A/N: Hello world of Durarara! fanfiction! I am a total newb when it comes to writing for these characters, and so I first wanted to ask that you treat me well. Also, I hope that you all enjoy my take on this story. I have decided to change around some parts of the original storyline so that my own story can be told and told well. So, we have some shifts. Also, this will be what I call a 'slow, developing story'. Meaning that it will take its sweet time with developing anything. It's definitely taking the roundabout way to whatever anyone wants to happen. As well, there will be romance in here, though definitely not right now and not for quite some time coming. It will be a journey you and I can take together, and I hope you enjoy the journey! So please enjoy my first DRRR! fanfiction, and here's to future chapters!
Disclaimer: Durarara! belongs to its respective copyright owners.
Mother had started to cry a lot lately.
He noticed it when he was home sick from school. She had just tucked him in, saying soft nonsense words and telling him to sleep as she pressed his teddy bear in his arms, when the phone suddenly started to shrilly ring. After quickly kissing his forehead, she had left her six-year-old son to answer the phone, only half-shutting his door. He had been half awake during the conversation, and had started to drift off when she went into her room. He fell asleep to the muffled sound of her sobs.
After that, it had become more commonplace to hear Mother cry. Father would call sometime in the early evening to tell Mother that he would be late, and Mother's expression changed. It always reminded him of one of those porcelain dolls girls liked to collect; permanently slightly smiling, as if expected to look pleased by something but never sure as to what it was. During the day Mother would be a doll, moving as if on ball-joints, and then when he went to bed and Father still wasn't back from work, Mother would go into her room and cry.
Father had not been home a lot lately.
He noticed it before he had gotten sick and Mother had started to cry. It had been past his bedtime when Father finally came back from the office, looking tired and what Mother called 'impossible'. He ate a bit of cold dinner, watched television for an hour and then unfolded the futon so he could sleep. He had been gone in the morning when he'd woken up to Mother's gentle goading.
After that, it had become more commonplace for Father to be gone. He rarely spoke to Mother and only distractedly patted his head whenever he showed him something he had done in school. He started to expect the phone calls more and more and his Father less and less as days turned to weeks, weeks to months. He thought that if this continued, would he forget what Father looked like? When he asked Mother this very innocent question, Mother started to cry in front of him.
He wanted Mother to stop crying. He wanted Father to come home more.
He wanted things to return to how they used to be.
The day everything changed started out just like days had started for the last few months. Father was already gone to work, leaving Mother to wake him up and get him ready for school. He ate his soggy cereal, his shorts hanging over his knees in their baggy manner, his T-shirt a size too big because Mother said 'he'd grow into it eventually'. He flinched in surprise when his mother ran her slim fingers, calloused from handling spades for the garden and wooden rolling pins and coarse laundry for so many years, through his short black hair. When he looked up at her, he saw that she had a distant look in his eyes, her porcelain doll smile on her lips.
"Everything's going to be okay, sweetie."
When he had come home from school his Mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea before her. She was looking at what seemed to be a specific spot on the wall very intently, and he did not wish to disturb her. So, like the quiet, obedient child he was, he crept through the kitchen to go to his room, closing the door silently behind him. He stayed in his room doing his homework, working on assignment sheets his teachers had given him for that day. It was only when his stomach was growling and the sun was halfway gone from the sky that he thought he could leave his room.
When he opened the door, everything was very quiet and very dark. Now, he was not a frightful child by nature, but the eeriness of the silence and darkness combined caused a tingle of fear to crawl down his spine. Carefully, making sure not to make too much noise in case Mother was sleeping or crying, he walked to the kitchen so that he could grab something to eat. Yet when he slid the door open, all thoughts of food left him.
In fact, all thoughts left him.
He could only stare at the bloodied bodies of Father and Mother sprawled over the floor, the kitchen knife Mother often used to cut up meat for dinner laying innocently on the floor beside Mother's hand.
Finally, after what felt like forever and ever and ever, thought returned to him. And as thought returned to him, so did his voice.
"At least Mother won't cry anymore."
He had been found in the morning sitting in his room with his clothes neatly folded and his futon made up where it was supposed to go. When asked if he had seen what had happened, he did not say anything and only shook his head. He was then taken into police custody.
When none of his family came to collect him from the station to take control of raising him, they put him in a foster institution, where people would find loving families for him. However, he had heard about foster homes before from a classmate who was in one, and he did not like the sound of it. So as soon as lights were out for the night, he gathered the things he needed into his single backpack, quietly got dressed and left the building through the window. He had managed to sneak onto the back of a truck at a gas station he had found, and once he was settled, he had fallen asleep.
When he woke up, the truck was not moving and there was light peeking in through the cracks in the back door. He did not want to be caught by the driver, so he waited until he could not hear the man mumbling to himself near the vehicle to safely slip out with his backpack. When he ran far enough away from the truck and its driver, he thought it was best for him to take in his surroundings.
What greeted him was amazing and terrifying.
Buildings as tall as the sky surrounded him, and there were millions and millions of people all around. Some looked like his parents had, while others had strange coloured hair and others still did not even look Japanese. They were all walking in different directions, reminding him of an aquarium he had once seen on a school fieldtrip. Everyone was talking, and no one took notice of the young boy by himself on the side of the road.
He walked through the crowds, being careful to not get stepped on or pushed around by people bigger than him. He noticed a lot of people milling around with similar coloured articles of clothing on, like scarves or ties or hats. He wondered what that all meant, but decided he probably did not want to know and kept to himself.
More cars than he had ever seen before drove quickly by, honking and turning sharply as they went. He watched the sign with the little man on it, watching for it to turn from red to green so he could cross in front of the cars safely. He thought how proud his Mother would be that he was making sure to follow traffic laws without having to be reminded. He then thought of how red she was when he last saw her and decided it was best if he stopped thinking about Mother.
There were also a lot of people in a blue uniform walking around, talking to each other about homework and teachers and clubs. He thought maybe they were in a high school, as he had not needed to wear a uniform yet. He had been very excited by the prospect of wearing a uniform, yet he had had to leave his hometown before he was forced into a home that he would be sad in.
He wandered the city for hours, looking at all the strange, new sights and wondering where exactly he was. He was too shy to ask, and no one really seemed to be saying anything. He could not read the newspapers very well, though he was one of the best students in his hiragana/katakana classes. He felt very lost and very confused, but he did not mind much as the city had much to offer in entertaining him.
By the time it had gotten darker out, turning the sky a purple colour instead of the bluish-black he had been used to, he ended up in a park with benches and a fountain. He ran up to the fountain and walked along the edge, holding his arms out to either side to keep him balanced. The sun slipped past the tall buildings and plunged the city into darkness.
The city at night was just as interesting as it was in the day. Buildings lit up like bright, neon glow flies, streetlamps tittering to life with a soft hum and a slight flicker like some sort of lazy cat after an afternoon nap. There were less people in business suits walking around and more in casual clothing. He saw the people gathered in crowds of similar-coloured bandanas and scarves and hats, and he wondered again what it all meant.
Leaving the park as it filled with more crowds of people in colours, he walked towards the street again. Just as he was about to run across the road, even though it was a red man and not a green but there were not very many cars and he thought he could make it, he looked over to see something amazing heading towards him.
It was a motorbike, just as he had seen in manga and photos, heading towards him very quickly. It was very quiet, making little to no sound, and the headlight was blacked out so that it did not shine brightly like the cars did. As the motorbike rushed forward more quickly, he thought he heard the engine. Yet instead of a mechanical grinding noise, he heard what sounded like some sort of animal voicing itself to the world.
Just as suddenly as he saw the bike, it skidded to a screeching halt in front of him, ending up parallel to him instead of front-to-front like some strange game of chicken. The rider, a slim person in a jet black rider suit that did not reflect any light and a yellow cat-eared helmet, looked down at him through their pure-black visor, staring deeply at him. He stared back, eyes wide and curious as to who would ride a motorbike that did not make noise nor had headlights.
He blinked as something appeared in the rider's hand then seemingly from nowhere, and he watched as they typed quickly into the electrical device, before showing him a screen with characters on it. He took a moment to look at the words carefully before he sort of understood what it said.
Why are you standing in the middle of the road?
"I was crossing it," he replied honestly, as his Father had always told him to tell the truth. He thought of his Father then, red and white and glassy-eyed like a doll, and decided it would be best to stop thinking of Father.
The rider took back their PDA and started to type in it, fingers flying through characters. They then showed it to him again.
It's not yet time for people to cross the road. It's dangerous to try and cross before the man is green.
"There are not very many cars," he said again, tilting his head curiously. "Why don't you talk?"
Because I can't. Where are your parents?
"My parents are in black bags in the hospital. Why can't you talk?"
The person seemed to be taken aback by what he had said. After all, who lightly told people that their parents were in 'black bags', usually meaning death? They then typed something and showed it to him.
I can't talk because of special reasons. How did you get here if you aren't with your parents?
"I ran away."
The two fell into a silence then, thick and long and dark just like shadows. He thought for a moment that the rider reminded him of shadows. He thought he saw smoke coming from their fingers as they began to type again.
Do you have anywhere to stay?
"No."
He watched as the rider seemed to think about something for a very long moment before typing again, showing him the PDA screen.
Do you want to come with me?
He stared at the words before looking at them again. His Mother had always told him not to talk to strangers, and his Father had always told him to beware of invitations by strangers, but he had always thought these pieces of advice contradicted one another. How could he get invitations by strangers if he didn't talk to them? So he ignored what he had been taught by his parents for all six years of his life and simply nodded slightly before he tightened his grip on his backpack.
"Why?" he asked as he watched the rider form a black helmet around his size from the strange black shadows that surrounded them. He did not think much on this, as what did he know of normal and non-normal in cities? Perhaps everyone could create solid objects from shadows. The rider hesitated for a moment, before placing the helmet on his head and lifting him up to sit in front of them. He twisted his head back to watch as they typed in something on their PDA before showing him what they had said.
Because no one should be left alone when someone can offer them a place to stay.
Watching as the PDA slipped back in its spot within the rider's sleeve, he was turned so that his back faced the rider. His backpack was placed in front of him, and he got the impression that he had to hold onto it very tightly else he'd lose it forever. Once he had a firm grip, thin arms went to either side of him, caging him in as the motorbike started with a whiney-sound, and they suddenly shot off.
Though wanting to watch everything on their drive, he could not help but allow his eyes to fall shut into an exhausted sleep.
"Hey, who's that?"
He opened his eyes as he heard a voice, blinking a few times to clear fuzzy vision muzzled by sleep. Once he was sure he'd be able to see everything clearly, he turned to look over towards the source of the voice. As he shifted, he noticed that he was in black-clad arms and thought he must've been in the rider's hold. He did not mind much, as he felt comfort in the embrace of the strangely quiet rider. In fact, to keep himself better balanced, he wrapped his arms around the rider's neck.
Looking down from his position, he saw a boy older than him staring up at him curiously. He had glasses and dark, straight black hair that slightly flared out at the ends oddly. He seemed a bit strange to him, but overall he seemed harmless. The boy smiled up at him then, waving.
"Celty never brings anyone home! You must be a very special case!"
"Celty?"
The glasses-boy stared at him for a moment before he smiled again. "You don't know who Celty is? You're sitting on her!"
He blinked, turning to look at the black riding suit the rider, Celty, wore. The rider, apparently a girl. He thought about this for a moment before he shrugged and rested his head on Celty's shoulder.
"So, why did Celty bring you home?"
He shrugged, closing his eyes and sighing softly. The other boy huffed in what seemed to be annoyance, and he thought he'd say something when he felt one of Celty's arms move. He opened his eyes and looked down to see Celty placing a hand on the boy's head, running her fingers through his hair briefly. She then produced her PDA and started to type one-handed.
The boy read whatever she had written with an intent look on his face before he nodded. "Ah, so Celty has decided to keep you." He smiled then, looking up at him. "Well, then I should introduce myself! My name is Kishitani Shinra! Celty's full name is Celty Sturluson. What's your name?"
He stared at the boy named Shinra for a moment, wondering what his parents would think of him telling his name to strangers.
He then thought that they didn't really care because they had disappeared in black bags, anyhow, and so he opened his mouth.
"Ryuugamine Mikado."
