Post Canon

post canon

My saving grace during the perilous time that ao3 is down

Crutches

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: implied self harm (not explicitly described,) mentions of low body weight/implied eating disorder, suicidal thoughts, general dazai angst warning

pairing: soukoku

word count: 4.2k

masterlists

Chuuya hears a knock on his apartment door and immediately he knows who it is, and immediately he knows that he’ll inevitably open the door. Still, he replies harshly, “Go home, shitty Dazai!”

It’s the middle of the night–well beyond midnight– and the only reason Chuuya is awake is because he’s leaving for a week-long mission out of the country and he needs to wrap up some paperwork before leaving Yokohama. If it weren’t for that mission, Chuuya would have been in bed hours ago–like Dazai should be now. 

It wasn’t like this was particularly unusual. Maybe once a week, or once in a few weeks Chuuya would get a knock at his door at three or four in the morning. Everyone else that knew Chuuya knew better than to dare to even attempt to wake him so late, so every time that left only one person who could be at the door. Dazai. 

A few moments pass in silence, and that’s when Chuuya’s stomach starts to turn. Normally, if Chuuya didn’t come to the door instantly, Dazai continued knocking. Silence rarely ever followed that initial knock, and when it did, Chuuya knew that it meant something was wrong. 

As soon as the realization comes to mind, Chuuya is on his feet and headed towards the door, silently praying that Dazai is still there when he opens it. When he does, at first Chuuya thinks that his prayers were ignored and that he’d have to go out and find his ex-partner, an ordeal that wouldn't be the first time, but one that Chuuya never wanted to repeat. Then, when he sticks his head out a little farther into the hallway, he sees the back of a beige coat, and he feels like he can breathe again. 

“Osamu, get back here,” Dazai halts in place in the hallway, although he doesn’t turn around just yet. “I know you heard me, get back here and come inside.”

Chuuya knows this story all too well, and he knows just as well that he can’t let Dazai leave, even if that’s what he pretends to want. 

“Thought you just told me to go home, Chibi,” Dazai replies with his back still turned to Chuuya, his voice low and sullen, just barely audible. 

Chuuya sighs, rubbing his tired eyes, “Shut up, you know I don’t want that, now get in here.”

Dazai’s shoulders visibly drop as he turns around to face Chuuya, who can’t help but notice how… bad he looks right now. There are almost always bags under Dazai’s eyes, always a slight slouch to his posture, but right now they seemed about a hundred times worse than usual. 

“I didn’t think dogs were supposed to give orders to their masters.” 

Chuuya has to bite back a response, he feels it just on the tip of his tongue–but he lets it die there. He knows Dazai too well to do that; he knows that he is just trying to test Chuuya and get under his skin so that he’ll get turned away. Too bad Chuuya’s a smart dog and can’t be tricked so easily.

“Whatever, Dazai,” Chuuya says as Dazai steps into his apartment at last.

Chuuya closes the door behind them and feels another gust of air enter his lungs. He never realized just how tense he got when he had to coax Dazai into letting him take care of him until after the hardest part was over. 

Dazai stood a few feet beyond the entrance like a ghost who didn’t know where he was. Despite being in Chuuya’s apartment countless times, he felt so uncomfortable whenever he arrived like this. Like a shell of himself that didn’t deserve to be taken care of the way that he knew Chuuya would insist upon. He wanted to push Chuuya away and never let him see the ugliest parts of him, and yet he’d brought himself here regardless because there was nowhere else he could go. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” Chuuya asks, clearing the various papers and old food containers in order to make a spot at his table for Dazai.

Dazai still looks dazed and faintly confused as he takes the seat. 

“Um. I don’t really remember…” Chuuya doesn’t wait for the rest of his response before opening his fridge and seeing what he could whip up for Dazai, ignoring him when he protests, “You don’t have to make anything. ‘m not hungry.”

“If you don’t want me to make you anything, tell me when and what you ate last. And if it’s been more than twelve hours, I don’t really care what you say. You need to eat.” 

Firm yet caring; Chuuya had learned long ago that those were the best ways of taking care of Dazai in times like these. If he wasn’t strict, Dazai would only get worse and Chuuya would feel guilty for allowing it. Caring didn’t even require a second thought, although Chuuya often had different ways of showing it than anybody else other than Dazai would be used to. 

Dazai didn’t answer again, withdrawing himself to pick at the bandages around his wrists. Chuuya noticed that they were wrapped looser than usual, a sign that made his heart sink as he pulled out soup that he’d made earlier in the week; it’s not like Dazai would complain about leftovers, and Chuuya just needed him to eat something.

The apartment fell silent as Chuuya reheated the soup over the stove. He could tell that Dazai was trapped in his head–he always stared at the line between bandage and skin when he was thinking negatively. It made Chuuya’s heart ache to see Dazai like this, but he did take a bit of reprieve in knowing that at least he would be safe for tonight under his care. Of course, that also made the reminder that Chuuya would be gone tomorrow all the more painful, since he wouldn’t be able to continue taking care of Dazai if he really needed it–Chuuya prayed for the second time that night, hoping that Dazai would be okay without him for a week. 

Dazai hardly raised his head when Chuuya placed a bowl of soup in front of him, and the only reason Chuuya even knew that he’d recognized his presence was the barely perceptible flinch at the sound of the bowl hitting the table. 

“Eat,” Chuuya instructed, blowing off and sipping some from his own bowl. He wasn’t hungry and he’d already eaten earlier in the evening, but he knew that if he was to have any luck getting Dazai to eat, he had to eat with him. 

“I told you I’m not hungry. Such a disobedient dog,” Dazai remarks, although the glare he directed at the soup betrayed his fear and disgust at even attempting to eat.

Chuuya wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he continued looking pointedly at Dazai from across the table. “And I told you that I don’t care. You need to eat, even just a little bit. Please?”

“Well since you decided to use your manners…”

“Shut up, jackass. Just a few bites.”

Dazai let out a sigh that sounded like the entire weight of the world was crushing his lungs, but he picked up the spoon, albeit hesitantly and still visibly disgusted. 

They sat for a total of about a half an hour at the table–Chuuya watching Dazai carefully and Dazai staring down the soup as if it had committed crimes against him. He did, however, manage to stomach down four spoonfuls before pushing the bowl away. It wasn’t as much as Chuuya had hoped for, but he was thankful that at least Dazai had managed to get something in his stomach.

If he thought it would get an answer or be helpful, Chuuya would have asked what was wrong; but he knew this Dazai, and knew that even if there was something tangibly wrong, he wouldn’t disclose it to anyone for anything. There never was any one thing that was wrong when Dazai was like this, it was simply the weight of the world crushing on his chest and his heart a little too much, the demons of his unfortunate past, present, and future haunting him, reminding him that he could never become somebody worth something. Chuuya wanted to suckerpunch every single one of those evil voices that tormented Dazai, that made his life more miserable than anybody deserved to live. He wanted to make everything okay, and it hurt every inch of his being that there simply was nothing that could be done.

Instead of waiting for the demons to materialize so that he could punch their lights out, Chuuya stands from the table and takes his bowl away, stopping by Dazai and asking if he’d like him to do the same with his. All he gets in response is a weak grunt and Dazai pushing his bowl at him, which he assumes is an affirmative answer. As Chuuya walks to set the dishes in the sink, he hears a thud, and looks up to see Dazai with his head on the table, arms wrapped around himself firmly. 

“You’re gonna give yourself a concussion slamming your head around like that,” Chuuya says, a mix of concern and reprimand in his voice as he quickly steps back over to the table. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Dazai only turns his head on the table, as if it’s too heavy to lift. “Chuuya…” is all he says, groaning the word so quietly and yet with so much pain laced in his voice that Chuuya instantly feels a shock of panic jolt through him. 

Chuuya kneels down next to Dazai’s chair so that the latter doesn’t have to strain his eyes to look at him. “Osamu, look at me. You’re alright, okay? I’m–” he wants to say that he’s not going anywhere, but that’s only true for three, maybe four more hours. “You’re okay.”

“It just,” Dazai takes in a shaky breath, “it hurts so bad and I don’t want it. I don’t want to hurt all the time. I can’t do this.”

“You can, you can do this. You’re stronger than all of that bullshit, Osamu,” Chuuya says, only acutely aware that he’s pleading more than anything. 

It takes a minute for Dazai to gain the strength to say anything, and when he finally does it’s so quiet, so weak that Chuuya can barely hear as he whispers, “I don’t want to be strong. I can’t be strong forever. I want it all to go away.”

Chuuya reaches a hand up to brush the hair out of Dazai’s eyes, which have been staring blindly at the wall for the entirety of the conversation. Chuuya could see, could feel the emptiness from Dazai’s dark irises as if they were black holes sucking everything else in to make up for the nothingness inside. 

“Me too,” is all Chuuya manages to get out. He knows that he’s selfish to cry right now, but nothing could stop the tears from falling as he watches Dazai crumble in front of him. It’s happened before right in front of Chuuya’s eyes but somehow it never hurts any less to watch the most capable person he knows fall victim to his own mind. 

Dazai doesn’t say anything else, and Chuuya doesn’t trust his own voice to not waiver if he does, not that he could say anything to change what was happening anyways. Instead, he runs his hand slowly, carefully up and down Dazai’s back, feeling the ridges in his spine and the shallow breaths that sound painful for him to take. 

An hour or so passes with the two of them sitting in silence like this. Chuuya watches as the sharpness of Dazai’s pain melts into a constant, miserable ache. He wishes that Dazai could sleep when he was like this; not because Chuuya himself needed a break from watching over him, but because he could see so clearly how exhausted Dazai was. Years of sleep couldn’t take away Dazai’s pain, but at least when he was asleep he looked a little bit more at peace. 

Despite how long he’d known Dazai, Chuuya still would have happily sat next to him and studied every one of his features for as long as it took for Dazai to come back to himself. If that were an option, it would have been the one that Chuuya would have taken. He never wanted to push Dazai too far in times like these, scared that one push too far would send Dazai over the cliff. But sitting and praying for Dazai’s pain to go away wasn’t an option tonight–Chuuya had to leave in the morning and he needed to do something to get Dazai feeling at least a little bit more human again before he left. If he waited, God only knows how much worse Dazai would get if he were left alone to his thoughts. 

Letting out a small huff, Chuuya gets up from his position on the ground, “Let’s go. You need a bath.”

Dazai doesn’t so much as let out a petulant groan at Chuuya’s demand, which worries the executive. He didn’t expect much, but at least a sigh of disappointment that Chuuya was going to make him get up would have been a nice confirmation that Dazai was still conscious. Although, Chuuya supposed that it was better to know how difficult Dazai was going to be before attempting to help bathe him, even if the answer was that he was going to be extremely difficult. 

Chuuya bends down to slip himself under one of Dazai’s lanky arms. “Come on, Osamu. I’m not asking you to do it yourself, I’ll help you. Just work with me a little bit here.”

Surprisingly, Dazai complies. It’s begrudging and slow and not all that helpful, but he stands to his feet and allows Chuuya to drag him into his bathroom.

The scent of Chuuya’s bathroom is familiar to Dazai, a comforting feeling settling over the room even if he doesn't have the mind to acknowledge it. 

Without words, Chuuya runs water into the tub, allowing it to fill while he focuses on helping Dazai out of his clothes. Chuuya slips his coat off of him, followed by his vest, tie, shirt, and pants–working as quickly as he can while still being extremely careful; he knows that this is downright miserable to Dazai, so he tries to make the whole thing as painless as possible. 

When he gets to Dazai’s bandages, Chuuya finds himself holding his breath yet again. He’s seen the scars countless times, helped Dazai change his bandages plenty, but it always felt sensitive when it was a night like this. Where Chuuya knew that when he pulled back the white gauze he would see new, irritated cuts that Dazai hadn’t had the mind to properly take care of before leaving. Still, Chuuya remains steadfast in his resolve to take care of Dazai, never wavering once despite the constant urge to cry or maybe even scream threatening to overtake him. 

After what feels like years to both of them, Chuuya helps Dazai into the bath, which is now full of warm water that seems to diffuse a little bit of the tension that Dazai’s been holding onto. It’s not much, but Chuuya notes it as a small step, and he’s grateful for any progress that he can get. 

Carefully, almost as if Dazai were made of glass, Chuuya runs water over his head and body, movements so sure and steady that Dazai didn’t need to do anything other than sit there and allow himself to be taken care of. Chuuya shampooed and conditioned his hair with his own products–had it been just any other day, Chuuya would have griped about letting Dazai use his expensive products, but it wasn’t, so he lathered it through Dazai’s tangled hair without so much as a grimace. 

As he washed Dazai’s body, Chuuya couldn’t help but notice how frightfully thin Dazai was. It wasn’t like he was ever at a completely healthy weight, but it was unnerving how Chuuya could see every bone defined clearly beneath pale skin, and he wondered how long it truly had been since Dazai had been able to eat an entire meal. 

The bath didn’t take long, which they were both grateful for, although Chuuya did allow Dazai to sit in the warm water for a few extra minutes when he was done. A bit of indulgence could go a long way. 

Helping Dazai out of the bath proved to be just as much of a struggle as getting him in, but Chuuya did it and managed to get him fully dressed. It was as if Chuuya could hear the dueling going on in Dazai’s head. He knew that Dazai didn’t like being cared for like this, didn’t like to be pampered or allow himself even the slightest luxury; but it was difficult to fight against comfort. Despite his brain screaming at him, telling him that he didn’t deserve Chuuya, that he didn’t deserve to be treated this well, his body was comfortable, which dampened his desire to flee. 

It was almost eerie how quiet the penthouse remained since Dazai’s arrival. For someone who was known for his boisterous, outgoing nature, he had remained more or less silent the whole evening. Chuuya knew that Dazai’s thoughts were making up for the silence and more inside his head, but until he could find a way to sneak into Dazai’s brain, all he could do was help from the outside.

Chuuya had given Dazai one of the large sweatshirts that he left over here for times like this, as well as a pair of pajama pants that Chuuya had been sure to pick up after the first time Dazai’d had to wear Chuuya’s much too short pants. Although the voices hadn’t stopped in Dazai’s head, he could admit that he felt a little bit closer to Earth now, a bit more grounded than when he’d arrived. Guilt always accompanied that comfort, but Chuuya knew that as well as Dazai did, and was quick to try dismissing the guilt.

“What do you need from me now?” He asked as they sat on Chuuya’s bed. Dazai still remained rigid and preoccupied, but Chuuya could note that it was to a lesser degree now. 

The question was less of a question and more of a plea; Chuuya needed Dazai to tell him what he needed–not wanted–needed him to do. Every time he asked, Chuuya knew that he would do whatever Dazai asked at the drop of a hat, whatever that request was. 

Dazai remained silent for a moment or two, but Chuuya could see him turning the question around in his head, examining it and wondering just how much he could allow himself to ask for. 

“Can we just… lay here, for a while?” Dazai eventually asks, voice coming out so quietly, so hoarsely that Chuuya almost doesn’t recognize it. 

Chuuya nods and sits against the headboard. He knows that Dazai’s request is really for physical contact–something to keep him tethered to reality–but he doesn’t need to ask for it outright, and with Chuuya, he doesn’t need to.

He lays his head on Chuuya’s lap tentatively, like it might burn if he lets himself rest fully, but his fear is resolved when Chuuya brings a hand to his head and runs his fingers through Dazai’s still wet hair. There’s a release of tension when Dazai finally rests his head all the way on Chuuya’s legs, one that is followed by a sigh from both of them. 

For Dazai, the sigh is letting out the breath that he always held a little too long whenever he was asked to do something for himself. For Chuuya, the breath was a lot of things–the most prominent being worry. In only a few short hours, he had to leave for a week. He never wanted to leave Dazai for that long, but especially not now, when he could feel the pain radiating from him. Chuuya knew that to leave meant to leave Dazai utterly and entirely alone–a feeling which he knew was familiar for Dazai, but one that he never truly had to experience either as long as Chuuya was around.

He needs to tell Dazai, he thinks. If he has to postpone the mission, then so be it. He would rather stay here with Dazai than come home to him potentially in a state millions of times worse than this. There would be repercussions to postponing or even canceling such a big mission, but really Chuuya couldn’t care less about any of that as Dazai’s exhausted head rested in his lap. 

Sucking in a shaky breath, Chuuya tries to speak softly and evenly so as not to betray his own emotion. “I have a mission coming up,” he starts slowly, watching for any reaction from Dazai, “and I leave in the morning. Will you be okay if I go? You know I’ll cancel if I need to, just say the word–”

“No.” The interjection comes so suddenly that Chuuya isn’t sure that it was from Dazai. His eyebrows raise in confusion, but before he can ask anything, Dazai continues in a quiet voice, “Don’t cancel. Please don’t cancel because of me, I can’t do that to you.”

Chuuya’s heart breaks at the desperation in Dazai’s response, eyes burning as he replies, “Will you be okay if I leave though? I don’t care what you want me to do, Osamu, I care about what you need from me.”

Dazai breathes for a moment before responding, “I need you to go on that mission, Chuuya. I can’t take you from that and be any better than if you leave me here alone.”

It’s the response that Chuuya expected, unfortunately, but it’s not at all the one he wanted. If Dazai was going to insist that he leaves, he would have at least liked for him to seem a little more put together when doing so. He wasn’t upset at Dazai’s state of mind or his response, but man was he pissed at the world for making it this way. 

“Fine,” he concedes after battling the idea in his head. “But you’d better call me immediately if there’s a problem. Otherwise I’m staying right here.”

Dazai turns and faces Chuuya, looking up at him with a pitiful expression, “I will.”

Chuuya doesn’t reply further, instead taking the opportunity to peel the wet hair away from Dazai’s face, caressing his cheek lightly, tenderly as he does so. He looks into Dazai’s eyes, which although have gained a bit of consciousness behind them, still appear painfully empty. Chuuya wants to stay here with Dazai forever, reminding him that he is worth it, that he can deserve good things, and that he’s not the monster that he’s convinced himself he is. There’s a vicious clawing at his chest that reminds him that he can’t stay here; it makes Chuuya feel impossibly small–weak, even. 

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you,” he whispers, leaning his head up to avert his gaze from Dazai and avoid the tears threatening to spill. 

Chuuya doesn’t expect a response, doesn’t need one, but when he feels Dazai’s hand wrap around his wrist, he’s jolted out of his thoughts and forced to look at Dazai. 

“Don’t apologize,” Dazai says, his voice the most solid it’s been since he arrived, “you give me everything already, I know that. You give me everything that I don’t deserve and more, Chuuya. There’s nothing more that you could possibly do for me.”

Dazai’s voice is what breaks the dam that Chuuya has been building up carefully all night. Tears fall down his burning cheeks as he looks at Dazai with an untapped tenderness in his heart. It feels raw and burning, but Chuuya only clings to Dazai amongst the pain. He brings his other hand to Dazai’s face, staring at him through blurry eyes as he leans down to kiss his forehead. Chuuya hates feeling helpless, but more than anything he hates seeing Dazai helpless and not being able to fix it. He rests his head against Dazai’s as he cries, wishing that he could take it all away from Dazai, even if it meant taking it on himself. 

“I just want you to be okay,” he chokes out between soft sobs.

Dazai’s hold on Chuuya’s wrist tightens ever so slightly, prompting Chuuya to open his eyes and look at Dazai once again. He doesn't say anything, and Chuuya realizes that he doesn’t need to. There are no words to be spoken–he can’t tell Chuuya that he will be okay, because he doesn’t know himself if that’s true. He can’t tell Chuuya what he needs to hear, but he can remind him that he is here. It makes Chuuya feel pathetic, to be comforted by the man whom he was supposed to be comforting, but it sets his heart at ease nonetheless.

Nothing will ever take away Dazai’s pain, they both know that fully well. But Chuuya will stay at his side forever if that’s what Dazai needs, and Dazai will be there as well to thank Chuuya for being his crutch. Even when he doesn’t want it, Chuuya will always be there, unwavering and enduring for as long as they need, and as long as they can lean on each other, the world seems a little bit less cruel. 

side note, i'm also posting this on ao3 so idk if you like it go give me kudos or something there also. ship fic doesn't usually do so hot on tumblr but whatever i really like this so it's getting posted. i hope y'all enjoy and thank you so much for reading :)))

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IS ANYONE TALKING ABOUT THE RANPO AND FYODOR PARALLELS???

DAZAI REDEMPTION ARC AT THE COST OF RANPO CORRUPTION ARC????

Shhhh…. They’re busy recharging and being in love

Today I offer you: this very specific brand of sskk interactions

Oh no...

I won't apologize