(A/N) Wow. Two Chapters in one day! This will almost never happen again. Please please please read and review. You can also follow me on tumblr .com or my beta reader wolfpoots. With the cusp of the winter vacation upon us my beta and I are left with more time to develop and create this gay piece of shit. There are three arcs, this being the first, obviously. Will absolutely end in Shizaya because I am shipping trash, and finally it may contain some nsfw if I can get my shit together and learn how to write it, or find a good bro willing to write it for me. Thanks again for reading, and remember that reviews add fuel to the fire and make me turn out chapters faster! Both sections of Russian are translated in the Author's Notes at the bottom of the chapter. With out further ado, please enjoy!

When the sun breaches Izaya's bedroom window, he groans and tugs the comforter over his head.

Which evidently was a very bad idea as he gasps in pain and tenses up before deciding that hiding his face is definitely not worth this bullshit. Against his better judgement, Izaya sits up and sweeps his feet over the edge of the bed. He's sore, his head aches, and he's so goddamn cold he's starting to shiver.

At least he notices the broken glass on the floor before stomping to the bathroom. He groans and stands, choking on air when the pain slams into him; much like that piece of shit aqua did last night.

He's very bitter.

Izaya creeps around the glass, feeling regretful for his negligence, and glances mournfully at his broken lamp. God, his ribs are killing him. His breathing is labored by the time he gets to the bathroom. Dark purple splotches cover his pale skin, and Izaya is definitely sure his ribs are broken. He peels off the bandage, wincing as the tape tugs at his face. Jeez, it looks like he snuggled with a piece of sandpaper.

Izaya turns on his shower and does his best to keep from moving too much. As much as he wants to take a bath, he's got dried blood caked on his face and he's covered in the slime of old sweat. He steps underneath the stream and hisses again when the pressure irritates his ribs. He scrubs at his skin, and it doesn't take him long the notice that this oil seemingly stuck to his skin is not from sweat.

He killed someone.

Izaya actually ended a life.

Sure, he had talked people into suicide, but that was worlds away from killing someone directly. Izaya executed that man on the grounds of a crime he had the potential to commit. How had he spoken so casually about it to Ursus?

Speaking of, he was right. Izaya was a murderer, and regardless of reasoning, a murder is a murder. At least that's what Izaya had grown up thinking. On the other hand, if Izaya hadn't stepped in, that little boy would have been raped. Izaya decides that, along with the people who murder children, rapists deserve no mercy from a god like himself. With his tenacity back, Izaya comes to the conclusion that, for the safety of his toys, he will take it upon himself to remove the ones causing the most harm.

The weight of this 'oil' on his skin - this disgust, is his burden to bare, and he will take it in stride. Plenty of other people do.

He scrubs, silently hoping that that entire monologue was all for naught and that he's just being dramatic as always, but after his skin starts to burn and turn red with his vigour, Izaya sighs in defeat. He washes his hair, with his normal soaps, and takes a shaky breath. He can do this. He hasn't lost his lunch yet. With a final rinse over his protesting muscles, Izaya glides out of the shower and into his room.

Damn glass.

Izaya tugs on one of his pairs of jeans and an old red tee shirt. He really needs to go see Shinra. He slips out of his room, moving slowly as to avoid any additional injury. He creeps slowly down the stairs, vehemently avoiding Namie's quizzical gaze.

"What's wrong with your face?" Her voice grates on his headache.

He forces a smirk to his lips and wraps his arm around his waist. "That's rather rude, Namie. I held back that comment when I first met you."

The face she pulls makes up for the pain associated with laughing at her.

"You're such a child," she shoots back, and Izaya notes the scowl she sports.

With slight difficulty, Izaya tugs on his jacket, ignoring Namie's eyes boring into his back.

"That road rash on your face looks like it hurts."

Izaya bites his tongue, "I'm fine."

He slips his shoes on and grabs a few of his phones, leaving Nakura, Kanra, and Chrome's behind. He doesn't need them today.

"I'm going out. Before I get back I need you to sweep up some broken glass in my room and replace the lamp."

"I'm not your housekeeper, Izaya," She near growls.

He sighs, "No you're not, however, I pay you too much for what little you're doing anyway."

He smirks at the way she freezes every time he mentions her paycheck. He understands. Money is very important to him too. While Namie uses her money to solidify her nearly incestuous relationship with her younger brother, Izaya uses his money to establish his power. It's all he is.

"You're done for the day once you do that," he adds, hoping to reduce some of her noncompliance.

He doesn't give her time to reply. His head is throbbing, and it's making his vision swim.

Izaya takes the elevator, which isn't something he usually does. He always prefers the stairs, but with his ribs screaming in protest at his every movement, he needs to take it easy. Much of Izaya's support is heavily dependent on the wall, and he entertains the thought of just hailing a cab. Of course his pride won't let him; Izaya does have an image to maintain. With a rough shove, he forces himself to stand straight and pushes the pain down. Izaya, forcing a poker face to mask how hurt he is, almost cries when he makes it to the ground floor. He nearly jogs out of the building and hisses under his breath when the sunlight hits his face.

He whips his hood up, and hopes that the brute doesn't cross his path before he can get to Shinra. Izaya remains in the crowds. Even though his head is pounding, and he wants to be as far away from anyone and anything as possible, so he stays in the crowds. As an informant, it's Izaya's job to blend in, but with Shizuo's monstrous nose, he prays that he won't be sniffed out.

His fingers are starting to tremble with exhaustion and pain by the time he passes the border into Ikebukuro's district line. Izaya hears Kida call his name, and he dives down the nearest alleyway.

There was an obscene amount of people packed into the alley way.

A dull roar reverberates throughout the crowd. Most of the crowd is teenagers being shushed away by the nearby police officers, but how could a few cops keep such a crowd from one of the most gruesome recent murders in the Tokyo area.

Oh that's right, Izaya realizes clandestinely, I just left him there.

Izaya backs out of the alley again, trying his damnedest not to seem suspicious. His head is reeling; How could he have been so ignorant as to just leave the body. He should have gone back when Ursus mentioned the corpse, but he was so jazzed about stumping him so easily it must have just slipped his mind. Izaya nearly rips his personal phone from his pocket and opens his web browser.

While the police are on high alert for the murderer, and everyone is raving about Izaya's last night endeavors, miraculously, no one seems to have made the connection.

Except for the Dollars. Almost every thread on the main message board is filled with messages about how Itzal is obviously responsible for the murder. Izaya skims the first few. Some of them claim he just killed him in cold blood. Others say they saw him steal a little boy from the man. Izaya's phone pings that a new thread has been posted.

O

A user with the name Lyall made a post on the thread.

"THAT BOY WAS MY SON! He was taken from me while we were visiting the local park and I thought that he might have gotten lost and gone home. When I went back to our apartment, the man at the front desk said he hadn't seen him. I was immediately scared for his life, but then Itzal came through the door of the lobby holding my son. My little boy said that he saved his life! ITZAL IS NOT A MONSTER. MY SON WOULD BE DEAD IF HE HADN'T SAVED HIM."

A genuine smile tugs onto Izaya's lips as he slips his phone away. At least someone believes in him. Izaya, now filled with a new determination, starts to skip towards Shinra's, but then is harshly reminded why he was visiting Shinra in the first place.

Izaya manages to make it to the building's elevator without crying, falling, or seeing Shizu-chan; which is a huge relief. Izaya is known for being cocky, but even he knows when to stop playing with fire and accept his fate.

Izaya knocks three times before opening Shinra's door and letting himself in. Celty greets him first, holding her phone up to ask what he needs. He smoothers the small pang of guilt in thought of her 'missing' head.

"Oh I was just stopping by to see if the good doctor is in?" Izaya purrs, and while she doesn't have a head, Izaya can tell she's irked by his remark.

"He's in the shower."

Izaya mentally curses Shinra, but Celty is shoving her phone in his face again.

"Oh, the hood," Izaya remembers, "It's bright out today, and I have a bit of a headache."

He delicately removes it while Celty types.

"Do you have a light sensitivity?"

Izaya sighs, "Yes, I believe that's what it's called."

Izaya glances toward the bathroom door before being assaulted by the bright light of Celty's phone screen, to which she has turned the brightness on full blast. Izaya yanks his arms to his eyes, audibly gasping at the pain that shoots through his torso and limbs.

"Woah Izaya! What happened to your ribs?" uttered Shinra who was quickly gliding over to him.

"Oh it was nothing really," Izaya chokes, "Just a few sprains I think."

Shinra shoos him back into the makeshift operating room, and requests that he removed his shirt. And Izaya does, with a fair amount of difficulty. Shinra looks rather shocked.

"Celty told me about your face, but what happened to your torso?"

Izaya puffs out his cheeks. "Just an error in calculation. I was wondering if you could have a look at it."

"Obviously you have a few broken ribs. Don't lie to your doctor, Izaya. What happened?"

Izaya thinks for a second that maybe he should just spill the beans and tell Shinra that he is Itzal: The Mysterious Murder/Hero, but only for a second.

"I'm serious, Shinra," The tone of Izaya's voice almost off putting to his childhood friend. "It was just a calculation error."

Shinra rolls his eyes at Izaya's stubbornness, and there's an obvious shift in Shinra's demeanor

"Alright, don't tell me. It's not like I really matters to me."

"Such a great friend you are, Shinra." He's smirking despite being just a little hurt with how dismissive his friend is with his well being. "You only wanna seem like a nice person so Celty will like you more. I'm honored to be your pawn."

Shinra stands a little straighter, obviously annoyed with Izaya's quips. "Actually, I can't exactly give a proper treatment if I don't know what you were doing when you hurt yourself in the first place."

Izaya pulls a face, but says no more beyond that.

Shinra knew better than to fight with Izaya. He was such a Taurus that it was almost laughable, but it was also so obnoxious that Shinra had to keep from punching him. Instead, he harshly tugs Izaya's arms, torso, limbs, and neck during his examination. He even goes as far as 'patting' Izaya's lower back when he was leaving Shinra's apartment. With a prescription in hand, a bandage on his face, and the meds starting to numb away the pain, Izaya actually skips down the street.

He decides to check back up on the Dollars forum, but as the page is loading, he gets a text from Celty.

'Shinra is really worried about you.'

Izaya scoffs again. He wages that her weak attempt at invoking sympathy doesn't merit a response, and exits his messenger. Quite a bit of people have commented on Lyall's last post. There's a few comments claiming that he's just lying, but most of them are monologuing about how Itzal's the new vigilante.

A user named Elias already posted some rather explicit looking fan art of Itzal and everyone's favorite, Ursus.

Izaya practically chokes on his spit. Jesus, those otaku work fast. He deposits his phone in his pocket, deciding that he should probably eat something. It wasn't normal for Izaya to eat more than once a day, and he figures he should eat now before the dread in his stomach grows any larger.

He doesn't want to go out tonight, but he is crudely reminded that he has to when he receives a text from Shiki on his work phone.

'Stay away from the new hero. It's Ursus we care about.'

Izaya's face splits into a grin. He was always the best at avoiding himself in the metaphorical sense.

Simon is standing outside of Russia Sushi, as always, calling out to the passing patrons; which is quite a few given the lunch rush. As usual, Russia Sushi is the lonesome dove of its neighboring businesses. Izaya believes it's because of Simon's towering frame and broken Japanese. Maybe if they had a more approachable spokesperson, Russia Sushi would have more business, but despite Dennis and Simon's pacifist nature, Izaya has a feeling there is an underlying aura of violence and tension just beneath the surface. Though it could be residual energy from the shop owners' Soviet special ops background.

"Oh, Izaya! Come. Eat. It's good for you," Simon calls, one hand cupped around his mouth for volume.

Izaya practically jumps out of his skin. The only person brave enough, aside from Simon he supposes, to yell his name out like that is Shizuo, and he doesn't think it would be wise to pursue a fight with him now. Through the pills Shinra gave him are numbing his pain, he knows how much worse for wear he really is and quickly shuffles across the street. He is definitely not scared of crossing Shizuo's path, nope, not at all.

Simon smiles down genuinely at Izaya, and he gets the suspicion his intention is being scrutinized. "Come in, come in. We make you ootoro."

At the mention of his favorite food, Izaya abandons his desire to pick apart Simon.

"Of course, Simon. Do you have a table open?" Izaya asks condescendingly.

Simon ushers toward his restaurant, and Izaya trots in afterwards. He takes a seat at the bar while Simon prepares his coffee. Izaya tends to stay in line with the same order, and after time, Simon and Dennis just began to remember it.

He pours Izaya's cup and places the pot down on the bar. Izaya takes a sip and grins at the bitterness that covers his palate.

"Has Izaya heard?" There it is. "There is a new hero in Ikebukuro."

"I've heard of him, yes."

"What do you think?"

"He's just as bad as Ursus," Izaya decides. "If not worse. What about you, Simon?"

"I think he is hero."

There's so much conviction in such a simple statement that Izaya's brain physically stops, and he has to reboot.

"How so?" Izaya says accusingly.

Simon smiles, "Бе́шеной соба́ке семь вёрст не крюк."

"интересный посло́вица," Izaya drawls, which leaves Simon room to explain.

"As long as villain is off street, then is good in my book," Simon added, a sinister tone in his voice.

Izaya takes another sip of his coffee, "If that's really how you choose to see it, then so be it."

"Don't be so quick to scorn him, Izaya. He is closer to you than you think I know."

Izaya freezes in his motions, and Simon disappears behind the counter to retrieve Izaya's order. How did he know? How was it so obvious even with everything Izaya had done to hide it? More importantly, how had Simon made the connection to Izaya. His head is reeling again like back at the crime scene. Where had he messed up? Where had he gone wrong?

Simon gently places the ootoro down in between Izaya's elbows.

"Do not worry, Izaya," Simon whispers to him, "I will not tell your secret."

He stands, smiles and winks, and retrieves his fliers to go shout at innocent by passers outside. Izaya stares down at his meal. While Simon can be trusted, the fact that someone knows Izaya's little secret is making his stomach jump into his throat. He reasons that the unsettling nausea will just rot in his stomach, and since he's already being charged for the meal, he might as well choke it down. He eats, pays, leaves a rather handsome tip to Simon and Dennis, and slips out, immediately heading back towards Shinjuku. He was already flirting with the devil coming here in the first place, and he knows that if he doesn't go out tonight, he would be seen as a weak coward in Ursus' eyes. It was definitely not the impression Izaya wanted to make.

Every time Izaya happened to glimpse at a head of blonde hair, he had a minor heart attack. His anxiety was tripping out his senses and for the third time that day, he started to get lightheaded. For a minute, he curses himself and his weakness, but then there's a puff of cigarette smoke blown near his face, and he makes a beeline for the nearest crowd.

He really is a coward.

But if it keeps him safe, then so be it. Izaya rapidly shakes his head to clear his thoughts, which really just exacerbates the headache that was already coming back. Izaya decides to drop off his prescription by a local pharmacy upon returning to Shinjuku. Izaya passes the border of the districts and sighs in content. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wills, for the love of God, for the pounding in his head to stop.

He makes it to the pharmacy without a hitch and retrieves his prescription. Izaya swallows one dry once he turns the corner of the building and embarks on the road home. As he gets in the elevator, he smiles contently to himself. It's a little after two in the afternoon, he's fed, drugged, and really just wants to take a nap. Izaya signs into Shinichi's chat log and asks him to drop Izaya a line on anything he hears about Ursus and Helectric and any information about them.

Izaya pushes his front door closed with his foot. He notices that Namie isn't there anymore. He places his pills on his kitchen counter and retires back upstairs. The whispers are starting up again, and he's not in the mood to deal with them, if he's being honest. Izaya smirks contently at the new lamp and his glass free floor. He sets the alarm on his phone for nine pm and plugs the three he's carrying in before collapsing on his bed roughly, pulled into a drug induced sleep.


(A/N) Really a translators note, but... "Бе́шеной соба́ке семь вёрст не крюк." means "To a mad dog, a seven mile extension is not a long detour" "интересный посло́вица" means "Interesting Proverb" Jesus H Christ on a fucking bagel! This took so long because this website's method of formatting is fucking bull shit.