Archive of Our Own ^beta

It happens when they’re walking along the beach. Not even quite on the sand, just on the sidewalk that lays parallel to the water. By all accounts it’s a peaceful walk. The moon is full, the waves are gentle, the night is fairly quiet.

Perhaps the light of the moon is what allows (Name) to see the pale glow of something off-white, nestled in the sand, moving slightly with the water.

The object is ruffled, dirty, but the bits of it that aren’t covered with sand and dampened by the waves stand out well enough. It’s the flutter of what (Name) can only identify as feathers that makes them decide to check it out.

(Name) rolls up their pant legs, up to the base of their knee. Next come their shoes and socks, and their shirt’s long sleeves, rolled up to the elbow as well. The first step onto the sand is a little startling, as always. Going from solid ground to a constantly shifting surface is a little disconcerting, but (Name) ignores the feeling in exchange for treading forward, tossing sand indiscriminately.

Upon closer inspection, the feathered object is a little larger than a hand. (Name) holds their breath, daring not to hope, until a particularly violent wave unsettles the sand holding the object enough that it flips almost entirely over. Belly up, one wing still stuck in the sand, lays a dead seagull.

“Oh shit.”

Moving quickly, (Name) walks onto the damp sand, and lays a hand under the seagull. With the other, they wiggle the stuck wing from the sand, gently, careful not to break the delicate carcass. When they finally get it free, they stand there for a minute, admiring the feathers, and the way the beak curves. Finally, they head home.

~~~

“What… is that *smell?*”

(Name) jumps a little, looking up from the counter they were hunched over.

Dazai is staring at them from the apartment doorway, holding takeout and holding his nose. He sets the food on the island, and moves closer to (Name), where the source of the stench immediately becomes obvious.

The seagull, is laid on the counter, wings splayed, head tilted back. (Name) has plucked most of the feathers off by now, still working on the smaller primaries. They blink innocently at him, in a way that implies nothing out of the ordinary. If he wasn’t watching them slowly pull feathers off the bird, he would have assumed they were just cleaning the counter or something equally mundane.

Finally, a responses came from (Name), “well, I found this… seagull, down by the beach.” When Dazai neglects to interject, they continue. “It’s basically in perfect condition, I mean one of the wings was popped out of place, nearly backward, but I managed to fix it without much effort. I decided to take it home, and I know you asked me to tell you first at least, but I couldn’t really manage my phone and hold it at the same time, then I got caught up with taking the feathers-“

Dazai waves his hands in the air a little, a universal sign for ‘stop,’ and chuckles. “Ah, Belladonna, you’re rambling again, I just wanted to know if I should be concerned.”

The smile he gets in return is nearly blinding, (Name) is beaming at him and Dazai can’t really help but smile back softly. It’s the kind of expression he keeps under lock and key, and when (Name) sees it, they practically teem with joy, even if they manage to control their expression this time.

Dazai leaves their side to put the food on the table, and with the free counter space made available, (Name) pulls a slow cooker from the cabinet below the island. They peer at him from behind the cooker, and offer a bashful smile when he turns back to face them.

“If you wouldn’t mind.. I mean, would you… like to know what I’m going to do?”

His face is unreadable for a second, as he settles on the couch in the living room. Then, a nod, “I can’t eat yet anyways, with all that,” he gestures vaguely at the corpse, “so sure. Tell me about it.”

(Name) grins, and turns the slow cooker on, letting it heat.

“So, I just took the feathers off. Of course, there’s more, and all the meat, and cartilage, and brain and stuff, so we have to get that off somehow.” Dazai is watching them with rapt attention, watching as they gather the plucked feathers and fill the cooker with water. “The cooker is going to be used to get all that off. The meaty stuff should just melt off the bones, and the rest I can brush off myself. Then we wash them, soap and water of course, to get them ready for whitening.”

(Name) glances over at him, a little bit wondering if he’d gotten bored, or grossed out, and opted out of watching. What they find instead is Dazai bobbing his mocha locks in a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, your collection does seem cleaner than the bones you’ll find on… TV shows, or even in real life.”

(Name) huffs, still waiting for the cooker to heat, and leans their weight against the island. “TV shows are notoriously filled with misinformation. As for other bones you’ve seen, the ones in my collection have been cleaned to the best of my ability, they’re a lot nicer, I think.”

When Dazai smiles and nods again in agreement, (Name) beams proudly.

The slow cooker beeps, and as (Name) busies themself with it, they speak again. “There’s other ways to get the meat off of course, some people just leave them out in fields, or in rot cages, and some use bugs, but this is the easiest way in my opinion, and the cleanest. Anyways, after the second wash, you’d whiten them with hydrogen peroxide, and you’re golden.”

(Name) giggles, closing the lid of the slow cooker, and jumping slightly when arms encircle their waist. They tilt their head so they can see Dazai’s face. He’s already looking down at them, expression soft.

“Then you paint them, or just collect them. You really care about these dead animals of yours.”

(Name) hums, letting their head rest against Dazai’s shoulder. “Someone has to, imagine if everything was forgotten after it passed from this world. We’d never have anything to live for, because we’d never make an impact anyways.”

The boy clicks his tongue, “an interesting perspective.”

Able to recognize when Dazai is deep in thought, (Name doesn’t pry. They wiggle out of his hold and head towards the kitchen cabinets.

“Time to clean…”