soukoku oneshots

Protecting him from death

Mori'd have my head if I let these guys kill you, Chuuya thinks as he launches himself forward. He's fifteen, the mafia's newest recruit, and knows better than to think himself safe from a swift and painful death because he possesses a powerful ability.

"Get behind me!" he yells at Dazai, ignoring the bullets that whistle past him. Those that brush his skin simply stop in midair and implode as For the Tainted Sorrow inverts their gravity. The enemy group surrounding them takes no notice; somebody shouts to keep firing, to kill the brats - Chuuya grinds his teeth. He kicks up a piece of the cement ground to force Dazai back without touching, and in that split second their eyes meet.

Dazai's are wide and round with surprise. He didn't expect Chuuya to jump forward. Didn't expect Chuuya to put himself between Dazai and bullets.

Then the piece of cement knocks into Dazai and with a choked noise he crumbles to the ground. Chuuya lands before him, arms spread wide; coat fanning out behind him and really, Dazai should know that protecting him is a matter of self-preservation.

(Chuuya also doesn't like people dying on his watch, either).

It's still a form of self-preservation when Chuuya fishes Dazai with blue-tinged lips from a half-frozen lake in winter.

"What the fuck were you doing?" Chuuya asks, exasperated. His own hands and legs burn from touching the freezing water for seconds; Dazai's eyes can't seem to focus. How long he'd been floating between ice floes, Chuuya doesn't know.

".. dying?" Dazai replies, though he sounds as if he doesn't know himself. Freezing makes people stupid, Chuuya knows. He'd not really expected Dazai to pick it as a suicide option. Gruffly, he wraps his own coat around Dazai's shoulders (that white shirt is frozen stiff), and rubs. There's actual ice clinging to Dazai's hair.

"I thought you didn't like pain," Chuuya says and attempts to tug Dazai to his feet. The other staggers, and at least the lake Dazai chose is a decorative lake in a small park right in front of Portmafia headquarters. The water probably came up a little past Chuuya's knees.

"It doesn't hurt?" Dazai's legs give out immediately.

With a sigh, Chuuya crouches down, grabs him by the hips, and slings Dazai over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The other weighs frighteningly little, and Chuuya can't entirely shake the suspicion that starvation may also be a long-term suicide attempt. But at least bribing Dazai with canned crab (of all things) works.

"This will hurt once you warm up." Chuuya stomps back toward the building. Without the use of his ability, the ankle-high snow is a bother; and he wonders just how long Dazai had been sitting in that pond before his absence got noticed (which, in truth, was only due to Chuuya wanting to ask Dazai about a case and seeking out the other spontaneously). Today's attempt feels more serious; and Chuuya doesn't know how he feels about this.

"Chuuya's warm," Dazai mutters, voice muffled against the fabric of Chuuya's vest and Chuuya chest clenches.

"Oi, don't fall asleep." Chuuya gives him a rough shake, which also helps to distract him from the fiery pins and needles racing through his own legs as well as the weird emotions rolling in his chest. A gust of wind brushes past them and Chuuya shudders, but then he slips into the building's lobby and warm air surrounds him. Chuuya breathes a sigh of relief and ignores the surprised glances cast their way. People are quick to make space once they recognize him and Dazai; and wise enough not to comment. Somebody stops an elevator for them and Chuuya inclines his head with gratitude, before swiping his card for the elevator to take them up to the floors reserved for the mafia's higher-ranking members.