CHARACTERS: Heiwajima Shizuo and Orihara Izaya
SUMMARY: No, no, Shizu-chan. You’re not dead yet. (600+ words)
WARNING/S: Language, run-ons, the standard.
NOTES: For prompt_in_a_box Round 27 = "In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends." (John Churton Collins) - Submitted for Round 33 (November Round).
In an alternate dimension, Shizuo figures he must be some kind of yakuza leader. Like a wakagashira or whatever they call it. Because, frustratingly, it seems that every time he turns a corner, someone tries to kill him. Or make him angry.
And, you know, there isn’t much of a difference because both scenarios yield the same result.
If it’s a particularly good day, he settles with a trash bin or vending machine, or maybe a van parked in the tow-away zone. (Because who the fuck does that?) And if it’s a particularly shitty day, well, who knows? He can do surprises. And he figures that’s probably what they want; otherwise, they wouldn’t bother him. Or dirty his suit.
So yeah, he could be a yakuza man. And Ikebukuro could be his turf. And he could do with some followers. And they could take over the world. And then, he’d finally have his goddamn peace and quiet.
Only, he doesn’t do tattoos so they would all have to wear bow ties instead. Kasuka might like that. No problem.
"Taking a nap, Shizu-chan?" He blinks. Scratch that last part.
And it was going so well for him, too.
"What the hell do you want?"
Izaya peers over him and grins, tilting his head to one side, studying him. There’s gravel stuck to his cheek and a hot metallic taste in his mouth.
And suddenly, he remembers. Getting pummeled into one building after another. Getting his shoulder dislocated and a couple of broken ribs. Losing that street sign he was holding. Suddenly, he remembers.
Except now the bastard’s gone, probably thinks he’s dead. And he’s lying spread-eagle on a busy street.
And people are staring.
"He went that way," Izaya sing-songs, pointing in a direction he can’t see anyway because it hurts to move his head. Shizuo grits his teeth.
"Maybe I’ll kick your ass first." He tries to lift his arm to no avail – but catches that sly look in Izaya’s eyes, and tries again. Something cracks.
"If you can," he hears a second later, "Or I would be so disappointed."
In that alternate dimension, he figures it’d take three more seconds for his shatei and kyodai to come and get him. Or at least try to before he smacks them all on the head and berates them for being careless or whatever.
But no one comes then and it’s kind of depressing. Some yakuza man he’d be, a cold little voice hisses. It doesn’t sound like him but it probably is, a kid who just can’t catch a break.
"Fuck," he closes his eyes--
"There’s no need to sulk, I know you can get up." --opens them again. Narrows them and spits a tooth out.
"Damn right, I can."
Izaya laughs, leaning down to poke his forehead. Something in him burns. Move, fingers, move!
"And if you’re still here when I do, I swear you won’t even be able to crawl outta Ikebukuro," he heaves, one, two, hoists himself up, and slams back down, feet first. Something else cracks.
He’d congratulate himself on a job well done – only, that would be the definition of lame. Instead, he turns to the left, aching and a ringing in his ears.
Izaya’s already strolling away, humming, taking his sweet twisted time. Sort of like a butterfly in the distance. One he’d like to catch and pick apart, piece by bloody piece.
Shizuo grins like a madman. But they’re both weird in the head so that’s okay.
And he breathes in, one, two. Before giving chase.
Because, although this isn’t an alternate dimension and he sure as hell isn’t a yakuza man with adoring followers in matching bow ties, he does have this.
Oh yeah, does he have this.