The end! I am particularly happy with this chapter. Thank you so very much for reading to the end – I know the fic got a bit long.

Days passed. Shizuo was admitted to the hospital with few questions asked, and a seemingly endless cycle of people came to visit and encourage him. He underwent surgery first, but the doctors insisted that even this was sure to do more harm than good in the long run.

"You here to play the part of shinigami?" the blonde joked when Celty came to visit for the first time.

The dullahan was unamused by her friend's reference to the old Irish legends, and she wrote (on a notepad, for she had decided to honor the hospital's no-electronics rule), I hope not. Are you doing better? She knew the answer already, of course, but there wasn't much else for her to say in that situation. She had always had a habit of skipping straight to the main issues in a conversation, though this time she regretted it as soon as Shizuo read it.

"No," the blonde sighed, but he didn't appear to blame Celty at all. The dullahan noticed then how much weight her friend had lost in such a short period of time. He looked frailer than she ever would have thought possible.

You can't give up.

"Yeah. I mean, it isn't like I want to die." The blonde sank back into the pillows of his hospital bed and threw his arm over his eyes. A thin tube ran from the crook of his arm up to a metal stand, adding to the strange quality of the scene. Shizuo, in a place like that… "I'm still 24," he added softly. This simple statement cut at Celty, made her want to reach out and embrace the man in front of her. It wasn't right.

You have to believe you'll make it, she wrote in a desperate attempt to distract him from his morbid thoughts.

Shizuo moved his arm away again and read this message. "Sure. Thanks, Celty." His response was half-hearted, though. An obvious lie. Celty shook her head and showed him another message.

He's changed a lot because of you, you know. Remember that, and trust him.

The blonde's lips jerked upward at one corner in a crooked sort of smile, and his eyes lit up slightly as he murmured, "He should mind his own business. The jerk never shuts up."

Celty nodded, her helmet completing the action for her. Anyone could have seen through Shizuo's show of aloofness; beneath it was genuine gratitude and affection for the informant. The dullahan was tempted to ask her friend about the origin of those feelings, but she was interrupted by a familiar voice at the door.

"Good morning~! Shizu-chan, do you feel better today?" Izaya called cheerfully as he found a chair and made himself comfortable beside the blonde.

"You're here early," Shizuo responded sardonically.

"That's so cruel, Shizu-chan! You almost sound like you aren't happy to see me!" the informant protested. Celty noted that his usual manner actually hadn't changed considerably, although the edge of provocation had disappeared from his ultra-casual speech. Izaya was, she figured, still Izaya, but she could see the little changes starting to become apparent.

You seem to be getting along well, Celty typed conversationally.

"As if!" came the simultaneous response, which prompted the dullahan to shake with silent laughter.

See?

Shizuo sighed. "Right…" He closed his eyes briefly, then turned his full attention over to Izaya. "So, did you… talk to the doctors about…?"

Izaya's expression suddenly became incredible somber. "Yeah. They don't want to do it at all, but the chance of success is still somewhere around two percent. It's something, anyway, so I insisted rather strongly" – the informant forced an apologetic smile – "and we might even start today."

The blonde's eyes widened. "Today?! Oi, flea, I'm gonna need more time to –"

"To what, Shizu-chan? To get worse? I already promised I'd stay right here once it started, so you're not allowed to complain."

Celty watched this exchange with a dawning sense of realization. And, then, of dread.

You're talking about chemotherapy, aren't you? It wasn't something she could altogether understand, as a being invulnerable to disease, but she had seen enough television dramas, commercials, and documentaries to know that this was one of the most dreaded parts of cancer treatment.

"That, and radiation. The full course… Better hope my injuries don't get infected, huh?" Shizuo affirmed with forced jocundity.

I'm sorry, was all Celty could think to write in response.

"It's not your fault, Celty," Shizuo insisted, his voice just a tad hushed – perhaps by fear. "It's the only remaining option, I guess. Not that surprising."

Izaya shook his head disapprovingly. "I don't think she'll mind if you show a little more emotion, Shizu-chan."

"What do you want me to do?" the blonde asked irritably. He turned to Celty, his smile now a little more heartfelt. "It's really enough that you came by. I'll do my best here, so don't worry about it, alright?"

The dullahan felt a little like crying. Her friend recognized and appreciated her concern. He was doing his best to alleviate it for her, and he refused to give up despite his strong doubts because he had to keep trying. Not really for his own sake, but for the sake of his friends' happiness.

It was so incredibly kind, and so, so incredibly unfair.

You've always worried about others, she wrote, her handwriting slanted with emotion. It might as well have been accentuated by tearstains.

Izaya nodded to himself. He thought maybe he had Shizuo figured out this time; that, sure, maybe he was scared for his own sake, but that what really made things hard for the blonde was his overwhelming desire to leave as few emotional scars on the people around him as possible. A vicious circle, so to speak, because the more he fought, the harder it became and the more he felt like giving up. And the more he felt like giving up, the more he had to pretend that he was doing okay.

But that only made it harder. Hard enough that, if he didn't find a release somewhere, something would really break inside of him.

Shizuo, unaware of Izaya's ruminations, blushed a little and grinned – embarrassed by what he deemed a compliment. "I don't know…"

Celty, heartened by the response she had received, reigned in her motions a bit and then asked, Should I stay?

Shizuo shook his head. "Thanks. Really. But, I'd rather not be seen like that… y'know?" It was a more honest response than anyone had expected. A sign of trust – something very valuable, Celty knew.

She nodded her understanding and tore one more sheet of paper out of the notepad as she stood to leave. Shizuo smiled when he saw what she had written, and Izaya looked faintly surprised.

The little scrap of paper read, Don't push yourself too hard.

Hoooh, so I'm not the only one who can see right through him these days, Izaya thought to himself as the dullahan slipped soundlessly out of the room.

(~##*##~)

And still time wore on. One week and then another, and each day much the same as the last. It wasn't long before Shizuo could barely raise his head up from the pillows, and he spent most of his time in a hazy state of drug-induced semi-consciousness. What little time he did pass in more or less complete awareness he was forced to waste away throwing up nearly everything he tried to ingest.

"I'm trying," he insisted to the few close friends and family that he could still be allowed to see. "I won't give up." But the promises sounded emptier and emptier as the doctors started warning visitors about probable deadlines. The days left in the countdown to an inevitable climax.

And so the visits became less frequent. It was probably that no one could handle seeing Shizuo in that state. There was none of that old vitality left in him; he was a ghost, a shadow. His smiles were the apologies he felt too tired to voice. The strength for which he had once been so well-known had abandoned him, leaving him completely dependent on the help of others. And that, coupled with the near-constant pain, with the discernible wisps of conversations in the hallway just outside, only made everything harder on him.

His morale was crumbling, but he did his best to hide it, to bear with it.

It was too cruel.

Shizuo continued to rely on Izaya more than anyone else. The informant offered himself to the blonde, promised to see things through. He didn't need Shizuo to worry about him, he insisted, because he was just that resilient. Shizuo didn't fully believe him, of course, and so he tried to keep his distance – until even that became impossible, and he took from Izaya all that he could hold on to. He shed countless tears where only Izaya could wipe them away and insist that they were unnecessary. Such pointless assurances were all anyone could really offer, for to call death's name when he was already so near was to invite him in.

It was Izaya's presence that reassured everyone who worried about Shizuo. He had somehow become the one person with whom Shizuo would share his burdens; before Izaya, the blonde didn't have to pretend. Most everyone realized this somewhere along the line and began to quietly leave the two alone. As regrettable as it may have been, all they could hope to offer now was the peace of mind that came with not having to pretend any more. Shizuo understood this, their heartfelt concern for him, and was grateful. He didn't need proof.

He didn't want to be remembered this way.

And the time came when the doctor in charge of Shizuo's case finally pulled Izaya aside and told him exactly what the informant had expected to hear. Exactly what everyone had been hearing for several weeks now. There simply wasn't any time left, no more hours left to fill with unheeded predictions and warnings. The bet was up, and Izaya had lost.

He'd always had an interest in gambling, but this was the first time he'd made a bet he couldn't win.

"I'm sorry, but" – then came the clichéd words of an actor in a drama – "there's just nothing more we can do for him. His life has already been prolonged far beyond the point where most patients would have given up. It's regrettable, but it does at the very least mean an end to the pain."

Nothing more we can do for him. No more injections, dripping chemicals and throwing up. No more holding his hand and insisting that the light at the end of the tunnel is just a little far away right now. No more demanding more of science than it's capable of offering.

The informant frowned, numbed by the man's words, numbed by this inexplicable sensation. It was as if the floor was no longer solid beneath him – another cliché, he thought wryly, and yet that too was oddly unamusing. "Can't you do something? A transplant, more surgery… something? Money's not an object, and he can take my blood or whatever if that's what he needs." His voice was far away, his words not his own. There was a monster inside of him, feeding on his reason and leaving him with nothing but scattered emotions and meaningless words. Sometimes, impossible was simply nothing more than impossible. No magical solutions or towering compromises with God or Death.

He'd invested so much time and emotion in Shizuo, gotten impossibly attached to him. He'd lost interest in his work – fully abandoned it, at this point. What could he do, as unprepared as he was to deal with a fall from this precipice?

"I'm sorry."

Izaya shook himself back into the world of social drudgery, neutralized his expression and bowed politely as he turned to reenter Shizuo's room. "I understand. Thank you for all you've done," he murmured to the unexceptional, faceless man behind him.

And he heard the same two words again, this time from the bed in front of him, from the lips of his fallen monster. "I'm sorry."

"I bet you are," Izaya said somewhat bitterly as the door swung shut behind him. How unusual, for you to be awake like this… "It'll be all over for you, and I'll suffer alone. It's quite the joke, but somehow I don't feel much like laughing."

"Izaya," Shizuo said softly. His voice had been worn down by the hungry disease, but it somehow still retained a bit of its old velvet. "I know. I told you this would happen."

"You also told me you…"

No, Izaya realized. No, he never once told me he loved me.

"…you…" Had it been implied? Had it always been that way? Had that word, that thought, that concept and emotion always preyed on him like this?

Why wouldn't it go away? Had he not meant for it to go away? Had he not just been a bit curious, a bit stupid?

He couldn't remember any more, had stopped really thinking about it.

"…you…needed me…" Had he misunderstood? Had a Shizuo with memories intact already given up on loving the flea just as he had given up on life?

Dammit. He wanted Heiwajima Shizuo to remember him, to love him, even in death. It was the least the jerk could do, because Izaya would never return to the way he had been before. It wasn't fair.

Shizuo smiled weakly. He sort of knew what the informant was thinking, maybe because death was so close and he already felt like he was slipping into a different reality – one where the usual boundaries didn't apply any longer, one where he and the flea really could understand each other. Just like he'd wanted all along.

He was fading fast, the pain was disappearing, but he still had things he needed to do and say. So, he closed his eyes and said, so quietly that Izaya almost missed it, "I love you."

Izaya blinked in surprise. "Shizu-chan…"

Shizuo opened his eyes again, and the hopelessness and deep melancholy was gone from them at last. "I don't regret it. I'm glad you were the one who found me back then, in that alley. But I know you, flea" – he smiled, moved his hand so that it rested on top of Izaya's – "and I figure you'll regret everything and be unhappy."

"I already regret it, idiot," Izaya whispered. Shizuo's lips parted as he prepared to say something else, but Izaya interrupted him. "Stop it, Shizu-chan. If you talk any more, you'll really…" But he couldn't bring himself to say it. That terrible reality was close enough to touch.

"Doesn't matter. Promise me something."

"What." It wasn't a question; the blonde's intentions were painfully easy to see through. Izaya had been the one on whom Shizuo had placed all his burdens. The informant had said over and over again that it was okay, that it was what he wanted. And still, you try to save even me – right up to the very end. That's so selfish, Shizu-chan. You can't have everything, you know…

All that was left was to repeat the necessary lines.

"Stay here, in this room, with me… just for a little while."

"J-just until you fall asleep, ne?"

Shizuo smiled, nodded. "And when I do, you get your sorry ass out of Ikebukuro. For –"

"Forget about all of this… right?" Izaya finished for him, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Shizu-chan, I – "

"It's fine. You don't have to say it," Shizuo said softly. "One more thing – you aren't allowed to cry, okay? That'd be… really…" The blonde's eyes fell shut, and his breathing faltered. "…really creepy…"

Please move on with everyone else… Izaya…

The rest was just a panorama of clichéd sights, sounds, and sensations, all blurring together to create a nightmare that would wake Izaya many times in the future. He heard the monotonous beeping of the flatlining heart monitor, felt Shizuo's limp hand in his own and heard the doctors call the time as rain hammered the windows of the cold hospital room.

Shizuo, pale and lifeless, his face peaceful and free of the pain he'd been wracked with for so long. The room's pale blue curtains, shivering in a breeze that no one seemed to feel. The floor at Izaya's feet as he left the hospital, shining and burning his nostrils with its strong disinfectant smell. The harsh slap of his feet on wet pavement, the heaviness of his drenched clothes and the way they stuck to his skin.

That nightmare started for Izaya the moment Shizuo fell into a dream without end.

Sorry. (I did write a sequel for this, in all honesty. I just don't know if I'll post it because that would really just belabor the point.)

Edit: I couldn't resist, after all. Feel free to stop here, because this could just as well have been the definite end. If you do want to read more, though, you can look for 'Awakening.' :)