Stray Dog

Intervention

Chuuya wasn't sure what drew him to the dungeons the day after he returned from his latest assignment, and he was even less sure of the origin of the instinct that told he shouldn't mention his visit there to Mori, but hen didn't deny either notion. He really had no reason to go to the dungeons; even if the mafia was holding or interrogating prisoners, he'd prefer to have nothing to do with it.

Despite this, he couldn't ignore the strange pull in his mind, so he set out for the hidden structure on the far side of the Port Mafia's territory. It didn't take him long to get there; he had the best bike money could buy, after all. He planned to get in and out as quickly as possible to settle the unease building his chest, and he intended to go unnoticed; admitting such notions and emotions would be like showing weakness to his superiors, as he had no real excuse for being here.

And of course, to show weakness in the Port Mafia was to invite death.  Chuuya parked his bike a block away from his destination, and used his gravity ability to take the rooftops the rest of the way to his destination. Once he was nearby he dropped to the ground, made sure he hadn't been followed, and ducked into the secret entrance to the underground holding cells.
He hated this place. Almost everyone in the organization did; it was where so many of them had been tested and conditioned, after all. The stench of death and blood hit him immediately. It never faded from this place, really, but the smell was recent, and stronger. A faint scream from the depths of the building reached his ears, and he grimaced, but the sound was almost familiar to him...

He gazed at the steep, concrete steps, splattered here and there with traces of blood, and hesitated. Being caught here would definitely not go well. But unable to deny the instinct drawing him deeper, he descended. The screams grew louder as he neared them, until they stopped. He was in the block of holding cells when he heard one of the doors open, squealing on rusty hinges. Eyes wide, he jumped and flattened himself against the ceiling using his ability, hoping to escape detection. When Mori exited the cell, followed by... Chuuya stared in disbelief, wondering what prisoner could be enough to draw Mori's personal attention, and waiting for the formidable boss to see him, (he may have escaped lesser detection, but he would not escape Mori's notice,) but most of all, shocked to see Odasaku following closely on Mori's heels. Chuuya had not known Oda particularly well; he was Dazai's friend, not his, but even he knew that the cruel, twisted smile on the man's lips was not befitting of the Odasaku Dazai had respected and cared for.

And... hadn't Oda died...?
If Chuuya remembered correctly, he'd died in battle just before Dazai had left. A flicker of realization lit in his mind, and he suddenly wondered if those events could be related. Maybe that was the thing Dazai had not told him; had been unable to speak of when Chuuya demanded answers for his abandonment.
This monster was not Oda.
As if his confirmation of the fact was all that was needed, the strangers face suddenly twisted into someone else, and Chuuya's eyes narrowed. A shape shifting ability? Those were incredibly rare. How had someone of that power in the Mafia escaped his attention? Unless that was Mori's intention, to keep this individual hidden... Chuuya watched them go silently, relieved when, through some miracle, Mori did not look up. If the Boss knew he was there, he didn't care enough to comment.
Chuuya dropped to the floor once he was sure they were gone, and slipped into the cell, pulling the door shut behind him. When his eyes fell on the prisoner, he reached the third surprise of the evening.
"Dazai..." he whispered, a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest. The suicidal idiot made him so angry, and it was no secret. He'd sworn he'd kill him over and over, but this...
Chuuya had never wanted to see him like this.

Dazai hung in front of him-nearly naked in the frigid dungeon-his wrists bruised and bloody from the cuffs that restrained him. He was unconscious, (luckily, Chuuya thought, as his eyes roamed the patchwork of wounds covering him,) but it was clear what they had done to him. With leaden feet, Chuuya walked closer until they were only inches apart, a gloved hand reaching up to trace the prisoners face gently; the man in front of him looked fragile enough to break with a touch, yet he had to know he was really there. As he felt the weight of gravity press down on him, he knew this was not an illusion, like the man who had appeared to be Odasaku a few moments before. He realized it must have been horrible, for Dazai to be tortured by someone wearing the face of his friend...

He wondered how many times this had happened.
How long had this been going on?
This wasn't right. Chuuya simply stared, his hand resting on his former partner's face, unable to fully process what was going on as tears streamed, silent and unbidden, down his face.

It had hurt, when Dazai had left him. It had been so unexpected and so painful; they fought like cats and dogs but they were partners, and-dare he say it?-friends. But then he'd up and disappeared without a word, resurfacing years later as a member of the Port Mafia's most formidable enemy, the Armed Detective Agency.
Dazai had betrayed and abandoned him just like the sheep. And for all his bold taunts and his shows of anger, it had hurt; more than he'd ever thought it could. Because he'd trusted Dazai; he really had, and he'd never offered him so much as a work of explanation.

And now he was here, in the Port Mafia's dungeons, looking one step away from death.

And for all the pain Dazai had caused him, for all his bold declarations of war and murder, Chuuya still cared. He still missed his partner; his friend.

He spun on his heel, his coat flapping behind him as he marched away from Dazai, still sleeping away. Whatever the consequences, he couldn't leave him like this; he was going to do something about it.