Not too comfortable with this chapter. I admittedly had to do a bit of research to make sure I got most of the facts right, since it'd been a while since I'd last read Vol. 3. If anyone's a Durarara guru and spots a difference, please let me know!
That being said, this is the last real chapter of "Watcher." I can't believe I just wrote the entire fic in about two weeks. It's really been a ... hectic storm, of sorts. I'm sure I flooded a few people's inboxes with alerts.
I hope you enjoy this chapter! There's one more, an "epilogue" of sorts, after this.
Thank you for reading this far, and thank you all for the reviews!
Chapter 28
It was amazing how, like dominoes, events just unfolded one after another. Each piece was a person, an event, or a circumstance. The placement of the piece was the person's personality or the information that they knew. One could predict the general direction of the flow of dominoes, but there was always that minor uncertainty that stemmed from human unpredictability – desires, emotions, and other unknown factors.
The fight unfolded beneath him. He watched from the top of a nearby building to see the blue clash with yellow, but he wasn't particularly interested in the general outcome. He was just here to see that everyone was preoccupied. No, the action was elsewhere.
It was time to check up on them. He turned from the crowd below, knowing that he was completely unseen. No one bothered to look up when there are fists or pipes rushing towards your head, intent on braining you. And even if he did, he did so love his dark coat. It provided perfect camouflage for the moonless night.
In a move that would most definitely be construed as suicidal, Izaya ran towards the edge of the building…
…
…and jumped.
It was just as good that no one could see him. He didn't want any reports of a "mysteriously vanishing body of a suicidal jumper" floating around his information network. That would just be in bad taste.
As always, the transformation was seamless, and instantaneous. One moment, he was human, with arms, and the next he was crow, with wings. As far as Mairu and Kururi told him, it was just … a blink. Sudden. No transitions or anything. And he knew he could trust them on this matter, at least, since they were absolutely fascinated with his ability and wanted him to "practice," which involved them tying him up and shoving him off their balcony or rooftop. At night, of course. They had apparently been hoping for some grotesque half-bird thing, but luckily, that didn't come to pass.
His new "sisters" bothered him on more levels than he'd thought. It wasn't that they were slightly psychopathic (and wasn't this kettle calling the pot black?) or that he could now tell them apart (which was a blessing, by the way). It was the extent to which they'd taken his suggestion. On one hand, it amused him that they would go so far – another case to his mental tally on why he liked humans – in just one day. Mairu decided she would be loquacious and bratty, balancing it out with old-fashioned bookworm clothing, while Kururi would be quiet and curt, and donning an energetic T-shirt and shorts combination (or gym clothes, if weather permitted). He had no problem with that. That made telling them apart easy.
On the other, they were each kind of extreme in their own way, and now Izaya was sandwiched in the middle. Despite the complete and bewildering change that overtook them, they both still clung to "big bro" with a tenacity only rivaled by their parent's newfound love for their daughters (it had been a spur-of-the-moment suggestion, but maybe that old saying, "Opposites attract," was in fact true, considering how "Normal" was so magnetically drawn to "Abnormal"). Except their affection now found new ways of expressing themselves. Since Mairu was the aggressive one, she decided to take an appropriately aggressive approach: i.e., kicking Izaya in the head. Kururi was thankfully more quiet, only nodding once whenever she saw him, but she would instead take to following him around like a damn chick.
But now was not the time to be thinking about family or such things, however odd they were. He would deal with them in time.
By air, travel was fast, and in only five minutes, he was perched on a railing at the edge of a parking garage across the city, near a certain van. Its utter normalcy betrayed what he knew what or who was inside.
It was lucky that Izaya had a follower so dedicated as Saki. It had actually been fairly hard to pinpoint the leader of the Yellow Scarves by conventional means, since the members were unusually tight-lipped about it. They only referred to him as "The General" or some other such nickname. Half the people didn't even seem to know what he looked like, other than that he was a great fighter despite his young age.
Conventional means, however, was not how Izaya did things. Hardly anyone noticed an extra pair of eyes peeking from the shadows above.
Kida Masaomi. He came from a fairly ordinary family, and had only moved into the vicinity a few years ago. Judging from that, it was pretty impressive to have created such a powerful group in Ikebukuro in such a short period of time, though from what he'd heard, it wasn't completely voluntary.
He'd also heard that the kid liked to think himself a player and "smooth with the ladies." And so, Saki, pretty and fragile as a flower, was the perfect bait.
It wasn't like he had anything against the Yellow Scarves. They just happened to be in the right place at the right time. It helped that they were morally upright, as far as gangs went, which made them all the more predictable.
While he preferred pieces of the more unpredictable variety usually, this was one case where such a quality would easily backfire. Things were hard to control perfectly otherwise.
He liked Masaomi. The boy was honest to his emotions. He was definitely fun and oh so easy to tease.
But in this case, he knew the boy couldn't be counted on to come all the way. Both of them, and Saki herself, were just lucky that a wild card was so close at hand.
It wasn't on purpose, but he liked it when things just fell in place, like when Dotachin and his van came forward where "the General" failed. The beauty of manipulation is, when done right, things happen the way you want it without you actually planning it. Everything just … work themselves out. While he wasn't particularly worried about Saki's death, it was nice that his former classmate rushed there – a dark white knight.
From what he'd remembered of the man's personality, there was no way he would have stood by and just let it happen, once he'd caught wind of it.
The flames blazed into Izaya's eyes. Walker looked viciously in his element as he splashed oil into the car. When the cocktail burst open, the crow couldn't help but caw in delight, flapping his wings vigorously as Horada, the bastard, rolled on the ground in agony. The noise was drawn out by the roar of the fire and then the hiss of the steam from the sprinklers.
The culprit behind his attack was no big secret. It was even easier when they were bragging about having taken down the Black Bike and the informant in a week. Izaya was just lucky that the organization was very loose, with little communication between members. A group at its worst, but that worked in favor for him. Few recognized his face from the attack that was so long ago, so he played mediator between the two groups with little fear, and whenever he sensed recognition on the Blue Square's part, he would keep track of that person's face until that person was in a nice, dark alley.
The only two left were Izumii and Horada. He didn't particularly care for the organization itself, or else the former's little brother, the true mastermind, would have been in his sights. Instead, he was more set on a personal vendetta. After all, the fewer people involved, the better.
The tyke could be dealt with later, if he proved to be a nuisance.
Dotachin's van drove off, leaving several people alight on the ground. Izaya flapped down and landed just out of sight. Human, he approached the boss of the gang, knife flicked out.
The indoors rain smothered all the red. Soon, nothing remained but some burnt skin and a sharp, potent stench that stung the nostrils.
"Hello, Horada. Did you enjoy my surprise for you?" Izaya tapped the side of his blade against the trash's face. The man didn't respond, but produced this strange whining groaning whimper as he curled tighter within himself. The now-human crow did so again, and the gangster managed to raise his eyes, only to give a muffled sort of scream that was quickly cut off by a groan of pain. "I'm sorry, do you not remember me? Oh that's right, you were probably riding too high in the clouds to notice anything that was going around you at the time. A coyote feeling proud that he caught a pet rabbit, and then playing with it before snapping its neck? Don't you think I'm cute, just like a rabbit? I think so. Cute and harmless. I never hurt anyone when I can help it. After all, I didn't lay a finger on you. The blood just gets soo messy, after all. I wouldn't like to get its stickiness all over me if I could help it.
"Let me refresh your memory. Once, long long ago, there was a warehouse, and in that warehouse, there lived a boy, all alone. Get the drift?"
He paused. Horada was glaring up at him, and while he still couldn't form any words well, his emotions were told very clearly by the set of his glare. "Bastard, you're that… You're the one that…"
"Haha, don't worry! Your friends are in a much better place than you, especially since they don't have to follow your lead anymore. Besides, those situations were proper self-defense." Granted, he had goaded them and goaded them until they made the first strike. He doubted they could use their hands any more. At least they still had their lives.
One thing he had said was true. Killing left a bitter taste in his mouth when it wasn't necessary.
Hurting someone didn't.
After all, it was necessary to show who was better than whom.
"And, really? In this case, I don't think I could help myself. Maybe that saying that knives had souls really is true, because it feels like mine is thirsting. What do you think?"
Ah yes, the rage gradually drained away to horror before his eyes. What a witless worm. This was the person who had completely turned his life upside-down? What an ugly truth.
Izaya snorted. "I personally think the filth in your blood would just corrode the blade of this beauty, but, well, I'm not someone who can say no." He brought the knife down.
It cut into Horada's cheek. The slice wasn't too deep, but it drew plenty of blood. Enough to scare. And sure enough, upon seeing the knife come away red, Horada immediately sat up and started screaming. He shuffled away from Izaya until he slammed his back into the still-smoky van.
"Uh-uh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Can't have little bits of flesh spread across the parking garage, can we? I happen to like this place." Izaya grabbed Horada by the collar and threw him forward. He put a foot on his back and pushed. He could feel the breath leave Horada's lungs as he increased the pressure. "Now, see here. I don't really like killing. Killing is messy and I try to avoid it as much as possible. Still, I may make an exception, so take this as a nice, clear warning."
He stepped off and knelt in front of the ringleader of this whole farce again. "Don't mention this to anyone. Don't let me see your face again. Every time you do, it will be a hand, just like your friends. You won't die, but I don't think you can do anything with destroyed nerves. After that, your feet. How would you like a wheelchair? Oh, maybe you can share it with that girl you just beat back there? I'm sure her dear boyfriend would love to see you in the hospital."
He stood and turned away. "Don't worry about your friend, Izumii. I'll take good care of him too." He had other punishments in mind for the boss of Blue Squares, though. He hummed thoughtfully, clicking his knife open and close. He glanced back. Taking pleasure in the flinch, Izaya waved cheerfully. "I'll tell him you said hi! Buh-bye!"
And with that, he skipped away.
Outside the garage, though, he slowed down his walk. The adrenaline rush left him. The whole affair didn't make him feel any better, although this was one business taken care of. Life would continue as normal.
Normal? But this was normal. Gathering information, feeding it to others. Mediating jobs and sometimes acting as the mediator for conflicts.
But then, what was the purpose of everything that had happened?
Yes, it was practice. Practice for the big game. The game of all games, where different pieces came together from all around and met on a grand chessboard in a final showdown.
That was what Izaya had been conserving his energy for, before he got sidetracked. Then he just wasted all of his efforts.
No, not a sidetrack. Not a waste. It was a rehearsal. He had to improve himself, after all.
Yes, this was preparation. He didn't know what the game would be, nor where it would lead, but he had to get himself ready.
In fact, what better way to do things than to build off what had happened here? Then the whole thing wouldn't be an utter waste of time.
It was better to look on the optimistic side of things. If something wasn't going your way, then turn the situation around so that it was. And if that didn't work, then shift your frame of thinking.
This was just one step in a larger cyclone of events.
And to be at the eye was what he had been born to do.
It was what he had wished so hard for, ten years ago, on that night.
It was because he had wished so hard to be a human, to be among them and to watch them more, he was here now, as Orihara Izaya.
And who knew it was all so fun!
He laughed, loud and hard, into the drizzling skies. Water dribbled into his mouth as the adrenaline surged back into his veins. Around him, all was silent but for his splish splash steps as he resumed his hop-skip pace and twirled his way back home.
