Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara!, or any of the characters used in this fic. They are the property of Ryohgo Narita and Suzuhito Yasuda. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

Glasses and Knives

A/N: Post-anime, references to episode 25.

"Looks like you're not gonna listen to reason again. Am I right?" A glare was all he had gotten as an answer. He shook his head, the metal blade in his sleeve rattling slightly against his ring. "Aw, such a shame, Shizu-chan. And here I was thinking we might be able to talk it all out. Ah, well."

He was quite confident, mocking the other with his brooding eyes. Shizuo had been right not to trust him; to say that "nine times out of ten, you've got a hand in this shit." Not too startling an accusation, really. For most people passing Shizuo by on the street, Izaya was sure that they didn't believe that, along with killer strength, he really did have a head on that shoulders after all. Not like the woman he was trying to protect.

It wasn't Shizuo's mental capability that he'd feared, but his innate ability to wield random objects as if they were nothing more than batons. He'd kept a level head through all of their encounters, but there could be no denying that Shizuo was one hell of a challenge. Throwing street signs, mini fridges, even playground slides through the streets at him. They hadn't been hard to notice, as inanimate objects of that size didn't normally fly, but the rush was what had always tipped him off. The thrill that coursed through his blood whenever his enemy was near.

A handy sixth-sense, some might say.

"What's wrong, Shizu-chan?" he laughed. "Don't tell me you're still mad at me for sending a lunatic after your baby brother. Come now! That's completely childish and stupid! What kind of a man holds a grudge over something so small?"

Curses followed Izaya as he darted through the alleys, hopping up fire escapes and through windows. Scaling walls and flying over rooftops, soaring high above the inhabitants of his city. This was what it would be like in his kingdom, he'd decided. He'd be able to look down upon the people who sat idly in his hand, enjoying the predicaments that went according to his grand design. He'd dreamed of it for some time, the overwhelming power that would soon be his. There would be a whole world at his fingertips, subject to his command.

Sadly enough, that elation decided to come crashing down. There she stood, just below him, the fable whom he'd used like a pawn in his game. In her hands she held the glass case, red hair and green eyes staring up at him from the streets. How she'd gotten it had been beyond him. He'd kept it safe, far enough from Ikebukuro so as to be certain that she wouldn't find it. How the hell had Celty managed to get it back?

A heavy cloud of dust and rubble suddenly hid her, a large piece of sheet metal slapping him, much like a fly, right off the roof, sending him flying to the ground. People were screaming, several leaning over the crater in which his body lay. For being such a slow and incompetent idiot, the bastard sure knew how to make raw building materials pack a punch.

Shizuo was on him in an instant, pressing a foot into his chest as he started a new smoke. It wasn't nearly as painful as he'd thought, having his bones crushed by this monster. More than anything, it was a relief, just another pathway laid neatly before him. To hell with beating Shizuo; he could torture the man from on high, pulling the strings so as to slowly ruin what little he had left.

For starters, he'd off that precious little brother of his.

"I told you, shithead," Shizuo growled with a smirk, "that if you didn't stay out of my city, I'd kill your smarmy ass!"

"Idiot," Izaya chuckled, shaking a finger at him. "You really think you've won? Don't be stupid! All you've done is give me just what I want: A stamp on my ticket to Valhalla! It didn't happen quite as I'd hoped," he glanced at Celty, "but beggars can't be choosers."

The blond rolled his eyes, lifting his foot so as to drop the cigarette and stomp it out. "You're the idiot, believing in a myth." His hand reached into Izaya's coat, fingers closing around, and opening, the flick-blade. There was a sharp sting as the tip was pressed into his body, the fire spreading as it slipped between his ribs. "There is no Valhalla."

To hell with Shizuo, and the rest of Ikebukuro, to boot. No Valkyrie, they'd said. No ancient hall of the gods, no glory, no Valhalla. They were fools, the lot of them. He knew better. He'd swear on his life that he'd seen it all, beckoning to him in the far-off distance. It had to be real. It had called to him.

There they were now, dancing in circles over his head, staring down at him with silent promises of godhood. He hadn't wanted to die by Shizuo's hand, but it was said and done.

Still, he'd gone in battle, eyes skyward as the warrior angels came to take him away. Away to Valhalla.