Okay, yes. It's a great little sequel, or not. I. Just. Couldn't. Resist. I'll put as much effort into this as I did into 'Dream Without End,' but you can always choose to consider the story over as of that first installment. Or, you can keep reading (which would make me happy!). You would benefit from knowing who Tsugaru is - I assume most do - but bear in mind that I'm writing him in a manner completely different from most people's interpretations of any of the alters. The long and short of it - Shizuo and Tsugaru are one and the same. Thus, the pairing is still Shizaya, and not really Izaya/Tsugaru. Though I suppose one could argue it both ways.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the universe of Durarara!

Heaven – if that was, indeed, its proper name – was a really big place, and not at all unfamiliar.

Actually, it took Shizuo a long while to figure out that something was different, because, well, nothing was. When he first woke up there, he was in his own bed. There was no sign of medical equipment and no lingering scent of disinfectant. But he didn't know for certain why he noticed those two things – the mild spring day, the city washed clean by rain the night before, shouldn't have had him thinking such morbid thoughts.

Such was the nature of that paradise, the reason that he became lost in it.

He showered, then, as if that was just the natural thing to do. And why wouldn't it be? He ate breakfast and washed it down with a cold glass of milk. Kasuka called – an unexpected pleasure – and, though shy at first, Shizuo was able to carry on a nice conversation with his little brother. They hung up with a promise to go out for coffee at some point soon, and Shizuo had just enough time to meet Tom at one of their usual places. He spent the day working, getting mad and throwing public property in his usual fashion. Night fell unobtrusively and found him in a bar having a few drinks with his sempai.

Wash, rinse, and repeat. He sometimes had days off to relax and wander through Ikebukuro at his leisure. He chatted with Celty, stopped by Russian Sushi to grab the occasional bite to eat, and always returned home late to drift into a peaceful, dreamless, and pain-free – but why did that stand out to him so much? – sleep.

A comfortable routine with a touch of the extraordinary, just the way he liked it. A familiar thing. He gradually stopped worrying about the feeling he had – as if he'd lost something important.

(~~~~~*~~~~~)

It was quite some time – several months, maybe – before he met Orihara Izaya again. He smelled him, same as always, and he chased him. The usual antagonisms, provocations, threats and insults. The same airborne vending machines, the same rage. Izaya smirking, Shizuo livid and holding nothing back. And the same neat escape at the end.

"Catch ya later, Shizu-chan~!"

No, not even that was enough to make him realize it. He'd fallen into an illusory world, and he liked it too damn much to open his eyes to the very deep wrongness of it. His only remaining hint was that aching, empty feeling in his chest as the informant disappeared behind a building.

He ignored it.

But from then on, it wouldn't leave him alone.

(~~~~~*~~~~~)

"You alright, man?"

Shizuo gave a little start, brown eyes widening behind his shades as Tom's voice cut into his walking reverie. "Yeah…"

The older man didn't look even remotely convinced, though, for he cocked his head to one side and frowned. "Is it a woman?"

Shizuo blinked. "What?"

"You're walking around in a daze, you know. Don't tell me you're thinking about a woman," Tom explained teasingly, and Shizuo shot him an annoyed glare. He didn't justify the comment with an answer, but it bothered him more than it should have. A lot of things did, and yet that didn't seem like it should have come as a surprise; he was, after all, Heiwajima Shizuo, infamous throughout this city for his temperamental nature.

But.

This wasn't the usual, explosive rage he felt when debtors gave him nonsensical excuses or when street punks made the mistake of picking fights with him. Nor, he decided, was it the same gnawing irritation that plagued him when Orihara Izaya was in town.

Something forgotten, something important. It was like he couldn't breathe right, and the only way to fix that was to remember something whose nature he couldn't possibly grasp. Similar to trying to recall the buried memories of one's first years. Millions of seconds of a person's life, whispered words and blurry faces, broken fragments of little moments. But Shizuo didn't even have so much as a fragment.

That feeling was familiar, too. He'd forgotten once before, he decided another day – alone, now, and standing before his bathroom mirror – cracked slightly on one side where he'd once grasped it too forcefully.

"I'm sorry," he said aloud, but he didn't know why he said it. He was alone.

(~~~~~*~~~~~)

Alone only when he wanted to be. He had everyone the rest of the time – Tom-san and Shinra and Celty and the rest, and he really was content like this. He didn't have to tell himself that, because it was indisputable. He didn't remember the first day, anymore, but he still felt like he'd been given a fresh start at some point recently. He didn't know why, or why he cared to think about it, but it was as though time and the world around him had been severed somewhere and then sewn back together with something darker missing in the middle.

I sort of know how that feels, Celty offered when, exhausted and confused, he finally decided to mention it to her.

"It seems important," Shizuo muttered pensively, casually exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke as he did so. Celty's broken memories were different from his – concrete, something more clearly defined and easily missed. She could search, if she so chose, for the thing that would help her take them back. But, Shizuo – "I might just be imagining things." Would he even want them back? Wasn't his current life perfect in its tranquility – patterns he could recognize, solidarity and nothing worse than the stress he was long accustomed to?

Here he fought his strength, and he thought he was starting to win. An understandable adversary, even if it was within himself. No – he could control it because it was within himself.

Anything else was the same as the gray smoke that curled up from the glowing end of his cigarette – wispy and completely beyond his sphere of influence.

(~~~~~*~~~~~)

He eventually went to see a counselor – a really old-school guy, the type who apparently favored introspection – lying on your back on an incredibly uncomfortable leather couch and talking about your feelings – above all other forms of therapy. Needless to say, that didn't pan out, and Shizuo apparently wasn't the type to succumb to hypnosis, either.

He wasn't called crazy, though; in fact, no one seemed at all surprised by his bewilderment. A little concerned, maybe, but it was like they considered this sort of thing fairly normal. Not earth-shattering, not a sign that something was as deeply wrong as Shizuo was sure it was, but normal – the sort of concern that anyone might have in times of stress.

Shizuo didn't necessarily know a whole hell of a lot about normal, but he didn't think he fit the profile these days.

And that became truer as time wore on. One morning, he woke up, showered, ate – everything in its proper order. All ready to go and with his hand on the knob, he hesitated, waited for his body to move itself forward. Tom would be waiting, and Celty would probably be around for him to talk to. He knew that Izaya was somewhere nearby, too, and he couldn't let that go.

Hollow thoughts. He didn't feel, anymore, didn't regret or concern himself with how everyone would react to his irresponsibility. He was content now to simply pull his hand back, to retreat back into bed and to slip the battery out of his cell phone. He didn't answer any calls that day or any day after, and he gradually stopped going out, save for food. It was lonely and depressing, and that pissed him off.

But being pissed off felt good, in a really masochistic sort of way. It was something he could hold on to.

And he did, until that wasn't quite enough and he clung to his dreams instead.

(~~~~~*~~~~~)

Nothing in particular revealed itself to him while he slept, of course. His dreams were just another facet of this long hallucination. They were empty, and he was empty. Just one thing caught his attention every night, and he clung to it because it felt real.

He thought he could hear the sound of someone's heart breaking.

And, oddly enough, he was certain that it wasn't his.

(~~~~~*~~~~~)

Do you dislike this world?

Another dream…

"No," he answered, but his answer rang false. And, yet – to answer 'yes' would have been just as much a lie.

Why do you hide from it?

"I'm not hiding. I… I'm looking for something."

You will not find it here.

"Where, then?" And what the hell was he looking for? Wasn't he just running away, as the voice had said?

No. He wanted something – maybe, just to know what it was he wanted. And there was something he had to do, somewhere, someone who needed him. Someone he needed.

You cannot go there. You must give up on searching. What you seek is not for you to find.

"I can't," he whispered, desperate. "I can't."

This is a world where you will always have everything that you need. You will never be without companionship and resources. Would you not prefer to forget your restlessness and embrace this world?

Shizuo swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut and realized how very real the movement felt. He could see nothing around him, not even his own body. But he was awake, aware of his surroundings. "It'll just keep coming back."

Silence.

He was afraid, afraid of the dark and the not knowing and the possibility of finding out.

Should you choose this path, you will never again experience the world as you knew it here.

"What path? What do you want me to do?" He wanted it so badly, and yet still he was scared.

Do you value your relationships with people?

"I… yes." But please, please – don't make me give those up.

I have to find the source of that sound. I want to set it right.

You will return to a place that has moved on without you. You no longer exist there.

"But I still exist here," Shizuo pleaded. He didn't know where it was that he was fighting to go, but he found that he couldn't back down. The things he had to do, the things he had to find out. There was something out there that he wanted. So much that he could almost taste it.

Your time has stopped. The dead do not return to life.

Dead.

Dead.

There weren't any more words for this. It was true. Could he still want, then? Could he really exist?

You can, because it has been deemed acceptable, but the past cannot.

"I don't give a fuck about the past!"

You are a part of the past. Do you understand? You will become an anomaly, feared and distrusted. That is the price of breaking fundamental laws. Do you trust that your relationships can overcome that?

Do you believe that this thing you seek is worth enduring the struggles of the living world?

Tom-san. Celty. Shinra. Kasuka. All of them, all of the people who knew him. The Russian Sushi, the strength against which he had so struggled, the pulsing life of the city that had accepted him for the monster that he was. The things he'd forgotten. The wheels whose turning he couldn't quite remember.

You will wake up remembering the events that culminated with your arrival in this world. In return, you will forget the time you have spent here. The illusion was created for you, not you for it. It must not exist anywhere if you mean to abandon it. It will join the past in oblivion, and you will have to learn on your own of the changes that have shaped the new present.

"Have I… been gone a long time?"

Perhaps.

There is one more condition.

You are dealing with rather capricious gods, Heiwajima Shizuo. We will not revive you and allow that name to follow you.

"I can't damn well forget it," Shizuo snapped, because he didn't want to lose anything as important as that. He needed to be who he was. Surely they knew this?

He swore he heard distant laughter – not cruel, but fond. You will remember it, but you will not use it. You will know what name to use when you open your eyes.

And he did, the darkness lightening and a sudden gust of chilly wind stirring in his blonde hair. He glanced wonderingly about at an Ikebukuro reposing under a fresh blanket of snow, and his breath formed white clouds as he spoke a single word.

"Tsu… garu…"

Lost and confused, because where had he just been? In a hospital bed, dying at his side. At Izaya's…

Izaya.

I swear, Doc Manager - why do you so obstinately refuse to keep the gaps between sections of text?! The little things in life that make you want to stick your fist through the computer screen, huh?