*Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara or any affiliated characters*

It was safe to say that Izaya Orihara had landed himself in a lot of trouble. Maybe he deserved it, and maybe he knew that much himself. Part of him, however, wanted to believe that it was just some twist of fate, that one of his pawns had finally turned against him. He should have been scared, but he was excited. This was new, and the only question now, was how long would it be before it got old?
Over the course of a few weeks, the informant had been dropping bombs on the newly revived Blue Squares gang, finding it amusing to watch them squirm: Especially the one called Aoba. Oh yes, he was extra fun, although the other couldn't quite put his finger on why just yet. Something about him just seemed so… familiar. The 24-year-old had regularly set police on them, hiring Celty to stalk them by offering her to "transport" pointless goods to the places he knew they'd be hanging around. This way he could find out exactly what their plans were and have the cops, or worse, another gang waiting for them upon arrival. Their numbers had been declining, but in all his fun, the broker had made the mistake of not paying enough attention to the nit-picky details. It was late one night that he was finally confronted.

~Izaya's POV~

"You know, there's a saying that goes…" Izaya jumped sideways, out of the way of another attack. "Don't bring a gun to a knife fight." Another, this one aimed at his left side. He parried it as usual and leaped behind the man, having yet to withdraw his own weapon. These lowlifes actually thought they could take him on and win… pathetic. With any luck, he wouldn't even /need/ his knife. He had everything he needed to outdo these men with agility alone. "But I think it should go…" He leaned in closely. "Don't bring a knife to a fist fight. That just seems so much more pathetic if you ask me."
"Shut it, Orihara!" The man he was behind spat, and the informant leaped backwards just in time to dodge the blade the gangster swung out. Although this man was the current target of Izaya's verbal attacks, approximately ten of them had him cornered in the alley behind Russia Sushi. Or maybe "cornered" was too generous. No, they had attempted to snatch him quietly, but so far their prevalence had been lacking. Izaya was too swift.
Ignoring the request, as he generally did, the informant continued:
"You see, if you bring a gun to a knife fight, those who equipped themselves with knives were already preparing for a fight. It's weapons to weapons, a fair trade. You can throw a knife the same way you can shoot a gun, and just because one requires less skill to manage, doesn't make the other unmanageable." Attacks were coming left and right now, but the broker was barely phased. This was nothing compared to what Shizu-chan could throw. These men were weak, and useless, and it was fun to taunt them. "However," he proceeded, "bringing a knife to a fist fight puts you at an immediate advantage, against someone who may not have thought they were going to be fighting at all. It makes you..." He narrowed his eyes, smirking. "A coward."
Deciding he was getting bored of these useless attacks, Izaya was about to take off when something happened that he didn't expect. He turned around, and his momentum was used against him, as he drove himself directly into the blade of one of the stranger's weapons. He choked out and froze, looking down at the blood that had begun to drip in small amounts down the blade. He supposed because it hadn't been pulled out, it must be clogging the wound, preventing bloodflow.
Damn… not this again…
His vision was growing blurry more quickly than he wanted to admit, and he gasped when the knife was removed. Even Izaya Orihara couldn't help but succumb to the consequences of internal damage, and he could hear snickering from around him. A hand grabbed the back of his head and pushed him onto his stomach, face into the ground.
"Time for bed, rat." Someone said. Someone… he couldn't even tell voices apart anymore. Or words… everything was slurring together.
He'd underestimated these people. He'd gotten too ahead of himself. He'd…
"Damn…" He uttered, eyes fluttering shut. "Didn't expect…" he tried to finish his sentence, but the darkness creeping up in his vision beat him to it. Before he could utter another word, the young man was unconscious.

~Shizuo's POV~

Maybe it was the fact that there was a fist jammed into his throat. Maybe that was what had set him off. He didn't understand why he'd ended up in this situation. Most people knew him by this point, his reputation for being completely unmanageable.
But this man clearly did not. He was some street thug, or maybe he was just wasted. Either way, after ridiculing the blonde's clothes outside Russia Sushi, he attacked the tall man, swinging and hitting Shizuo just beneath his adams apple. The blonde took it, but remained in place, an eyebrow twitching with irritation.
"I told you to lay off." He informed the other, whose demeanour had changed from confident to terrified. After all, normally after taking such a hit, anyone would at least have choked. Not Shizuo Heiwajima, though.
"Hey…" the stranger retracted his arm. "Hey man, I… I didn't mean anything by it okay? Listen I-"
"Just…" Shizuo cut him off, before reaching out and grabbing his wrist with an almost bone-shattering grip. "What do you get out of picking fights…" his voice was raising, and in an instant he was spinning, dragging the other man along with him. "With complete strangers, huh?!" Just like that, Shizuo let go, and the man who'd attacked him was sent flying across the street. Shizuo waited until he landed before sighing, running a hand through his hair. He liked to say he hated violence, but he also wouldn't deny the relief that always flooded him after his outbursts. Holding things in was such a pussy thing to do.
He had just pulled out a cigarette to wind down when he heard a familiar voice around the back alley. A voice that he hated… a voice that he loved to hate.
"Izaya…" he growled, picking up a nearby bench with ease and dragging it down the street and around the corner. He was just about to go kill the bastard when he discovered several people who were apparently trying to do the same. Shizuo's ears stopped picking up sound, and all he could do was watch. Something about bringing a knife to a gun fight… or a fist to a knife… never mind. God, that flea bag never knew when to shut his damn mouth. Although he wanted to move, he couldn't, and maybe that was because he didn't know what to do. Leave? No… no something about this didn't sit right. Killing Izaya was /his/ job. Not some petty street gang. So… attack? No… that would save the asshole, and Izaya would never let him live it down. Fearing contradiction, he stayed rooted to the spot, even after the other had been stabbed. It wasn't until the men had scooped the informant up that he moved, but he didn't move away, nor did he move closer. He kept his distance, and began to follow them. He didn't know why, and he didn't care to, but something in his gut was telling him that this wasn't right. Besides, maybe Izaya deserved this, and maybe Shizuo was interested to watch him reap the consequences of his actions for once.