Chapter Text
The first thing Izaya became aware of was the frigidness of cold against his back-- the second, that he was without a shirt, which was at the very least, a troubling sign. Reflexively, his hand made to move toward the line of his hip where the pocket of his jacket would normally rest against, his blade weighting reassuringly. No such pocket were to await him, however, had he been able to reach far enough; rather, his rapid movement met his wrist with the resistance of metal and the quick halt to his momentum stung harshly. A hiss of pain sounded, and in his state of half-awakeness and disconnect, Izaya didn’t realize that it hadn’t, in fact, sounded from his lips. He lay there for a moment more, silently cursing the throbbing of his wrist before blinking his eyes open only to be blinded by an exceedingly bright fluorescent tube of light and immediately shutting them once more. A careful rotation of his neck and ankles affirmed that they too were constrained, and panic pushed the last dregs of grogginess out of his mind. Izaya couldn’t recall where he had last been and on what date, or whom he had most recently offended to end up in this predicament. His immediate conclusion was that due to his apparent placement in some setting that included a metal table complete with restrains and glaring overhead lighting, Nebula had finally found Namie and subsequently captured Izaya to experiment on as punishment, in which case there could be any number of odd toxins in his body at the moment.
However, aside from the sluggishness he was experiencing as a result of being incapacitated and the dull ache in his wrist that was already beginning to fade, his body seemed to be functioning as usual. Perhaps they were planning to operate on him while he was conscious? From what information he had gleaned in regards to Nebula, it didn’t seem out of the question to practice methods such as that. If so, it was most sensible to feign unconsciousness for a while longer, until the apparently empty room (judging by sound alone) gave him some insight to where he was and to who his captors were.
Apprehension kept Izaya awake, speculations of where he was and who had taken him racing through his mind quickly enough to be dizzying as he struggled to fish any connections from the murky depths of his short-term memory. However, he came up empty-- there were no recollections of being knocked out or mugged, or stabbed or shot for that matter. The water seemed to clear the slightest amount, the surface rippling into a foggy image of his office in Shinjuku. Namie had announced a visitor awaited him, someone who was important enough to warrant Izaya’s personal appearance and gesture of greeting them at the door. He was unsure whether that had, in fact, been the last event he was conscious to witness, though the act did hypothetically provide an opportunity to abduct him, were it someone Izaya believed wasn’t likely to pose a threat. Mikado, perhaps? No, the boy would have either called or private-messaged him in the chat. Had it been Celty, come to deliver a parcel? Though, what reason Celty would have to kidnap him, Izaya couldn’t possibly fathom. Just as he had begun to sort through frequent clients and visitors in correspondence to their proposed threat level, an all-too familiar voice put a face to his last guest.
“So you’re both, awake? Excellent!” It chirped, and without pause two reactions were exclaimed.
“Shinra?!”
“Both?!”
There wasn’t time enough for Izaya to voice question to exactly why Shinra had him strapped to an operating table, nor was there enough time to demand why he was in the room as well. For the likewise all-too-familiar voice of Shizuo Heiwajima had begun the stir of adrenaline in his body that was honed reactionary for an immediate fight upon hearing the other’s low vocals. Once again he reflexively curled his hand in reach for his knife, once again his movement was restricted by the pang of metal against-- this time-- already bruised skin.
The next few moments were unprocessable for their speed-- Shizuo’s reactionary inhale, Shinra’s gasp of delight, the sound of creaking and wrenching metal as it gave way under the strength of Shizuo’s wrists and ankles and neck alone, the heavy footsteps approaching in time with Izaya’s rapid pulse, that, before he knew it, was between the press of two large thumbs with the intent of cutting off the passage of air to his lungs.
“Shizuo, are you sure you want to attack Izaya while he’s held down like that?” Shinra called, and Izaya’s response of a strangled laugh only heavied the pressure against his neck.
“He doesn’t play fair, either, Shizuo growled, and at the very moment Izaya’s laughter became silent there was a cough from the other man and hands released their encirclement of his neck.
As Izaya steadied his breathing and attempted to his heartbeat, which in the presence of Shizuo was unlikely to calm, he frowned at the labor of breath coming from above him. Had Shinra choked Shizuo? The doctor wasn’t normally one for violence, nor conflict or intervention-- though with the abduction of both Shizuo and himself Izaya had lost all faith in his knowledge of his friend’s psyche. Perhaps he had finally lost it, after all.
Shizuo spoke before Izaya had the chance to choose his words. “What the fuck, Shinra. What the fuck is going on here.”
“I’m glad you asked!” The doctor sounded extraordinarily enthusiastic, even more so than usual, confirming Izaya’s suspicions of insanity.
“As much as I’d also like to know,” Izaya started, words gilded with a golden sheen of mockery. “Perhaps it would be helpful if you graced me with the favor of releasing me, seeing as I’m not nearly inhuman enough to do it myself. Not to mention,” he continued, taunting edge of a smirk belying falsified terror in his voice, “who knows what Shizu-chan would do to me in my current state. Even someone as coldhearted as you would give his friend a chance to retaliate. Right. Shinra?” But the provocation of either of the men in the room miscarried, as Shizuo simply grunted derisively and Shinra exclaimed “of course!” and within a minute Izaya was unrestrained, free to sit up and rotate and rub the tension and hurt out of his wrists and ankles and neck. Acutely he registered that Shinra was the only fully-clothed member of the trio, Shizuo missing a shirt just as Izaya was. Thrill and self-consciousness alike spiked renewed adrenaline through his veins, down his spine, making his body hum as his heart rate seemed to triple, pounding against his ribcage as if threatening attack.
Shizuo was avoiding Izaya’s gaze; rather, he was staring at Shinra with wide eyes betraying perplexion and something else-- anxiety, perhaps, the likes of which Izaya previously hadn’t been privy to. It was an odd, almost unsettling combination of Shizuo’s features, though not unwarranted given the situation; Izaya near wanted to keep taunting, whether with the cut of his words or his knife, if only to ease Shizuo’s expression back to familiarity-- a scowl or battle-crazed smile, narrowed brows, rage-shining eyes rather than this, this look of alarm, of panic that discomforted Izaya on the grounds it made the other look far, far too human.
It was while he was massaging his right wrist idly that the mark caught Izaya’s eye. Out of his peripheral vision, it could have simply been dismissed as a forming bruise, but Izaya’s eyesight was sharp enough to note that the colors-- or color, rather-- were off; rather than the purpling blue of a fresh bruise, it was stark white, and upon closer examination, a thin line instead of an elliptical blotch. Reaching the edges of his wrist, and circling round the underside to end parallel to the start midway through a second line on the top, Izaya discovered as he rotated his forearm. Raising an eyebrow, Izaya turned toward Shinra, pausing to glance at Shizuo’s wrist to confirm his suspicions.
“Did you kidnap us to give Shizu-chan and I matching tattoos?” he inquired, flaunting his wrist towards the doctor.
“ What?” One flicker of dark eyes from Shizuo’s wrist to Izaya’s extended one confirmed that there indeed were identical marks on both of their bodies. “ What?!” A shout this time, as Shizuo stormed over to Shinra, who made no move to disengage the other man as he grasped Shinra’s arm-- with restraint, Izaya noted, as there was no tell-tale sound of bone breaking under pressure. Shoving his wrist in the other’s face, Shinra only blinked as Shizuo once more demanded knowledge of the situation, in a growl so low Izaya could near feel its vibrations.
Using his remaining hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Shinra finally spoke. “They’re surgical scars, actually. Not tattoos.” His voice was level, deadpan, as if the conclusion of the marks being scars should have been evident.
The implications of what exactly, the color of the mark on his wrist meant if it was indeed a scar (and as deceptive as Shinra could be, the man didn’t seem to be untruthful) hit Izaya after a moment, causing his spine to stiffen as if frozen. It would have taken weeks at the very least for the swollen red to fade to pink and then white, for the stitches to be removed lest they were internal. How long, exactly, had Izaya been unconscious? It wasn’t as if anyone would have noticed his absence, save for perhaps Namie, who would have likely given herself paid leave without further question, but his work… Would his incapacitation have put him out of a job? If, indeed, he had been out of commission for weeks, his missed appointments with the Yakuza and those far more dangerous would be likely to put him out of favor with many that were more than able to cause him harm, to say the least. However, it wasn’t his own safety that was on the forefront of his mind, but rather exactly how many of the happenstances in Ikebukuro and the rest of his jurisdiction he had gone unaware of in his slumber. The world had gone on without Izaya Orihara there to observe it.
“And exactly how long did you keep us out for?” Izaya’s voice was level, didn’t waver, betrayed none of the bristling anxiety he felt in anticipation of the response Shinra would give.
Shizuo had released Shinra’s arm yet still remained his proximity, though the doctor was seemingly ignoring their closeness. “Only a few hours. The operation didn’t take more than a few minutes, fortunately! It was the anaesthetic that kept you out longer.”
Relief was visible in Izaya’s eyes at the answer to his first question-- though nowhere else; his shoulders had already been lax, as had his facial features. No part of his body had given away even a hint of the apprehension he had felt, and no part would begin to do so despite the entirely new, terrifying question Shinra’s answer posed and Shizuo voiced for him.
“What kind of fucking operation did you do, Shinra?! And why the hell did you do this?” Shizuo’s voice was trembling with barely-contained rage, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as they shook by his side.
Izaya watched as if amused, as if just not as infuriated as Shizuo, as if an amalgam of fury and horror, confusion and terror, and worst of all, betrayal, weren’t drowning his every thought. Despite Izaya’s vivid imagination, he couldn’t think of a single explanation Shinra could give that would be adequate justification for why he had forcibly mugged Izaya and Shizuo, and brought them somewhere that most definitely was not his back-room office in order to perform seemingly twin surgeries on the two bitter, bitter enemies. And most likely, there wasn’t one.
“How about I explain this whole ordeal?” The smile on Shinra’s face was a hauntingly familiar one, not because Izaya often saw it on his friend’s face, but because he often saw it on his own. A curve of the mouth with all the appearance of comfort, but with raw shrewdness behind it that only those familiar with this particular type of grin would be able to see. It was unsurprising, to Izaya at least, that the expression didn’t look at all foreign on Shinra-- having known the man since his adolescence, he was long since familiar with his friend’s selfish and calculating ways. Never before, however, had they been used on him.
Rather than begin to speak immediately, Shinra began to walk to a small steel table in the corner that hadn’t caught Izaya’s eye, so focused was he on Shizuo and Shinra and the scar on his wrist. Off of it he picked up what appeared to be a curved sword, the handle plain brown with no intricacies or designs. There were no other instruments on the table, and as Izaya glanced hesitantly around the room for fear what he would find, noticed there were none residing on the few tables in the rest of the large room either. Perhaps Shinra had tucked them away to protect the two from killing each other upon waking? But then why leave the sword...
“Shinra, please do not tell me you operated on us with a sword .” Only half-expecting the confirmation, Izaya blanched when Shinra nodded. Slightly discontented with himself for allowing the visibility of his gut reaction, Izaya glanced sideways towards Shizuo both to gauge the other’s reaction as well as ensure his eyes hadn’t been on him.
Shizuo had gone ghost pale-- every inch of skin had turned white, from the scar on his wrist to his knuckles up to his cheeks. He remained wordless, most likely hoping Shinra would pass if not just the sword but the entire situation as one of his morbid jokes, though entirely more elaborate than usual. But Shinra simply ran his fingers over the blade and began to talk, no humor present in his voice.
“This is Kizuna,” he began, eyes still trained to the sword. Kizuna. A sword named ‘bond?’ “She is, shall we say, a cousin of Saika.” Saika’s… cousin? “That is, she connects people by cutting them, and likely has some sort of curse or magic within her.” Connects… Neither Izaya, who had grown pale as well, nor Shizuo spoke, the dread that the two were somehow connected now consuming both their thoughts and voices.
Maintaining his pensive gaze at the object in his hands, Shinra continued. “Her role is very different from Saika, though. There is no control connected to the owner. In fact, there’s no owner at all-- anyone may wield her. And, unlike Saika, not everyone who is cut by her is connected. Only those who share the same shaped scar.”
Izaya gulped, staring at the mark on his wrist as he choked out his words, struggling to taint them with his usual air of distant interest. “And how, exactly, would we be connected?”
It was then Shinra turned toward the two, brandishing the sword, the grin on his face tinged with mania. For a moment Izaya was certain he was going to kill him, or perhaps Shizuo, which would be a weight off of his shoulders, and as Shinra approached the blond an unfamiliar, uncomfortable panic rose in Izaya’s chest, flooding his lungs and stopping his heart. It was fear that if Shizuo died he would die too, with this new connection-- it must be. There wasn’t another explanation for the rising sense of terror he was feeling-- it lessened as Shizuo grabbed the other’s wrist, not quite hard enough to be bone-shattering, but Shinra, at the last moment, dragged the blade lightly against Shizuo’s hand, just lightly enough to break skin.
Timed seemed to slow as Izaya felt a stinging sensation on his hand, and he felt disconnected from himself. He heard his own voice his in pain, though he had been sure Shizuo was the one who had been cut, not him, and saw Shizuo’s eyes ricochet between him and Shinra, who was grinning with pride . What did he have to be proud of, Izaya wondered through his daze. Why…
As if someone popped a bubble, reality came crashing back as Izaya noticed that the dripping red on Shizuo’s hand was absent from his own. Shinra was no where near him, was standing with that same self-satisfied grin next to Shizuo who had dropped Shinra’s wrist in shock and was tracing the wound with a now stained crimson finger.
“Kizuna connects those with matching scars by their pain. If one is injured, the pain is split into equal parts for however many share the mark-- in your case, two. So, since I cut Shizuo, the pain was split between you two. In other words, if one of you feels pain, it will be lessened, but both of you will feel it. If one of you is bruised or bleeding, those physical marks will remain confined to whoever received them, but they should heal relatively quickly as an added benefit.” Returning the sword to its table, Shinra clapped his hands together and, grinning wildly, glanced back and forth between the two others who were staring in horror at one another.
Shizuo had regained his color, and his anger, so it would appear by the way he spoke through clenched teeth, fists clenched and shaking as they had earlier and fury igniting the brown of his irises. “Why the fuck would you connect me with that flea ? Better yet, why the fuck do this at all ?”
The smile on Shinra’s face seemed to undertake a melancholy undertone underneath the bright exterior that told Izaya he had been waiting for this very question, eager to provide an answer.
“You two have been at each other’s throats since you first met, and despite my attempts to get you to each tolerate each other, you still run around town chasing each other, throwing vending machine and knives and yelling each other’s names loud enough all of Ikebukuro can hear. I can’t count the number of times one of you has shown up at my door needing to be patched up from one of your fights, and since you’re my only friends I only wish you would get along! So, when my father told me of Kizuna, I figured it was a perfect way to bring you two closer. At the very least, you can’t hurt each other.”
Shinra’s last words stung Izaya worse than any of the physical pain had, worse than the shock, worse than the fear. For they shattered his entire identity, sent cracks spiraling down the glass walls he lived behind, deep enough that they began to break apart, fracturing into hundreds of small pieces much sharper than his knife. The last eight years suddenly seemed meaningless-- all he had known was suddenly undone as his friend spoke five simple words.
“You can’t be enemies anymore.”