ANGEL'S ASHES, bungou stray dogs [on hold]

xxv. the fog and the apple

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𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋'𝐒 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦

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     WATCHING THE SUN SET from atop the Port Mafia building, a chill traverses Angel's body despite the warmth coming from the gas giant, and from Chūya beside her. The redhead looks down at her and sighs, shrugging off his jacket and placing it over Angel's shoulders, making her look over at him with a raised brow. He's being unusually conscientious today, and she's not sure what to think of it. Although, Angel can't say that she's really complaining, because, in all honesty, this side of Chūya is one rarely seen even by herself and Dazai, and it's a side that makes her smile in the darkest times.

     "Why are you being so soft today, Nakahara?" Angel asks, teasing him with a cheeky smile. "Do you know something I don't?"

     Chūya's lips don't even twitch a little as he pulls a cigarette from the box in his pocket, placing it between his lips and lighting it. "I have a feeling it's you that knows something I don't. Want to tell me, Angel?"

     Pinching the smoke, she breathes in the nicotine and sighs the smoky remnants out. "Take a wild guess."

     "Dazai is doing something idiotic again, and you're the only ones who know how it's going to play out; what he's really doing. Want to let me in on what you're planning?"

     "You already know: Dazai's being an idiot and putting himself in harms way, and we're going to be the ones saving his stupid ass." Angel playfully shoves Chūya as he takes his smoke back. "We're going to have to stay out of the fucking fog tonight unless you want to fight our Abilities, which I'd rather not considering we know the extent of what ours can do — and they're bad enough on their own, which means I don't want to think about them together outside of our control."

     Chūya grunts in agreement, blowing the smoke out his nose. "Kami, this is a load of shit. Why can't the shitty mackerel keep his shit to himself?"

     With the sun and its warmth gone, the Mafiosi pair retreat into the compressing atmosphere of the Port Mafia living quarters, both of them knowing full well what's about to happen. There's nothing they could have done to stop tonight's events, and that's what makes this all so much more...anxiety inducing. Angel is feeling undeniably sick at the mere thought of what they're to face, but there has to be something better to describe the unease tonight's bringing. In every reality, something of this likeness must come to pass, and Angel hasn't a doubt of Dazai, Chūya, and herself being in the centre of it all no matter how they try to stay away.

     Still, even as Angel watches the fog sweep in to fill the streets of Yokohama, robbing it of unsuspecting peoples, she finds herself feeling as though there's a rock sinking in her stomach. That blasted tower stands tall above the fog, not too far from where the slums somehow still prosper despite the chaos of almost six years ago with the ghost former Boss and one of the Mafiosi she trusted, and she knows that's where their fight is to take place. It's right beside the place Angel carved the earth open to swallow them both whole to protect Dazai and Chūya, and she'd rather not be reminded of giving control over to the one thing that will willingly give its life and whatever remaining morality to save them.

     Sure, it's not as though Angel really has a say in what happens when she is but a hushed whisper in her own body, but the being she shares this flesh prison with isn't as vicious as many would believe.

     Scarred torso washed white under the moonlight, Chūya pushes himself up onto his forearms and stares over at Angel with darkened blue eyes roaming over her own battlefield body. They've all got their scars to bear, and there's little they can do but accept what mutilation has been born on their flesh in service to the lives they've led, fuelled by their untamed and free-spirited desires. Standing in the door to their room, clad in a pair of bike shorts and a baggy shirt, recently cut white hair a mess atop her head and silver eyes burning, with a ruby red apple impaled with a glimmering silver knife clutched in her hand, Angel looks like some kind of vengeful goddess to Chūya.

     "Why the hell have you got an apple, angel?" Chūya groans in complaint, but there's a strange, genuine interest hidden behind the disdain. "And what's with the bloody knife?" A single look from Angel has him sitting up straight, azure eyes wild and narrowed. "Wait. You're fucking with me, right?!"

     "I wish, but no, I'm really not." Throwing the apple into the trash, knife clasped in her fingers, Angel kicks the door shut and jumps onto the bed. Moving over to Chūya, she huffs and tilts the blade, watching as the sharpened edges reflect the pale moonlight onto the cracked ceiling. "We're in for one hell of a night, and we may well end up fighting for our very lives — even if everything goes according to Dazai's stupid self-sacrificing plan. This is the warning that everything's about to change no matter how much we protest and want our lives to stay as they are; we're about to crash and burn, destroying everything in our wake without a care in the world."

     In the dead silence of the nearing Witching Hour, the echoes of battles being fought between Abilities and their holders can be heard rocketing around the city. On their bedside cupboard, Angel's phone vibrates every few seconds, no doubt the Weretiger or Kyōka trying to get in contact for some sort of explanation, and the look on Chūya's face is enough to confirm her thoughts. He rolls his eyes at the messages and missed calls, turning the screen off and huffing as he rolls onto his back, arm covering his eyes and his orange hair a tangled mess on his head.

     "You gave those Agency bastards your number?" Chūya complains. "I mean, Kyōka and that bastard Dazai are understandable, but the fucking Weretiger, angel?"

     "It's only for emergencies, such as right now," Angel informs, voice flat and making Chūya sit up, azure eyes alert. "They're fighting for the lives of those they care for, and also selfishly for their own lives so they can live with those they're fighting for."

     "What's the matter with you? Having one of your moods again?"

     "Tonight is bringing back some memories. That's all."

     The fog reminds Angel of the chaos caused by the former Boss, and his death at the hands of Mori. The bastard believes only Dazai knows of his part in the former Boss's death, never taking into account the grandfather-granddaughter relationship between Angel and the mentally unstable former Boss.

• • • • • •

So, after this chapter, I'm going to give a little backstory on Angel and the former Port Mafia Boss, but not too much as I'll be focusing on that a little later in the story - after I've written for season three.

I also want to have more to write for Dead Apple, because, as I've mentioned to , I'm not having much to work with considering there's not much in the movie circulating around those outside of the Agency until the big ass battle between Chūya and dragon!Dazai and the aftermath.

So, please just work with me here and try not to criticise my shit ass attempt at re-writing the past a little here.