#there was some vague color symbolism happening in my mind while coloring this. chuuya red. the world is blue. yeah.. themes. motifs.

[carrotkicks]

this place feels familiar...

[misstinfoilhat]

The Boy in the Belfry Pt. 12, a Bungo Stray Dogs fic.

Yeeeah so, sorry. I forgot I was posting this here.  ...

The unison exclamations from the ADA alerted the Preacher of their presence as soon as the surroundings of his display had calmed down.

"Ah, my worshipers have returned," the Preacher's voice echoed through the large room, gloating in front of the newly entered crowd. "Welcome back, my blessed herd."

"This preacher isn't like the one we have at home," Kenji whispered wearily.

"I can guarantee you that he is not," Chuuya grunted before taking a step forward.

"Wait, Chuuya, what are you-" Kunikida tried to hold him back. They needed to assess the situation and make a plan before they could proceed with any kind of attack. They had no idea what was going on, but he was blatantly ignored.

"Chuuya, I'm glad you finally arrived at the party," Mori's voice singsonged down the nave. He gestured with his hand towards the scene in front of them. Chuuya walked resolutely over the carpeted aisle.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I only just heard from this mötley crew that we had begun the final stages. You could have given me a call," he snarled irritably.

"Chu..." Atsushi gasped and reached his arm out to grab at Chuuya's jacket, but Kunikida's arm blocked him protectively, shaking his head at the teen.

"This is what's called betrayal, Atsushi. You might as well learn that now. You can never trust the mafia," Kunikida said darkly. "Especially not that coward," he sneered towards Chuuya.

Chuuya stopped and looked back. Seemingly amused, he scoffed. "I would have thought that was the 101 of the Armed Detective Agency instruction manual."

His jacket swayed lightly behind him as he proceeded the walk, but stopped for a moment and watched Dazai's mangled form.

"I always imagined-" Dazai rasped, interrupted by a couple of weak coughs, "that I'd wait... for you as you walked down the aisle someday."

The redhead sneered in disgust, and spit on the ground near Dazai, "stuff it, toothpick."

He gave a short nod to the Preacher, feeling sick by his mere presence, as he joined Elise in standing slightly behind Mori. ...

Dazai was bearly able to comprehend what was going on around him. He recognized the familiar fogginess and throbbing headache of a concussion when the gloomy room started to dance around in his vision.

‘Chuuya is here too,’ he thought but wasn't entirely sure if it was a good or a bad thing. He decided that concussions were one of his least favorite things. It made him so dazed and confused.

But he couldn't help but smile. No matter how much his body pulsated with pain and his head hurt, or how the bile in his throat from the concussion-induced nausea was threatening to spill out, there was no denying the fact that he sat there- face to face with his father's ability once again.

That night in the belfry a couple of weeks ago finally made complete sense to him now.

After first arriving at the church- and before it all happened, he had a short black-out. When he came too, he thought he was having a vividly real flashback to one of his many horrifying hours up there. It used to happen a lot when he was younger, to a point where he didn't know what was real or not anymore. It would only make sense that being back in that place would trigger all of that to come back.

Standing there in the belfry, looking down at his ten-year-old self, he felt the skin on his scarred back freeze. Every old wound came to life under their dressings, inflamed to a point where he could almost make out the words of damnation that had been carved into his shoulder blades, facing himself- he and his own apparition looked deep into each other's eyes, back in there, inside of their torture chamber where the seed of what would become the monster that was Osamu Dazai, had first been planted.

But, the ghost of his past self seemed so real, he needed to be sure that it was- in fact- just his mind playing tricks on him. It was almost as if he could reach out and touch it.

That was when it launched itself at him.

It wasn't more than a heavy push, but it was enough. The surprise of the attack made him tumble back, toppling over that same latch he had let himself fall from- twelve years ago.

Yes, it really did make sense. He had always been his own worst enemy.

A forceful tug at the bandages around his neck made him snap back into the moment. He could faintly hear his father's menacing laughter somewhere in the room, and some unclear and vague bickering even further away, but he was more intrigued by what he was holding in his hand. Well, 'he' as in his father's ability. What his father's ability held in its hand.

A knife.

A knife he knew very well. A wooden handle bearing a golden cross, and a needlepoint blade engraved with the words 'blows that wound, cleanses away evil'. It was the very same knife that had penetrated his skin more times then any blade ever had (and it was quite a few) and written passages and sacrileges words amongst each other all over his body- which he had spent a lifetime trying to clean off by excessively washing his skin raw and bloody, before turning to more ruthless methods when it proved fruitless.

His ten-year-old self placed the knife to his wrapped throat.

"Looks like you're finally going to be able to kill yourself," Mori chuckled, keeping his calm smile.

In a swift motion, it made the incision.

Droplets of blood slipped down Dazai's chest. His eyes grew wide with shock and his body dropped to the floor.

The silence that ensued was nothing more than unnerving.

At the sight of the Preacher's ability, lashing out at Dazai's throat, made it seem like the world had stopped turning. The slightly dirtied bandages on Dazai's chest was quickly colored by the warm crimson red.

But, he was still moving. He lay folded in on himself, shoulders slightly trembling. His raspy and shallow breaths sounded exaggerated by the reverb of the church.

It was the only thing that could be heard until the Preacher hummed with satisfaction, walking behind his son and grasping the cut bandaging from around Dazai's throat, ripping it all the way off.

"Why are you hiding, my son?" he asked in a sickly soft voice and proceeded to grab a hold on Dazai's hair, yanking his head up, showcasing his unprotected throat.

"No..." Dazai's exasperated in an instant of panic, but couldn't prevent his shame from being exposed.

The sides of Dazai's neck was covered in old and new scars from burns, slashes, ropes, chains or whatever he could have gotten his hands on whenever the urge would hit him, cutting mercilessly into the skin and leaving the grim reminders of his demons- but that was the expected part.

What really paralyzed all the on-lookers, was the large inverted pentagram that had been sliced roughly into the skin, leaving a horrendously ugly scar carved into the delicate flesh of Dazai’s throat.

"The boy with a soul as black as his eyes needs salvation," the Preacher told his congregation, a small crowd of stunned ADA agents. Dazai's face was twisted in pain and humiliation, or, chagrin.

"I know you tried, my son, I know you did. But you were never one of God's children. I should have known the day you were born. Your mother's body rejected you into the fifth month of her pregnancy. Each month her fatigued body was able to carry you represented the five points of the pentagram. You weren't meant to be born into this world. I should never let the doctor resurrect you, or anywhere near you. The world was doomed the second you drew your first breath. A breath of air that was never meant for you." 

He gave Dazai a swift kick in the back, making him tumble spill over to his stomach.

Caught in the moment, no one had even realized that the apparition of Dazai had disappeared and the Preacher was now holding the dagger. He let it slide up Dazai's back, making the bandages slide off his chest and abdomen. Then, he went on to his arms and legs.

Completely unraveled from the thin fabric that had been used as armor for Dazai for the majority of his life had come undone. All of the wounds, the scarred words and prayers, and religious symbols, the burns from the rod and the ones that Mori had left while he was undergoing training, bite marks and surgical scars and stab wounds and gunshot wounds and then the ones he had gotten from battles, and then there were the ones inflicted by himself.

There was hardly an inch of skin left on his body that hadn't been mutilated one way or another.

And now, he lay there, bare, feeling as naked and fragile as the day he was born. The day he was also supposed to have died.

The day he took a spot in the world never meant for him. Overcrowding the planet all by himself.

At the exact moment the last thought entered his mind, a blurred force flung itself in an inhumane speed behind him.

The Preacher was hurled from his position behind Dazai and crashed into the stone wall several feet behind them.

Tainted..? Chuuya!

Atsushi took advantage of the moment of full confusion and ran for Dazai's aid, followed shortly by the rest of the agency.

"Step away!" Mori's voice roared and Elise innocently stepped in front of Dazai, preventing anyone from passing her.

They would have tried if it wasn't for the fact that Mori had a gun pointed at Dazai's head.

The Preacher was pinned to the wall by tightly gripped gloved hands, and a thin streak of blood dripped from the back of his head as Chuuya growled intimidatingly at him.

"Do you have the preacher under control, Chuuya-kun?" Mori asked, not moving his gaze from Dazai.

"No problem," Chuuya smiled venomously as he moved his forearm to press against the old man's throat.

Mori scoffed. "Good," he mumbled under his breath, slowly stepping closer to Dazai, standing in front of him so the half-conscious man could see him.

Dazai struggled to keep his head up but did so to the best of his abilities. His head slowly drooping down from time to time, but watching and listening intently as Mori spoke.

"I don't think I've been more proud of anything I've ever accomplished, than what I made you," he told Dazai. 

"You were the perfect composition of everything. Of good and evil. Caring and violent. Apathetic and manic. Alive and dead... I know, I wasn't much of a father figure, but I truly did look upon you as my own flesh and blood. Some of the things I had to do to you, I-" he sighed, "I truly didn't want to do."

Something in his eyes as he met Dazai's, looked sincere and contrite. Dazai wasn't able to respond at this time though. He had to keep his concentration on staying conscious. He knew what was coming.

"That first day when I took you in after your very first suicide attempt… Such a milestone," he added bitterly as a joke. "I knew what you were. And what you were was-" he looked at the preacher. "-yes, a demonic prodigy. A potentially truly great future executive of the port mafia. And I was right. I stayed up days on end to make sure you wouldn't leave this world, because, you were close. Closer than my pride would like to admit. But, you pulled through. Just like you have, every time. Yes, you truly were my greatest achievement. And my absolute biggest disappointment." 

His finger lay resting on the trigger of the gun.

"I've spent many nights, lying awake and thinking of the most effective way to end you. I have quite a few good ideas, actually." Mori looked at his gun and shrugged. "This wasn't really one of them," he added.

"No, they were more... creative. Because, unfortunately, you're like a cockroach. Impossible to kill. No matter how many times you, I or anyone else, try to... you just won't stay dead!"

He took a deep breath. "Just like your father." 

Still pointing his gun at Dazai, he slowly moved closer. Elise was still keeping the ADA at bay, quickly reacting to any and all movements from the group.

Mori smirked. "I don’t like to leave a job half-done, so now, I want to finish what I started."

He lowered his gun and carefully picked Dazai off the ground, helping him slowly to stand up.

Dazai moaned silently, losing his breath for a moment as the pain of the new positioning shot through his back. He leaned heavily against Mori's strong shoulders, dragging his injured leg as he was supported towards Chuuya and his father.

Mori gave Dazai the gun. "I think you deserve to finish it, once and for all."

Chuuya finally released his grip on the preacher, letting him slide down the wall, but being ready to intervene if he would regain his strength and try anything stupid.

Dazai accepted the gun and pointed it shakingly towards his father, who let out breathless pleads as he sat against the wall.

To everyone's surprise, Dazai lowered the gun. Even if it hurt, he took a deep breath and gave it back to Mori. No words were shared between the two, but they understood each other better than any of them would like to admit.

Mori aided Dazai carefully back to the floor, close to the preacher and Chuuya. Then, he walked back, picking up the dagger that the preacher had lost in the midst of Chuuya's attack and gave it to Dazai.

At that point, Dazai had forgotten all about anyone around him. He only felt the weight of the knife in his hand.

With great difficulty, he dragged himself closer, repeating the words that were engraved on the knife again and again inside his mind, until he sat, leveled with his father and abuser, looking intently into his eyes.

He raised the dagger with the very last bit of strength he had in his body.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned," he said hoarsely in a voice as dead as his eyes. "I'm about to take a man of God's life... A man who has taken advantage of your name and abused the power you hold over your disciples. A man who killed his wife and several daughters, taking your place as the prosecutor, judge, and executor of what he deemed to be unworthy life... I stand before you as my father's son... and his shadow weighs a ton. So, please, do listen to a fucking sinners chagrin, and forgive me for the sin I'm about to commit."

Dazai thrust himself forward, unfeeling, uncaring and completely blinded by the immense power of rage and hate. The blood spatter didn't even register as he lunged the knife into the soft flesh of his father again and again and again and again- until his body shut off, and he collapsed in a pool of his own and his father's blood, hyperventilating and unable to move.

Once again everything around him stopped making a single sound. He wasn't sure if there simply wasn't any, or if he had fainted.

His last hypothesis was proven wrong as he recognized Chuuya's legs, settling by his side, placing a bag in front of him.

He recognized the tan coat that was being retrieved from the bag. Oda's coat- his coat. Chuuya gently placed it over his shoulders, carefully helping Dazai to rest his head on the softness of the redhead's lap, reassuringly caressing his blood-soaked mop of dark, unruly hair.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered in Dazai's ear. Several familiar voices morphing into nothing but unnecessary noise as Dazai closed his eyes.

An then, he was unable to open them again.