Washed Away
(Breath of the Machine)
I don't own Durarara.
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"It's really coming down." Tom squinted upward.
Ikebukuro was taking an unusually hard lashing of rain this month. Not enough for anyone worry about a flood, but enough that everyone frowned when they looked out the window in the morning.
That afternoon, Tom and Shizuo forged through the torrent on the return trip from a particularly unfortunate debtor. Shizuo had been obliged to relieve him of all available cash, though he imagined a large chunk of the debt remained.
Still, this was no concern of Shizuo's. They drudged through the never-ending chain of puddles that consumed the sidewalks until Tom waved him under the overhang of a corner shop.
"That's the third time we've talked to that guy! Some people just can't get their priorities straight," Tom mumbled. Shizuo leaned against the cinderblock wall, silently watching the traffic crawl by. He didn't mind the rain. Days like this made him sleepy. His eyes slid shut and he took in the sounds of the city: sheets of rain slicing into the street, clattering nearby, grocers shouting at each other over the weather, car horns, the slamming of a door, the squeal of bad brakes-
"Here, help me count this, we'll see how much he still owes." Tom broke Shizuo's reverie to thrust a handful of bills at him, then started on his own stack. They flipped through the cash wordlessly.
Something was making a gurgling sound.
"Eighty, one, one-twenty, one-fourty-" Tom counted.
Cough, gurgle.
"One-seventy, one-eighty, one-eighty-five-"
Gurgle.
Shizuo snapped. "What the HELL is that noise?!"
Startled, Tom stopped to listen. The wet, gagging sound came again, from their left.
"Ah- a secluded alley," Tom made a point of awkwardly turning away from the source. "Probably something that doesn't involve us, then… y'know?"
"Wait."
Without further explanation, Shizuo marched down the alley, Tom hesitantly in tow. As they drew nearer, Shizuo's suspicion was confirmed- the familiar line of white fur he'd made out from the street belonged to a jacket. And that jacket belonged to a royal pain in the ass.
"IIIIIIIIIZAAAAYAAAAAAA!"
There was no movement. Just a body, lying with its back against the filthy cement ground. Shizuo frowned, on edge. Something….
The heap of black on the alley floor spasmed, mouth slightly open. Shizuo saw the chest rise as the informant tried to draw a breath but choked on more water than air. Drowning, Shizuo thought briefly. He and Tom closed the distance instantly, peering into the pallid face. Izaya's eyes were cracked open, but if he'd noticed the two of them, he didn't show it.
"Get him on his side," Tom ordered brusquely, reaching forward before Shizuo could comply. As he rolled the limp figure over he swore quietly and quickly retracted his hands; the back of the Izaya's head was matted and sticky with red. Another convulsion, and both men jumped back as Izaya suddenly began to cough up a river from his lungs. Tom swore again.
"...Not that he doesn't deserve it, but who does something like this in broad daylight?"
Shizuo addressed the obvious. "You mean besides me?"
"Well, it looks like he pissed somebody else off even more." Tom gingerly brushed the man's hair away from the damaged skull.
"How bad is it?"
"Can't tell, the rain may have washed most of the blood away." Tom slid open his phone and looked around absently. "What street is this? …Make sure he doesn't move, I'm calling an ambulance."
"Shinra could probably-"
Tom either didn't hear or ignored him and sped down the alley, dialing and muttering. Izaya coughed again and mumbled something raspy that got lost in the rain. Shizuo dropped to the informant's level.
"What?"
"Shinra... he didn't need to do that."
"...Shinra did this?"
"No... Shinra took the knife... I told him to say I did it, but he shouldn't have been there, he said it was a bad idea..."
"...The hell are you talking about?"
Izaya continued, undaunted.
"Stupid Shinra, doing something like that. He'll just hate me in the end."
"I'm gonna wait here to flag them down!" Tom shouted from the alley entrance. "They said not to touch him in case he has other injuries." His boss had a warning look, so Shizuo gave a half-nod of acknowledgement. As if I'd touch the grimy bastard, anyway.
"Do they think I don't care?" Izaya's voice was quieter.
"Who?"
"My sisters."
"How the hell would I know?!" Shizuo growled. "Quit babbling about shit that makes no sense." Annoyed, he tapped a cigarette from his pack and fished through his pockets for a light.
"It's better that way," Izaya sighed. "Don't say anything to them."
"Right." He shielded the lighter from the rain, tried twice to ignite the stick, and took a long drag. Izaya's eyes drooped, fixated on the bright burn. For a while, neither of them said anything. The informant's gaze followed the smoke that rose and curled above their heads, then remained on the grey sky, contemplating.
"When I was on the plane, the salesman told me the oxygen masks are for getting passengers high when they're crashing."
"...Flea, if you don't shut up, I'm gonna punch you in your head wound."
"He showed me how he makes soap, but he got lye on my hand..." he trailed off, eyes closing.
Shizuo considered this for a moment, flicked the cigarette against his knee to dislodge the ash. "... Is this salesman you?"
Izaya inhaled sharply, hazily looking for the source of the question. He seemed to discover the ex-bartender for the first time. "…Shizu-chan? …How do you know that?"
"Idiot. That wasn't you, that was Fight Club. Have you been laying here telling me fuckin' movie plots this whole time?"
No answer. Izaya had passed out. Grumbling, Shizuo leaned over to see that, yes, the man's chest was still moving. Barely.
Almost drowning in rainwater… what kind of genius are you supposed to be?
At last the slow crescendo of sirens came, their owners so efficient that Shizuo could only stand back and watch. Pulse check, stretcher, straps, gone. One paramedic chattered hurriedly with Tom, then hopped back in the passenger side, and the entire disaster disappeared. They watched the ambulance part the heavy traffic like an opposing magnet and eventually fade out. Tom slid a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "Well."
Shizuo silently looked back down the alleyway, toward the roughly distinguishable red spot steadily being erased by rain, thinking nothing.
"…I don't feel much like working any more this afternoon," Tom continued. "You can go ahead and take the rest of the day off."
Shizuo nodded absently, scrutinizing the alley walls, wondering if Izaya had been tossed out one of the back doors. Tom clapped him on the shoulder.
"Take it easy. Don't catch a cold in this rain."
I could have just let him drown, Shizuo realized suddenly. The thought hadn't occurred to him until now.
"See you tomorrow," Tom waved nonchalantly behind him.
"Yeah."
Shizuo stayed behind, pondering the entire bizarre situation for awhile. Not much sense could be made of it. They would probably pretend nothing out of the ordinary had taken place at all the next time any of them saw each other. And, more than likely, he'd never get to know exactly what had happened here today.
It figures.
With an irritated growl, he dropped his stub of a cigarette, ground it out with his heel, and tromped off in the direction of his apartment.
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If this ruined Fight Club for you because you haven't seen it yet…
it came out in 1999, so isn't that kind of your own fault by now?
( ￣ ³ ￣)
But I am seriously, you guys, reviews are love in Veranda font.