Anabiosis -- Dazai Osamu Angst

14

BAM surprised you! Two in a day! Anyways, this one is also very loaded with headcannons, so fair warning ig. I don't really know what to add here so uhhh

Please read the warnings before every chapter.

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TW/CW: Graphic child abuse, graphic violence, abuse/torture, emetophobia, drug use, unconsensual drug use, overdose (sort of),  Mori Ougai

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Stay safe. Seriously. TLDR at the end.

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Akutagawa gasped for breath, fighting the itch in his throat that urged him to cough. Through the detached haze he'd built, he knew he'd been crying for a long time. Sometime after the second memory, he'd mentally checked out. Focusing on anything besides the literal torture in front of him. He registered it, knew everything he'd seen, but it was disconnected, totally lacking emotions. He knew that later, it'd hit him like a freight train, but for now he was content to keep pretending nothing was happening outside his own head.

He'd seen some bad things. He'd done some bad things. For some reason, this specifically was far too much. It was dizzying, how hard it was to consolidate the images in front of him with his mentor.

Dazai had been strict. He knew that. He'd pushed him to his limits and then past them again and again. He knew that. Never once had Dazai hurt him just for the sake of hurting him. Hell, Dazai hadn't ever laid a finger on him outside of combat training. And sure, the training was hard and painful and frustrating, but nothing Dazai ever did even left a scar.

When they were outside of work, Dazai was almost doting towards him and Gin. He'd paid for their lodgings out of his own pocket, for their clothes and food. He continued to do so for four years after they joined. He bought them gifts for holidays and their birthdays (they were always anonymous, but Gin had managed to figure it out eventually. They never told him they knew, and he never stopped. The presents still appeared even after he left, which was the only thing keeping him believing that his mentor hadn't died). As soon as he'd managed to figure out what was going on with Akutagawa's lungs, he'd been quick to buy and supply him with expensive medication -which might have genuinely saved his life.

At work, he was a whole different person. The vast majority of what he'd done was genuinely just training. Even if Dazai had been mean, as a trainer, even if he'd been downright cruel, at times, it didn't compare to this.

It was bad. Obviously. But this was on another level. The most Dazai had ever injured him out of active combat training was a solid punch or kick. Never more than one, never breaking any bones, never hitting him using anything but his hands. He only ever pulled the gun card when he knew for a fact that Akutagawa was coherent enough to block it. Even during training with a blade, Dazai hadn't armed himself. At the time, Akutagawa had taken it as a sign of his mentor's ability, that he could easily combat someone with a weapon bare handed.

Looking back, he remembered the unsettlingly blank way he'd stared at Akutagawa when he'd cut him once. They were sparring with simple knives and Dazai had once again managed to disarm him, turning the blade on him with no real intent to harm or motion to do so, but enough to demonstrate the counter maneuver an opponent might use. Akutagawa had stumbled, his weak lungs giving a spasm that knocked him slightly off balance.

The result was minor, really. A fairly small cut on the back of his hand. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, and it had barely scarred. Somehow, Akutagawa had been more collected than Dazai at that moment. He'd stumbled back with a gasp, holding his bleeding hand and grimacing. He looked up, prepared to apologize for the accident, only to find Dazai looking at him with this completely blank look. His eyes were dull and dark, almost glazed over. In hindsight, his eyes hadn't ever strayed from the injury on his hand.