Chapter Text
~Five Years Ago~
A pale hand stretches out into the darkness, blindly reaching out for someone. She knows he’s there; she can hear the beat of his heart and the rattle of his breath in the silence. It calls to her.
“Big brother?” She whispers.
Her fingers eventually find the collar of his shirt, the edges frayed and wet to the touch. Slowly, experimentally, she traces the outline of his neck and feels him wince ever so slightly. Though he would never admit he was in pain, she could tell that he had suffered bravely in silence. She swallows. Following the curve of his neck to the corner of his chin, she reaches out and clasps his face with both hands.
“You’re hurt.” She says.
His jaw clenches, but he says nothing in return. Had she been born with the gift of sight, she would have seen the tears budding at the corners of his bruised eyes and the dark blue handprints wrapped around his neck. But her misty eyes saw nothing of the sort. She could only imagine how he stared back at her under the moonlit sky.
“Little sister,” He says, his voice wavering despite his best efforts, “Are you afraid?”
“No.” She hooks her fingers over his ears and smiles, “No. I have you, don’t I?”
“Always.”
“Then I will never be afraid.”
His cheeks move under her palms; the corners of a smile creeping under her hands. Even in the slums, with the cutting midnight air chasing down the narrow pathways, he feels warm to the touch.
She touches his temple, finding a hot, wet wound there, matted with hair.
“We’ll make them pay, won’t we, big brother?”
“Tenfold, little sister.”
~Present~
Dazai touches his finger to his brow and screws his face up in thought. “I don’t know,” He sighs, “Am I food?”
"No." Kunikida responds, "You might as well give up, Dazai. You'll never get it."
Atsushi gives Kunikida a nudge, "Shh, don't ruin it. You'll give the game away."
Atsushi, Kunikida, Kenji and Kyoka sit in a loose semi-circle around Dazai's desk in the ADA office. On the other side of the desk, Dazai has kicked his feet up onto a stack of books. He has a yellow post-it note pressed to his head and is wearing an expression of intense concentration - probably more intense than any of them had ever seen before.
A sprinkling of Christmas decorations glitter here and there. Tinsel on the desks and lights in the windows, flashing and blinking in shades of gold and silver, red and green. It’s the middle of December and, though it's only five in the evening, the sky is already growing dark.
Dazai twists his finger deeper into his brow, "Uh, am I a plant?" He asks.
Kenji tilts his head, "Mm, no. Not one that I’ve ever heard of."
"Okay. Am I some kind of animal?"
"Yes!" Atsushi exclaims, "See? I knew he'd get it."
"It's not over yet." Kunikida shrugs, "Go on, Dazai. You've got fifteen more questions."
"Who wrote this?" Dazai asks.
"Does that question count?"
"I don't know, but it seems highly unfair to-"
"I did." Ranpo cuts in from half-way across the office. His hand is stuck straight up in the air and there's a thinly veiled mischievous lilt to his voice. "You'll never get it - not in a million years."
Dazai touches the piece of paper on his head as if willing the word that was written there into his brain.
“A dog?”
“No.”
“A cat?”
“No.”
“A bird?”
“Not even close.” Kunikida says.
Kyoka rests her chin in her hand, her eyes half-lidded and bored. “Shouldn’t you ask some better questions?”
Dazai puts a hand to his chest, his face a picture of mock horror. He opens his mouth and then shuts it - deciding against whatever he’s about to say. “Ah! You’re right, you’re right.” He huffs, “I just have to think like Ranpo-kun!”
Ranpo snorts, “Fat chance!”
“Now,” Dazai hums, ignoring Ranpo, “What would Ranpo-kun write that I would never guess?” He presses his thumb and index finger against the point of his chin, an unusually thoughtful expression pressing on his features. “What kind of animal would he think of?”
“I don’t think this is how you’re supposed to play…” Kunikida raises an eyebrow, but Dazai is already too far gone. His brown eyes are impressively focused under the slip of yellow paper.
“Something so obvious that I would completely overlook it… Am I a frog?”
Kyoka blinks, “Is that what that is?”
“You cheated!” Ranpo whines, his voice pitching pathetically upwards, “You’re cheating! You cannot possibly -”
“Hold on, hold on!” Atsushi chimes in, grinning broadly, “You’ve still got to get the right type of frog.”
Dazai puffs out his cheeks, “...A green one?”
“Well, duh.” Kunikida rolls his eyes, “I’m counting that as a question.”
“How many is that?”
“Nine - you have twelve questions left.”
“And you want me to guess the specific type of frog?”
“Yes, Dazai.” He sighs, “I’m counting that one too.”
“Kunikida-kun~” Dazai cries.
“You have plenty of questions left. Stop being a child.”
Dazai folds his arms over his chest and blows the note paper out of his eyes. "Can you give me a clue?"
"That's what the questions are for!"
From the other side of the office, Fukuzawa glides over, the long sleeves of his haori hanging from his crossed arms. "Is everything alright?" He asks.
“Ah… Yes, President.” Kunikida manages to say, automatically turning to bow in the direction of his voice. “We were just taking a break.”
“What is that on Dazai’s head?”
“It’s a frog.” Kyoka answers.
“Is that right?”
“Ooh,” Dazai chirps, “Is it a poison dart frog? I would so love to have one as a pet, but they tend to lose their toxicity in captivity.” He adds sadly, to no one in particular. “What a shame…”
“That’s not it, Dazai.”
“A red-eyed tree frog then?” He says, “They’re quite fun~”
“They are, aren’t they?” Kenji beams at him, “But I don’t think that’s right.”
“No?”
“No, Dazai.” Kunikida shakes his head, “That’s thirteen, so eight questions remaining.”
“How many green frogs can there possibly be?”
Fukuzawa smiles gently at Dazai. The word ‘Boophis’ is scrawled on the note on his forehead - a deliberately obscure name given to a genus of skeleton frogs, though the President is almost certain that Ranpo has invented the word just to stymie Dazai. “If I could interrupt for a moment,” Fukuzawa says, clearing his throat, “The Agency has been requested to attend to some important business tonight.”
“Important business?” Atsushi repeats.
“Well, this is the first I’m hearing of it.” Ranpo pouts, “And that doesn’t mean you win, Dazai!”
Dazai sticks his tongue out at Ranpo and Kunikida lets out a world-weary sigh, “What kind of business?” He says.
“Oh, nothing too taxing.” Fukuzawa reaches inside his haori and produces a handful of brightly coloured tickets. The edges are trimmed with red and gold foil that glimmers in the light.
Atsushi’s eyes go wide; he recognises them immediately. “You mean you actually bought them?”
“Consider it an early Christmas present.”
Fukuzawa places one of the tickets in Atsushi’s hand. A curly black fairground font announces that this is indeed a ticket for “Cirque Des Yeux - The World’s Greatest Travelling Circus!” He blinks unbelieving at the ticket as if it might vanish from his grasp.
“They’re quite real.” Fukuzawa adds, handing out the rest of the tickets, “We have all worked so hard recently - I thought a night off might be a welcome change.”
Kunikida raises an eyebrow, looking curiously from the ticket to Fukuzawa, “‘The World’s Greatest’, hm?”
“They all say that~” Dazai waves a hand at Kunikida as if he could brush him away and out of sight, “You’re ignoring the most important part!” He turns over the ticket and taps the picture on the back, “Look at this.”
Kunikida, Kyoka and Atsushi lean in.
It’s a holographic image of the eight circus performers, framed on either side by a lion and a yawning tiger. Dazai’s finger has settled on a lady just to the left of the centre frame. She’s holding a king cobra close to her face and smiling so wide that her eyes are squeezed shut.
“So?” Kyoka glances at Dazai.
“Do you think she would commit a double suicide with me?” He says, his big brown eyes shining with intent, “Do you think the cobra could kill us both?”
Kunikida reaches over and rips the post-it note from his forehead. “You’re an idiot.”