Chapter Text
Denji wasn't a lucky guy by any means. When things got good, that always meant they were about to fall right back into the shitter.
So he shouldn't be surprised when he woke up alone, freezing and in a dumpster, someone's name on his lips. (Whose name, he doesn't entirely know). He bites back any sound he's about to make, instead focusing on his surroundings. It's cold and sticky, but the coldness could easily be from the blood loss- or well. If he had any. He sits up, glancing around the rather comfortable dumpster- compared to the others he's woken up in, at least- and realizes that he's completely unharmed. Briefly, he wonders what exactly had happened. There was a fight, though, right? Does that mean someone helped him? He doesn't... remember much about what happened, after-
Nayuta.
He feels bile raise in his throat, along with a powerful rage he doesn't usually feel. Barem. All the sushi he ate hours (Days? Months?) ago threatens to rise, as he tries his hardest to remember what happened, and where he is. He knows that he fucked Barem up, at the bare minimum, but the rest is a blur. He just remembers the numbness and his body going on autopilot, Pochita's heart beating like a drum in his shaking body. He had... fallen asleep, he'd like to say, but he doesn't actually remember if that's what happened. He had a dream, he thinks. One that felt familiar and strange in all the wrong ways. It started with a hallway, everything pure white. A long one, seemingly endless- one that arguably could've been made by the Eternity Devil. He remembers running, and running, till he was sick and shaky, head fuzzed up with anger and inconsolable amounts of grief. But the dream hadn't let him stop running, regardless of how much he wanted to puke and sob till he had been emptied and had nothing else to give. There was multiple voices, one that sounded unfamiliar to him, and one that he recognized as Asa's. He couldn't understand why Asa of all people was in his dream, but he wasn't exactly complaining.
Wake up, Denji. The voices had crooned in unison, over and over and over again, as he ran. It hadn't felt like a dream in it's entirety- usually, his dreams are accompanied by a stark haziness. He's never been one to truly remember his dreams, or his nightmares- but he didn't forget them. They lingered in the back of his mind, just out of reach, behind closed doors. It's always been that way, and he'll thank himself for it.
It wasn't Pochita's—it was lower and deeper than his friend ever could manage—creepier, too. It gave him unpleasant chills, ones that ran down his back and over his upper arms. He shivered, shaking off some of the gross trash that had gotten on him. There's a ringing in his ears, and everything seems a bit too bright. Also, the air is much... smoggier, than he remembers Tokyo ever being. He hops out of the dumpster, shaking again just to make sure he got all the bits off of him, the action similar to how a dog would shake off after a bath. He looks around the alleyway the dumpster was in, curious. Seriously, what the hell had happened? Where was he??? There's a split second where he wonders if he in one of those shitty mangas he tried reading once. Isekai, he thinks? He says shitty solely because the cute girls on the cover hadn't shown up until half of the first volume was done. He didn't slowly page through the story just to see some guy stealing all the action! Disgarding the memory, his lips lifting into an involuntary scowl, he noticed a poster on the floor. He couldn't read what it said, as it looked like it was in English, but he did recognize the figure that the poster showed! Batman, he thinks? He knows the guy from one of his old classmates- he forgets the guy's name, but he was a huge American comic-book fan. Especially a Batman fan. Guess he has more than one fan in Tokyo, at least, aside from that one guy.
Or maybe I'm not in fucking Tokyo, he thinks, walking into the street, seeing a gaggle of distinctly not Japanese people pass by. If that wasn't enough of a sign, maybe the fact that all the chatter in the air was absolute gibberish to him. He... isn't exactly sure what to think. He blinks slowly, ignoring the looks people give him, ranging from pitying to disgust, and feels a peal of laughter boil in his stomach. It's so not funny, but it's just. So fucking stupid, that he can't help a few hysterical giggles escape. If he really did end up in some Isekai manga, it better take less than half of it to meet the babe that's supposed to swoon over him. He decides to walk back into the alley, all of the voices too much. Jeez, his head hurt. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he sighs, walking deeper into the alley. The ringing in his ears has only gotten worse, and it's starting to sound like the revs of a chainsaw. Denji decidedly ignores that for now, despite the discomfort. He's probably hallucinating. Or something.
Luckily (or unluckily, depending on who you ask), a high-pitched shriek and yells of English overpowers the sound in his ears, causing his head to snap to the source. There was a different alley to the left, dark and murky looking, and hidden enough to where if there wasn't loud ass screaming, he probably wouldn't have paid any mind to it. And with how badly lit the area was, he wouldn't have been able to see anything there anyways. All in all, somewhere he should probably avoid, unless he wanted to robbed or something. ...Not that he actually has any money to be robbed of.
...But, well... That scream sounded like a chick, and he couldn't ignore that, could he? Answer: no. So, he makes his way to the little nook, peeking his head around the corner. It's just as dark as he thought it'd be. It's a dead end, and the brick walls are covered in graffiti. There's a Batman symbol drawn on the wall, and huh. People in this place must be major fans of Batman. ...Lucky bastard. Ignoring his slight jealousy, he continues looking around. There's another dumpster in the alleyway, filled with weirdly shaped trash bags that reek horribly of rot. It's not hard to guess what it actually is. Ignoring the very obvious corpses, he turns to see who made the noise. He can just about make out two figures- a girl, and some broad-shouldered dude. The girl is shaking horribly, eyes wide and flooded with unshed tears. She doesn't seem to notice Denji, nor does the man. The man is short, but just tall enough to surpass the girl in height, and more than muscular enough to hold the poor girl down. The man grins, eyes blown and pupils unnaturally dilated, even with the darkness of the dead-ended alleyway, it's still weirdly large. Denji draws the unpleasant conclusion that the jerk must be on drugs, before quickly turning his gaze to the man's hands. The man has a knife to the woman's throat, pressing just enough for blood to start beading onto the blade. The knife is small and underwhelming, but still enough to end the girl's life if he so wanted. His other hand was trailing up, getting closer and closer towards the girl's chest, her eyes following it fearfully, disgust and horror clouding her vision. Denji hisses quietly at the sight, feet moving before his brain—
—He'd been so happy afterwards, when he had gotten to feel Miss Makima's chest- he didn't care that she had told him to keep it a secret, didn't care how Pochita's heart ached in protest. He had wanted it. So why does the memory make him feel so unclean?—
Before he knows it, he's barreling over there, punching the guy square in the nose. The man falls down with a loud and pathetic grunt of pain, those disgusting hands flying up to stop the bleeding from his nose. Denji stares in revulsion, watching as thick globs of blood falls into the man's untamed, greying beard, staining the previous white and wiry hair a horrible scarlet red. Denji doesn't stop there, though, and immediately starts kicking the bastard's balls. Repeatedly. The girl watches, jaw slightly dropped, as she wipes her eyes. Once the guy is knocked completely out and left for the rats, he turns to her, about to speak- but promptly realizing that probably wouldn't work. Instead, he offers a small grin, hoping it comes off as charming and not creepy. Now, Denji wasn't expecting something back, but a thank you would've been nice, or just anything other than the nasty look she was giving him. Her eyes had dropped to his mouth, staring intently at his teeth- which, well, he tried his best to brush twice a day. Was there something in them? He tilts his head, confused and a little concerned. Did that guy give her a concussion? He takes a step closer, trying to look if she was bleeding or hurt anywhere. The effect of him moving towards her was immediate- the girl slams her purse in his face, causing him to stumble back. He lets out a quiet, pained noise, whipping his head up to look at her, definitely more confused. What the hell did he do now?
"G-Get the hell away from me, you son of a bitch!" The girl shrieked, as he blinked owlishly. Well, he recognized the word 'bitch', at least. When he doesn't respond, the girl lets out a frustrated, but afraid noise, and carefully flees from him, looking back to make sure he wasn't following her. ...What the fuck just happened? He saved her! What rules does this world operate on?? Whatever! Whatever. He did the right thing, in the end, so there's that, at least. Denji steps out the dark crook, flinching as a drip of water lands on him. And then another. Before he knows it, it's drizzling, soaking his already scarce clothing. Rain? Seriously? For fuck's sake- can he for one moment catch a break? Let everything kind of just slow down? He's so incredibly tired of all the twists and turns of the past year and a half. He's exhausted. He has been, for most of his life. So for once, can everything just chill the fuck out—
A loud and obnoxious thundering noise rings out through the alleyway, causing him to flinch minutely.
As the rain increases and it starts to thunder, he realizes bitterly that no, things will not slow down, nor will they chill out. Ugh. Denji lets out an unpleased noise, stalking towards the dumpster he landed in. That'll do, for now. It was pretty comfy, all things considered. But as he's on his way back (the alley seemed so much longer now, with the impossible rain), he notices an opened door that he can't recall seeing previously. In all the bad ideas he's had, he doesn't think this one is too horrible. Denji treks toward the door, peeking inside. There's a large-ish group of people- about thirty young men, he'd say. Math was pretty much the only subject he was sort of good at. After a moment, Denji realizes that these guys are armed. Some wield baseball bats, some crowbars- along with a bunch of discarded ones that lay on the wall near them, at the ready. The sight makes him sneer- it reminded him of the Yakuza- if the Yakuza was more poor and pathetic looking. He creeps inside without notice, desperate to get out of the rain. It's not like he's unused to being outside during bad weather, per se- of course not. But he'd be lying if he said he hadn't gotten accustomed to being able to have a home and watch the rain from inside, watching the raindrops race against eachother. And even before, he still had Pochita. He still had his shed. Regardless of his old circumstances, he doesn't think it's a big deal that he's inside. He knows better than anyone how squirrelly types of organizations and gangs can be, how possessive and cruel- but as long as he's not caught inside, he can relax and get dry until it stops pouring buckets. He's used to making himself small, unnoticeable- it's still easy, even now. He takes slow, quiet breaths, sneaking behind some boxes the warehouse stores. One of the boxes is open, he realizes, and it smells so disgusting, like rotten eggs or Meowy's piss- wait.
He glances at the contents with bated breath, and internally wonders what kind of shit luck he must've had to be in a warehouse with- not only wannabe gang members, but also gang members that were definitely pedaling meth. It's not Denji's first time seeing meth, or smelling it- a lot of the adults he saw during his childhood did drugs of some kind, or alcohol- so he's not surprised. No, he's more shocked about how fucking much of it they have. There's a ton of boxes- was every single one full of drugs? Denji swallows, uncomfortably, backing up and away from the box. It's not all bad, though, or at least he's trying to convince himself of that- they haven't noticed him yet. He could still get out, and find some other place to camp out at. He knows he shouldn't be picky, but the smell is overpowering and uncomfortable, and he'd rather not be near any sort of gangs. He'd rather deal with the rain than a bunch of drug dealers. With that decision settled, he quietly starts to stalk to the exit- it shouldn't be any harder than it was getting in.
...Well, fuck.
He probably shouldn't have jinxed himself. Because as soon as he starts sneaking towards the door, several of the gangsters turn around to see him, and then all hell breaks loose. Denji lets out a quiet "shit", trying to rush to the door, but one of the gang members slam the door closed, as the others corner him. They start yelling and barking at him, and he winces. Maybe he should've listened better to his English teacher instead of writing it off as a lost cause. Really could've used the knowledge right about now. But then again, they don't seem too keen on just talking, so it doesn't matter much in the end, anyways. Denji just barely dodges a punch from one of the bigger guys- over 6 foot, and shoulders wide and squared to fight. This only seems to aggravate the gang, and the bigger guy starts to pull something out of his pocket. Shit, Denji thinks, staring at the handgun the man just pulled out. I'm gonna get shot.
It's not as if he hasn't been shot before. That's not the issue, but fuck he wishes it was just that. No, it's the fact that if he gets shot and dies, there's nobody to pull his cord to revive him. In other instances, if he had died, there'd be someone to make sure it wouldn't be permanent. If he dies here, right now, he's done. His organs will probably harvested too,- he wouldn't be surprised, honestly, just look at these freaks- and fuck, what would they do when they see Pochita? Welp, he huffs, internally. Guess I've got no choice. But instead of his hands finding his ripcord and pulling, his legs spring into action, as he jolts forward-
And bites the absolute shit out of the big guy. From previous experience, it doesn't seem like chicks here really like it when guys are too rough. They must prefer the gentlemanly type. He's seen some really gorgeous American girls on TV, back at home, so he doesn't wanna screw up his chances and scare away all the girls. But then the guy starts shrieking and yelling at him, so he really, really was out of options. Sorry, ladies. Denji knees the guy straight in the balls with a cackle, snatching his gun and throwing it in one of the other's faces. The entire situation is way too similar from that whole karaoke ordeal with that crazy jerk- but that ended up being fun, in a really fucked up way. There's around 29 of them left, and Denji already sorta regrets throwing the gun, instead of actually using it. One of the guys, a real ugly one, punches him hard in the side. He can feel some of his ribs cracking from the blow, but it only has him giggling more hysterically. Fighting like this was exhilarating- not caring to hold back, not pulling any punches- something tells him nobody would care if these fuckers ended up dead. He'd even bet that it's expected of them, honestly. He likes the rush of electricity that flows through him, knowing that if he messes up at all, he'll be dead for real real.
He nabs a crowbar that had been left leaning on the wall, and breaks the smaller dude's skull, slamming him into the others like a bowling ball to the pins. It feels like a homerun- or the bowling equivalent of that, he guesses. He lets out a sharp "WOO!" of excitement, cackling more. He ignores the terrified and angry glares he receives, too hyped up to calm down. 23 left. Probably. He gives up on counting, and focuses more on the feeling of metal meeting flesh, blood spewing out from their mouths and noses. Denji ends up biting two more guys, giggling hysterically all the while. Once it's clear they don't exactly have a chance, the remaining sling their injured teammates onto their backs, heading for the door. He listens to them yell at each other, thinking on whether or not to chase them.
"This guy is fuckin' rabid! Let's get the hell out of here!" One says, panicked and visibly pissed, but he doesn't approach him. Denji only really understands that he said "fuck", but that's about it. The rest of them all pour out the door, leaving him by himself in the warehouse. Denji wonders if they'll come back with help, but he doesn't plan to stay all that long. He drops the crowbar, lingering excitement from the fight leaving him as he makes his way to somewhere to rest. The entire place is pretty small, when he thinks about it- but he's not really complaining. Not at all. It's... cozy, if you can call a warehouse chock full of methamphetamine and who knows what else, cozy. Denji is, of course, one of those people. He actually kind of prefers it- the small spaces bit, not the meth. Obviously.
After a bit of trial and error, (pretty small his ass), he finds the lounge- or, well, close enough to a lounge. He's relieved to see that it hasn't been stuffed full with more drugs. Seriously, most every other room in this shithole had some in there. Instead, this room is completely empty. The walls are covered with a peeling, outdated wallpaper that could very easily be from the prehistoric era. The floor is covered with old leaves, mud, cobwebs, and just complete and utter filth. Denji's not really sure he wants to know the specifics. But the room must get enough foot-traffic, as despite all that, he's able to tell that the ground is concrete, texture bleeding through. He finds it looks pretty comfortable, even with everything. He steps out for a moment, heading to where he's sure he saw some old newspapers in a pile in. Most of the papers feature Batman in them, which firstly- how much do you have to love a comic-book character to include him in the news? Seriously, did all the people in this place just absolutely worship him? He's leagues better than that edgy asshole! As he walks back to the lounge, he vows to become 100 times more popular than that emo shit- and ignores how probably petty and most definitely pathetic it is to be jealous of a comic-book character of all things. He places all of the newspapers on the ground, arranging them as a makeshift bed. Better than sleeping on the cold, rough concrete by itself. Besides, he feels a sense of satisfaction from making those Batman newspapers into his bed. Take that, asshole. (Again, Denji ignores the immaturity of his actions. Comic-book character or not, there's no way the fucker should be that popular!)
After he's pleased with how the newspapers are arranged, he sits down, and realizes three things.
1. He is no longer in Japan. This, he pretty much already knew- but it was sort of annoying regardless. He didn't speak English, sure as hell couldn't read it (he can hardly read Japanese, sometimes!), and he had no money. ...That part would be true regardless if he was in Japan or America, but still! He'd like to be somewhere where he doesn't have to communicate in looks and gestures and just hope that it comes off the right way. Which, considering his current and pretty short track record, he can confidently say that most times that won't be the case. He didn't have the most... friendly face. And that chick from before stared at his teeth really fucking weirdly— which, well, he checked his teeth in the reflection of a puddle when he was outside, after she had left. He was pleasantly surprised to see they were clean— nothing stuck to or in between his teeth. So it was definitely just him. Shit. So much for thinking he had a charming and sexy smile... Although now that he thinks about it, his teeth were pretty sharp. But he always thought that was badass! And the chicks loved badass. Probably. ...Anyway.
2. Everybody really fucking loved Batman here. And listen, he likes superheroes just as much as the next guy, but he is not that cool. All he really knew about the guy was that he was all like "Vengeance", and wore a full black onesie with like. Bat ears, or something. Oh, and the fact that the guy was actually Brad Wayne- or. No, that's not right. Whatever. He could give fuck-all for the guy's secret identity, in all honesty- he's just... Curious. (Bastard).
3. He's right back where he started. This one is the one that affects him the most, he thinks- because isn't that crazy? He's right where he was before everything. Before Aki and Power, before Public Safety- for the first time in a very long while, he's gone solo. He's not really... used to being alone. He had Nayuta, before- then he had Power. Before that, he had Aki, too- then it was Pochita, and he's not silly enough to think that his old man ever gave enough of a shit about him to spend actual time around him. He can't remember anything about his parents to challenge that, either. Not really, anyway- just the scent of alcohol and a faint memory of a lullaby he thinks he might've heard from his mom as a young kid. Anything else were things told to him by others- secondary sources. Denji wishes he could actually fucking remember his mother, instead of having her just be a description to him. On the other hand, he couldn't be more happy that he can't really remember his dad, for better or for worse.
But what really gets him is that he really, really hasn't been alone like this, for years. He's always had someone. Whether it have been those debt collectors or Public Safety, they were someone, and now all he has is Pochita. And even Pochita right now is more of a dull presence, rather than someone he could ever possibly rely or depend on. Not only that- he doesn't have money. Not a single one yen coin. Not that yen could actually be used here. He's flat broke, without an actual house or apartment to stay in. And he can't stay here, because there's a pretty high possibility those gang members come back with someone who can actually beat his ass. He can't stop from letting a quiet giggle slip out, clutching his hair hard enough for it sting even after he lets go. Ever since he got here, it's like he's been falling apart. Briefly, he wonders what's changed, but he already knows the answer. He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling- what the fuck.
On the ceiling, there's a bat symbol graffitied onto there. Denji's jaw drops slightly in offense. Seriously? Seriously? This has to be like. Sacrilegious. SERIOUSLY.
Despite the fact that all other positions he could sleep in would definitely be less comfortable than if he slept on his back, he stubbornly turns to lay on his stomach, eyebrows furrowed and eyes shut tighter than he's ever shut them. It's the principle of the thing, or whatever. (Even though Denji's fairly certain a principal is a job, but he's not really one to question sayings).
With Pochita's heart beating steadily, Denji eventually finds sleep. He dreams of the hallway, again but there's a noticeable difference. Bats. Because of fucking course. Bastard.