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silvfyre-writings · 2 months

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Take their names out of your mouth (BSD Fanfic)

I return with bramran!! I always have so much fun writing hurt/comfort fics, and this one is no different. I also have a personal goal of having bramran reach 30 fics by the end of the year, so let's see how that goes :D

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Ranpo’s day starts off fine.

He goes to work, he solves cases, he gets praised; it’s the same as every other day, and yet there is a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that just sits there… waiting. What for, he doesn’t know—well, it’s more that he doesn’t care, since if it was truly important, then the feeling would be at the forefront of his mind. So, he forgets about it.

Until lunch.

The moment he goes down to the café below the Agency, and sits in one of the booths, a sickeningly sweet sundae in front of him, it all goes downhill. He manages to enjoy just four bites of his sundae before his mood flips, because that’s when two officers that he’d worked with earlier in the week, walk into the café, talking shit about him.

Now, Ranpo isn’t one to let other’s words get to him. Not since the day Fukuzawa picked him up and told him that he was special. There wasn’t much point in his opinion, since it’s already been long established that he’s the smartest in the room, and that everyone else is just stupid, which includes the useless words that often spill out of their mouths. But there were times, like right now, where the words seemed specifically designed to hurt him, and it was always when people thought they were alone.

Ranpo’s used to people insulting him right in his face, gets a rise out of returning the favour to whoever speaks them, but he gets frustrated when people do it when they think he’s not around, because it’s not a game then, and Ranpo can’t defend himself.

Not to mention that the words are always crueller, more truthful, when people think you can’t hear them.

He says nothing as the officers walk up to the counter to place their order, and ducks his head when they move to sit at the booth behind him. It’s unintentional on their part, but in Ranpo’s mind that doesn’t matter; it’s not like the café is busy at this hour, and it’s not as if it’s hidden knowledge that the Agency is just a few floors up. Either these two are waiting for a superior that’s gone up the stairs, or they’re hoping that he’ll come down them.

Well, the jokes on them, since he’s already here, and openly eavesdropping on them.

“What’s Edogawa’s deal anyway?” One of the officer’s say, contempt in their voice as they speak to their companion. “What right does he have to come trouncing over our crime scene?”

“He’s been doing it for twelve or so years apparently.” The other officer says, less upset than their companion, but still annoyed. “Yasui-san let him get away with it for so long, and now Minoura-san’s doing the same. Our bosses seriously need to get a backbone—”

Ranpo narrows his eyes. Yasui and Minoura both have plenty of backbone, having stood up to him many times in the past when they’d believed him to be wrong—he’d eventually proven that he was right though, but that wasn’t the point.

“—otherwise we’ll never be respected.”

“We aren’t respected anyway. Edogawa’s made it quite clear that we’re nothing but a speck of dirt on his shoe.” Comes the bitter response. “Clearly his parents never bothered to teach him respect.”

In an instant Ranpo freezes, spoonful of ice cream stopping just in front of his mouth. The wound that was the loss of his parents tearing open like it’d never healed in the first place. Across the room, he sees Lucy look at him in concern that is bridled by anger, silently asking if he wants her to step in and chase these people out. Ranpo tightens his grip on his spoon and shakes his head. This is a battle he’s more than capable of dealing with; it’s not as if people haven’t tried to use his parents—or lack thereof—against him before. He’s an adult now, not some wayward teenager, that knows his worth and has people that care about him. The opinion of some dissatisfied officers is nothing to him, he’ll let them finish their complaining and then—

“He’s an orphan apparently. They probably died before they could.”

And then—

A humourless chuckle, followed by the sound of utensils. “What’s the bet they orchestrated that accident themselves just to get away from their asshole kid?”

And then—

“Hey!” Lucy intervened then, rushing out from behind the counter and storming over, arms crossed, and a furious scowl on her face. “I don’t know what your problem is, but we don’t tolerate that kind of talk here. So get out before I throw you out.” Silence follows her words which gives her the opportunity to turn towards him. “Ranpo-san, can I get something for you?” Do you want me to call the Agency down?

And then Ranpo smiles. He stands, eyes flicking from Lucy towards the officer’s whose faces have turned ashen. One of them opens their mouth to say something—no doubt an apology they don’t even mean in the first place—but Ranpo cuts them off before the first syllable can leave their mouth. “No thanks. I’m just about to leave.” It’s fine, I’ve got it handled.

“Edogawa—”

“Enjoy your meal officers. I do hope that I’ll see you on the next case Minoura-kun calls me out for.” The words are empty, and Ranpo can see the realisation and fear in their eyes as they figure out that he fully intends on telling Minoura what they’ve said about him, and that depending on how courteous Minoura is, their jobs may be on the line.

Not that Ranpo cares. They should’ve been more aware of their surroundings before they started running their mouths.

He drops some money onto the table before he leaves. It’s rude, he knows that, but right now he just needs to leave. The atmosphere of the café is stifling, threatening to suffocate him, and that feeling he’s had since morning has made itself known. Overwhelmed. Something that happens frequently, yet never recognises because the build-up is always different. And yet, the triggers always seem to be the same; someone saying something that he disagrees with, that sets him off in an instant.

His parents is one such trigger.

Once upon a time, when he’d first begun to live with Fukuzawa, they’d argued. It was bound to happen considering their differences in personality, and the shift in dynamic that they’d both still been getting used to at the time. Buttons were pressed, barbs were thrown, and it was the first time that Ranpo’s parents had been dragged into the conversation to make a negative point. He still remembered that moment clearly; the words leaving Fukuzawa’s mouth, the way the older man stiffened the moment he realised what he’d said, and Ranpo’s world coming to a screeching halt.

Fukuzawa, of course, apologised immediately, and they managed to talk it out—otherwise Ranpo wouldn’t have stayed with the man—but it still didn’t change that the words were said in the first place. What mattered was what happened afterwards, and after that argument, Ranpo’s parents were never brought up when emotions were high.

And now they’d been brought up again, by strangers, who had no right to speculate about their deaths—the deaths that were proven to have been an accident.

And still, Ranpo can’t stop himself from jumping from zero to a hundred the moment they get brought up.

He leaves the café behind, and instead of going upstairs to the Agency, he leaves the building entirely. The world around him sounds like it’s underwater, and his vision is swimming, even though he knows there’s nothing physically wrong with him. It’s like he’s stepped out of his body, moving on autopilot to a destination he doesn’t know. And he just lets it happen. He doesn’t try to fight it, even though he knows he should. He doesn’t try to think, to understand, what just happened, and he completely ignores the emotions his mind is trying to make him feel.

Despair, anger, fear; he squashes them into a ball and locks them away in the corner of his mind.

Right now, Edogawa Ranpo feels nothing, and that is just fine by him.

He’s not sure how long he walks for, nor is he sure where he’s gone, but what breaks him out of his stupor is the whistle of a train. He jerks, stumbling over his feet, and colliding with a stranger that shoves him away with a look of disgust. The touch burns, it truly burns, hot and heavy where the brief contact had occurred. Someone else brushes past him, and that touch burns too. Ranpo wraps his arm around himself, suddenly overwhelmed for a different reason now as the world filters back in.

The noise of the station. The brightness of the lights. The compressed feeling of the air.

It’s all too much for him, his knees give out and he collapses to the floor. He covers his face with his hands and presses it against the ground, uncaring that it’s a dirty station floor. He just wants the world to stop right now, and this is the best way he can—by pretending that it simply doesn’t exist.

It doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t. Just because he stops, doesn’t mean that everyone around him is going to do the same. Around him he can hear whispers; a child points at him and asks his parent what the strange man is doing—hush now, just ignore him. It reminds him of his parents, when they would take the time to explain things that he didn’t understand until he could. It makes him miss them even more than he already does, and his heart aches, along with the rest of his body.

He thinks he hears someone ask if he’s okay—or it might be if he needs help, he doesn’t know—but he can’t hear them clearly over the roaring in his ears, over the cacophony the station provides.

Ranpo wants to scream, he wants to tear his hair out, but all he can do is lay against the dirty station floor and just shut down.

There’s a cold touch against his face, but before he can panic, the world goes silent, and a heavy weight presses on his back.

And Ranpo feels like he can breathe again.

After a moment, he raises his head, and finds himself staring into the crimson eyes of his vampiric lover. Bram stares at him, concerned, even as the rest of his face is in its usual monotone look—it’s the eyes, always the eyes—and Ranpo feels Bram’s nails against the back of his scalp. The touch is gentle, soothing, because the older is more than aware of how to handle Ranpo when he’s at his worst, which is why Bram doesn’t say anything as Ranpo tries to pull himself together.

Only, his body chooses then to completely betray him, because he feels tears well up in his eyes and spill down his cheeks. How embarrassing, he thinks, to be breaking down in the middle of a train station during rush hour, but before he can hide away from the world again, Bram presses his hands firmer against his ears, which also prevents Ranpo from lowering his head, and leans forward to press a kiss against his forehead.

The gesture calms Ranpo. He can feel his heartbeat slowing, his airway clearing—he hadn’t even been aware of his panicked breathing, that’s how out of it he was—and soon, he feels like he can face the world again, even as the first wave of exhaustion hits him. He moves to sit up, and Bram follows him, hands not once leaving their place in blocking out the sounds of the world. The weight on his back slips, but is quickly readjusted, and that’s when Ranpo realizes that it’s Bram’s coat that’s resting around his shoulders. But considering that the vampire’s hands are currently occupied, he’s not sure who it is that’s also witnessing him crumble apart.

He receives an answer when Aya steps into view, keeping a respectful distance as she observes quietly. Her face is openly concerned, and she shifts from side to side, wanting to help, but knowing him well enough to keep her distance. And Ranpo appreciates it. His words fail him when he tries to say as such, so he gives the girl what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Aya returns it, which makes him think he succeeded.

“Ranpo.” Bram’s voice is muffled, but he’s kneeling close enough that Ranpo can still hear his words. He looks up into those eyes of crimson, blinking slowly—tiredly. “Can you cover your ears so we can get you out of here?”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Ranpo’s mind, and when they do, he nods, and brings his hands up to replace Bram’s own. For a split second, in the moment where Bram moves his hands, and Ranpo covers his own ears, the sounds of the station flood his senses and threaten to overwhelm him, but soon enough, the sounds become muffled again, and Ranpo finds himself focusing on the warmth that is Bram’s body as the older man swings Ranpo up into his arms, coat and all.

Ranpo keeps his eyes closed as Bram walks; normally he’d be embarrassed at being carried in public, but he’s already long passed that, so he instead focuses on the gentle motions that lull him into further calmness. This is where Bram’s absurd height comes in handy; the extra inches somehow allow the vampire to move smoothly—he’s also sure it’s just centuries of practice, but Ranpo likes to imagine it’s the height. Longer legs and all that.

After that, Ranpo loses time. He opens his eyes after what he thinks is a few minutes to find that they’ve left the station entirely now, and that they’re in a park that’s thankfully devoid of other people. Bram stops in front of a park bench, and glances down at him before moving to set him on his feet. Ranpo allows it, but still clings to the other with one hand as he sits. He doesn’t want to let go and risk Bram leaving him too—an unreasonable thought, but Ranpo’s never been the most rational person after a meltdown.

Almost as if he can read Ranpo’s mind, Bram sits beside him, and reaches to grab at the hand that’s clutching his shirt with one of his own, gently pulling it away and lacing their fingers together. Bram studies him carefully before he turns to Aya. “I wish to speak with Ranpo alone. Will you be alright to continue to the Agency on your own?”

“Of course I will be.” Aya exclaims, hands on her hips. It’s an act; Ranpo can see the stress on her face, not at going on alone, but for him. Turns out Kunikida was right when he said that the girl was empathetic to everyone she knew, regardless of closeness. Ranpo blinks as her eyes fall on him. “Hope you feel better soon, Ranpo-san. I’ll tell the others you’re with Bra-chan.”

The words get lodged in his throat again, so Ranpo simply inclines his head in response. Aya skips off in the next second, leaving him alone with Bram, and it’s the most at peace he’s felt since the incident in the café.

Bram runs a thumb over the back of Ranpo’s knuckles soothingly. “Are you able to talk yet?”

Ranpo shakes his head. He’s calmer now than before, but it still feels like there’s something trapping his words within him, locking them within a cage that’s gotten lodged in his throat. Even after swallowing, the feeling doesn’t go away.

“That’s okay.” Bram says, squeezing his hand this time. “I can take you back to your dorm?”

He nods this time, and tightens his grip on his lover’s hand.

“Of course I will stay with you.” Bram stands and tugs Ranpo upright. With his free hand, he adjusts the coat around Ranpo’s shoulders again, and then they set off for the Agency dorms, where Ranpo can curl up underneath his futon and hide from the world, but this time, not lose himself entirely.

Today has certainly been a day.

The moment that the door shuts behind him, Ranpo drops Bram’s hand and strides towards his bedroom, ripping off his clothes as he goes, leaving them scattered about. Normally his clothes bring him comfort, the loose material doing wonders to stop his senses from overloading, but now, they suffocate him. He’s almost certain that it’s just him, and not actually the clothes, considering the suffocating feeling only eases off marginally once he’s naked, but if he tells himself enough that it helps, he’s sure that he’ll believe it eventually.

It’s the better option when the other is him tearing at his skin to try and get rid of it.

Behind him, he can hear Bram moving about, can hear him picking up the clothes that Ranpo discards, and ignores it in favour of his futon. He practically dives into it, drawing the blankets up and over his head until there’s nothing but darkness and his own shaky breathing. He’s pathetic, truly pathetic, to be hiding from the world like this. Earlier, he claimed to himself that he was an adult, that could handle things in an adult manner, but here he is, breaking into pieces like he used to when he was a teenager lost in the world.

“You are allowed to break, Ranpo. There’s no shame in how you handle things.”

The words echo in his mind, words from over a decade ago that he’s clung to for so long in moments like these. The reminder helps him to believe that he’s not overreacting, and that this is just how he was built to handle things. He remembers being told once, that what others see as an overreaction, is simply just him responding to a situation in the way his mind was programmed to. Everyone is different, that voice continues to say. Where one may cry, another may not. Being shamed for your reaction is wrong.

Ranpo repeats those words in his mind, and jumps when light invades his cocoon. A protest that dies as fast as it forms, half-heartedly falls from his lips as warm arms envelop him, pulling him against a chest with a steadily beating heart. He turns his head to press an ear closer to it, until all he can hear his that heartbeat. As he listens, he relaxes, and when the first drag of nails through his hair comes, he relaxes even more.

“I have you.” Bram murmurs, the words reverberating beneath Ranpo’s ear. They bring tears to his eyes that he refuses to let fall. But of course, that fails when Bram repeats his words. “I have you.”

The first sob comes as expected, so do the first lot of tears. What isn’t expected is the wail that he lets out, all the words that have been trapped inside him escaping in that one cry.

And then Ranpo breaks.

Bram holds him close, humming soothingly into the crown of his head, and running one hand through his hair. The other is wrapped around his shoulders, a reassuring weight. It’s a relief to have Bram there, Ranpo finds, as he cries and throws his fists against that firm chest. The vampire isn’t spooked by him breaking, nor does he mock or call him a fool for being unable to control himself when his emotions take the reins. All his love ever does is hold him close and accept it. He soothes, he holds, as one does when the one you care about his hurting, but he always goes at the pace that Ranpo sets, no matter how long it might go on for.

This time, it’s just a few minutes, probably due to him having broken at the train station earlier, and Ranpo sniffs, croaking out a quiet I’m sorry.

“No need to apologise.” Bram says, not once letting up in his ministrations. He does loosen his grip though, allowing Ranpo to shift so they can be eye level without Ranpo needing to crane his neck.

Ranpo closes his eyes and sniffs again. He feels the lingering tears be brushed away, and decides that he owes Bram an explanation, a small one, a summary. “Some officers were being assholes when they thought I couldn’t hear them.”

Bram hums. “Aren’t they usually?”

He’s not wrong, but still, Ranpo corrects him. “They brought up my parents. In a not nice way.”

The hand in his hair stills, and the atmosphere turns icy. There is pure venom in Bram’s voice as he speaks. “How dare they.”

New tears form in Ranpo’s eyes, and he shuffles forward to press his face into the crook of Bram’s neck. Bram immediately wraps his arms around him protectively. The other’s anger is reassuring, and he knows that if it weren’t for his poor emotional state, that Bram would be flying out the door to hunt down and, well, he’s not quite sure what Bram would do actually; it could be anywhere from scaring to eviscerating, and Ranpo finds himself entertaining both options.

“Will you be okay?” Bram asks after a moment.

Will you be okay, not are you okay. God, Ranpo loves this man.

“I will be.” He says. “But not right now.”

Ranpo feels lips against his temple, the words that follow, whispered into his ear. “That is fine. Take your time, love, I am not going anywhere.”

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #hurt/comfort #comfort #bramran #bram stoker #edgar allan poe #writing #fanfic

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silvfyre-writings · 2 months

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Go, go read it!! It's only on AO3 for now!!

Hiii the second chapter of the Infection AU collab with @silvfyre-writings just dropped hehehe

I hope y'all are ready for the ride :)))

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54246199/chapters/137857318…

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanart #ranpo edogawa #yosano akiko #pain #so much pain

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silvfyre-writings · 2 months

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Resilient like a Cactus (BSD Fanfic)

I return with another Journey of Parenting fic! It's been a while since my last Fukuzawa and Ranpo fic, so I am excited to share this with all of you!! I finished this a while ago, but because I was working on Infection AU at the same time, I wanted to finish writing that before I posted anything else.

I can't remember if I stated Ranpo's age in the fic, but just in case I didn't, they are fifteen at this point in the timeline.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and if you liked it, leave a like and a comment, maybe even a reblog!!! Comments are food to us writers, so don't be afraid to!!

ENJOY <3

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Those were the words that ran through Fukuzawa’s brain as he walked through alleyways, keeping to the shadows and trying to avoid attracting attention from those he wished not to interact with. Which was everyone loitering about as he strongly wished he were anywhere but here right now. However his mission for this evening was important, so important that it had to be done, which mean that sacrifices—such as that of his comfort—were necessary, and that he would minimise his complaints.

A hard thing to do when he was on his way to visit one Mori Ougai.

The underground doctor was someone that Fukuzawa loathed dealing with, even though he’d only dealt with the man a few times for protection jobs. There was just something about him that irked Fukuzawa, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and no, it wasn’t how Mori Ougai conducted his business in the underground. Fukuzawa was well aware that Mori’s hands weren’t clean, but who was he to judge when his own were just as filthy? But even so, the fewer encounters they had with each other, the better. Unfortunately, though, it just so happened that Mori was the only person that could actually help Fukuzawa with his problem without being annoying, what with his wide information network that spread across the entirety of Yokohama.

Did it still leave him with a sour feeling in his stomach? Yes.

But did he have any other choice? No.

After all, the reason he was even venturing out this late was because of a certain teenager in his care. His heart gave a pang as his thoughts drifted towards Ranpo, who he’d left sleeping comfortably in their bed, unable to keep himself from worrying over them. It hadn’t been a good day for either of them—Fukuzawa had been awoken by screams, and thrown himself from his futon to find Ranpo clutched in the grips of a nightmare. He’d managed to wake the younger, holding them close as they broke in his arms, as such had been the occurrence for the past week, until they’d calmed.

Ranpo never said what the nightmares were about, but they didn’t have to, not when they would clutch at their shoulder with a grip so tight after waking, that Fukuzawa had to pry their fingers off to make sure that they didn’t break the skin.

It was the only time that Fukuzawa ever felt helpless. It always broke his heart, and left his gut clenching to know how much Ranpo suffered whenever such nightmares occurred. And it wasn’t just that, but the way that sometimes, the two of them would just be talking, and Ranpo would suddenly cut off, a haunted look to their face as they recalled a memory that Fukuzawa wasn’t privy to. And sometimes, he would walk past Ranpo’s room, to see the teen standing in front of the mirror, eyes focused on that god-forsaken scar on his shoulder.

And the fact that Fukuzawa could do nothing but watch and support from the sidelines… well, it just left him wishing he could do more.

Hence why he was seeking Mori out instead of working for him for a change.

Because he knew that if he tried to go outside of the underground for what he was hoping to accomplish, he would be arrested faster than he could draw his sword, and Ranpo would be whisked away, either back to the streets, or into a system that had no hope of ever understanding him. Not that Ranpo knew what Fukuzawa was doing—at least, that’s what he thought—and he hoped to keep it that way until he had a definite answer to give.

Mori wasn’t impossible to track down, but he certainly wasn’t the easiest to find, and by the time that Fukuzawa figured out where the doctor was hiding, the sun was tucked well below the horizon, the moon providing the only source of light where even the street lights didn’t dare to try and reach. Such darkness would scare most people, but the darkness was his second home, where he’d once thrived before he’d encountered Ranpo.

Killing.

Hurting.

And while he’d stepped away from such a life, there was no denying that side of him. It was part of the reason why he hated having to work with Mori on the odd occasion; the man was extremely good at pushing all his buttons, riling him up until he wanted to either explode or behead the man, and reminding Fukuzawa of the life he constantly tried to push behind him.

Fukuzawa shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the present as he turned down the alleyway that he needed. Focusing on the past was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, not that he would ever place the blame on Ranpo for any of it. It wasn’t their fault that the adults, aside from that of their parents, had failed them when they needed guidance the most. A task that now fell to Fukuzawa, and one that he intended to do well at, even if his methods were sure to raise eyebrows.

A brief memory flashed across his mind, one of blood and tears, and the reason why he was venturing out to begin with.

Finally, Fukuzawa reached the door of Mori’s clinic, and knocked on the door in a specific way; a code that only Mori could decipher, one that would let the underground doctor know that it was him. And sure enough, not even a minute after knocking, did the door crack open, and those familiar eyes of saturated pink peered through the gap, eyeing Fukuzawa cautiously.

Clearly, the doctor had had another run-in with people after his head.

“Mori-sensei.” Fukuzawa greeted, forcing himself to be polite.

“Fukuzawa-dono, what a surprise.” Mori’s lips stretched into a grin, which told Fukuzawa that his visit wasn’t a surprise in the slightest, and that the doctor had very much known he was coming. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine evening?”

Fukuzawa folded his arms into his sleeves. “A request. For information.”

“Oh? That’s rare.” The door opened further, and Mori slipped out into the street, cracking the door so only the faintest of light bathed the two of them. “And what do you offer in exchange for said information?”

Even though Fukuzawa knew the question was coming, had even prepared for it before he left his apartment, it still had him sucking in air. His eyes fell shut, and he sighed. “I offer my bodyguard services, free of charge, no matter who it is you want me to guard.”

Mori hummed, leaning against the wall. The doctor crossed his arms, fingers tapping away while he thought over Fukuzawa’s request. And as much as Fukuzawa wanted to urge Mori to hurry up and answer him, all that would achieve was Mori refusing to help him. He had to be patient, no matter how long it took. But if he imagined all sorts of bad luck befalling Mori while he waited, then that was no one’s business but his own.

Except maybe Ranpo, but it wasn’t like the teen was with him anyway.

And, finally, after several minutes of silence, Mori spoke. “I’ll accept your offer, Fukuzawa-dono. Now what is it you need?”

“A tattoo artist willing to tattoo a fifteen-year-old.”

Mori blinked. “Come again?”

“I know you heard me.” Fukuzawa opened his eyes, levelling Mori with a look. “I’m not repeating myself.”

“Oh, I heard you, I’m just surprised that someone so fixated on being in the light now wants to dip his toes into the dark for such a thing. Might I ask what the reasoning for your request is?”

“You may not.”

The two stared each other down, Mori curious, and Fukuzawa steadfast. Neither man budged as the silence grew between them, but Fukuzawa knew he would win. His offer was too good for Mori to not cave and give him the information he wanted—he knew that if the roles were reversed, he’d accept such a deal, which is why he knew it would work—it was just a matter of waiting him out.

“Alright. Wait here.” Mori vanished back into his clinic, the door shutting quietly behind him, and leaving Fukuzawa alone in the dark.

Fukuzawa turned his head to the sky, the darkness of the underground areas allowing a few precious stars to poke through the pollution, shining brightly enough to lift his spirits. He’d always been fond of the night sky, believing that each star was guiding him along this new path of his. The stars always seemed to shine brighter when he found himself struggling, as if they themselves, were encouraging him to keep going. One day, he’d have to take Ranpo out to watch the stars—he wasn’t sure if they would enjoy such a mundane activity, but after many months of stress, one night of peace would do wonders. Regardless, he made a note to ask at some point.

The time continued to tick by, the moon rising in the sky slowly, and Fukuzawa found himself growing impatient, although he tried to squash it down. He knew that if he gave in to his impatience, and barged into the clinic, that Mori would win at this little game they were playing with each other, and he absolutely refused to give the other man the satisfaction of winning. The only way that Mori would ever win one of their games, would be over Fukuzawa’s dead body.

That Mori would quite happily arrange if he spoke such words aloud.

“Here, Fukuzawa-dono.” Mori’s voice dragged his attention down from the sky, and Fukuzawa accepted the folded piece of paper he was offered. “I took the liberty of calling ahead for you since he’s such a busy man. I also, was kind enough to find someone that operates legally, since you are such a good person nowadays.”

Fukuzawa shuddered, Mori’s words left a certain feeling of discomfort deep within him, one that only someone like Mori could achieve. “Do not say such things again, they are tainted coming from you.”

“Such cruel words, when all I’ve done is be helpful.” Mori sighed, looking mournful for only a second before he shrugged. “No matter, I’ve given you what you want. I expect you to come without hesitation when I call for you, Fukuzawa-dono.”

“I will be there, Mori-sensei.” Reluctantly of course.

And then Fukuzawa was left alone, Mori slinking back into his clinic and shutting the door behind him, almost as if their interaction had never occurred in the first place. As such, were interactions in the underground often taken, and Fukuzawa preferred it that way. Get in, get out, that was how things were meant to be. Lingering about, and attracting attention were surefire ways of getting yourself gutted—and Fukuzawa meant literally, for he’d often seen Mori treat patients that had been wounded for no reason other than they’d looked suspicious to those that called the underground their home.

Which was why the moment he was left alone, Fukuzawa turned on his heal and began to make his way home, studying the piece of paper that Mori had give him. On that scrap of paper, there was a name, an address, and a time, so now all that was left to do, was to suggest the idea to Ranpo and see if they would take to it. And although he wasn’t one to believe in God’s, he sent a prayer up to the stars that they would, that they would take this chance to try and heal, regardless of how unorthodox it was.

“I’m home.” Fukuzawa called as he stepped into the apartment, pausing for a moment to listen out for footsteps, or a welcoming shout, but none came; odd but not completely unexpected, considering the late hour. He stepped further into the apartment after toeing off his sandals, silently moving across the room as he searched for Ranpo.

It didn’t take long for him to find the teen, curled up on the couch underneath a blanket and dressed in a yukata, face finally free of the stress that had been engraved on it the entire day. For once, Ranpo looked the teen that they were, and Fukuzawa hoped that if Ranpo went through with this spontaneous idea of his, to get the scar that caused them so much distress covered up by something that they could look at and feel happiness over, that they would able to look like this every day.

He elected to leave Ranpo where they were, although he made sure to place a pillow behind their head, and tucked the blanket around their shoulders a little more, watching them burrow deeper into them. A fond look crossed Fukuzawa’s face before he moved on to let Ranpo sleep, heading towards his own room to prepare for bed, and for the next day, which he wasn’t quite sure on how it would be. As he changed into more comfortable clothing suitable for sleeping, he considered the possibility of being woken up in the middle of the night by another nightmare, or that the morning would come and he would find Ranpo in the clutches of a shutdown episode. But he also considered the possibility that morning would bring with it, a good day, that the two of them would both enjoy; perhaps they would even be called out for a case since Ranpo had started making a name for themself.

Really, he could consider and prepare all he wanted, but there was nothing he could do but live each day as it came, regardless of whether it promised to be good or bad.

And that was what he clung to, crawling into his futon and closing his eyes, the positives. For as many hurdles as he and Ranpo had jumped over, the journey they were undertaking together was slowly on the healing path.

“You came home late.” Ranpo commented the moment that Fukuzawa stepped into the room the next morning. Already, the genius detective was awake, sitting up and twirling a lollipop around their mouth. Ranpo’s head hung off the back of the couch, their eyes following Fukuzawa as he made his way towards the kitchen.

“My errand took longer than I thought.” Fukuzawa said, opening the fridge. “Did you eat while I was gone.”

“Yep.” Ranpo popped the word as they plucked the lollipop from their mouth, waving it in Fukuzawa’s direction. “The dinner you made wasn’t sweet enough by the way.”

Fukuzawa pulled out a piece of fruit, not feeling much like having a heavy breakfast that morning. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Despite his calm words, and exterior, inside his stomach was twisting around itself, and he admittedly felt a little bit anxious because of what he’d gone and arranged, and he wasn’t sure on how Ranpo would react. Sure, the opinion of a fifteen-year-old teenager shouldn’t matter so much to him, but it did. Just as he’d reached his hand out to Ranpo, Ranpo had done the same in return. They were sort of like family to each other, but also not. Two strangers who had once felt ostracised from the world finding a new purpose in life because of each other. Fukuzawa wasn’t quite sure of the label that he and Ranpo should use—calling them family felt like he would be erasing the memory of Ranpo’s parents, who the younger very much still valued and loved, and calling them friends felt a little strange. They’d only known each other a year, and well… it wasn’t like he really knew what it meant to be friends with others. He’d only had one friend as a child and they didn’t even speak to each other anymore.

Friends? Colleagues? What else was there?

Fukuzawa shook his head, clearing his mind of his worries. There was no point getting worked up about it. It was simply a minor detail that no one would even care to think about. Except for him apparently. He turned to look at Ranpo, who was watching him with a critical eye; there was a question behind those eyes, but it seemed that Ranpo was holding themself back. Like they knew Fukuzawa’s inner turmoil before he could even speak of it. “Dinner wasn’t sweet because it was supposed to be nutritious.”

“Duh, I knew that already.” Ranpo rolled their eyes, and twisted about until they were facing Fukuzawa properly. “Just spit it out already, Fukuzawa-san, before I deduce it.”

“Nothing gets past you.” It was a statement rather than a question, but the look on Fukuzawa’s face is fond as he walks over to the couch, holding out the bottle of ramune he’d grabbed along with his breakfast.

Ranpo doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Nope! So hurry up and tell me!”

Instead of answering, Fukuzawa reached into the sleeve of his haori and plucked out the piece of paper that Mori had given him the previous night. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Ranpo asked, frowning, as they studied the paper.

Fukuzawa didn’t answer immediately, watching anxiously, as Ranpo put together the pieces of the puzzle they’d been given. Ranpo’s eyes flicked from the paper to him, and back again. Their expression didn’t immediately give anything away, just a look that could only be deeply thinking. Still, it made Fukuzawa want to step forward and snatch the paper away, claiming that he wasn’t thinking and for Ranpo to ignore it.

But just as he began to actually consider doing so, Ranpo spoke. “Do you think it will help?”

“I don’t know.” Fukuzawa admitted. “I would like to believe that it would. As taboo as society considers it, I believe that if you replace the scar that causes you so much pain with something you can look at fondly, you may be able to heal and put it behind you.”

Ranpo hummed. “But the memories will still be there.”

“They will.” Fukuzawa inclined his head in agreement. “But just because it’s a memory that will always be there, it doesn’t mean that it has to control you.”

Another hum, and silence this time.

“Would you like me to leave you to think over it?”

“Yeah… thanks.”

“I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Fukuzawa said, reaching over to ruffle Ranpo’s hair gently before leaving the teen alone. He understood the need to be left alone in times where you needed to think hard about a decision, so he had no trouble honouring Ranpo’s wish, as much as he’d have preferred to sit with them and work through it together. But he’d squash that feeling down, and focus on getting through the never-ending paperwork he always seemed to be drowning in those days.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Ranpo had laid down again, holding the paper high into the air.

Fukuzawa turned away, before his resolve could slip any further.

A sigh.

Then another sigh.

And before the third one could even have the breath drawn to give life to it, Fukuzawa stopped and turned to face Ranpo. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” The response is short, filled with tension, and Fukuzawa can see Ranpo’s form slowly coiling up the longer that he stares at them. Something is wrong, Ranpo just doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it considering the two of them are currently in public, making their way to the parlour.

Looking about, the only suitable place Fukuzawa could see was an alleyway just up ahead, so he reached out to grab the sleeve of Ranpo’s shirt and guided them into the alley, levelling Ranpo with a look that says he won’t be taking no for an answer. “Lack of communication between us only causes more problems, so tell me, Ranpo, please.”

Ranpo’s brow furrowed, and they turned away. Their fingers wrapped around each other squeezing tight and releasing a moment later; anxiety then, Fukuzawa figured, but he waited for Ranpo to find the words they needed before jumping to conclusions.

“It’s going to hurt.” Ranpo said.

Fukuzawa nodded. “It will. I told you how tattoo’s work when you agreed.”

“What if it hurts too much?”

“Then we stop, and reassess.” Fukuzawa reassured, resting his hand on top of Ranpo’s head. “This idea is just that—an idea. You do not have to go through with it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Ranpo’s cheeks puffed out. “I know that!”

“Then why do you hesitate if you know?” Fukuzawa asked.

“Because I don’t want you to get in trouble for trying to help me!” Finally, Fukuzawa thought, this is what they were worried about. He listened as Ranpo continued to rant. “You’re doing this to help, but technically it’s illegal, and I know that Yokohama doesn’t really pay attention to orphans and the people they hang around but—”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa interrupted before Ranpo could continue, dropping his hand to rest on the teen’s shoulder now. “It will be fine. Trust me on that.”

Silence followed his words, but after a moment, Ranpo nodded, and stepped out onto the street, Fukuzawa right behind them. Taking the lead once again, Fukuzawa continued on their route, checking the address he’d been given, and the directions on his phone, to make sure that they were heading in the right direction. And sure enough, after a couple more turns, they arrived at the parlour.

It was an inconspicuous building, off the main road, and just advertised as a parlour with no indication at being for tattoo’s. For the best really, since Fukuzawa was certain that there were enough people with cruel intentions that would target such a building. It was still Japan after all, and even though attitudes were changing, there was still a lot of negativity; part of the reason why Fukuzawa had been hesitant to suggest the idea in the first place, not wanting Ranpo to be ostracised even more than they already had been.

He pushed open the door, allowing Ranpo to step past him before he followed and shut it quietly behind him. The inside was clean and homey, paintings and books scattered across the walls, a couple of televisions, and a couch. It was like they’d stepped into someone’s home rather than a tattoo parlour, and Fukuzawa was grateful that for once, Mori’s information had actually been good.

There was only one other person in the store, a man that appeared younger than Fukuzawa, who looked up and greeted them with a smile. “You must be Fukuzawa-san, and Ranpo-san. Nice to meet you, you can call me Daisuke. I’ve been told you’re here to cover up a scar.”

Of course Mori figured it out. Fukuzawa fought the urge to roll his eyes. Nosy doctor. “Yes, that is correct.” He gestured towards Ranpo. “I was told you would overlook age for this.”

Ranpo ducked behind him, using Fukuzawa as a shield.

Daisuke just smiled warmly at them before looking up at Fukuzawa. “Of course. Usually we’re closed today, so there’s no chance of someone stumbling upon us. And we have all day, so we can take our time. I will need to take a look to see what I’m working with though.”

Behind him, Ranpo tensed.

Fukuzawa stepped to the side and placed his hand between Ranpo’s shoulders, hopefully to be seen as both reassurance, and encouragement to the teen. “I’ll be right here, Ranpo. Remember what I said.”

“Don’t let it control me.” Ranpo responded, repeating his words from the previous day. They took a deep breath, and stepped forward to follow Daisuke into his workspace.

Fukuzawa sat on the couch, and although he tried to focus his attention on literally anything else, he found himself watching Ranpo and Daisuke carefully. There were words being spoken between the two, not that Fukuzawa could hear what was being said, but it meant that things weren’t going wrong, which was good. And then Ranpo was unbuttoning their shirt, just enough that they could pull it to the side to reveal the scar. The sight of the teeth marks filled Fukuzawa with a familiar rage that he was quick to squash down.

He had to give credit to Daisuke though; the artist leant down to study the mark, but didn’t reach out to touch it, and he was standing back far enough that he wasn’t encroaching on Ranpo’s space. This meant that aside from the tension that was simply nerves, Ranpo was far more comfortable, and as the two of them shifted to stand over a tablet, they began to relax even further, until there was no tension at all, and Ranpo was smiling in excitement.

A fond smile graced Fukuzawa’s own face, and he was pleased with himself that he’d managed to do something right in this long journey of healing. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t succeeded before now, because he had, and Ranpo had told him as such, but it was still good to see the fruits of his efforts—Ranpo truly had come far since he’d taken them in. Gone was the scrawny child with trauma packed onto their shoulders; instead, there was a healthy teen, still with trauma because such things never truly left a person, that continued to grow and succeed.

It made Fukuzawa feel proud.

“Fukuzawa-san.” Ranpo’s voice caught his attention, and he looked up to see the younger standing in front of him, a piece of paper in his hand. The moment he lifted his head, Ranpo thrust the paper beneath his nose. “What do you think?”

On the paper was a simple design; flowers, familiar for some reason, yet Fukuzawa couldn’t place where he’d seen them, with pink and yellow. “It’s nice.” He said, smiling softly. “What kind of flowers are they?”

“They’re cacti flowers.” Ranpo explained. “We saw them once in a shop. I like them, and cacti are hardy, being able to survive the harshest of conditions, and… so have I.”

“You have.” Fukuzawa handed the paper back to Ranpo. “It’s a good meaning.”

“Great!” Ranpo beamed at him. “I knew you’d agree with me.”

Fukuzawa hummed. Of course you did. “Do you want me to sit with you?”

Ranpo shook their head. “I want to do this on my own.”

“I understand. I shall wait here for you then.”

Fukuzawa passed the time by reading one of the many books, although he found that he couldn’t focus on the book with the incessant buzzing in the room. Many times, he had to fight the urge to check on Ranpo, especially when the teen would made a pained noise, but Ranpo had said that they wanted to go through it by themselves, so Fukuzawa would respect that wish. He also vowed to never again step foot into a tattoo parlour. Sitting around and waiting was by far the worst pastime that one could engage in, and he was not inclined to do so again.

If for some reason, Ranpo desired another tattoo when they were older, they would go alone.

Although Fukuzawa knew that if they asked, he would go.

He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed since the buzzing had started, but he was acutely aware of it when it stopped, and looked up. From his current position, Fukuzawa couldn’t see what exactly was happening behind the curtain that had been drawn, but he could hear Daisuke instructing Ranpo how to care for the tattoo, and the sound of plastic being handled. He waited patiently, curious to see how the tattoo had turned out, but when Ranpo appeared, his shirt was buttoned up.

Ranpo caught sight of his expression and held up a finger towards him, grinning. “Nuh-uh, Fukuzawa-san! You have to be patient and wait until we get home to see it!”

And really, Fukuzawa shouldn’t have been surprised at such a decision. “I see.”

At that moment, Daisuke spoke up, holding out a small paper bag. “I’ve instructed Ranpo how to care for the tattoo until it heals. I’ve wrapped it in plastic, so you’ll need to leave it there for a few hours before you remove it, and afterwards, apply this cream twice daily for two weeks. It’ll get itchy once it starts to peel, but try not to scratch it. Any concerns, just give me a call and I’ll come by and check on it.”

“Thank you.” Fukuzawa stood and bowed before taking the bag; inside there was a sheet of paper—no doubt with care instructions—a business card, and a tube of antiseptic cream. “We appreciate you doing this.”

“I’m always happy to replace bad memories with good ones.” Daisuke smiled at them. “Just don’t go spreading it around that I tattooed a teenager though.”

“Of course.”

Fukuzawa paid Daisuke for his trouble, leaving a generous tip to show his thanks despite the man protesting initially before finally caving and accepting, and once that was done, began the trek home to their apartment.

For once, Ranpo was quiet, subdued even, and Fukuzawa gave into their request to be carried the moment it was made; it was obvious that they were tired after the events of the day, and Fukuzawa was not a cruel person. So he carried Ranpo on his back, listening to the quiet snores that filled his ear whilst the teen dozed on his back. The walk back to their apartment went much faster than the one to the parlour—at least, in Fukuzawa’s mind it did, and before he knew it, he was wrangling the door open and depositing Ranpo on the couch—gently—to regain their energy.

While Ranpo slept, Fukuzawa busied himself with reading the care instructions, finding them easy enough to follow, and just like Daisuke had described. The only problem he foresaw happening, was Ranpo forgetting to use the cream, but that was an easy enough problem to deal with. He just had to remind Ranpo, something he was more than used to do doing from how often he needed to do so. If it wasn’t the simplest of tasks, it was paperwork for the Agency they were building, and if it wasn’t the paperwork, it was making sure Ranpo wrote their deductions down for the police to put into their case files.

So yes, he was more than prepared to handle the task given to him.

“Are you ready?” Fukuzawa asked, standing in the bright light of the bathroom, Ranpo standing beside him.

Ranpo nodded, lifting their hands to unbutton their shirt. The appendages were shaking slightly, and Ranpo’s expression was once again one of nerves. Expected given the circumstances, and Fukuzawa wanted to reach over and wrap his arms around the teen.

But he refrained from doing so, for that was not his role right now.

His presence in the bathroom was to be a silent one. He was simply there as moral support, there to do nothing but watch as had been asked of him earlier. He stood to the side, hands in his sleeves as he watched Ranpo shrug their shirt from their shoulders, revealing the plastic that was stained with ink, concealing the artwork underneath.

Ranpo took in a breath, eyes focused on the tattoo, as they reached up to unwrap the plastic. The shaking in their hands subsided, and a determined look fell upon Ranpo’s face. And in a few seconds, the plastic came free, revealing a bouquet of pink that covered Ranpo’s shoulder, the skin shiny and… slimy. But still, the artwork was clear, beautifully crafted, as if Ranpo’s skin was not his skin, but a canvas to be shaped.

And underneath the ink, was a scar that one would fail to notice unless they were searching for it.

“It’s beautiful.” Fukuzawa said, stepping closer to see the tattoo.

Ranpo smiled. There was a thickness to their voice as they answered. “Yeah… it is…”

Fukuzawa looked over, concerned, and saw tears building in Ranpo’s eyes. He moved to wrap his arm around Ranpo, being mindful of his shoulder, and drew him closer. “Are those happy tears?”

“Yeah.” Ranpo’s voice cracked on that single word, and a few tears slipped down their cheeks. “Yeah, they’re happy tears. It’s just—a lot—I’m not sure how to…”

“That’s okay.” Fukuzawa soothed, giving Ranpo a gentle squeeze. “All that matters is that you are happy and that you like it.”

A sniff, and a wet laugh. “I do, I like it a lot. And I am very happy.”

Good, Fukuzawa thought, feeling tears prick his own eyes.

He had a feeling that only good things would happen from now on. A very good feeling.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #fukuzawa yukichi #edogawa ranpo #hurt/comfort #comfort #fluff #tattoos #ranpo gets a tattoo #journey of parenting au #writing #fanfic

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silvfyre-writings · 2 months

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TW - BLOOD

First piece of the Infection AU collab with @silvfyre-writings who wrote the fic I'm illustrating ! A new art will be linked to each chapter (≧◡≦)

#infection au #bsd #bungo stray dogs #fanart #bsd fukuzawa #hyaha art

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silvfyre-writings · 2 months

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Misery and Misfortune Pt. 1 (BSD Fanfic)

Hello, hello, I bring you all some pain, and this time, I have a friend bringing the pain with me! This is a collaboration work between @hyaha-ha-ha and I, so I hope you all enjoy! CW: MCD, Gore, Body Horror

No one knows when it started.

No one knows how it came to be.

But everyone knows just how deadly it is.

I fear for those I care about.

I fear for everyone.

—Yosano Akiko

When the news of a mysterious infection making its way through Yokohama began, Yosano wasn’t even in the city to witness it. She’d been at the other end of the country, at a conference for doctors to get together and talk about the newest treatments. Although she wasn’t the most… conventional doctor, Fukuzawa had been insistent that she attend, so, she had. And while, she would much rather be tormenting her co-workers by strapping them down and removing their limbs when they were foolish enough to get themselves injured, she did have to admit that it was interesting to learn new things.

She also had a feeling it was a ploy to get her to experience things that normal doctors, with normal lives, and normal educations got to experience on a daily basis, which she did appreciate. Fukuzawa had always tried to give her a normal life—well, as normal as a life could be when it came to growing up with Fukuzawa and Ranpo who were very much not normal—after rescuing her from Mori all those years ago, and she’d been forever grateful. And while she didn’t regret how her life had turned out, there were times where she wished that her life had been different. That Mori had never plucked her from the candy store and whisked her away to war.

So with no hesitation, she packed a bag and hopped on the next train to Osaka, the goodbye’s of her co-workers echoing in her ears.

Goodbye’s that had involved warning Dazai against raiding her medicine cabinet—regardless of whether it was a joke or not—and telling Ranpo to eat an actual meal instead of his snacks for once, whilst also making sure that Kunikida didn’t stress himself out while she was gone because she knew him well enough to know that he would the moment she was gone. She’d made sure to check in with the younger members as well—because she did care despite her constant threats of bodily harm, and Atsushi and Kyouka still responded well to knowing that people actually cared about them—and had even made sure to have a quick break with Fukuzawa before her train. And it’d been nice, to see them all happy and smiling, and full of jokes and teasing quips.

It made her believe that everything would be alright.

Not that there’d been any reason to believe otherwise, because as chaotic and accident prone as her precious, put together, little family was, they were more than capable of handling any crisis that was thrown their way.

If only she’d known then, just how wrong she was.

The reporter on the news spoke of an infection of an unknown origin, bringing with it a rash, and open sores, along with a fever that could kill if it got out of hand. They also spoke of how it was unknown just how many people were infected, and that there was no reason to worry. Yosano wasn’t stupid though, and neither was any other doctor in the room currently. They all threw each other uneasy glances, and quiet murmurs broke out across the room, some groups discussing potential causes, and others already coming up with ways of treating it when they got back to their respective hospitals, even though, so far, it was restricted to just Yokohama.

And that was how the rest of the conference went; there was no panic, no fretting, only quiet discussion about what was going on in a city several hours away. Yosano herself, fell into the lull, keeping one eye on the news just like everyone else was, but focusing most of her attention on the people speaking. She wanted to go back and be able to prove that she’s actually learnt something while she’d been gone.

But the days passed, and the news became more frequent.

It was an infection they said, and medicine in this day and age, accompanied by the few skill users with healing abilities, meant that it wouldn’t be long before it was dealt with and forgotten.

It was an infection they said; no one had died, and it hadn’t been discovered outside of Yokohama yet, so it clearly wasn’t airborne, nor was it in the water.

It’s just an infection, Yosano told herself, watching as images of patients in hospitals flicked across the screen, dread filling her stomach that she couldn’t quite understand the origin of.

It’s just an infection, she continued to say, as the phone in her hand lit up with the President’s number.

Yosano wasn’t the type to believe in God; had never had a reason to with the life that she’d lived, with all that pain and suffering that she’d worked hard to put behind her. After all, what kind of God would just sit by and allow an eleven-year-old to suffer as much as she had? What had she done that was no bad to warrant that kind of torment? Not only that, but what God would endorse such a war to happen in the first place where she, a child, had needed to be on the battlefield?

After all these years, she still didn’t have an answer.

And when she arrived back at the Agency, and stepped into the infirmary, what little belief she somehow still had, vanished.

Yosano didn’t know what to think at first, when her eyes fell upon Dazai, his bandages unravelled and replaced with plastic covers that showed the gaping wounds being protected by them, the wires that were connected to him, monitoring his vitals, and the needle in his hand providing nutrition. Her heart skipped a beat, as she forced her eyes away from her friends almost… decaying form, to see Dazai staring at her, expression one that could only be attributed to pain, although she couldn’t be sure he was actually looking at her, eyes glazed with fever and staring right through her almost.

It was the weakest that she’d ever seen him, and she’d seen him on death’s door multiple times.

She stepped closer. “Dazai…”

Dazai’s eyes focused just long enough for him to notice her, and a smile grew on his face. “Yosano-sensei, how kind of you to rush back for little old me.”

“The President called me.” Yosano said, striding over to the bed and taking one of Dazai’s arms into her own to study it. This close, she could see the wound more clearly, see the bone underneath the flesh that had seemingly rotted away, blood leaking from the hole that was left behind. The sheer size of the wound concerned her; spreading up the length of the limb and disappearing underneath the gown that her colleague was wearing. Further up, she could see cracks in the skin on the right side of his face, not quite bleeding, but threatening to.

She’d never seen anything like it.

But she knew what it was.

Despite wishing wholeheartedly that it was anything but.

Yosano looked towards where Kunikida was sitting, looking more stressed than he ever had before. “How did this happen?”

“We aren’t sure.” Kunikida sighed, slumping forward to rest his head in his hands. He took a deep breath. “We pulled the idiot from the river about a week ago, and of course, he got sick from it. But then… he got worse. And now he’s like this.”

“Ah I’ll be fine. Now that you’re here, I’ll be fine.” Dazai interjected, tugging his hand free to drop back against the mattress. Neither Yosano nor Kunikida missed the way it dropped like deadweight, as there was no muscle to support the limb, nor the pained grimace that followed.

Yosano smiled, hoping that it conveyed the confidence that she did not feel in that moment. Her mind drifted away, back towards that of the news report about a mysterious infection spreading around Yokohama.

An infection that currently, had no cure.

Not that she would let that stop her.

She was Akiko Yosano, the Angel of Death. She wasn’t going to let some unknown infection get the best of her, not in her life.

“Well, Dazai.” Yosano said, reaching out a hand to smooth Dazai’s sweat-soaked hair, ignoring the heat that she felt, even through her glove. Dazai’s eyes focused on her once again. “Let’s see if we can’t get you fixed up.”

Yet, for all her efforts, Dazai continued to get sicker, and sicker. No matter what medicine she pumped him with, no matter how many times she and Kunikida cleaned the wounds, he just continued to waste away right in front of them. And because they weren’t sure how exactly Dazai had contracted the infection, Yosano made the decision to bar everyone but herself and Kunikida from the infirmary whilst they tried to figure it out; a decision that wasn’t well received. Atsushi had tried to force his way past her, desperate to see his mentor, but he’d calmed when Kyouka—bless her—had slid up to him and explained that Yosano wasn’t doing this to be cruel, she just didn’t want them to get sick as well.

Yosano had appreciated it, and promised Atsushi that the moment that Dazai was allowed visitors again, she’d let him know.

The first thing to do, other than manage Dazai’s symptoms, was discover how he’d even contracted the infection in the first place, which meant running through every aspect of Dazai’s life leading up until his collapse; a task made nearly impossible, not from Dazai’s unwillingness to talk, but because he was rarely lucid enough for them to even ask as the infection continued to ravage him. It’d gotten to the point where Yosano started to grow concerned that Dazai would die, so she’d made the decision to amputate his arm in a desperate attempt to stop the infection from spreading.

At first, Kunikida had argued, but he’d quickly given in when Yosano had argued back that at this point, they had nothing to lose.

It was one of the few times where she cursed being unable to use her ability on Dazai.

But after the surgery, Yosano felt nothing but relief when Dazai opened his eyes, and almost immediately cracked a joke about his missing arm, eyes clearer than they had been in a long time. It was almost as if Dazai hadn’t been sick in the first place, and once he’d rested from the surgery, she grilled him on what he’d been doing, what he’d been eating, and who he’d interacted with, but his answers had provided nothing.

All he’d been doing was walking around Yokohama, trying to find the ideal spot to die, nothing out of the ordinary for her eccentric friend.

But since it didn’t seem like Dazai would infect everyone else, Yosano didn’t see an issue with allowing the others to visit Dazai, although she did insist that they all wear masks and gloves just in case.

The last thing she wanted was to deal with an outbreak when she didn’t have a set treatment in mind.

“He’s going to die; you know that right?” Yosano was dragged out of her thoughts by the sound of Ranpo throwing himself up on top of her desk, twirling a lollipop in his hand. The words were harsh, and didn’t match the indifferent expression on Ranpo’s face, but Yosano knew better, knew just how much her oldest friend cared about Dazai.

Yosano sighed and glanced over her shoulder where Dazai was listening to Atsushi talk about his day, a bowl of half-eaten chazuke in his hand. “I know.”

Ranpo hummed. “Are you going to tell them?”

“They already know.” At least, she thought they did. She hoped they did, because if they didn’t… well, she didn’t quite have an answer for that. Yosano let out another sigh, and turned to face Ranpo. “Have you been asked by the police for help.”

“Not yet.” Ranpo said. “It’s only a matter of time though, since people are starting to die now, so I’m sure they’ll come begging for my assistance like they always do.”

“Do you know what’s causing it?”

“Causing it? Not yet. How it spreads? Yes.” Ranpo shoved the lollipop into his mouth, his attention focused on Dazai and the others surrounding him. “It’s through blood-to-blood contact, before you ask.”

Yosano frowned, filing the information away for later to deal with. She’d encountered infections of the blood before, but most of them had some other requirement involved for them to actually infect people; seldom was it as simple as blood-to-blood. But it would make sense for it to be so simply, really. It was common for the deadliest of diseases to be transmitted easily, that was what made them so deadly in the first place. And it didn’t make them easy to cure either.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Ranpo went on to say. “Dazai will die, but you did what you could, and he knows that. It’s why he’s still smiling, so people can remember him for that instead of rotting away in a bed.”

She didn’t think she’d done nearly enough to try and help, but it was nice of Ranpo to try and offer some comfort to her. She gave him a soft look. “Are you going to be okay? When he dies, I mean?”

Ranpo refused to look at her, his body tense. “It’s not like I have a choice. He’s dying whether I want him to or not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll say my goodbyes later once everyone’s gone.” Ranpo hopped of her desk and began to leave, stopping right beside her just long enough to speak quietly. “Just find a cure, okay?”

I will. Yosano thought, going back to her research.

She had to.

But just as Ranpo had predicted, Dazai died.

It was a painful death, it had to be with the way Dazai’s flesh peeled from his skin, leaving nothing but bone. It took days for him to finally pass, the fever finally becoming too much for his body to handle and causing total organ failure. Yosano had done everything she could to help, had tried everything she’d learnt over the years, but none of it had been enough, and in the end, all she could do was sit by Dazai’s bedside with Kunikida beside her, and hold her friends’ hand as he lost the fight to live.

“Don’t mourn me… too much, Yosano-sensei… we all knew I would be… the first to die…”

That was what Dazai had said in his final moment of clarity, and honestly, she wanted to smack him for it. Of course she was going to mourn Dazai, he was her friend, and he’d left a bigger impact on the Agency than he thought he had. He’d brought jokes, and joy, and that weird friendship of his that only Dazai could do, and she, along with everyone else, were going to miss him. She hadn’t cried when he died, too focused on keeping herself composed as she shared the news with those that hadn’t been in the room, and afterwards, there’d been so many tears from everyone else that it didn’t feel right for her to break down too.

But if she shed a few tears over a shared bottle of sake between her and Ranpo, who was to know but them?

After Dazai’s death, Yosano thought that the end of it.

They held a funeral, said their goodbyes, and did their best to push onwards. For a while, work was slow, on account of everyone struggling to cope with the subdued atmosphere, which eventually led to Fukuzawa making the decision to close the Agency for the week, just to give them the time they needed to deal and start healing. A decision that everyone was quick to follow.

Once that week was up, and everyone was back at work, things almost seemed to go back to normal. Well, not normal per se—because there was nothing normal about watching a co-worker and friend slowly waste away—but as normal as it could be. Although, for Yosano, life continued to grow more chaotic. The hospitals, having heard of her encounter with the infection, summoned her to see if she could try to help with the influx of victims, so most of her time was spent there, trying to help, but only watching more people die.

There was still no cure, still no idea on the origin of the infection, only a steadily growing death toll and fear amongst the general population.

And then she walked into the Agency, where she watched Kunikida collapse in front of her, blood spilling from the cracks in his face, and her heart stopped. Not again.

Like with Dazai, Yosano took Kunikida to the infirmary and refused entry to anyone that wasn’t her. She did what she could to get Kunikida’s vitals up, hoping that he would regain consciousness and be able to tell her how he got infected—which she already knew thanks to Ranpo deducing that it was contact with blood, but she needed to know when. Knowing when Kunikida had gotten infected would give them an idea as to how long it took the infection to present itself, and that kind of knowledge was vital in an epidemic.

But Kunikida never woke up.

And Yosano was forced to watch yet another friend die.

It was cruel, it was awful, and Yosano cursed every God that she knew of for allowing the most important people in her life to die from some stupid, incurable infection. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but right now, she couldn’t. Right now, she had to be strong, had to provide a brave face to show the others that she knew what she was doing, that there was still hope to be had, even though she continued to lose it as the days passed.

Like Dazai, Kunikida’s flesh began to rot away, and honestly, it was a testament to just how much the human body could survive, as Kunikida’s arms were nothing but bone, yet he was somehow still fighting. And even though Kunikida was comatose, she kept him dosed on painkillers, just in case there was a part of him that was hurting; otherwise, she used the time to study the symptoms of the infection, to note how fast it spread and the order it happened in, comparing Kunikida’s suffering to Dazai’s and finding them almost the same.

There were a few variances, but that was expected with infections; everyone was different after all. Everyone’s body reacted to things differently; it was why Kunikida had started bleeding from his face first whilst Dazai rotted.

Not that it made it any less painful to know that.

This time, it was Fukuzawa that sat by her side as Kunikida slowly died in front of her. She appreciated the company, spent most of the time leaning against his shoulder as they sat in silence together. It was obvious from the tension in his face, that he was worried about the way that things were going, and that he felt a little helpless at not being able to do much more than support her. It was probably how the rest of the Agency felt, being trapped outside the infirmary as they were, and she felt guilty that she couldn’t risk allowing them to help her. She just couldn’t risk anyone else getting infected. It was already dangerous enough keeping infected people in the infirmary here, instead of taking them to the hospital like the government was asking of people.

“I’m sorry I can’t save him.” Yosano found herself saying, her voice quiet in the despair of the room. She ducked her head and stared at her hands. Maybe Shunzen was right. Maybe she was an Angel of Death after all, hands bloodied by the bodies of people she tried to save and failed.

Maybe she should just—

“You did what you could.” Fukuzawa interrupted before her thoughts could send her spiralling. He gave her a comforting pat. “Kunikida and Dazai know that.”

“But does everyone else?” Yosano retorted. “I’ve kept them from being here, to keep them safe, but for all I know, they hate me for not doing more!”

“They don’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Fukuzawa tightened his grip on her, voice firm. “They don’t hate you.”

“But—”

“They don’t.” Fukuzawa insisted. “They merely wish that they could do more to help. Situations like this can leave many feeling helpless and we, are no different. You need not apologise for the decisions you make to keep us safe.”

Yosano bit her lip to keep the apology on the tip of her tongue from escaping, and just gave a single nod. There wasn’t anything more she could say on the matter, not without making Fukuzawa repeat himself. Her eyes rested upon Kunikida’s shivering form; death would come for her friend soon, and she resolved to let him be the last. She would do everything that she could to stop anyone else she cared about from succumbing to this infection.

Two days later, Kunikida died.

And this time, Yosano allowed them to grieve him properly.

She spent hours sterilising the room from top to bottom, removing all traces of blood, and covering the wounds that had killed Kunikida to prevent even the slightest drop of blood from escaping. And only then, once she was sure that the room was as clean as it could be, did she allow everyone to come and say goodbye. Yosano knew she’d done right when Atsushi stepped into the room, took one look at the man that had taken him under his wing, and promptly burst into tears.

She had to leave the room then.

She didn’t go far, just outside into the main office where she leant against the wall, listening through the cracked door as everyone shared their final words with Kunikida, shedding tears over the person that had supported their endeavours at the Agency the most. It warmed her heart to hear such words spoken, she just wished that he hadn’t had to die to hear them. And for the first time in her life, she tried to believe that Kunikida’s spirit was there, along with Dazai’s, watching over them and giving them the strength to continue.

They were going to need it.

In the wake of Kunikida’s death, Yosano found herself being called away from the Agency more often than not, the government and local hospitals hearing of their encounters, however brief, with the infection and wanting to know more about her findings in studying the infection. The people she spoke to sounded hopeful on the phone, and Yosano felt nothing but guilt as she crushed that hope into tiny pieces by being unable to provide any information that wasn’t already known. It also crushed her to know that she hadn’t discovered anything new about the infection, but there was a determination building within her, one born from the desire to not lose anyone else that she considered family.

The television in the Agency was permanently left on, at least one channel always reporting on the status of the infection, updating people on how many were infected and where the worst rate of infection was. As expected, Suribachi City was affected the worst; the ruined city had been cordoned off the moment the public discovered the method of transmission, with no one allowed to enter or leave, no matter what. This caused some argument, and a lot of distress, as it meant that the people trapped within the city were sentenced to a slow and painful death, without any means of relief.

Yosano considered herself capable of controlling her emotions, but after watching two of her oldest friends die to the infection, she couldn’t help but cry over the people in Suribachi City.

Weeks passed, and the situation worsened around them, but the atmosphere within the Agency was a positive one as no one else fell to the infection—mostly due to Fukuzawa’s decision for them to remain indoors unless absolutely necessary. Which wasn’t hard to do considering that in the wake of a deadly infection, people weren’t exactly scrambling for their services. This newfound free time of theirs was spent doing whatever kept their focus off the news; reading, playing games, swapping stories with each other. It was almost as this were just a casual sleepover instead of an attempt to stay safe.

Yosano couldn’t bring herself to relax, going over her notes over and over again until she would collapse at her desk. She couldn’t relax, no matter how many times the others pleaded with her to take a break.

She’d already failed them twice; she wouldn’t do it again.

So of course, the infection made her eat her words.

Rumours began to spread that those suffering from the infection would do their best to seek out contact with others, not because they wanted to infect others, but because the infection took their ability to stay warm. And who was warm but living, healthy, people?

This made the infection more deadly, considering all it took to get infected was the tiniest cut, and naturally, not long after the news had dropped, the death toll began to rose, bring with it, crushing despair and a lack of hope for their situation ever getting better. Yokohama was now in lockdown mode, a last-ditch effort to stop the infection spreading. No one was to leave, even to get supplies, and those that risked it, were left to die in the streets.

The hospitals turned their focus to those that were uninfected, ejecting the victims of the infection onto the streets, breaking their vows to save all lives no matter what, just to try and save who remained. These hospitals swore that they’d focus on finding a cure, and that when they did, the people they threw out would be welcomed back and treated, but it didn’t take a genius to know those were empty words. The infection was killing faster now, spreading even faster to try and take down as many people as it could.

It was a logical decision really, to sacrifice the lives of the few to save the lives of the many, but already, two-quarters of Yokohama’s population was infected, and one-quarter dead, so who were they saving really?

No one, that’s who.

So, Yosano wasn’t surprised when her more empathetic colleagues wanted to help those that had been abandoned, even if it was just venturing out to get people indoors, to get them food and water so that they may stand a chance of pulling through the epidemic. And try as she might, Yosano couldn’t stop them.

Kenji.

Kyouka.

Atsushi.

One by one she watched them die, her heart fracturing as she tried desperately to save them, only to fail. Even Atsushi, who’s skill allowed him to regenerate, succumbed to the infection in the end. But… Yosano learnt something from that, and she kicked herself over not considering it sooner. As Atsushi lay there in the infirmary bed, skin literally melting off of his bones, she watched as his body tried to fix it; the damaged skin would knit back together, as if he’d never been infected in the first place, only for the wounds to reappear days later.

It was an endless cycle, one filled with pain and agony, and ultimately, it ended with Atsushi losing his mind.

At that point, it was just her, Atsushi, Ranpo, and Fukuzawa left in the building. Everyone else was dead. And when Atsushi became infected, Ranpo retreated immediately—not that Yosano could blame her friend, for despite being confronted with death since a young age like she had, it was different when they were people you cared about, and Ranpo had been struggling ever since Dazai first died months back—which left just her and Fukuzawa to do what they could for Atsushi.

No one could tell them that they hadn’t tried, because they had tried so, so hard, to keep Atsushi alive, praying that his body would somehow fight off the infection and a miracle would occur.

But instead of a miracle, a curse came.

The tiger inside Atsushi had always been uncontrollable, and was only placid due to Fukuzawa’s ability making it so. But the infection must’ve broken that connection, because as Atsushi’s healing ability failed, and his flesh rotted worse than it ever had, the tiger broke free. Yosano found herself shoved across the room as the tiger lunged for her and Fukuzawa, and she could only watch as Fukuzawa drew his sword and sliced Atsushi in half.

But not before sinking his teeth into the older man’s arm.

“NO!” Yosano threw herself onto her knees by Fukuzawa’s side, blinking rapidly as if that would make the wound go away. Only a few feet away, did Atsushi lay in his tiger form, eyes wide and dull, devoid of life, and Yosano knew she should do as she did, and take notes on the infection’s progression in the boy, but she couldn’t bring herself to, not when she had to come to term with the fact that she was going to lose the man that rescued and given her a new life.

Her shout must’ve been loud enough to catch Ranpo’s attention from wherever he’d sequestered himself, for she heard the infirmary door open, and the shattering of a ramune bottle seconds later.

And despite the fate that was coming for him, Fukuzawa smiled at them both, covering his wound with a hand. “It will be fine.” He said, voice filled with conviction as it always was. “I believe in the both of you.”

“There’s no cure—”

“We’ll cure it.” Ranpo’s determined words interrupted her own hopeless ones, and Yosano turned towards Ranpo. His eyes slid to look at her briefly, hardened, and devoid of emotion, before flicking back to Fukuzawa. Despite the look on his face, she could hear the pain in his voice. “We’ll cure it, so you better fight, President. You aren’t allowed to die.”

“I will do my best, Ranpo.”

The stakes were higher than ever before, with Fukuzawa infected, not only because of how much he meant to her, but because Ranpo became absolutely unbearable the moment that the man that had saved them both became so ill, he was a far cry from their saviour now. She tried not to snap at her friend when he was short with her, or when he demanded more than she could give, but it was hard not to when it felt like he was about to start biting her neck instead of merely breathing on it with how close he lingered. She understood his distress, was feeling much the same herself, and wanted nothing more than to find a cure to stop Fukuzawa from dying, but there was only so much she could do. Realistically, Yosano had already accepted that Fukuzawa was going to die, had prepared herself for it to happen, but Ranpo hadn't. Like when Fukuzawa had been infected by the Cannibalism skill all those months ago, Ranpo camped out by the older man's bedside, refusing to move, to eat, to sleep, and nothing Yosano said or did could change his mind.

It wasn't until she finally sat down and documented her observations on Atsushi that she finally gained a bit of hope.

Atsushi had only lasted as long as he did because of the regenerative qualities of his ability, and it reminded her of her own ability. She'd never thought to use her ability on the infection, since Dazai was immune to her skill to begin with, and after he’d died, she’d automatically assumed it would be like any other illness, and fail, but perhaps this was different. After all, the infection caused massive wounds, and those were something she could heal. And even if she couldn't cure the infection, perhaps she could buy enough time for a cure to be found.

Perhaps she would be able to save Fukuzawa.

So as Fukuzawa grew sicker, she fought the urge to amputate his limbs to try and stop the infection. She had to wait for it to take hold more, if she wanted the best chance at defeating it, no matter how much it pained her to do so. It was hard, when the flesh began to melt off his bones, and he gave into the pain he was feeling despite the heavy amount painkillers she supplied.

And finally, the time came for her to use her ability.

It was the first, and only, time she did it, and she watched Fukuzawa's chest fall still, butterflies filling the room, apprehension filling her body as she waited for it to restart. And right where he'd been sitting the entire time, Ranpo sat, clutching Fukuzawa's hand within his own, squeezing tight. His head was ducked so she couldn't see what kind of face he was making, but she could see his lips moving, recognising the words as a prayer—so unlike Ranpo with his usually uncaring nature towards anything spiritual. But dire situations brought out the desperation in even the strongest of people, and Ranpo surely must've reached his limit by now.

Time ticked by, and still, Fukuzawa's chest remained still.

And then, just as she was about to shatter, she saw it. A breath.

A singular breath.

It was weak and shaky, but it was there, and Yosano dove straight into doctor mode, taking Fukuzawa's vitals, and making sure that he had enough nutrients going into him to keep his body as strong as possible. She didn’t dare believe it, didn’t dare hope in case it was just a lie. But as the day passed by, those breaths grew stronger, and by evening, against the odds of everyone else they’d already lost, Fukuzawa opened his eyes.

"Did you cure it?" Fukuzawa asked. He was tired. Strained. Barely conscious, yet there was pride in his eyes.

"I'm not sure." Yosano admitted, ducking her head. "We'll just have to wait and see. Atsushi regenerated his wounds, but... they would reappear days later."

"Yeah, but Atsushi didn't have your healing ability." Ranpo huffed, looking more alive now that Fukuzawa was awake and talking. Yosano reckoned that if he could’ve, Ranpo would’ve crawled onto the bed right that instant. "You've cured it, I just know it. President's gonna be the first one to fight this stupid infection off, just you watch."

Yosano sincerely hoped that Ranpo was right.

And as the days passed, with Fukuzawa appearing to grow stronger, Yosano's hope began to return, along with a little optimism. She’d cured it. Every day, she checked Fukuzawa over, and every day, there were no wounds. But still, she held her breath, just in case it was false hope, and the infection was simply waiting to make a comeback.

She’d cured it.

A week passed by with no changes, just growth, and Fukuzawa was able to get out of bed, taking his first steps since becoming infected. And this time, she cried. Because she'd done it. She’d cured it—she'd cured the infection, and all she'd had to do was use the ability that she'd once despised. Fukuzawa held her close, whispering quiet words of reassurance, telling her that he was proud of her perseverance. After that, she pulled away, smiling, and Ranpo took her place, throwing himself at the President and finally unleashing his own tears that he'd been holding back for months.

"I'm going to grab some food from downstairs. If you can eat something, I'll contact the hospital and tell them that I've managed to cure it." Yosano said, leaving Fukuzawa and Ranpo alone in the infirmary as she made her way to the storage area, where they'd stocked up on food before needing to isolate—thanks to Atsushi. She couldn't help but feel excited, moving with a skip in her step. Even though she was still upset at not being able to save her friends and co-workers, being able to save Fukuzawa had given her hope. There was no doubt in her mind that she would miss them for as long as she lived. All of them had left an impact on her, however long or short they'd been in her life for. Her heart clenched, but she forced the feeling away. There would be time to mourn after they'd stopped the infection running rampant.

And mourn she would.

She'd grabbed a decent amount of food, enough to host a small party that she believed was well deserved after everything they’d been through, and was just heading up the stairs when she heard a loud crash, and her heart stopped dead in its tracks.

"YOSANO!"

Like lightning, Yosano bolted up the stairs, the food in her hands falling to the floor, but she didn't care. That'd been Ranpo's voice, and he'd sounded terrified. Ranpo was never scared, never fearful, never terrified, which was how she knew it was bad. Yosano threw open the main door to the Agency, and dashed over to the infirmary, grateful that she'd left that door open when she'd left.

And then froze.

Red. That was all she could see. There was so much of it over the floor, over everything, that you almost wouldn't believe that the room had once been white. And in amongst the red, Yosano saw a petrified green; Ranpo, covered in more blood than she'd ever seen on him before. There was so much of it that she felt nauseous, a hand coming to cover her mouth, her arm wrapping around her stomach. Ranpo was holding onto something—no, someone.

Fukuzawa.

She hadn’t cured it.

"He just—" Ranpo tried to say, only to choke on his words. He raised a hand and stared at the blood, shocked. Whatever had happened had been fast, too fast for his genius brain to comprehend. Yosano could see it kicking into gear though, and she wanted to cry. "I don't know what happened—he was talking, and then—and then he was on the ground."

Yosano threw herself onto her knees beside the two of them, jamming her hand into Fukuzawa's neck only to recoil as the flesh sunk beneath her touch. What...?

Now that she was close enough, she could see that the wounds she'd cured had returned, but worse than before. Fukuzawa’s hands were nothing but bone, the skin and muscle sliding off his skeleton even in death. Where his skin remained, it was soft, sinking in places almost as if the elder’s insides were liquifying themselves. Where Ranpo clutched at his mentor, his hands left bruising imprints—although upon closer inspection, Yosano saw that the skin had actually broken, and was literally falling off around her friend’s grip.

And his face—his face—

It was cracked and split all over, blood and what looked to be brain matter oozing out of the cracks.

Fukuzawa was dead before he'd even hit the ground.

"I'm sorry, Ranpo, I'm so sorry." Yosano sobbed, bowing her head. She should've known it was too good to be true, should've known that it wasn't as simple as just using an ability. Why would it ever work that way? It wasn’t like it had worked before for her. And now Fukuzawa was gone, leaving just her and Ranpo as the sole survivors of this cursed infection.

"I'm sorry too." Came the shaky response, and Yosano lifted her head to look at Ranpo in confusion, uncertain as to why he was apologising when there hadn't been anything he could've done in the first place.

But then Ranpo lifted his hand, covered in Fukuzawa's blood, and through that blood, Yosano could see a cut.

A tiny cut, but a cut all the same.

And Yosano's heart shattered.

Please…

… no more.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #yosano akiko #edogawa ranpo #armed detective agency #port mafia #body horror #gore #main character death #angst #infection au #writing #fanfic

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silvfyre-writings · 2 months

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---- BSD Infection AU ----

Tonight I'm giving you a small glimpse of @silvfyre-writings a,d I infection AU collab ! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ I'm illustrating their story, with a few more arts we will release with the chapters of the fic

#this fic is killing me #i hope you all are ready for PAIN

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silvfyre-writings · 2 months

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Why Are We STILL Doing This?

I'm just going to straight up say the worst thing you can do as a reader is praise a writer in one breath, then backhandedly bash their ships in the next.

Let me explain.

I'm not talking about the "I don't normally ship x, but I gave this a chance since you wrote it" comments. Because that's fine. It's totally within your right to ship and not ship whatever.

I'm talking about, "Wow, this person's x ship work is so good! But ew, they ship y. Gross."

Y'all, I write fanfic because I want to. No one's paying me to do this. I love the community I've found in doing it, but then, I see people behaving badly, and I get a lot of feelings (hint: none of them are good ones. Mostly angry, a little sad).

I've been targeted and harassed for my ships on AO3. And because I am who I am, I have embraced the petty urge to write that ship I've been told not to EVEN HARDER.

Not everyone is like that. Talking shit about a person because of the ships they like can be really bad for that person's mental health. I know people who have stopped writing popular ships because of the hate they get for their less popular ones despite clear tagging, and it's even more infuriating when I see the same people talking shit get all sad because the writer quit writing the ship they (the reader) likes.

Sometimes, I ask myself, "Why can't we all just try to make this weird wonky fandom space we share in such a way that people's mental health doesn't crumble and they get all the joy out of their fan works they seek?" Then I remember people are people.

Hard ask, but if you don't like a ship, maybe instead of speaking in ways that damage other people, you can just say, "I don't personally like that ship" and not read the thing. Hell, there are ships I don't like, and I can just avoid them because tags. (Yes, I know it's not that easy, but hell, I'm trying anyway).

TL;DR: I saw people being assholes, I have feelings, and I want those people to stop being assholes.

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silvfyre-writings · 3 months

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Hold me up, won't you? (BSD Fanfic)

I've been slapped in the face with depression, so I did what I do best, and make my favourite character suffer the same. (Sorry daran army, no fluffy daran this time, maybe next time)

This is just something short to help me cope, but still leave a comment and kudos if you liked it~

Thank you for reading <3

Sometimes, you wake up feeling like shit, with no discernible meaning.

Sometimes you want to curl up in bed and hide, but can’t.

Sometimes you want to cease existing, but you also don’t want to hurt those that care.

And right now, Ranpo was feeling all of the above.

He stared at nothing; mind blank ever since he’d woken up, although it wouldn’t be much longer before it woke up and began to remind him of every single fault that he had, of every single negative moment of his life that he could remember, and considering it was him, there were a lot of memories for him to recall and remember, whether he wanted to or not. That, accompanied by the heaviness that his body had been stricken with upon opening his eyes, and Ranpo resigned himself to spending yet another day in his futon.

Just like yesterday.

And the day before.

And for all the days to come.

It wasn’t as if there was a reason for him to be feeling this way either—there seldom was, which was common apparently—there were just some days where he woke up and felt like living required a lot more effort than usual. It was on days like these, that Ranpo would send a text to the President that he wasn’t going in to work, and then switch his phone off so that he could be miserable all on his lonesome. He wasn’t fool enough to think that his co-workers didn’t worry about him whenever he did this, he was sure that they did, but the last thing that Ranpo wanted to do was deal with people trying to comfort him.

His problems were his own, and he would deal with them as such.

At least… that had been his intention, but for some reason, Ranpo found himself feeling irrevocable loneliness, and it made him feel worse than ever before. Even though he knew better, that people cared about him, and would check in on him once he could drag himself from his bed, right now, he felt like the entire world was against him. It felt like everyone was whispering behind his back, words of hatred and disgust, words that he wasn’t, nor would ever be, good enough for them, words that were completely false. But his mind was irrational in the moment, so right now, it was the truth,

Ranpo curled up, dragging his blanket further over his head.

He always hated when he felt like this.

His oldest friends wouldn’t hesitate to give him a solution, wouldn’t hesitate to try and counter the negativity in his mind with praises and comfort, but in the cases where your mind is the enemy, it will twist those words until they become warped and unrecognisable, leaving them worthless. It was why Ranpo pushed everyone away, it was easier to deal with being alone than to deal with even more negativity being thrust upon him.

Society always called him the greatest, his co-workers, the strongest, but right now, in that very minute, Ranpo felt nothing more than the speck of mud on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

The sound of his door opening dragged him back to the present, yet he didn’t move, didn’t call a greeting. Only two people had a key to his apartment, and both of them should’ve been at the Agency, working. And considering he’d managed to call out that morning, he knew who it was invading his apartment in an instant. And he should care, should feel relieved that the person he cared about the most was coming to check on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to even raise his head and look over his shoulder. He didn’t have the energy, the will; he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep until he felt better.

The last thing that Ranpo wanted to do was damage his relationship with Dazai.

He listened to the door shut, to the footsteps that headed in his direction; there was a rustle of a bag which said that Dazai had brought food with him, but by the time that he was standing beside Ranpo’s futon, the bag was gone, deposited in the kitchen most likely. Ranpo continued to stare at nothing, continued to say nothing, even as the blankets of his futon were lifted and he was joined by a warm weight at his back.

A bandaged arm came to wind around his waist, pulling him closer, and lips pressed against his crown. Ranpo tensed, waiting for the words to come, for the are you okay’s and the what can I do’s, but they never came. The room remained silent. And as the time passed, with the silence growing onwards, Ranpo relaxed into Dazai’s hold, his head tucked underneath the youngers chin, his back to Dazai’s chest. Dazai’s arm tightened a little, his thumb mindlessly stroking the skin on his stomach, and he shuffled closer. It was warmer than any blanket Ranpo could hope to smother himself with.

And although he should’ve found Dazai’s presence unsettling—because Ranpo had always dealt with these feelings of his alone, he didn’t. He knew why, of course, as unwell as he was, he wasn’t stupid.

A genius like Ranpo, alone at the top like Ranpo, and attacked by his own mind like Ranpo, Dazai was the only person in his life that could hope to understand what it was that he was going through, and know exactly what to do. Dazai understood what it was like to feel like the world hated you, he knew what it was like to struggle to get out of bed some days, and—

—he knew what it was like to want to die.

There was no helping people like them, you either gave in and died, or struggled and survived, and Ranpo had chosen to struggle.

So he rolled over, pressed his face into Dazai’s chest, and chose to let Dazai hold him up this time.

And maybe next time, he would as well.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #daran #dazai osamu #edogawa ranpo #comfort #depression #writing #fanfic

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silvfyre-writings · 3 months

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Genichirou Thoughts (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Time for Fyre’s Genichirou thoughts! I don't know how much sense this will make, but I'll try my best. Note that these are my personal thoughts. I love studying characters (although this is my first time sharing thoughts), so feel free to discuss with me!! :D

To start with, I am a baby when it comes to BSD, cause I have only been in the fandom since season 4 aired last year, and boy it’s been a ride, especially when it comes to Genichirou’s character. Because my first ever encounter with him was during the Untold Origins where he made a cameo—and well, from the comments on that episode, I legitimately thought he must’ve been the worst character on earth. Like, Shou Tucker bad, that’s how much hate Genichirou was getting on this episode.

And for the longest time, I avoided his character because of that (I wasn’t yet caught up on the series), but then I finally reached Genichirou’s first proper appearance and suddenly I was more confused than anything. At first glance, a drunken, exuberant man wanting to uphold the justice of what he believed to be the truth at the time. At a deeper glance, a complex and interesting character, yet I still refused to give him the time of day because the fandom hated him.

Then I met a certain someone who loves Genichirou, asked some questions about his character, and yeah, that was that, I now love this man and his complexity.

---

With a newfound appreciation for Genichirou’s character, I went back and looked into him more deeply (mostly because I wanted to write fics, and needed to understand him more), and found him quite the interesting character. Because underneath that drunken, joking persona of his, is a man who has been traumatised and hurt by the world and his closest friend, and it changed him drastically.

As a child, we see Genichirou as a happy child, he has fun, he’s friends with Fukuzawa, and he seems to genuinely enjoy his life. But then he becomes a soldier and that’s where things change.

To start with the obvious; his relationship with Fukuzawa. Genichirou tries and fails to convince Fukuzawa to go to war with him, which puts a strain on their friendship, but ultimately what I took away from that, is despite him being upset with Fukuzawa, he still respected Fukuzawa’s decision.

I personally think that it was the lack of contact that fractured their friendship instead of this decision as I see people think, especially since in the recent chapter, Genichirou apologised for not staying in touch.

The next is the war. I don’t think I need to explain that much, since we all have a solid understanding of it, and how it changed Genichirou. Genichirou says himself that “it was in that battlefield, that I was born” which is a pretty powerful message in itself. War changes people, that’s a fact, and Genichirou is no different. He went to war, witnessed the brutality and futility of it, and it changed him, it gave him a goal, which is the goal we strive to see him complete within the series.

Genichirou’s goal is a world without war, as we learnt in 112, after receiving a vision from Amenogozen, and his way of doing that was by making himself out to be the villain to try and unite the world into stopping him. In a way, similar to how William (MtP) works to unite London by becoming the villain if you need someone to compare to. Some would say that Genichirou’s goal of ridding the world of war by becoming its villain is the actions of a morally grey character. Some would say it’s an anti-hero. Personally, I think it’s a mixture of both. Mostly because unlike other morally gray/anti-hero characters we see (William Moriarty, Eren Jaeger, Lelouch vi Britannia, and Koko Hekmatyar to name a few), Genichirou worked alone.

Yes, he’s the head of the DOA, and yes, Teruko knew of his plans, but really, he worked alone to make his plan work.

The main issue with Genichirou’s goal is that he worked alone, but despite that, with the state of the current arc, we can’t say his goal failed or not yet. For that to be certain, we simply need to be patient and wait for the next arc. I would say though, that while his goal may not have succeeded as intended, he still managed to succeed in some aspect. The world will change because of his actions, but it remains to be seen how it will change (I am choosing the 2 hours later part until we know more).

As for why this goal of a world without war exists, well we have the sword, Amenogozen to thank for that, as it showed Genichirou a vision of a battle so terrible, that it prompted him into having this goal in the first place. The problem with this vision, is that we don’t know when Genichirou was shown the vision. All we know is that this fight takes place 36 years after he was shown the vision, which shows the severity of the situation for Genichiro to take action when he does.

All in all, Genichirou is not a simple character, and never was; he's always been complex, and always will be. We see him laughing, we see him joking, we see him caring, and we've seen him brutally stab his childhood friend, and cause the Agency so much pain with his actions. I truly think Asagiri has done well in writing his character, and I’ll be genuinely sad to see his arc end.

That’s my thoughts, thank you for sticking around, I probably didn’t make much sense, but I tried, and I wish to share

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #fukucho ouchi #analysis #kind of #more of thought sharing

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silvfyre-writings · 3 months

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Je ne suis qu'un être sans importance (BSD Fanfic)

A birthday gift for @llyfrannoddach~ Happy birthday, friend, I bring you some Fitzpoe that I hope you enjoy!

Title from: Dernière danse

Edgar was unlovable.

There were no if’s, but’s, or maybe’s about it, he just knew it with his whole heart that it was the truth. There was nothing desirable about him after all; boring gray eyes, a mop of a hairdo, and just well… everything about his body in general. No one smart enough would ever look at him and think him attractive, and honestly, Edgar was fine with it.

He was more than accustomed to it at this point.

But then he met Fitzgerald, and suddenly he began to doubt himself.

Fitzgerald was an anomaly, an enigma; he was the richest person that Edgar had ever met, with a wife and child of his own, and yet recently, his attention was focused on Edgar for some strange reason. A reason that he couldn’t decipher which was enough to leave him unnerved. And led to him avoiding the man as much as possible.

Until now.

The yearly Guild ball was in full swing, an event that none of them could get out of, and that every acquaintance or business partner of Fitzgerald’s attended, no matter what excuse you used, and yes, Edgar had most certainly tried. Balls were not his thing—he was a writer for crying out loud, not a dancer. He’d tried faking sick, telling his boss that he had other commitments, things like that. But no, Fitzgerald wouldn’t hear a word of it and demanded that Edgar be there.

So here he was.

Was he tucked into the corner of the room, nursing a glass of wine? Yes, but he was there and that was the main thing. Fitzgerald hadn’t said that he had to interact with anyone

“Edgar, my boy, what are you doing, hiding all the way over here?”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“Observing the crowd, sir.” It was half a truth, because admitting to his boss that he’d much rather be in his room, working on a novel, was just asking a lecture that he very much did not want to deal with. “It’s an impressive turnout.”

Fitzgerald let out a booming laugh that turned a few heads. “I’m glad you think so, old sport. Even I have to admit that I outdid myself this time. They’ll be talking about this gala for the years to come!”

Edgar hummed, and sipped at his wine.

“Now, instead of hiding out in the corner and avoiding everyone here, come and dance with me.”

Edgar proceeded to choke on his wine.

“W—What?” Him? Dancing? That was the last thing that Edgar had expected his boss to do. The next being the hand that smacked him on the back while he coughed. Once he’d stopped choking, he cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t you rather dance with Ms Zelda, sir? Or Scottie, even?”

There was an amused look on Fitzgerald’s face. “I can dance with them whenever I wish. Right now, I want to dance with you.”

Fitzgerald turned to face him and bowed slightly, extending his hand; a formal invitation that would be rude of Edgar to refuse.

“So may I have this dance?”

Edgar sucked in a breath before he nodded and took the offered hand. He allowed Fitzgerald to guide him from his sanctuary, the elder’s hand warm where his own was clammy. As if sensing his nerves, Fitzgerald squeezed his hand, before spinning to face him. Edgar’s heart almost stopped as his boss rested his other hand on his waist. It was the appropriate position for the dance, but it was an unfamiliar touch to him.

His mind swirled, and not from the wine. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d been touched in such a manner—didn’t think there ever was another time to begin with. And yet, here was Fitzgerald, his boss, willingly touching him, willingly engaging with him instead of one of the countless other rich and extroverted people that had attended. Edgar didn’t know what to make of it.

“Breathe, Edgar.” Came the order, and he found himself following. “Now come on, follow my lead.”

“I’m no good at dancing, Mr Fitzgerald, sir.”

“Call me Francis tonight. And trust me, you’ll be fine.”

“F—Francis, sir—” The name felt foreign on his tongue as Edgar stumbled over it. “I really think you should—”

Fitzger—no, Francis—let out a huff and tugged Edgar closer. “Just shut up and dance with me, Edgar. Stop thinking so hard for once in your life.”

And that was precisely what Edgar did, or tried to do at least. He let out all the air in his lungs, and focused on following Francis’ footsteps. The older man moved with a level of care that he’d never seen before, stepping slow at first so that Edgar could follow along before picking up the pace until they were dancing at the normal tempo.

Edgar had always prided himself on being a fast learner, and dancing was no different, for he soon found himself comfortable in the repetitive motions. It was a slow dance, with just a few steps, accompanied by the small orchestra that Francis had hired for the event—supposedly, Zelda had talked him down from hiring a full one. He could see her now, at the snack table with her and Francis’ daughter, watching the two of them with a smile on her face.

Suddenly, Edgar felt self-conscious, and tried to pull away. He was making a fool of himself here. He never should have accepted the dance in the first place. People would talk, and assume, and that would only damage Francis’ reputation, and bring misery to his wife and child. He needed to leave before people started to take notice of what was actually happening.

But the moment he loosened his grip, Francis tightened his.

“You’re doing fine, Edgar.” He said. “Just enjoy yourself.”

“I’m dancing a slow dance with my boss, sir. People are going to assume—”

“Then let them.”

What? “But—But Zelda—”

“She knows, and does not care.” Francis tugged him closer, one hand coming to cup Edgar’s cheek. “You are not the first man I have taken an interest in, but you could be the last. If your morals don’t get in the way, of course.”

Edgar should say no, should say that he’s not interested, but the words wouldn’t come, leaving him floundering like a fish in the sky, face burning because he was interested, and there was no way he could deny it.

But perhaps he shouldn’t.

If Francis’ own wife knew and didn’t care, then maybe Edgar could indulge himself, could accept what he was being offered.

Maybe he could be loved for once.

“They won’t.” Edgar said after a minute or two had passed.

“Then let us dance.” Francis said, leaning in to brush his lips against Edgar’s. “And afterwards, we can enjoy the rest of the night… privately.”

Edgar smiled against Francis’ lips, finding himself looking forward to what could be.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #fitzpoe #edgar allan poe #francis scott fitzgerald #romance #dancing #writing #fanfic #fluff

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silvfyre-writings · 3 months

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I realized I never posted my ever growing daran/ranzai shrine on tumblr, so here it is!!! I will need a third cork board soon 😂👌 But no regrets.

DARAN IS LIFE. I REFUSE TO STOP COLLECTING FOR THE OTP OF ALL TIME.

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silvfyre-writings · 3 months

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Rest well, my love (BSD Fanfic)

Hello, I bring more bramran because you will have to pry this ship from my cold dead hands. This time, a sickfic, because what pairing doesn't have at least one sickfic?

This time, we have something that's short and sweet, so I hope you all enjoy!!!

It isn’t the sun that wakes Bram, nor is it an alarm clock, but instead it is a series of sneezes that come from right beside him that drag him out of slumber and into the world of the living. He keeps his eyes closed, in hope of being able to go back to sleep, but it proves hopeless when a groan sounds, followed by a ragged cough that truly sounds retched, and that’s when Bram opens his eyes, blinking slowly. Another cough echoes throughout the room.

As his eyes adjust to the morning light, Bram shifts to look at the one making these noises, the much smaller form of Edogawa Ranpo tucked against his chest, sniffling miserably. His love’s eyes are crusted with sleep and dried tears, and Bram raises a hand to gently brush his thumb over them, wiping away the gunk without another thought. Ranpo’s nose is also bright red and runny, which explains the near constant sniffling he’s been hearing since he woke up. And accompanied by the occasional cough, it’s clear that Ranpo is very much sick.

How unfortunate.

Bram frowns. It’s not often that Ranpo falls ill—when he does, it’s usually because he was neglecting to take care of himself, or, he was caught in a storm—but whenever he does, it’s never a fun time. Whatever illness that his love contracts always seems to go out of its way to make his life a living hell, and it usually falls to Bram to take care and make sure that he doesn’t get any worse. Not that Bram minds, because when he’s ill, Ranpo becomes extremely affectionate, wanting to cling and cuddle far more than he normally does, and honestly, Bram loves it.

He loves to be relied on, to be appreciated and praised for his efforts when he spent so many years prior being used by those around him.

“Ranpo.” Bram smooths his hand down Ranpo’s cheek, watching as the other mans eyes scrunch before flicking open. It doesn’t take long for Ranpo to squeeze them shut again.

“Nngh.”

Bram continues his gentle touches. “My love, you need to let go of me.”

The response comes quick, Ranpo tightening his grip and muttering a quiet no.

“I promise to return.” Bram says, shifting his focus to Ranpo’s hair, running his fingers through, over and over, until finally, Ranpo loosens his grip and he’s able to pull away. “Thank you.”

“Come back quick, I’m cold.” Ranpo whines, sniffling pitifully as he buries himself under the blankets, disappearing from view.

Bram watches fondly for a moment before he sets off to complete his self-given task. Because of Ranpo’s frequent run-ins with sickness, Bram had to learn very quick how to handle each illness as it came—even though he rarely dealt with more than a summer cold—and now, he considers himself quite adept at it. Seldom does Ranpo complain about the way he’s tended to, and even Ranpo’s colleagues resort to calling him whenever the younger tries to power his way through the workday, and subsequently fails.

First comes the basics; a glass of water, some medicine that will take every bone in his body to convince Ranpo to take the innocent pills, and a washcloth. As he walks around the kitchen, gathering what he needs, he thinks. He’s pretty sure that whatever illness Ranpo has contracted is still in the early stages, which means that with plenty of rest and a little bit of doting, it’ll pass by in the blink of an eye. At least, that’s what Bram hopes, because seldom do these bouts go the way he hopes.

But he pushes that worry away, knowing that if he lingers on it, it’s more likely to happen.

Once he has everything he needs, Bram heads back to the bedroom, stopping by the bathroom quick to wet the cloth. He crawls back into bed, juggling everything in his hands so that he can try and coax Ranpo into revealing his face. “I have some medicine for you. And water.”

The whine is followed by a harsh cough. “’m fine.”

Bram raises an eyebrow, and tugs at the covers again. “You absolutely are not fine.”

“Am to.” Ranpo pokes his head free, looking just a little worse than when Bram had left him earlier. He doesn’t say anything though, as he coaxes Ranpo into sitting up to lean against him. Ranpo complains, as he does, and Bram shushes him quietly, wiping the sweat from his face with the damp cloth.

Ranpo leans into his touch, a content hum escapes him, and his eyes slip shut. “Feels nice…”

“That’s because you have a fever.” Bram says, give Ranpo’s face another clean before he discards the cloth. He offers up the water and the medicine. “Take these.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Ranpo.”

For a moment they stare each other down, but if there’s one thing that Bram has perfected over the time that he and Ranpo have been dating, it’s how to out-stubborn the younger, and sure enough, Ranpo looks away with a sigh, a hand rising up to take the medicine and water. It only takes him a second to down the medicine, and a few more to finish the water, and once that’s done, Bram finds himself being dragged back down.

He allows it, shifting onto his side so that he can draw Ranpo into his arms, smiling to himself when his love snuggles closer to him, tucking his head underneath his chin. Bram can feel Ranpo’s feverish forehead against his skin, an uncomfortable warmth that promises to cause problems lest he get it under control early, and soft puffs of air against his neck as Ranpo breathes softly, careening back into the sleep he was awoken from.

Which is good, because rest will help Ranpo to heal faster.

Bram helps the process along by tightening his grip, entangling one hand into Ranpo’s hair, and smoothing the other along Ranpo’s spine. Not only is it soothing to Ranpo and will help him sleep better, it’s calming to Bram as well, and already he feels ready to sleep again.

Before he does though, he makes a mental note to wake in a couple of hours and check on Ranpo’s condition.

Rest well, my love, I will take care of you.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd fanfic #bramran #bram stoker #edogawa ranpo #comfort #fluff #sickfic #writing #fanfic

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silvfyre-writings · 3 months

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I understand you (BSD Fanfic)

Tbh, I'm not entirely sure what I was going for with this one, and it's STILL not the sickfic I'm after, but ohhh well, I still enjoyed writing this.

My writing mojo has been at an all time low recently (I finished this like, a week ago), but I'm trying to keep at it, so I'm sharing this to give myself motivation.

So do enjoy.

Genran army, I hope y'all enjoy the food.

The door to Genichiro’s apartment opens and closes with a slam, which has him pausing in his work to look over his shoulder. Aside from the office he’s working in, the rest of his apartment is shrouded in darkness from the late hour, but that doesn’t stop him from being able to see the silhouette of the biggest pain in his ass, slinking past his doorway without stopping to greet or annoy him like he usually does. Genichiro listens as the footsteps make their way past his office and directly towards his bedroom.

Which begs the question of why Ranpo has decided to show up in his apartment in the dead of night, when normally, he’s at his own at this hour—unless he’s tangled in Genichiro’s bedsheets, but that’s another story.

And while Genichiro should probably get up and go see what Ranpo’s doing and what he wants, there’s a part of his mind that tells him not to, that he should finish his work, so that’s what Genichiro does. He pushes Ranpo’s sudden appearance in his home to the back of his mind and returns to the paperwork that demands his attention, and has continued to do so despite it being his day off.

The joys of being a war hero.

But even war heroes need their sleep, and Genichiro is no different. Exhaustion clings to his bones, and his desire to sleep threatens to drag his eyes shut before he even makes it to his bed. Before he does, though, he goes to the kitchen, grabbing too glasses of water and a small back of snacks that’d been left in his cupboard the last time that Ranpo had visited. Usually, Ranpo leaving his snacks behind annoys him, because Genichiro isn’t much for sweet things and they take up space for the food he actually likes, but just this once, it comes in handy to have them here.

Genichiro moves down the hall, carrying the goods precariously, juggling them into one hand long enough for him to flick his office light off, and then continues towards his room, nudging the door open enough for him to squeeze through the gap. It’s not completely dark in the room, due to the light emanating from what appears to be a makeshift nightlight of sorts—it’s just the torch of Ranpo’s phone shining through the bottom of a water bottle, that’s been shoved into the corner of the room. Crude, but effective, and it also gives some idea of why Ranpo is here to begin with.

For once, it seems like he’s not interested in goading Genichiro into fucking him.

Which is strange, but welcomed.

Genichiro doesn’t make a sound as he first, places the water and snacks on his bedside table, and then strips out of his clothes, throwing them onto the floor where Ranpo’s dumped his own, before crawling into bed beside the smaller man. Ranpo doesn’t make a noise as the bed shifts beneath him, and most would think him asleep, but Genichiro knows better. There’s tension in the younger’s body, and even though his eyes are closed, his breathing is far too controlled for him to be sleeping.

Something’s up with him.

And Genichiro could pry the answer out of him—probably should since Ranpo’s decided to come to him instead of his precious Fukuzawa for a change—but he doesn’t. Instead, Genichiro reaches out to wrap an arm around Ranpo’s waist and tug him to his chest, holding him close and sharing his warmth. Sleep continues to come for him, so Genichiro presses his lips to the back of Ranpo’s neck and murmurs into the skin there. “There’s snacks and water behind me. Just don’t wake me.”

The tension in Ranpo’s body eases just the tiniest amount.

In the morning, when Genichiro wakes, the first thing he becomes aware of is the weight that’s curled up against him, and the next is the hair that’s tickling his nose. He scrunches his nose and shifts his head just enough so that it’s not, and only then does he take a gamble with allowing his eyes to open. The room is darker than it was before Genichiro fell asleep, the makeshift light in the corner now gone, although the light in the hall was turned on at some point, meaning that the other occupant of his bed had gotten up during the night at some point.

Genichiro glances behind him to check if the snacks and water he’d left on the table are gone, and sure enough, they are. It gives him a satisfied feeling, but it still leaves him curious as to why Ranpo is even here.

He has some idea, because he’s not a complete idiot, and he does actually know what goes through Ranpo’s mind to some extent.

Because as Ranpo so often tells him, they are both the same and so very different from each other, and that’s the main reason that they get along as well as they do. Well, if you could call the constant goading and pestering of each other getting along in the first place. That wasn’t the point though; the point is that Genichiro has an inkling of why Ranpo is currently curled up in Genichiro’s bed like a kicked puppy, it’s just a matter of convincing the younger to actually tell him so he can help.

Ranpo is the kind of person to hide and deal with his problems himself, but there are times where he can’t, so he throws himself into the arms of whoever it is that can help him.

Which is apparently Genichiro this time.

He lets out a yawn, and pulls away to stretch before he crawls out of bed. His eyes fall on Ranpo, now asleep, and studies him. The tension from before is gone—he’s almost certain that once Ranpo wakes, it’ll return—but there are circles under his eyes, and even in sleep, the detective looks exhausted. It’s clear that Ranpo hasn’t been sleeping, and the fact that he is now, despite being as light a sleeper as Genichiro, just shows how much he needs it.

Genichiro leaves the room, leaving the door cracked open, and heads towards his kitchen with the intention of cooking something simple for breakfast. Tamagoyaki, perhaps, and maybe some rice. Quick and easy.

He gets the rice started and leaves it to cook in order to take a shower, peeking into his room as he passes it by, and sure enough, Ranpo is still dead asleep, although he’s now hugging Genichiro’s pillow to his chest, and the blankets are pulled up high so that only his hair is visible. It’s awfully domestic, and very much unlike their usual dynamic where they trade insults and jibes in amongst pleasure, that Genichiro is still trying to fathom how it came to this… gentleness.

It's probably his inner desire to do good, to be human, if he’s being honest with himself.

It’s a part of him that’s so unfamiliar nowadays that he has no idea how to actually handle it.

After the shower comes cooking the rest of breakfast, and soon enough, he’s on his way back to his bedroom, food in one hand, and another glass of water in the other, and all he can think about as he walks is that Ranpo better be awake to appreciate Genichiro’s efforts.

Why? He doesn’t know—he absolutely does, he just won’t admit it.

Ranpo’s still where he was when Genichiro saw him earlier, but his eyes flick open as he crawls back into the bed. The younger doesn’t say anything, just watching as Genichiro settles himself, and blinks when the water is held out to him.

“Drink.” Genichiro says. “And eat some of this as well.”

Ranpo relinquishes his hold on the pillow and drags himself upright, the movements lacking energy—it truly looks as if someone else is controlling his body, invisible strings tied to his limbs to make him move; strings that are cut as he slumps against Genichiro. But he does reach out to take the water, so Genichiro remains still, and scoops some of the tamagoyaki into his mouth, using it as an excuse to observe Ranpo now that it’s light and he’s awake.

The circles under his eyes make that viciously bright, emerald green, look even brighter, but they also take away the life that is usually contained within them. And in the light of morning, Ranpo’s complexion has taken on a pallor that’s usually only seen on him when he’s rundown by some kind of illness. He also trembles, as if he suffers from a chill he cannot shake, and Genichiro can feel him shiver from beside him.

The worst part of it is the way that he refuses to look in Genichiro’s direction.

Not that he cares or minds, of course. In fact, he even understands it a little. Sometimes you just desire the company of someone you trust, without words or questions needing to be said, and other times, you simply wish to exist in the presence of someone who will offer you care without it needing to be asked for. Or on the odd occasion—like now—it is both.

And while Genichiro still doesn’t quite understand why it’s him that’s been chosen, just this once, he’ll indulge the brat that he loves, and take care of him while he battles the demons in his head.

God knows he’s done it enough times to Genichiro at this point. It’s only fair he returns the favour.

With that thought in mind, he drapes an arm around Ranpo’s shoulder, and tugs him closer, so that he’s resting against Genichiro’s chest.

“I’ve got you.” He says, holding a piece of egg in front of Ranpo’s mouth.

Ranpo stares at the egg for a moment before he leans forward to take it, chewing slowly as he curls into Genichiro, eyes slipping closed once again.

I’ve got you, he says, but the I understand you goes unsaid.

Because it doesn’t have to be.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #genran #fukuchi ouchi #edogawa ranpo #hurt/comfort #comfort #fluff #writing #fanfic

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silvfyre-writings · 4 months

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To Paradise (BSD Fanfic)

Welcome to another AU I've been cooking up. Recently, I've been thinking about Wolf's Rain and wanting to watch it again, and then I had the idea of combining it with BSD and therefore, this fic was born!

I hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and who can say no to more Fukuzawa and Ranpo content, really? I know I can't!

ANYWAY!! ENJOY!!

Fukuzawa finds the young pup underneath the corpse of his mother; a pile of shivering fur and bone with wounds that are oozing blood onto the snow beneath his limp form. Somehow, the pup is still alive, but by all means, he shouldn’t be. The wounds are deep, and look painful, but the worst wound that the poor pup has suffered from is the loss of his parents. Fukuzawa glances towards the father, face bared in a snarl at the human he’d taken down before meeting his fate, and the mothers face was of a similar look, albeit more protective than anything. But whatever it was that she’d done, it’d worked, for her pup is still alive, although with the current weather, and the pup’s current state, he wouldn’t be for much longer.

Which means that Fukuzawa is left with a choice.

Did he take the pup with him and try to nurse him back to health? Or did he provide a merciful death, and send the poor child to be with his parents in the next life?

In all honesty, Fukuzawa figures a merciful death would be more kind. Not only is he not equipped to take care of an injured pup, but the world isn’t kind to wolves; humans think them cursed, and hunt them down mercilessly to try and stop their precious world from falling apart even more than it already has. And it’s with that knowledge in mind, that Fukuzawa leans down, fangs bared to rip out the pups throat—a quick death, and although guilt fills him at taking such a young and innocent life, it’s better this way. The pup would only suffer through the ordeal of his injuries and the loss of his family, and growing up in such a heartless world would only be cruel.

But the moment he goes to latch on, the pup opens his eyes, a brilliant green that stares right into Fukuzawa’s soul, a green so full of life even though its glazed with pain, a green that Fukuzawa hasn’t seen in many years, and it’s those green eyes that make him reconsider his decision.

He doesn’t hesitate for long; there’s a cold chill promising more snowfall, and the last thing this pup needs is to be caught in such a cold. So Fukuzawa sighs and grabs the pup by his scruff, lifting him into the air and turning on his tail. There’s nothing he can do for the parents, and as much as he wishes to give them the burial they deserve, it’s them or their pup, and if he were a parent, he knew what he’d choose. He keeps walking, ignoring the whimpers and cries of the pup hanging from his jaws as he seems to realise that something is happening. How much he’s aware of, Fukuzawa doesn’t know, but he truly hopes that he’s made the right decision here.

The first thing that Fukuzawa does upon returning to his den, is curl up in his nest and place the pup into the curve of his stomach, much like a mother would. At least, he thinks that’s what a mother would do—Fukuzawa hasn’t seen another wolf in years, and has been without a pack for even longer, but he does recall faintly what his own mother used to do for him. And considering that immediately, the pup burrows into his fur, chasing the warmth that he’s providing, he thinks he’s right. He knows that he should feed the pup, and take care of his wounds, but both food and herbs are scarce these days, so Fukuzawa doesn’t want to spare any until he’s sure that the pup has a fighting chance.

One night. He tells himself as he begins to clean the pup’s pitch-black fur free of blood. If he survives the night, I’ll take care of him.

And so, Fukuzawa spends the night watching the pup’s chest, refusing to sleep just in case that breathing stops during the night, but his worry is for naught, as the pup’s breathing only grows stronger as the night goes on, almost as if there is someone watching over him and providing the strength that he needs to survive.

When the sun rises, Fukuzawa lets out a yawn, fighting to keep his eyes open as he forces himself to get up and go hunt. He has food of course that he’s kept safe, but the pup needs fresh meat if he is to thrive, and although the woods are almost empty, there is still prey if one knows where to look, and Fukuzawa certainly knows where to look. But before he goes, he tugs the bedding over the sleeping pup to keep him warm while he’s gone, and gives a gentle lick to his ear before he leaves the den and hopes that upon his return, the pup is still there and alive.

Hope is all he has these days.

Fukuzawa returns with the carcass of a rabbit that’s more skin than bone, but it’s fresh, and still has some meat to it, and it’ll simply have to do. He drops the carcass into the middle of the den and moves to pick up the pup, grunting when he jerks awake and flails in Fukuzawa’s jaws until he’s dumped on the floor next to the rabbit, his attention shifting towards the meal. Fukuzawa sits beside the pup and watches, waiting for him to take the first bite, but as time ticks by, he starts to wonder if he’s done something wrong when the pup just stares at the rabbit before turning to look at him with slight confusion.

He nudges the rabbit towards the pup, encouraging, but all he does is sniff at it, that look of confusion growing even stronger, and its then that Fukuzawa realises just how young this pup he’s acquired is, that he’s not old enough to be eating meals without the aid of his parents—a task that now falls to Fukuzawa. The pup whines and tugs at the rabbit, and then looks up at Fukuzawa with those green eyes of his, and that’s all it takes for Fukuzawa to give in. He lets out a sigh before he tears a chunk of flesh from the rabbit, chewing on the meat, and resisting the urge to swallow it himself, until the meat is more mush than anything. It’s gross, and if this is what parenting is supposed to be like, Fukuzawa is glad that he never had pups of his own.

But he pushes that discomfort aside, because it’s not about him, but about the starving pup that is looking up at him with nothing but hunger and hope in his eyes.

Fukuzawa chews a little longer before spitting the meat out onto the ground. And just like that, the pup bends down and begins to eat, the stringy meat of a rabbit now much more suitable to his delicate puppy teeth. Fukuzawa watches, and continues to chew up more meet until the rabbit is nothing but bones, and the pup is yawning where he sits. He remembers then, that the pup is still injured, although the injuries have stopped bleeding by now, and steps away to grab some herbs he has carefully gathered in case of an injury.

Once he has what he needs, Fukuzawa pads back to the pup and curls up around him, dropping the herbs beside him. The pup eyes the plants, and then cringes away, pressing himself into Fukuzawa’s side. So you know what they’re for. Good. Out loud, he says, “Your wounds need proper care. You may have survived the night, but you still have a ways to go.”

The pup whines from beside him, ears flat against his head.

And Fukuzawa thinks in that moment he needs to find out the pups name, already sick of calling him pup. He sighs, and noses the plants to find the ones he needs. “Speaking of surviving, do you have a name?”

Fukuzawa finds what he needs and turns back to see the pup cocking his head at him, eyes bright and knowing, but no words come from him, leading Fukuzawa to believe that he’s even younger than he first thought. But just as he’s residing himself to the fact he’ll need to name the pup, a quiet voice echoes throughout the cave. “… Ranpo.”

There’s a brief pause as Fukuzawa stares, but it doesn’t last long as his face softens. “A good name. Mine is Fukuzawa. Now, sit still and let me get those wounds treated.”

Ranpo doesn’t speak again, but he does crawl out of Fukuzawa’s fur just enough that he can actually get to the wounds now. First he gives Ranpo a thorough lick, cleaning his fur of the dried blood—his wounds must’ve continued to bleed a little while after he’d cleaned him last night; Ranpo tolerates the treatment at least, although his ears remain flat against his head the entire time, but that could just be for what’s coming as well.

Because being treated with herbs is never fun.

They sting, they smell, and they feel gross against your skin, but are necessary in preventing infection.

But any smart wolf will tolerate such things in order to recover.

Which is what Ranpo does when Fukuzawa chews up the first lot of herbs into a pulp to smear on his wounds. His lips curl into a snarl that is more adorable than threatening, but he doesn’t actually snap, so Fukuzawa leaves him be, focusing on his own job instead. He checks each wound as he finds it, seeing how deep it is, and whether it might be showing the beginning signs of infection, but so far, everything is fine. There’s no doubt in his mind that the wounds will scar, but that’s a small price to pay for Ranpo surviving the carnage that he did.

But then he gets to Ranpo’s hindleg, and pauses, because clearly, he spoke too soon. Fukuzawa noses the leg in question, frowning when all he can feel is heat and swollen muscle. The wound on the leg is deep, and a vicious red surrounds it, made even more evident by the missing fur that’d clearly been torn off. Teeth, not claws then. He tried to run and they dragged him back. How cruel…

Fukuzawa, in a rare show of emotion, wants nothing more than to seek out the people that killed Ranpo’s parents and end their own pitiful lives, but he squashes that urge; he has no idea how much distance is between him and them, and leaving Ranpo alone now of all times would just set the pup up for certain death. All he can do right now is make sure that Ranpo survives, and to do that, he needs to kill the infection before it can set and spread.

Ranpo winces as he cleans the wound, and lets out a soft whimper as Fukuzawa applies herbs to it, but doesn’t pull away from his ministrations for which Fukuzawa is grateful. The moment that he’s finished with the herbs, Ranpo returns to curling up against him, pressing his tiny frame into his side as much as possible. Fukuzawa lets out a sigh and gets comfortable, resigned to spending the rest of the day watching over Ranpo as he rested. Once the pup was asleep, he could sneak away and hunt again, but for now, he would just keep watch.

He’s not quite sure what he’s gotten himself into, but something tells him that stumbling across this pup and his dead parents wasn’t a mistake.

For the most part, taking care of Ranpo is simple enough.

Every day, Fukuzawa tracks down what prey he can, and brings it back to the cave, and teaches Ranpo how to eat properly without him needing to chew up the food first. Does he still need to tear it into small pieces for the pup? Yes, but for the most part, Ranpo is capable of eating what Fukuzawa dumps at his feet. He also spends each day tending to Ranpo’s wounds, watching as all of them except for the one on his leg begin to close up, and the fur grows back—albeit patchily. Not that Fukuzawa cares—he has scars of his own—but sometimes he catches Ranpo looking at his reflection in the water that runs through their cave, looking upset, and remembers that younger wolves tended to be rather vain.

Although he was almost certain that such a phase wasn’t supposed to occur in puphood.

However, the wound on Ranpo’s leg was stubborn, refusing to heal as easily as the rest of his injuries had, and although he’d managed to prevent infection from settling in, Ranpo was still unable to put any weight on the leg without it hurting him. Which meant significant damage, which further meant that Ranpo wouldn’t be able to survive in this world on his own, which meant that unless Fukuzawa decided he didn’t have a heart, he was stuck with the pup.

Not that Ranpo seems to mind that of course, always curling up beside Fukuzawa in his nest rather than his own that Fukuzawa had spent a considerable amount of time putting together.

And Fukuzawa tries not to complain too much, because the weather is cold, and Ranpo is still healing, but it’s just a little annoying to be woken up by stray kicks from flailing paws.

The hardest part of taking care of Ranpo is by far, communicating with him.

Fukuzawa isn’t a talkative wolf by nature, even when he had a pack of his own, he never really spoke, but his packmates understood that and learnt how to communicate with him regardless.

But aside from telling Fukuzawa his name, Ranpo hasn’t said a word at all since he arrived, and it’s more than a little frustrating. And concerning.

That’s not to say that Fukuzawa doesn’t try at least; he asks questions and receives shrugs and ear flicks in return, and when he tries to start up casual conversation—something he has no idea how to actually do himself—Ranpo simply doesn’t respond, and Fukuzawa can’t tell if he wants to and actually can’t, or if he just doesn’t want to. And it’s not like Fukuzawa is going to get an answer if he asks to begin with.

It's fine though.

Ranpo seems to understand what it is he’s saying in the first place, so that’s all that matters. Of course, he’d rather Ranpo speak and tell him what he wants, but he’s not going to snap at the pup for not speaking; that would just be cruel.

A whine draws Fukuzawa out of his thoughts, and he blinks to see Ranpo staring up at him, tail wagging excitedly, and… what looks to be some kind of bird in his jaws.

Fukuzawa blinks again. He hasn’t seen a bird in the area since he started living here, especially one as plump as the one Ranpo’s holding. “Where did you find that?”

Ranpo tilts his head to the left of him, and then drops the bird and nudges it closer towards him.

The sight of plump food makes Fukuzawa’s mouth water, but he’s also hesitant to take a bite. It’s not like hasn’t eaten a bird before, because he has. They’re tasty, and the feathers come in handy for bedding and entertaining pups, but he wasn’t wrong when he said it’s been years since he’d last seen a bird. The weather is always poor, and there’s not enough food for them to sustain themselves. If this bird did in fact reside here, then it should’ve been much thinner, not plump. The more he thinks on it, the more his instincts scream at him that something is wrong.

He just doesn’t know what.

Ranpo lets out another whine, starting to look dejected the way he always does when he thinks he’s done something wrong—which he hasn’t—and Fukuzawa’s heart clenches at the sight.

“You did well in finding food.” Fukuzawa praises, and bends to sniff the bird. It smells fine, but he’s still unsure. He just has to hope that Ranpo doesn’t take his coming words personally. “I don’t want you to eat it just yet. I know you worked hard to find it, but birds do not live this far north, so I am concerned.”

Ranpo’s ears flatten against his head, and he starts to look apprehensive, like he knows what’s coming.

“I need you to go to the cave, and hide in that little nook I showed you the other day, okay?” Fukuzawa explains, doing his best to ignore the uneasy look Ranpo is giving him. “Take the bird and hide. I must investigate the area that you found it. Do not leave the nook until I return, Ranpo.”

Ranpo whines and crawls closer, begging in his own, silent way, for Fukuzawa to not to go—to not abandon him.

“I will return.” Fukuzawa reassures before he stands and gives Ranpo a nudge. “I promise I will, so go.”

For a moment, he thinks that Ranpo is going to refuse, but then he picks up the bird and carries it into the cave, and Fukuzawa knows that his words will be listened to. He turns his attention towards the direction where Ranpo had found the bird and just hopes that he’s wrong and that this isn’t some kind of ploy.

Stars know that they didn’t need any trouble.

Fukuzawa follows Ranpo’s scent trail back the way he’d come, keeping his eyes and his ears open just in case there’s something lurking in the shadows of the trees. He doesn’t think there is, but one doesn’t live as long as he has by making assumptions. The shadows play tricks after all, leading you to believe that nothing is there until it’s too late, and you die. He’s seen many a wolf die in such a manner, the humans hunting them hiding with their weapons behind trees, and their trained mutts that take pleasure in ripping them apart after a long chase.

Shoot the wolf, and chase them until they can run no more.

It’s cruel and barbaric, but it’s simply how life is for their kind, and it doesn’t matter where they hide, or how long they manage to avoid human contact, they will be hunted without mercy.

And it looks like Fukuzawa’s time has run out.

He knows it’s because of Ranpo, that the pup and his family are the reason why there are even humans this far north, and it’s not fair to blame him for it because he’s just a pup, but it’s also the truth. A truth that Fukuzawa will think but never speak of. There’s no need to, not when it’s already happened, and all he can do is simply accept that fact and push on from it. Lingering on it will do nothing but bring both him and Ranpo pain, and it will threaten to shatter the trust that the pup has in him if he starts to blame him, which Fukuzawa doesn’t want.

He pauses for a moment, wondering when he’d begun to care whether Ranpo trusts him or not before shaking his head and continuing on his way. He needs to focus right now, not get lost in his thoughts.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the clearing where Ranpo had found the bird, and he sits at the edge of it, crouched, as he observes the area. His eyes roam, falling to the bloodstains—far too much for just a simple hunt, which solidifies his theory that it’s some kind of trap, but he’s still not sure what kind of trap it is. Is it poison? Or is something new that the humans have been concocting? It’s hard to tell—at least, until Fukuzawa studies the ground by the pool of blood, and his heart stops.

Fukuzawa dashes into the clearing then, uncaring if there is still someone in the area—he knows there’s not, despite the stench of human in the air—and pauses by the pool of blood, and it’s then that his heart starts to beat again, and beat fast.

Because there are human and mutt footprints following after Ranpo’s trail, the pup’s odd gait an easy trail to follow.

He and the hunting party must’ve passed each other at some point, but Fukuzawa had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed and he wants to bite himself for it.

Because he’s left Ranpo all alone to fall victim to the hunters.

Fukuzawa doesn’t hesitate to run, forcing himself to run faster than he’s ever run before in his life, kicking up snow as he follows the trail. He doesn’t even have to focus on the prints in the snow, the human scent is more than enough for him to track, but even so, he knows where they’re going, and he can only hope that he makes it in time, that he’s not too late.

A memory of the last time he’d been too late crossed his mind, but he forced it away.

He wouldn’t be late this time.

Please be safe. Fukuzawa pleads as he runs, forcing himself to keep going when his legs start to tremble from the exertion. He’s not as young as he used to be and it shows, but he ignores his body telling him to stop and continues to push. Ranpo’s depending on him, waiting for him to return, and Fukuzawa refuses to break the promise he made. But stars does he wish he could stop for a moment to catch his breath.

He can’t though, because now the cave is in sight, surrounded by mutts and their humans, and Fukuzawa lets out a snarl; in the hands of one of the hunters is Ranpo, squirming as they hold him by his scruff, sneering and no doubt admiring their prey. The mutts at their feet are drooling, hoping for a chance to taste Ranpo’s blood, but they know better than to try and take, which gives Fukuzawa a little bit more time to get there, to save the pup he found. He’s not sure why they haven’t just killed Ranpo yet, but he’s not going to think on it—he needs his mind to be clear if he wants to save Ranpo.

Fukuzawa isn’t sure he’ll make it, feeling despaired as the human holds Ranpo out over the mutts, a look of disgust on his face. The mutts crawl closer, but still don’t rise, focused on the meal they are being offered. He knows then that he won’t make it, that he’s going to have to watch Ranpo be torn to shreds, but for some reason he keeps going, a small amount of hope that he will make it, all that keeps him moving.

But then Ranpo’s eyes meet his own—warm green and cold blue—and the sheer relief on Ranpo’s face steels Fukuzawa’s resolve, and he pushes harder.

And then Ranpo does the unexpected.

He speaks.

“Fukuzawa!”

The humans pause as Ranpo howls, and the one holding Ranpo turns in the direction that the pup is looking—their first mistake. It gives Fukuzawa the chance he needs to launch himself, his teeth meeting with the soft flesh of the human’s throat, and the momentum he has is more than enough for him to rip it out, and the human falls to the ground, blood gushing from a fatal wound that they desperately press their hands against in order to extend their life for even a second longer.

Fukuzawa doesn’t stop though, spinning around on his paws, and launching himself again at the next human, and they soon meet the same fate as their companion. He stops then, standing over the corpse, and snarls at Ranpo. “Hide!”

For a second, Ranpo stares at him, eyes widened with an emotion that Fukuzawa is too riled up to place, before he turns tail and flees back into the cave. The mutts notice their prey fleeing and two of their masters dead then, and jump to their paws, most likely with the intention of chasing after Ranpo, but Fukuzawa doesn’t give them the chance to. He throws himself in front of the cave, hackles raised and teeth bared in a snarl. And for a moment, he thinks that maybe that’s enough to intimidate them; he’s much larger than they are, glaring down at them with all the animosity he can conjure up, and the remaining human is looking uneasy at the situation. But then the human finds their resolve and sings out a singular, sharp whistle.

The human signal to launch an attack.

Immediately, the mutts launch towards him, and Fukuzawa meets them halfway, taking one down with a well placed bite, and knocking another away from the fight by throwing the corpse of their friend at them.

That leaves three. Fukuzawa thinks, stepping to the side to avoid a blow that would’ve taken his ear. It’s been a long time since he was last in such a fight, outnumbered and fighting to protect something, but no matter how long it’s been, the instincts are still there, and that’s all Fukuzawa needs.

The mutts snap and snarl, grabbing at his fur and tearing it off—a few times they manage to land a bite or two, but Fukuzawa bites back even harder, and before he knows it, there’s only one left, and that’s when the remaining human thinks to act.

BANG!

A piercing pain shoots through Fukuzawa’s shoulder, but he doesn’t make a sound, changing direction from the mutt to take care of the human who screams and babbles before he’s silenced, meeting his end in the same way as the rest of his companions. Fukuzawa stands there, clutching the human in his jaws as he stares down the last mutt, snarling. His shoulder is throbbing, his legs are shaking, but so long as there’s still one threat there, he will not stop.

He steps closer, and the mutt steps back.

After another minute, the mutt flees, tail between their legs.

Fukuzawa lets him go, dropping the corpse in his mouth before he limps into the cave. There’s no point in chasing them, he won’t catch them, and this far up north, they won’t survive for long. Mutts rely on the humans to keep them fed, and without them, they will die. It’s just a matter of when.

He gets halfway to the nook before his body gives up on him and he collapses, exhaustion and the pain from his wounds catching up to his elderly body. So long as Ranpo is safe, that’s all that matters. He thinks before he calls out, “Ranpo, it’s safe now, you can come out.”

It takes a moment for those green eyes to appear, and Fukuzawa can see the hesitation as Ranpo glances around the cave before he creeps out, keeping low to the ground as he crawls across to where Fukuzawa lays. There’s a new wound in his ear, a tear, from the teeth of one of the mutts, but such a wound is miniscule compared to the expression on Ranpo’s face; fear. It’s awful, to see such fear on a young face, and it makes Fukuzawa’s stomach clench because he’d promised to keep Ranpo safe, and here they were, dealing in the aftermath of an attack on their home, all because of a stupid bird. I should’ve known… Fukuzawa squeezes his eyes shut, sighing. I should’ve known it was a trap. The first thing hunters try to do is lure hungry wolves out with fattened prey. I’ve seen it so often, and yet I fell for it.

Guilt runs rampant throughout him—he’s lived for so long, and learnt so much, yet none of that knowledge had stopped today from happening. Ranpo could’ve been killed—was close to being killed in fact—and even worse, they both could’ve been killed. It just went to show that he was a fool for rescuing Ranpo in the first place, that he thought he could do some good in this dying world still. He should’ve done the mercy kill, he should’ve—

“It’s not your fault.” A quiet voice that could only belong to Ranpo spoke up. The pup refuses to look at Fukuzawa as he continues. “If anything, this is all my fault, I brought the hunters here.”

It’s not your fault either. Fukuzawa wanted to say, but he didn’t. There wasn’t anything he could say, really, but he forced himself to find something. He sighs. “We cannot let the guilt of what happened consume us, otherwise we will never be able to move on and learn from it.”

Ranpo tilts his head. “But isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“It is.” Fukuzawa admits. “But I am also older than you, I have already learnt these lessons. You are still young, and have not yet learnt them.”

“That’s stupid.” Ranpo’s words draw his attention, and he looks to see the pup has his ears flattened against his head, upset. “My parents always said we never stop learning, because we don’t know everything. So this is a lesson to you as well, Fukuzawa.”

Fukuzawa hums, and closes his eyes. He’s too tired to get into such a topic right now, too old to discuss this with a pup who hasn’t even seen his first year yet. But there is something that he wants to say before he rests, something he needs Ranpo to hear before the pup overthinks things. “Regardless of what happened today, you did well, Ranpo. You listened to me, and because of it, you are alive for another day.”

“But…” Ranpo whines and crawls closer, resting his head on Fukuzawa’s uninjured shoulder. “You got hurt protecting me.”

“Such is my job as your guardian. I protect you until you can protect yourself, and it is a role I seek to complete.”

His words are greeted with silence, but Fukuzawa hears Ranpo shuffling around him, and then he feels Ranpo begin to lap at his wounds, cleaning them, much like he’d done for the pup when Fukuzawa had picked him up. It warms Fukuzawa’s heart, easing the guilt he still feels, and it’s just enough for him to let out a content sigh, and drift off to sleep.

Somehow, through the fight, the bird that Ranpo had found had survived, and Fukuzawa was relieved that it did, because it meant that he and Ranpo wouldn’t starve while they healed. The wound in Fukuzawa’s shoulder is minor, but its location makes it hard to walk—meaning that he can’t hunt—and Ranpo’s leg, as healed as it’s going to get, slows him down. But with careful rationing and limited movement, they manage to make the bird last until Fukuzawa’s shoulder mends, which brings them to their next problem.

Their cave.

Hunters rarely operate on their own, and the groups communicate with each other whilst they track down their prey, so it’s only a matter of time before another group comes searching for the ones that Fukuzawa killed. And he’s not sure he’d be able to fend off another attack, no matter how much they prepared. Which means the only thing that he and Ranpo can do is move on and find somewhere else to live, which leads him to his current problem.

Ranpo being stubborn.

“Why are you so sure that they’ll come looking for us, Fukuzawa?” The pup whines as he gnaws on a bone that he’d found whilst out hunting with Fukuzawa.

Fukuzawa studies the pup crouched next to him with a critical eye. Ranpo’s still small for his age—which Fukuzawa still can’t quite figure out—but he’s still grown in the time that he’s been living with Fukuzawa, and it’s helpful to have another set of paws to help catch what food they can find, so he drags Ranpo out with him. He also tries to teach Ranpo how to hunt on these outings, but those often end in failure as Ranpo is still figuring out how to maneuver about on three legs, and Ranpo always gets upset when he fails, so it’s slow progress.

It also makes sense why he’s not keen on moving on, more than aware of his own shortcomings, and wanting to stay and live somewhere that’s familiar to him. Only, it’s not a viable option anymore, as Fukuzawa has tried to explain to him several times over already. And right now. “They always come searching, Ranpo. The humans hate us, and seek our extinction. If we stay here in the place where I killed their companions, then we will both die.”

“But—”

“I know you are comfortable here. So am I. But this place is no longer safe for us.” Fukuzawa continues to say. “You were travelling with your parents, were you not?”

Ranpo turns away from him, but nods.

“And where were you travelling to?”

“To Paradise.” Ranpo says, pushing the bone away with a paw. “Mother and Father used to tell me stories about a place away from humans where wolves could leave their lives peacefully. They wanted me to be able to live such a life, so we went searching for it… and well, you saw how that ended.”

Fukuzawa hums. He’s heard of Paradise before, heard it from other wolves he’s passed by in his own travels, but not for many years. His own family had once told him stories of a mystery land with more than enough food for all the wolves in the world, but for as long as he’d been alive, no one had ever managed to find it. To Fukuzawa, it was a myth, nothing more than a story to give wolves hope and meaning in a world that wanted them dead, but listening to Ranpo’s honest words, it made him wonder if perhaps there was something more to it.

After all, Ranpo is the first wolf pup that Fukuzawa’s seen in years; most wolves these days choose not to mate and bring young into the world, no matter how much they love each other, simply because of how dangerous the world has become for them. And yet… Ranpo’s parents brought him into this world, told him stories of Paradise, and then tried to take him there, which leads him to believe that they knew something that he doesn’t. But since Ranpo’s parents are dead, it’s a little hard to ask them why they did what they did.

“What else did they tell you about Paradise?” Fukuzawa asks, hoping that maybe there’s some hidden information locked within Ranpo’s memories.

Ranpo frowns, thinking deeply.

Fukuzawa waits, understanding that gathering ones thoughts and then finding the right words to explain those thoughts can take time, and that rushing will just lead to broken explanations and arguments. So he waits, and waits, and waits some more, with all the patience that he has, just sitting there, watching Ranpo carefully.

It takes a while for Ranpo to speak, and when he does, his voice is quiet, and uncertain. “I don’t remember much if I’m being honest. Well, I do, but I’m not sure how much is their words and how much is just what my mind thinks I heard, but they used to say that Paradise lies far to the north, at the very edge of the earth.” Ranpo looks up at the cave roof and tilts his head. “They said that only wolves can find it, that if you follow the path of the lunar flowers, you will come across the entrance. Mother could hear the flowers. She said they spoke guiding words, but Father never could and I’ve never seen the flowers before.”

Fukuzawa can’t say he’s ever heard of lunar flowers speaking either, and he’s seen plenty of them over his long life. But the older wolves of his time had once said that there were some that were special in ways that no other wolf could understand. It was entirely possible that Ranpo’s mother had been one such wolf.

“Well.” Fukuzawa says, standing. “I know that there is a human city to the north, but I know not what lies beyond. If you believe that Paradise exists and that it is to the north, then I will make the promise to get you there.”

Ranpo’s ears perk, and he clambers to his paws. “Really? But it could be dangerous…”

Fukuzawa nods. “It could be. But the only reason your parents would have travelled this far north would be if they truly believed there was a better life for you at the end of the journey. And since they are no longer able to, I will protect you in their stead, and get you that life.”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything, but the look of happiness on his face is more than he could ever say.

In hindsight, agreeing to try and find Paradise with Ranpo before teaching the pup to hunt, isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made. And this far north, with snow as far as the eye can see, you don’t want to miss what could potentially be your last meal. Fukuzawa doesn’t consider himself a cruel wolf, but nothing about his actions were kind either. Ranpo was willing to learn, to try and cater to his wounded leg, but Fukuzawa refused at each and every turn. There was no sugarcoating his words either, which made them sound all the more worse, and the dejected look that Ranpo always gave him before slinking into their makeshift shelter was nothing if not shattering.

But Ranpo was smart, more than capable of understanding why Fukuzawa said what he said, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt to hear.

“Here.” Fukuzawa drops his latest catch, the half-eaten corpse of a deer that he’d stumbled across with just enough meat left for the two of them. He’ll make sure that Ranpo eats most of it though, so that the younger keeps his strength. “Thankfully I didn’t have to go far to find it.”

Ranpo hums, leaning down to tear off a chunk of flesh and chew on it. He makes a face at the taste—carrion is never the nicest of things to eat—but forces himself to keep eating. He doesn’t say anything, not that Fukuzawa expects him to, since there’s no doubt he’s still sulking at being told to stay behind again.

“The snow is starting to calm.” Fukuzawa comments, looking out of their shelter to watch as the snowstorm ravages the area around them, bringing with it a bone-chilling cold, and lack of visibility. “With any luck, the weather should start to warm—well, become a little less cold.”

Another hum.

“Ranpo…” Fukuzawa sighs, his own ears drooping as the pup continues to ignore him. He still regrets his harsh words form earlier. “I didn’t mean to snap this morning.”

“It’s fine.” Ranpo swallows the meat he was eating before resting his head on his paws. His eyes slide towards his leg, stretched out to minimise discomfort. “I understand why, but it still hurts. I want to help.”

Fukuzawa moves to lay beside Ranpo, pressing his own pelt against the pup’s, the black a stark contrast to his own grey fur. “I know, and I promise that I will teach you. Once the snowstorm stops.”

Green eyes flick towards him, looking a little more hopeful. “Really?”

“Really.” Fukuzawa nods. “I forgot that packs teach pups with things like sticks and bones, to help them figure out the basics. We can do it that way.”

Ranpo lets out a content sound, and curls up beside him.

Fukuzawa responds by curling around Ranpo protectively, to keep him warm whilst the storm rages.

They stay at that shelter for a week, practicing hunting and defensive moves that will help Ranpo in the long run, when comes the time for him to step away from Fukuzawa’s protective presence. The pup’s leg, while a weakness, barely hinders him now, and aside from a very prominent limp, one could hardly tell he’d been injured in the first place.

Well, that and the scars, but what wolf didn’t have scars these days.

Regardless, Fukuzawa sends Ranpo out to hunt their dinner, heart pounding the entire time as he worries about everything that could possibly go wrong, but then Ranpo returns, a bird clutched in his jaws and tail wagging so fast it’s a blur.

And Fukuzawa feels nothing but pride in that moment.

The end of the snowstorm reveals the city that Fukuzawa had heard about, and it looks just as daunting as the stories said it did. Tall, colourless buildings, surrounded by walls higher than any living creature could climb. It was clear that the city was designed to keep people out.

Years ago, Fukuzawa might’ve cut through such a city, pretending to be a mutt as he kept his head down and passed through, but not now. Now, the humans had figured out how to identify them—they were a little slow on the uptake, he would admit—which meant that it was basically suicide for any wolf to enter such a place. Of course, as young as he is, Ranpo badgers him about it, asking a million questions about why they couldn’t go through the city, why they couldn’t just hug the wall and go around it, and Fukuzawa has to carefully explain that if they do that, they will be spotted by the humans who guard the walls, and the hunters will be set on them.

Ranpo doesn’t question him after that.

It’s just as Fukuzawa begins to think that they’re in the clear, as they completely pass the city to keep moving north, when he hears shouting behind them. Fukuzawa doesn’t even hesitate to start running, and he’s relieved when Ranpo immediately follows him without him needing to say anything. The only problem he has, is that he needs to control his own pace so that he doesn’t leave Ranpo behind—he’s grown in recent days, meaning he’s now at that awkward size where Fukuzawa can’t just pick him up and run.

He can hear the sounds of barking following after them as the mutts chase him and Ranpo, and Fukuzawa looks about, trying to find a way that they can lose them, and that’s when he sees it; a fence, probably the old boundary line for the city before they built the walls, and he changes direction towards it. “This way, Ranpo!”

Ranpo’s only response is his gasping breaths.

Fukuzawa makes sure that Ranpo is in front of them as they run, only overtaking him at the end to get a head start on digging at the snow. Ranpo joins him a moment later, and soon enough, there’s a hole big enough for the pup to get through, and Fukuzawa shoves him through it before he returns to digging. His ears are turned behind him, listening as the mutts draw closer, and the humans follow, and digs all the more faster.

“Hurry, Fukuzawa!” Ranpo cries out, stepping away from the fence so that Fukuzawa can squeeze through.

It’s a tight squeeze, and Fukuzawa can feel the bottom of the fence snagging on his fur, ripping patches of it out, but he manages to get through, just as the first mutts jaws snap shut right where his tail had been seconds ago. Fukuzawa spins on his heels and snaps back, spooking the mutt that’s trying to crawl through the hole they made. But there’s twice as many mutts as the last hunting group this time, so another one replaces it immediately, and all Fukuzawa can think of is the cave where he’d failed to protect Ranpo. I will not fail again.

Despite the awkwardness of it, Fukuzawa turns and picks Ranpo up by his scruff, ignoring the surprised yelp that follows as he starts running. He’s hoping to find some place to hide before too many of the mutts can get through the fence, hoping that the trees in the distance will provide such a place for them.

It’s then that he hears it. Howling.

Multiple howls.

Seconds later, a pack of wolves appear out of the trees and run towards him and Ranpo. For a second, and only a second, does he think that perhaps they are coming to defend their territory, and that they might just attack him and Ranpo, but no, they small pack runs straight past the two of them, descending on the mutts behind them.

Fukuzawa keeps running.

He only stops once he and Ranpo are in the safety of the trees, and scrambles beneath the roots of a tree. It feels like it’s someone’s den, but in the moment he doesn’t care. He needs to protect Ranpo.

“Fukuzawa, you’re squashing me.” Ranpo whines from where he’s crouched underneath Fukuzawa, squirming.

“Hush, Ranpo, your fur stands out in the snow.” Fukuzawa retorts, eyes focused on the outside. He can hear the sounds of fighting in the distance, but there’s still the possibility that a mutt or a human could slip by and come after them, and this time, Fukuzawa will be ready for them.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, crouched protectively over Ranpo, but the next thing Fukuzawa is aware of, is the face of another wolf peering into the den.

Fukuzawa snarls.

“I found them, Fukuchi. They are hiding in Tachihara’s den.” The wolf calls out to someone that Fukuzawa cannot see, and he flattens his ears, the action catching the attention of the other wolf. “You do not need to worry, we will not hurt you.”

“He’s protecting a pup, Tecchou. I’ve told you before how protective our kind is when it comes to them.” Comes a new, yet somewhat familiar, voice, and Fukuzawa learns why when another face joins Tecchou in peering into the den. “I thought I recognised you as you ran past, old friend.”

“Genichiro.” Fukuzawa breaths out the name, eyes widening. Never would he have thought that he’d ever run into his old puphood friend, especially not this far north. But he also isn’t too surprised; it’s been years since the destruction of their pack, and for the longest time, Fukuzawa had thought the other wolf dead with the rest of them. But seeing his old friend here, alive, was like having one of his biggest regrets lifted off his shoulders.

Because unlike Genichiro, who’d fought to save their pack, Fukuzawa had chosen to run and save himself.

It’s clear that Genichiro is remembering the same event, if the haunted look to his eyes is anything to go by. But his old friend is quick to dismiss it, turning around with an incline of his head. “The hunters are gone now, so it’s safe for you and your pup to come out.”

“’m not a pup…” Ranpo grumbles as Fukuzawa finally rises enough for him to crawl out of the den, and his words have Genichiro laughing.

“If you’re small enough to be carried still, you’re a pup, pup.”

Ranpo snarls, ears flattening, which does nothing but make Genichiro laugh even harder.

Fukuzawa sighs, and gives Ranpo a nudge. “Behave yourself, Ranpo. We owe them for saving our hides.”

“Humans and their mutts are the bane of us all, Fukuzawa.” Genichiro says, all signs of mirth vanishing in an instant. “You owe us nothing.”

“If you want to pay us back, you can hunt. Tecchou keeps eating all the food we come by.” Comes a snappy voice that belongs to a wolf with fur so white, he easily blends in with the snow.

“I do not.” Tecchou grumbles. “You’re just picky, Jouno. You and Tachihara both.”

Jouno rolls his eyes. “Tachihara has never known a day of starvation in his life, no thanks to the humans he squanders disgusting food from—”

“Food that keeps us alive, Jouno—”

“—but at least it’s better than the rotting carcasses you bring back.” Jouno finishes with a snarl.

Fukuzawa watches as the two wolves break into bickering, glancing towards Genichiro who just shrugs in response.

“This is normal.” Genichiro says. “But Jouno is right in that if you do want to pay us back, you can help us find food. As I’m sure you are aware, it’s rather scarce here, and aside from myself and Jouno, the others stick out in this snow.”

Fukuzawa gives a nod, understanding the struggle from his times of teaching Ranpo to hunt. “I just need a moment to rest, and then I can hunt.”

“What about me?” Ranpo pipes up then, bouncing on his paws like he hadn’t just been running for his life. “I can hunt, too!”

Before Fukuzawa can answer the pup, Tecchou steps forward, having stopped arguing with his packmate, and noses at Ranpo’s leg. Fukuzawa doesn’t have time to explain before Tecchou starts to speak. “You should stay and rest that leg. You’re limping.”

Ranpo wilts immediately. “My leg is just like that…”

“Ah, I apologize. I thought you were injured.”

“Ranpo is still learning to hunt,” Fukuzawa says slowly, picking his words carefully in order to not upset Ranpo, nor the pack that is generously helping them. “It would be a good learning experience for him to see how a pack hunts.”

“He can work with Jouno then.” Genichiro says, ignoring the way the other wolf bristles at his words.

“I don’t need—”

Genichiro narrows his eyes and bares his teeth. “Teach him, Jouno. You two are both different and the same. Do not argue with me.”

“Fine.” Jouno huffs and climbs to his paws. “Come along, pup. Come and learn something.”

Ranpo glances up at Fukuzawa for approval, which he gets in the form of a singular nod, before following after Jouno, grumbling about how he’s not a pup, and that he knows plenty already. After a moment, Tecchou follows, no doubt to curb his packmates short temper, leaving just Fukuzawa and Genichiro alone in the small clearing.

“I never would’ve expected you to have a pup, old friend.” Genichiro comments after several moments of silence.

“I stumbled upon him after his parents were slain by hunters.” Fukuzawa explains, turning to face Genichiro. “I never thought I’d see you leading a pack of your own, Genichiro.”

Genichiro shrugs. “They’re just a bunch of half-wolves who were raised by humans that I happened to meet one day.”

The other wolf’s words have Fukuzawa curious, and he’s tempted to ask, but he also knows better than to pry. It’s been years after all, since he and Genichiro last saw each other, and that bond they once had as pups is nothing more than a single leaf on a tree now.

It’s not his place to know or ask.

The time spent with Genichiro’s pack is short-lived, but very much welcome. It gives Fukuzawa a chance to rest, and for Ranpo to learn new things. Fukuzawa watches him as he hangs around Jouno for the most part—something that surprises everyone else—and marvels at how Ranpo has grown. It’s been only half a year since he rescued the pup from certain death, and although he’s still small, and will probably remain smaller than the average wolf, he’s starting to lose some of those puppy characteristics. His legs grow longer, and his fur sleeker, and even though he’s not Fukuzawa’s actual pup, he’s proud of how Ranpo’s grown.

It has him wondering just how grown Ranpo will be by the time their journey ends.

“So where exactly is it that you’re going?” Genichiro asks, leading Fukuzawa and Ranpo to across his pack’s territory.

It’s just the three of them right now, he and Ranpo having said their goodbyes earlier. Honestly, he’s surprised that Genichiro even offered to escort them, but he welcomes it. It reminds him of his puphood, when they used to walk across their old packs territory together, mindless chatter filling the air—well, chatter on Genichiro’s part. Fukuzawa was always the quiet one between the two of them.

“To Paradise!” Ranpo exclaims limping determinedly ahead of the two of them. He glances back to look at them before he picks up the pace. “My parents were taking me there, but they can’t anymore ‘cause they died, so Fukuzawa is doing it instead.”

“I see…” Fukuzawa can feel Genichiro’s gaze on him, no doubt judging his decision to indulge in what he must think is a pointless dream. But thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about it, other than, “I wish you luck in your travels then, pup.”

“I’m not a pup!”

Genichiro ignores Ranpo, and stops, Fukuzawa following a few seconds after.

“Genichiro?”

“We were taught that Paradise is a myth.” Genichiro begins to say, and inclines his head towards Ranpo. “But he seems to believe wholeheartedly that it exists.”

Fukuzawa hums, understanding what his old friend is getting at. “Ranpo says his parents believed. I’m inclined to believe that they knew something we didn’t. I’m choosing to believe in Ranpo.”

“Well, Fukuzawa, for both your sakes, I hope you find it.”

“Thank you. Good luck with your pack, Genichiro.”

It takes another six months before they find the mountain that Ranpo mentioned, not because of how far it was, but because of the string of bad luck that he and Ranpo suffer from after leaving Genichiro’s pack behind.

First it’s Ranpo getting sick from a piece of poisoned prey. He’d warned Ranpo against catching it, telling him that they could catch something elsewhere, but before he knew it, Ranpo had been chasing down the rabbit, Fukuzawa chasing after him to try and stop him. He knew it was only because Ranpo was hungry—they both were—and fighting against a growling stomach isn’t easy.

Thankfully, Ranpo had only taken a bite before Fukuzawa and grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him away, but one bite was all it took.

Within the hour, Ranpo was vomiting, and after another hour, he was trembling, and all Fukuzawa could do was curl up around the pup to keep him warm, and soothe him with gentle licks when the poison brought pain. For days, Ranpo’s condition was poor, and Fukuzawa only dared leave him to get water—to keep Ranpo hydrated and to help cool the fever that wracked him.

But somehow, Ranpo survives the poison, although it leaves him weak and unsteady for weeks after he fights it off.

Second, Fukuzawa breaks his leg. How? By sticking his paw into a hole chasing down their next meal. The snap is audible, and the pain excruciating, but he gets lucky in that it’s not the worst break in the world, that there’s no bone sticking through skin to cause infection. Mostly it’s inconvenient, because he can’t hunt or fight, which means that those things fall to Ranpo, and while Ranpo is more than capable now, he’s still too young to bear such a responsibility.

It riddles Fukuzawa with guilt.

They manage to find a cave that provides enough protection from the elements for Fukuzawa to rest and recover in, one that won’t be stumbled upon easily by hunters, And while he rests, Ranpo works hard, finding food and herbs to keep them alive whilst his leg heals. It’s a long and boring recovery, but necessary unless they want to make this cave their home. So, Fukuzawa sleeps, and Ranpo hunts, and that’s how things go for the next couple of months.

He makes sure to tell Ranpo how proud he is each and every time, feeling warm inside every time those ears perk up, and his tail starts wagging.

Third, Fukuzawa falls ill this time, but not from poison or an infection. He simply catches an illness because the journey has been harsh, and he is not as young as he used to be. At first, he pushes on, encouraging Ranpo to do the same, telling the pup that he’ll be fine, and that he can rest soon. But by the third day, when they find shelter for the night, Fukuzawa can feel the illness deep in his lungs and realises that he truly needs to stop and rest.

Ranpo watches over him as he tries to keep breathing, stress on his young face. It hurts Fukuzawa to see such a look, so he sends Ranpo out hunting, also giving him the name of a herb that he knows grows up in the north, and helps with breathing. There’s not much else he can do, so with Ranpo out looking, Fukuzawa sleeps.

And sleeps.

After that, his memories fade, and drift together; he can’t quite recall what happened from that first night in the cave to the days that led to his recovery. But he does remember sensations.

Water dripping into his mouth, bringing relief to his always dry mouth.

Warm fur ensconcing his own cold body, a strong heartbeat right by his ear.

And of course, the bitter taste of herbs as they are shoved into his mouth with tiny morsels of chewed up food, his mouth held shut until he swallows.

When Fukuzawa becomes aware of himself again, the sun is rising, and his lungs feel clear, although he feels exhausted, like he’s spent the past week running non-stop from hunters. There is a weight on his back, and a warm body against his own, and it doesn’t take long for him to figure out that it’s Ranpo that’s curled up around him, deep in slumber of his own.

Carefully, Fukuzawa slides out from underneath Ranpo, taking care not to wake him as he lowers the pups head to the floor. Ranpo stiffens, and Fukuzawa freezes, but then he relaxes, not waking, and Fukuzawa can breath easy again. He walks to the edge of the cave, legs wobbling, and sits to watch the sunrise. He tries to recall what had happened, but finds that he can’t, and that concerns him.

The sun has fully crossed the horizon when Fukuzawa hears frantic movements behind him, and a distressed voice calls out. “Fukuzawa?”

Fukuzawa glances over his shoulder. “Over here, Ranpo.”

Just as he finishes speaking, Ranpo collides with him, knocking his breath out of him as the pup crawls as close as possible, whining. The action surprises Fukuzawa, since Ranpo, albeit desperate for affection and attention normally, isn’t normally clingy, and that’s when Fukuzawa realises that whatever had happened, was serious. He leans down and touches his nose to Ranpo’s ear. “I’m here.”

“You almost weren’t.” Comes the quiet voice. And Ranpo’s green eyes flick up towards him. “You got so sick, Fukuzawa.”

Ah, so that’s what happened. Fukuzawa thinks, understanding immediately why Ranpo looks so tired and stressed. He yawns and stretches out until he’s lying on the ground, and Ranpo is quick to curl up beside him, much like he used to when they first met, and Fukuzawa had to fight to keep him alive.

But Ranpo is no longer a pup, having grown up in the year they’ve been together, although he’s still young, which is why he doesn’t hesitate to curl around the other, murmuring quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The mountain is massive, far bigger than any that Fukuzawa has seen before, and he would deem it the same as any other mountain, if it weren’t for all the lunar flowers growing at the base of it, somehow surviving, and thriving, in the snow. Fukuzawa stares at them—it’s been so long since he last saw them—and Ranpo rushes forward, letting out a cry of joy. “We made it!”

Fukuzawa quickly follows after him. “Ranpo, wait! We don’t know the area!”

“But Paradise is so close, Fukuzawa! Can’t you hear the flowers?”

No, I can’t. Fukuzawa wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he moves to stand beside Ranpo, carefully scanning their surroundings to make sure that nothing is going to come out and attack them. That’d be just their luck, that they finally find the mountain they were looking for, and wind up being attacked by hunters or some other predator.

“Fukuzawa?” He turns at hearing his name, and finds Ranpo looking at him, concerned. “Do you think Paradise really exists?”

“You’re doubting yourself now?”

Ranpo lifts his shoulders. “Your friend didn’t seem to believe we’d make it, and we haven’t had a lot of luck—”

Fukuzawa interrupts before Ranpo can fall into a tangent. “It just means that this journey means something.” At least, I think so. “Even if there is nothing here for us, we can simply travel and find somewhere to live our lives.”

For a while, Ranpo is quiet, but then he nods. “Alright. Well, the flowers are telling us to go that way.”

Fukuzawa nods in return and decides to let Ranpo take the lead, stepping back in order to follow the younger wolf. He still doesn’t quite understand this whole hearing the flowers thing, but after all this time, he’s willing to place his trust in Ranpo.

He’s not sure how long they walk for; it feels like hours, but could only be minutes, and at some point, without even realising, they’ve left the snow behind, disappearing into darkness that has a faint glow—lunar flower glow. It’s a beautiful sight that Fukuzawa can’t help but marvel at. The tunnel that Ranpo is leading them through glows purple from the flowers. There aren’t so many as to be obvious that it’s a path, but enough for a wolf to know and follow to see what’s at the end, just as he and Ranpo are currently doing.

As they go deeper into the tunnel, the flowers grow more spread out, and Ranpo slows down until he’s pretty much walking on top of Fukuzawa—he doesn’t fault Ranpo for growing nervous, he too, is a little bit, which is out of the norm for him, but this past year has been out of the norm to begin with, what with rescuing Ranpo, and then promising to get him to Paradise. If you’d asked him when he was younger if this was how he saw his life playing out, he would’ve told you no.

The only sound that Fukuzawa can hear is the sound of his and Ranpo’s pawsteps, a easily recognisable sound due to Ranpo’s lilting gait, but he keeps his ears pricked, listening just in case.

And then the tunnel ends, and—

—and—

It’s Paradise.

Fukuzawa’s mouth drops open, and Ranpo’s eyes grow wide from beside him as they stare across a widespread land that somehow, despite all the snow where they’d just come from, is so green, and full of life. Even from here, Fukuzawa can see food that is plump and not starving, and he honestly cannot believe it. “Paradise existed…” He murmurs.

“My parents were right.” Ranpo says just as quietly, a sad note to his voice, no doubt wishing that his parents could’ve been there with them.

And Fukuzawa wishes that they could’ve as well, if only to see how their pup has grown, but deep down he knows they’re watching over Ranpo, probably even guided him on this journey they’d taken. He turns his head towards Ranpo and gestures towards the green in front of them. “Shall we?”

Ranpo’s tail starts to wag. “To Paradise!”

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #wolfs rain au #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #comfort #writing #fanfic

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