#light stabbing

Dazai doesn't wish to render his services to Fyodor, actually. He's content where he is in the Japanese secret service, with a perpetually grumpy partner who he may or may not be in love with, and actually doing some good for once after nearly two decades spent in Japan's underground mafia scene.

It was unfortunate that one of the "good things" he's been assigned to do this time is to infiltrate the House of Rats and obtain information on their leader, Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Dazai's met him once while he'd been in the mafia, a literal demon even among the most unscrupulous souls of the underground world. Cruel, mysterious, and downright sinister. It's fitting that his organisation is named the House of Rats, in Dazai's opinion.

But it's also because Dazai and Fyodor have met before that they chose him for this operation.

"Don't pretend you've never met me, Mr. Fyodor." Dazai allows his darkest smirk to stretch over his face. "From one demon to another, I think you know how difficult it is to hide our true nature. The secret services had been fun for a while, but I'm bored now. There's only so much trouble you can cause when you have the government breathing down your neck the whole time."

"Well then, if you put it that way, Executive Dazai," his old moniker sounds even more nauseating on Fyodor's tongue, "I will always welcome a man like you into my organisation." But his tone isn't final, and Dazai braces himself for what's to come next.

"I believe your old boss Mori Ougai should have taught you that you need to earn your place in any organisation." Fyodor's smile stretches, becomes even more foreboding.

And there's the kicker. Dazai doesnt allow the tenseness he feels to show in his shoulders, instead forces himself to relax, smiling serenely at Fyodor. "Of course. What will you have me do?"

The fruit knife in Fyodor's hand thuds into the wood right at Dazai's feet.

"You have a partner in the secret service, don't you? Kill him, and I'll immediately make you my right hand man."

Dazai's blood runs cold.

~~~~

It was unusual for his partner to ask to meet out of the blue, and even more unusual that he gave him the time and place of the meeting. It's usually Kunikida who makes all these arrangements, because Dazai's too lazy to do it himself.

When he slides into the seat opposite Dazai in the restaurant, Kunikida's glad that he'd actually listened when Dazai told him to dress up. The restaurant is on the higher end of upscale, situated in a ballroom-esque setting and an area of the floor sectioned off for patrons to dance to a classical live band.

Dazai himself is in a three-piece waistcoat suit. He only ever dresses this fancily if it was for an assignment, and Kunikida feels his eyebrows raise. "Are we undercover for a mission no one told me about?" He asks, only half-joking. He wouldn't put it past Dazai to actually do such a thing.

"It's Christmas, Kunikida-kun." Dazai grins and pours some wine into his glass. "The Agency gave both of us some off time, can't I use it to enjoy a date with my favourite partner?"

Kunikida's not stupid enough to believe Dazai's words, massive flirt that he was. No matter how much he wishes it was true. He snorts and rolls his eyes instead. "The last thing I'd want to do on my off time is to look at your incorrigible face, after having to see it almost every day for the last five years."

"You wound me, Kunikida-kun! Not even when I've asked you out on a romantic dinner? I'm even paying, this time." Dazai's dramatic pout makes Kunikida roll his eyes again, more fondly this time because of his partner's antics.

The words however stir some concern in him. "Hey, Dazai…" Kunikida starts, searching his partner's face. Dazai hums inquisitively. "I'm asking seriously now. Are you okay? Is there something you need to talk to me about?" Dazai never pays if he can help it, and that fact alone is ringing all kinds of alarm bells in his head.

Dazai sighs softly, then looks up at him with the most beautific smile he's ever seen on his partner's face. "Always so perceptive, Kunikida-kun. I could never have asked for a better partner."

The comment takes Kunikida aback, and he flusters for a moment as he thinks about how to respond. For Dazai to sound this sincere, to say something so… so emotion-filled is so far out of the left field for him that Kunikida is stunned speechless. And it makes him feel even more concerned than before. Kunikida frowns, certain now that something was up with his partner.

"Dazai. What's wrong? And if you say you're going to die soon or something cryptic like that, I will kill you."

A laugh bubbles out from Dazai's throat, but it sounds wrong. Almost hysteric. Helpless, Kunikida thinks, watching his partner carefully from across the table. Dazai's laugh sounds like he's helpless to do anything but - like if he wasn't laughing, he'd be crying instead.

Kunikida has never seen Dazai cry, but somehow he's sure that this would be the expression he'd make if he was about to.

Instead of answering him, Dazai stands, and holds out a hand. "Care for a dance, Kunikida-kun?"

~~~~~~

It's not like it's their first time dancing together. They've received sufficient training to hold their own in a waltz, and they've had to dance - with each other or with other people - several times on many different assignments together.

Dazai's leading this time, one hand holding his, the other on the small of his back. His breath flutters ghost-like across Kunikida's neck. The hand on his back is trembling - just ever so slightly, but enough for Kunikida to notice.

Dazai is nervous. No, Dazai is scared, and Kunikida knows this not because of the way the secret service taught him to read people, but because he knows Dazai. Kunikida glances at the huge glass windows on either side of the room - the first flakes of snow have begun to fall, and while the other patrons are ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the display, Dazai remains tight-lipped and silent, barely refusing to make eye contact with Kunikida as they waltz flawlessly across the floor.

Kunikida leans in towards Dazai, his lips close to Dazai's ear, and doesn't miss the way his partner's breath catches just slightly in his throat. "Will you please just tell me what's going on?" He murmurs lowly, so the people around them can't hear. "You can't seriously think I haven't noticed that we're being watched, do you?" It's the reason why he made that joke about Dazai's outfit at the start of the dinner - he'd noticed almost immediately that there was something off about several patrons seated at the tables around them.

Dazai closes his eyes as if pained. "Kunikida-kun," he whispers brokenly, voice sounding entirely wrecked. His arm tightens around Kunikida's waist, pulling him even closer, closer, impossibly closer since there was barely any space between them in the first place and -

Dazai's kissing him.

Dazai's kissing him, hard and desperate and hungry and sad, like Kunikida would disappear the second he lets go of him. Kunikida kisses back, confused but more than ready to finally give in to the tension that's been between them for years but they've never addressed, and if this was the only thing Dazai is hiding from him tonight then he's more than happy to have the air sucked out from his lungs. And then he does need to take a breath, so he pushes Dazai's face gently away and takes a step back, and it's then he realises the real reason for his breathlessness.

There's a knife in his back.

Kunikida doesn't understand it at first, feeling warmth seeping through the back of his shirt, then touching it with his fingers to find that they come away red. He's been trained for this, he should know what to do if - when he's been stabbed, but he stands there frozen because he knows there is only one person who could have put that knife there.

Dazai watches him, eyes wild and dark and empty of emotion. Kunikida makes a punched-out noise when he tries to take in a breath and fails - it suddenly seems like there's a gaping chasm between him and Dazai, but that might also be due to his tunnelling vision - yet, when he falls hard to his knees, Dazai is suddenly there and up-close to catch him.

There are screams from the other customers when they finally notice what's going on, sounds of high-heels and dress shoes running away from them, voices of several people calling the police, an ambulance. Kunikida doesn't register any of these sounds, only searching for an explanation in the depths of his partner's cold gaze. He grabs at Dazai's arm, too weak to reach up for his collar; Kunikida realises he's fading too quickly for it to just be from the stab wound, but he can't understand why. "Dazai," he groans instead. "Why…?"

Dazai's smile is tremulous. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, Kunikida-kun. I hope you'll understand."

Hope. Despite Kunikida's rapidly fading consciousness, the word triggers a memory. It was a code decided between them, a secret signal that meant "follow my lead" in the event that their conversation was being monitored and they couldn't speak freely. Dazai always joked that since he never hopes for anything, too beaten down by the realities of life to even think about wants, he'd never use the word unless it meant their code.

"I trust you." Kunikida's voice is barely a whisper on the last word, but he tightens his grip on Dazai's arm to make sure his partner knows. That he does understand, that Kunikida believes that this too is all part of whatever plan Dazai is trying to put in place from this.

Because if he was wrong, and this is something that Dazai actually wants… then it'd serve him right to die a fool.

"I trust you, and… I love you."

Kunikida is rewarded with one last, incredulous look from Dazai before his vision goes black, and he succumbs entirely to the darkness.

~~~~~

It's Yosano who slaps him awake.

Kunikida jerks upright, a cry of "Dazai!" fading on his lips.

"Good. Almost thought you'd actually died for a minute there, Kunikida." Yosano says as she peels off her surgical gloves. Kunikida stares at her, bewildered, not comprehending why he's in the Agency's sickbay.

"Yosano-sensei? Why…" Kunikida blinks, glancing around the room.

"I have to say, that was a big risk Dazai took." Yosano continues on blithely. Kunikida whips his head back around at the mention of his partner's name.

"He didn't stab the knife that deep, but any small miscalculation could have led him to severing your spinal nerve or nicking your lung. There was a special poison on the blade - designed by yours truly - that would make you appear dead but not actually kill you. But Dazai gambled on the fact that I'd get to you in time to administer the antidote." Yosano grins, seeming to enjoy the look of growing horror on Kunikida's face as she explained Dazai's plan. "A Juliet without his Romeo, basically."

It feels like there's glass in his throat when he takes a breath. "Romeo died in that story, Yosano-san."

"Hmm. Perhaps he did." The doctor replies with a shrug, unbothered. "Dazai was smart to do it in a public location - with the chaos your "stabbing" created, Fyodor's men couldn't check your body thoroughly enough to make sure it was fatal before the ambulance arrived, and from there it was easy to fake your death certificate and steal you away from the hospital."

Kunikida's fist slamming hard into the bedrail startles both himself and Yosano. The anger bubbling in his chest sends hot blood rushing through his veins, frustration at himself, at the situation he is in, at Dazai.

I hope you'll understand.

"Fyodor," Kunikida growls, the name finally registering in his mind. The name of one of the great devils of the underground world. A kingpin that the secret service would likely do anything to take down. "Dazai's mission…?"

Yosano nods.

"He could have just told me." Kunikida whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. He grips the bedrail so hard it creaks. "He didn't have to do this alone."

"Dazai's probably fighting his own battle right now." Yosano says, pity entering her expression for the first time since Kunikida awoke. There's a darker tone in her voice that makes Kunikida wonder, not for the first time, what history the doctor had before joining the secret service, and if it had been anything like Dazai's. "Playing his own game. He and Fyodor used to belong to the same circles - he probably didn't want to involve you in this. Trust in his plan, Kunikida."

"But he's my partner," Kunikida protests. "I have to -"

"In these five years, has he ever let you down?" Yosano smiles at him when Kunikida blinks, taken aback. "You should trust him."

I trust you. Kunikida did say those words to Dazai, right before he blacked out, and wasn't as surprised as he thought he would be to realise it was true. Whatever Dazai was planning, it somehow had to involve making Kunikida look dead to achieve it - which meant that Kunikida had to keep his head down and lie low for a while, as much as he didn't want to. Doing anything else would only jeopardise Dazai's mission.

But that doesn't mean he wouldn't go all in, guns blazing, the second Dazai sends the signal to get him out.

And… he’d said something else to Dazai too beyond trusting him. Yet another thing that revealed how much his world has come to revolve around this enigmatic partner of his, who had been steadfastly by his side these five years, who brought unimaginable joy and chaos into Kunikida’s otherwise perfectly organised life.

He wouldn’t have had it any other way - and the look in Dazai’s eyes that night told him that his feelings might just be reciprocated after all.

He’s not letting Dazai disappear, not until he gets the chance to hear Dazai say it back.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

****

He wakes to burning heat, the cloying stench of sweat and blood, and a buzzing-ringing in his ears.

Talon—Grayson. It is Grayson, remember this—winces, curling up on his side as his eyes open, taking in the sights around him. He freezes.

He is surrounded by people dressed head to toe in black, guns slung across shoulders and katanas drawn at the ready. He panics for a brief moment as the situation registers; the sun pounds down mercilessly upon him, he is surrounded by warriors that are decidedly not-Talons and Talon— GraysonRichardGraysonRichardGrayson— does not remember how he arrived here.

His hand sneaks to his belt, fingers clutching tightly to his blade. If he must fight his way out of here to live another day, so be it. He is not done with this life yet.

The crunch of boots across sand catches his attention and he pushes up to an elbow to observe. He's tense all over, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. A set of boots pauses before him. Another stands behind.

"Get up."

The order is said calmly, quietly, but there is a danger there, a threat beneath the words that Richard picks up on all too easily. He glances upwards at the woman before him, her gaze smooth but deadly. Richard does not move, his eyebrows drawn down in confusion and anger. Her lips purse at his lack of action.

"I will not ask again."

Richard does not move, except to grip the handle of his blade tighter and loosen the rest of his limbs in preparation. The boots behind him shift forwards, and Richard is suddenly a blur of motion, kicking out at the figure behind him and bringing them to their knees as he shoves his blade into their shoulder. Before he can make another move, a hand is latched into his hair and pulling him viciously up to his own knees, a sword held flush to his throat.

He stills.

The woman glares at him, eyes cold and calculating.

"You will answer my questions honestly, or I will split your throat and leave you to bleed out in the sand. You try to attack or escape, I will run you through. Do you understand?"

Richard glowers at her, hatred seething from every pore. He had risked his life escaping from the Talons to find his way home, wherever that was anymore, only to stumble into another group of assassins. How lucky.

"Ask your questions," he grits roughly, his throat parched. "If my answers are not to your satisfaction, that does not make them any less true. Will you uphold your word?"

"That depends on your answers," she replies. "If they are...dissatisfactory, I may change my mind."

"Typical, of an assassin of the Shadows."

She freezes, there and gone before anyone else would have noticed. She hums. "Perhaps. But we protect what is ours, regardless of outcome. Now answer me this: what is your name?"

He's quiet a moment too long, and her hand tightens in his hair. He hisses.

"Richard," he bites. "My name is Richard."

"No surname?"

"No."

Grayson is mine, he thinks viciously. No one else will know that name, no one else will take it away. No more Talon, no more Gray Son.

She frowns, fingers shifting on the hilt of her sword. "I left a name behind long ago," he continues. "No one else knows me by it, or ever will. It is irrelevant, and is of no use to you."

Her eyes narrow.

“That is yet to be determined. But no mind. Next question: why have you come to this place?”

“I—it was an accident,” he admits haltingly, embarrassed. Always be aware of your surroundings. Remember all. Forget nothing, lest risk death. Mistakes will result in your termination.

And yet.

“I don’t know how I got here, or where here is.”

“You knew I was of the Shadows, and yet you do not know where you are?”

“No,” he admits quietly. “Knowing one is a Shadow does not mean I know where they reside.” She meets his gaze head on, her eyes searching for any semblance of a lie. He holds steady, sweat drenching every bit of him, too many pairs of eyes watching the situation unfold. It makes him nervous.

“Very well,” she says, roughly releasing his hair and pulling the sword from his throat. Dick takes a shaky, steadying breath, limbs trembling suddenly in the adrenaline crash and heat and exhaustion. “Get up,” she commands again, watching him closely as he pockets his blade. “We are not finished yet.