai to continue clinging to his side, marking up his neck as they made their way out. Chuuya had to peel the other away as they met with their senior and subordinates, fiercely refusing to even look at Ranpo—who was childishly making a gagging gesture. 

Of course he knew, he always knew, the bastard. 

⚔︎

“Mieko, you’re my best in tech and my favorite bounty hunter,” Ranpo praised, tapping his phone while his subordinate, Mieko, stood beside him, awaiting his instructions. 

“I thank you, Ranpo-sama,” she smiled, the wisps of her starless black hair covering the sides of her face as she bowed. Ranpo was a ruthless man, with little favor for those beneath him. But those chosen few of his own he found talent and skill in, he lavished in wealth for their efforts. It paid off to work beneath him. 

Nodding once in acknowledgment, Ranpo presented his screen to her. “This is P. D. James, our woman making a mess of the underground. I’d like you to work alongside the Black Lizard for her capture. Her head is worth millions with every organization on her tail. You’ll find her first,” he plainly said, a cunning smile crossing his lips, leaving not a centimeter of air to argue with. He would win this race, and he’d be the one to personally interrogate her—as long as Kouyou kept her snout out of this.

(He was cursingly well aware she wouldn’t be doing as much).

Mieko glimpsed over her information, nodding at the task handed to her. “Of course, Ranpo-sama. I’ll get to work straight away.” 

“Good. I’ll send you the rest of her file soon.” 

She bowed once more, whipping her phone out for the missing details of her assignment. As she left, Ranpo readied himself for his other matter of the late hour. 

Dazai strode over to him, hands tucked behind their back. “Ran.” 

Ranpo calmly straightened. “‘Zai.”

Merely blinking at the younger, Ranpo waited, Dazai probing with an amber stare, willing the sage hues before them to yield. But he should know what to expect by now. Dazai may be stubborn, but that was nothing in comparison to his brother. 

Sagging, Dazai sighed terribly. “Ran, the poison? It’s still in your system, and you don’t seem at all concerned.” 

Crossing his arms, Ranpo shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. You saw me. It couldn’t stop me if it tried.” 

The younger lifted a brow. “I hope you realize your face is a sickly green, and you are still sweating a river.” 

Waving him off, Ranpo turned his attention to the rest of his little brother. “And you? You haven’t eaten in over a day, have you?” 

Dazai balked, flinching back at the accusation. “What does it matter? I—”

Ranpo stabbed them with a finger, poking their chest with each word. “You will eat or I will hide away your gaming consoles for a month again.” 

“Ran! That is so rude!” 

“I’m telling Fancy Hat to ensure you eat.” 

“Don’t tell him!”

“He probably already knows,” Ranpo chuckled.

“Well, if this is the game, I shall promptly inform Poe-san of your condition,” Dazai beamed.

“Oi, keep your nose out of adult affairs, you little shrimp!” 

“Ha! You can’t call me that anymore. I’m taller now, remember?” 

Pausing, Ranpo stepped back, Dazai’s smile dimming as their banter receded. Ranpo couldn’t push away the smile from his face, fully taking in his brother’s safe recovery—they were in one piece, returned to them as whole as they could be. He raised a hand, reaching up and ruffling the younger’s mess of grimy tresses. “You’ll always be little to me, kid.” 

(Dazai blinked repeatedly, a welling something taking root in his eyes, his hands quivering at his sides. The blooming warmth in his chest filled him so; that emptiness that resided within him didn’t seem quite as intimidating. 

He felt a special kind with Chuuya, one that tasted of exploding stardust and devastating celestial bodies. 

This one. This one sat upon his tongue like warm cookies and childish laughter over silly games). 

Patting their shoulder, Ranpo nodded his head in Chuuya’s direction behind the other. “Chuu-kun’s waiting for you.”

Humming in agreement, Dazai shakingly exhaled—they were still terrible with accepting soft gestures. “Right. And someone happens to be waiting for you, Edo.” 

Walking with his back to his designated car, Ranpo jabbed a finger towards them. “Hey, what did I say?!”

Dazai only chuckled, spinning and running into their partner, Chuuya shouting as they toppled into the grass. Ranpo shook his head, ducking into the back of the awaiting black car, giving the driver the address to head to. He’d decided he’d sleep for days after this.

There was no need for Dazai to rat him out, when the second he unlocked his door to his penthouse, a tall man was ready to yank him inside. Cupping his cheeks, Edgar turned his head this way and that, hair-covered eyes roving his person.

“Edo, you didn’t answer your phone. Then you return home in this terrible state,” Edgar began, airing out his compunctions.

“Mm, nice to see you too, babe,” Ranpo grumbled, wilting at the comment over his body’s condition, finally giving into his exhaustion. The poison was still in his system—he’d ordered for the antidote to be sent to his house by one of his trusted workers. Not to mention the blood loss that had taken a backseat in terms of priority—it was catching up to him now. 

Edgar sighed, a frown upon his lips. “I am happy to see you, darling.” He leaned down, softly suckling his lover’s bottom lip, Ranpo unable to lift a finger yet melting into the heat. And it lasted too few moments, in Ranpo’s expert opinion. “But I am not happy with you overall,” he scowled.

Edgar tapped his side, and Ranpo heavily exhaled. “You are such a worrier, Eddy.”

“Follow my lead, won’t you? It’ll make this less painful,” the other admonished. Rolling his eyes, causing a strike of pain to roil through his head, Ranpo slowly raised his arms, gripping onto Edgar’s shoulders. Edgar lifted Ranpo into his arms, carrying him bridal-style to the bedroom—Ranpo wished he could say he hated it, but Edgar made it seem so effortless. “The medicine you ordered arrived just before you did, so I’ll clean your wound, give you the medicine, and you’ll drink the necessary fluids your body’s expelled.” 

“Fine, fine,” Ranpo complained.

Edgar laid him over his bed, Ranpo fighting the urge to curl up and allow himself to drift off into sleep. A finger beneath his chin, Edgar raised his head until they locked eyes. “As if you don’t enjoy me spoiling you,” he remarked, a teasing smile glimmering towards Ranpo.

Ranpo felt a lazy grin spread across his features. “I do, so forget healing me and all that. Just spoil me all night long.” 

Tenderly pecking his lips, Edgar shook his head, chuckling. “You are relentless.” He rose from his place, crossing over to the connecting bathroom for the first aid kit. 

Ranpo only pouted, letting himself fall back against his sheets, accidentally pulling at his wound. He winced—he supposed he should allow his partner to tend to it. 

He was always tending to him. Ranpo should show his appreciation in full—it would have to wait until he fully healed, but he’d get to it. 

For now, he’d relish in his time with Edgar, even as he began the searing aiding process, with Karl joining in for moral support. Or at least Ranpo would take it as such as he cuddled the creature close. The next day would come with debriefing the boss along with checking in on the search for their ghost, and he’d need every bit of his energy for that. 

For now, Ranpo would tiredly flirt with Edgar until they fell into a warming slumber.