Summary: As his attempted death, the former boss of the Port Mafia wakes up in a familiar shipping container. Unable to leave, or to know where he is being shipped, Dazai is forced to reckon with his captor.
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Dazai Attempt, Dazai Reference(You Know What I’m Saying), Attempted Murder, Manipulation, Weird Fucked Up Love, Stalking, Genuine Affection, Critical Levels of Dazai Apologism
(Divider cred)
He woke up in a terrible position. Without opening his eyes, which he knew would instantly tell his captors he was alive and awake, Dazai could feel just how terrible it was. He could smell metal, maybe even rust. He could taste something tangy on his tongue, which meant he’d been fed all manner of drugs when he was out. And he could hear dense metal grinding on dense metal, a specific sound he only heard by the ports.
For a moment, he was also tempted to say he was in his shipping container. That the last four or so years of his life had all truly been a bad dream. Traumatizing Atsushi, ruining his own life, Oda refusing to give him that recognition he so craved, all of it had only been an illusion of his own diseased mind.
Readying himself for torture, Dazai opened his eyes to the truth.
Which was that he was in his shipping container. Alone and completely secure.
He flung off his blanket, a cheap cotton one he was intimately familiar with, and began searching for explanations. His vision shook as he checked his desk - with its secret drawer still full of his hidden thoughts - and then his fan, which still was the same make and model.
This was his container.
“Think,” he demanded of himself even as his ears started to ring. But his brain would not heed his orders, instead it devoted itself to panicking, to shutting down his ability to do anything but run.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be dead. His brain repeated over and over that he was supposed to be dead. How could a dead man be running around his old room?
Dazai made for the pod doors and pressed on them slowly. But even when he was shoving with all his might, socked feet sliding against the smooth metal floor, he could not open the green metal lid of his coffin. Pressure built in his lungs as he looked around, searching for an opening he knew was not there.
‘What about the metal cutter saw?’ His brain asked, momentarily helpful before showing him every possible consequence of not finding the saw. He could see himself scratching at the metal until his fingernails chipped off as he opened the drawer he kept the industrial tool in. But there was no heavy weight resisting him as he opened the drawer and - of course - no saw. He slammed it closed as his hopes and mind started to burn up.
Dazai began feverishly opening everything he could. Food, water, and various out things tumbled out but not the saw.
Out of desperation, he opened the saw drawer again and there was something in there now: a single white envelope. He immediately rationed that it must be from his captors - he had captors, someone was not willing to let him die in such a painful and humiliating way, he was saved and safe. Dazai took a deep gulp of air - a raw and undignified one as his brain started to cool down. Then he sat with the envelope and opened it.
“Dear Osamu Dazai,
It was not easy to get my hands on you!!!!!!!!! Wow! You are one slippery bastard!!!
No, no that’s too mean - too facetious. Let me start over, keep your eyes on me (the letter) for now.
It didn’t take me 20 minutes of reading over your internal documents to realize you were going to kill youself. We’ll start there. Even though the idea is preposterous as it is stupid and misguided, I knew there was absolutely no point in trying to save you before you could kiss death’s lips.
You are so stupid in that way.
Did you read that correctly?
Yes you, whom I’ve trapped in your own container for your own good, are one of the stupidest men on this here Planet Earth.
That is why I had to trap you! There is no reasoning with a stupid and emotional animal like yourself - one who earnestly believes their death should be the thing to bring peace. Perhaps someone less familiar(read: obsessed) might see the coded training logs you kept for the White Reaper and think “A sign he was training to create a monster.” But I know, I know, you were trying to train a hero.
Your handwriting gets slightly sloppier: sharper lines to indicate increasing frustration. And you started leaving annotations in the margins in dark pencil marks. If anyone could guess where the margins even started. So I know you were feeling rushed. Because you were going to kill yourself and you needed Atsushi to be ready. Or perhaps broken enough - I couldn’t decipher everything, you still have secrets, you can breathe, Osamu.
There’s more. Of course. But I wanted to prove how easy you were to figure out. To prove I was, at the very least, a competent and worthy stalker for you. And in the glimpses of you I saw, when you got in and out of the mafia’s long black cars, I could see the bags under your eyes.
I had to buy one of those cameras that can see all the way to the moon.
You have very pretty eyes. The moon’s ugly up close.
I am taking you home with me. There’ll be no more Osamu Dazai in Japan for he is dead and his corpse is currently being buried. Chuuya Nakahara is taking off his hat at the sight of Osamu Dazai, dead and being lowered into the ground - believing a “great evil” has been put to rest.
But Osamu Dazai in the Great US of A is only beginning.
Now, now, don’t moan. You’ll come to like our dirty, filthy nature and enjoy our…well, you’ll find something to love, I’m sure. Even if it’s just me.
Right, back to the start of the letter, whoever you saw by the original’s side, it was me. I am the shadow that has been haunting your every move. And I must have done an amazing job to sneak behind you as often as I did. Perhaps you were letting me? Yes, we’ll both agree(you and this letter) that I (the letter’s author) was only allowed to stalk and obsess over you as much as I did. You really are such a generous man; it’s hard to believe more people don’t like you.
But I’ve teased you enough. And you must have been terrified to wake up where you did. So I will explain:
Right now, you(and I) are on a transatlantic journey to my home country, the United States. You are being kept in here partly as a prisoner, partly as my honored guest. You will remain in there until we arrive. Your basic needs are taken care of, you might even see my gentle feminine mind has remembered a bathroom for you, and you should want for nothing over the course of our journey.
In your left desk drawer there is a small whistle. If anything terribly urgent comes up, if you hurt yourself or need assistance, if you get dangerously bored - please whistle. A sailor will come to help you. Please use the whistle as soon as you’re awake and I will come and speak with you within the hour. Please do not save the whistle as the sailors have been trained to ignore you the very first time you do - for that whistle is for me.
The Prisoner in Your Heart,
Annaka Anderfels
Dazai nearly threw up. He felt it creep up his throat while reading the letter. Even though he now knew he was in not danger, what disgusted him was the flowery language, the intensely familiar way the author wrote to him, and the fact he’d managed to fall so low as to let this kidnapping happen to him.
Without hesitation, he found and blew the whistle.
When she did not immediately fling the doors open, he began tidying up the room he’d just destroyed. Dazai took great care to make everything look as undisturbed as possible. He’d just folded the sheets back and sat on his bed when a knock came.
“You may come in.” It came out in a hoarse, grinding way like he had stones for vocal cords. He regretted speaking at all instantly.
While he looked around for water, a feminine voice answered: “Oh, no can do, mister!” A slot no bigger than a jails slid open and he briefly saw her. “The door is welded shut.”
His heart leapt into his throat. “What?”
“I had the door welded shut! I knew you could have eventually figured out how to get to any lock so I just let heat and God’s given materials do the work for me. Much cheaper than bribing one of the sailors to watch over you!”
Dazai let the shiver of disgust roll over him. “You thought a lot about this, didn’t you?”
The sound of ship’s motor filled the air as the vessel carved through the ocean. Other shipping crates ground together as he waited for her to respond. But she was quiet. For a moment, he even thought she’d left when she did speak again.
Her tone was softer now and her voice more soothing to listen to. He crept towards the opening to hear her better as she said, “I know you must be upset, Osamu. I know you don’t like people messing up your plans. And I’m sure you’re mad to suddenly be caged by a crazy lady. But I couldn’t stand by and watch you kill yourself. I love you too much.”
“You must know a lot about me then,” He hissed sarcastically.
He heard her sigh. “You got me there. I don’t know much about you and the stuff I could confirm screams you are a force of nature, a darkness! I have trapped a little god in a shipping container.”
“Could you be more melodramatic?”
“Yes. Why? Do you want me to?”
A cool, violent smile flickered over his lips. Humorous. He could be funny too. “Yes, I want you to prove your love to me-”
“Anything!” She cried, dramatically throwing herself against the door. “I’ll do anything.”
“Get me a barnacle from the bottom of this boat.”
“...Is that seriously what you want? Will you let me talk to you a little more if I do?”
He was practically giggling now; Dazai was so delighted this trick was working. “Yes, but it needs to be from the very bottom. I’ll know everything.”
“...Okay, Osamu. I will return tomorrow with a barnacle from the bottom of this boat.”
She knocked on the opening slot to show him where it was and that he could open it himself. Then he could hear her climbing down the shipping crates to the deck below. Dazai rushed to get a glimpse of the soon to be corpse but saw no one.
In no way did he expect this woman to be able to accomplish such a feat. She would need scuba gear and would be lucky if she drowned instead of being sucked into the blade’s propellers. Perhaps she’d sacrifice one of the crew for him and regret it so deeply that she would kill him to make up for it. In either case, he was reassured death was still coming to take him away from this hellish, impossible world so he could not ruin it.
Once it was clear he was alone and unreachable by danger or otherwise, he started searching for a way to kill himself. The saw was gone, his rations were in loose floppy ziploc bags not nearly big enough to suffocate him, and he realized there was nowhere to hang a noose after destroying his sheets to make rope.
He sat down on the bed defeated. To add to the feeling, Dazai quickly found himself falling asleep. Though he wanted to stay awake and think of more ways he could finish his plans, sleep kidnapped him just as easily as Annaka had and he fell into a dreamless slumber.
He woke up to his opening being slid open and a knock at the door.
Through watery, tired eyes, he glanced over in time to see a rock come flying in. It bounced against the bottom before scittering to a stop.
Once he found the strength to accept there was no god - for a merciful one would have answered his prayers to kill him - Dazai got out of bed to play with whatever his new toy was.
He realized, as he got closer to it, that it was a barnacle.
“I cut my fingers trying to peel it off.” Hands were shoved into the slot for him to inspect. Even from a few feet away, he could see all the healing red slashes across her palms and fingers. “But I got one! See!”
He flung the barnacle back out as hard as he possibly could.
The same voice sighed deeply. “You see, when I was underwater last night, getting dragged along by the boat, I thought to myself, ‘He’s just going to throw it back out or use it to cut open his own throat’. So I suppose I must commend you for choosing the former. It’s very reassuring.”
Before he could start insulting her, she began stuffing a bundle of cloth through the slot. It bunched up and got stuck quickly, to the point she had to begin punching it in. Dazai had to show mercy and began tugging from his side. Finally it gave, exploding over him in soft, fluffy blueness.
Dazai let the sheets settle over his head and blind him to everything but the sound of her voice.
“I saw you tore your sheets. I can’t believe you thought you could out think me on the thought of your suicide. There’s nothing to hurt yourself with, nothing. Please don’t destroy anything else - we’re both lucky I thought you would do that and brought extra sheets for you.”
He, again, tried to destroy the stupid girl on the other side of the wall and was, again, interrupted by her. She prattled on, “Don’t forget you said you’d talk a little more with me if I got you the barnacle! You practically promised!”
Dazai tried to change his ability to one that killed people by thinking of their names but every time he thought ‘Annaka’ he was rewarded with more of her speech.
“Oh!” She cried, finally silent for more than a second. After twelve seconds exactly, a plate was pushed and balanced on his opening slot. “You must be starved! I gave you some snacks but I-D-K if you ate them.”
He decided it wasn’t worth praying this maniac's food tasted good and took the plate with silent acceptance. It looked fine. Orange pasta, too much butter, and a plastic spoon to eat with. His devil waited patiently, blissfully silently, for him to eat a few bites.
Dazai liked it.
It was fine. He ate the entire plate but would not actively seek seconds. The devil accepted the empty plate with a cry of glee.
“Oh gosh! No complaint or anything! You’re so darling, Dazai! I’m even tempted to leave you be for the night-“
He shoved the plate back out. A second later, a bang followed light twinkling noises as the pieces bounced away. The voice sighed. “Oh Osamu. No need to hurt the plate.”
This time he was silent. He would bore her to death and then he would starve. Dazai winced internally - that was not how he would prefer it.
“You’re quiet. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
He tried not to even breathe. Dazai tried to be so still as she tapped on the container like a fish tank. Like he was a pet to be bothered. This was hell, death by a thousand insults. Every one of her noises was a lashing on his mind. She made a wet kissy noise that triggered a sudden burst of flaming pride that he could not contain.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Oh thank goodness!” She cried, jumping for joy and shaking the containers ever so slightly. He stored the knowledge away. “I was so so worried. These first couple of days are the hardest.”
“Why do you keep talking?”
“To stop your brain from working. I think something in me is like…a Dazai EMP. A DMP, perhaps…..”
His chest squeezed like someone punched him.
“Is what I wish I could say! Hahaha!” She fell back against the container. “Now, what do you want to talk about?”
Dazai grabbed his pillow, pulling it to his mouth and taking deep controlled breaths.
Then he had an idea.
Working as quietly as possible as Annaka prattled on, he gathered some of the scraps from the day before and tied them together again. He roped them around the ends of his bed poles until they were taunted against the mattress. Then he slid a pillow under the tense sheet rope. His soul was sobbing in relief as he laid down and took his last deep breath before slipping his head under the pillow.
“Oh, Osamu,” The voice said, in the same way it had over the shattered plate. He briefly heard her running away, feet pounding on the metal before his pillow muffled all sound. It was like trying to breathe through a sheep.
Dazai was ashamed to say he struggled a bit. But he accepted it quickly. The darkness was easy and quiet. He hated how sticky this method felt, his own dying breaths onto top of him. He swallowed painfully, reaching for the rope to tighten it just in case. Instead, he nearly lost the tip of his fingers as a sharp snip was heard. The tension disappeared; the pillow was knocked from his face.
Breathing felt like restarting reality. He genuinely could not believe it. He grabbed the pillow and flung it to the side of the container in fury. There was absolutely no way to relieve the way he wanted to explode. He wanted to melt through the steel he was so hot with rage.
This was a highly personal form of torture.
Only the devil himself could have peered so deeply into Dazai’s heart and come up with this method of eternal punishment. Here he was trapped in his past, confined to the only place he had felt safe in his youth. Even the other him had spent several safe months in this shipping container. Now he was trapped by it, stuck in it’s safe womb and sealed there to live. That was his biggest issue. Dazai did not want to live. He needed to die for several reasons: the dead man switches he’d placed to help Atsushi, confined protection of Yokohama from that Russian Devil, and continued insurance and a golden haired sacrifice to ensure Oda’s health.
Now he was alive and safe. A pole clattered to the ground outside and his head whipped toward the slot. He was prepared to face Annaka with all the anger and dignity he could summon.
Yet crumbled at the sight of her tears.
“Are you okay? Are you? Are you okay?”
She stuck her hand in the slot like an idiot. It was a perfect chance to break her fingers-
“Please! Just say something-“
“I’m fine!” He grabbed her fingers, crushing them. Yet all the muscles were tight in his shoulder - there was no way to break her hand like this. Dazai squeezed all his frustration into it though until it slipped away, sweaty from it’s owner’s desperation.
Annaka’s eyes appeared again, red and filled with tears. “Good.”
She slammed the window closed on her side. Dazai hear the containers dull echoing thud as she stomped away. Exhausted from his own part in the production, Dazai laid on the bed. Staring up at the roof, he tried to ignore a quick living, beating heart.
For the moment, he could not admit to himself that was hers to control too.
“(Shinra)... Humans express love in various ways, right? Through words, actions for the sake of the other, risking one’s life, offering protection, luring with money, giving in to lust, doing nothing, picking on or teasing, even killing them to ensure that they’re yours forever.”
“(Celty)… And the latter is supposed to be ‘love’?”
“Twisted or not, as long as someone considers it a form of love, then it is.”
Annaka, screaming Dazai’s chart results all him: He may face conflicts in life due to a projection of character that does not match what is on the inside. Misrepresentation of the self can be frequent. He must strive to understand how others perceive him and work on presenting a more accurate persona to the world, or he will rub people the wrong way or feel unrecognized and misunderstood.
