This is my first Durarara! fic that involves Izaya not being a crow. That being said, he's not exactly normal here, either. This story is a Durarara! fic with Natsume Yuujinchou elements. Since it's not truly a crossover, it's listed solely in the Durarara! category.

This is a Halloween giftfic for my friend, kyokichii. This idea originally came about because of two characters who happened to share Kamiya Hiroshi's voice. Please enjoy!

I See Things

"Izaaaayaaaa!"

The roar reverberated down the streets, shaking a few cars and knocking a few trash cans in the vicinity as well. Loud stomping only emphasized the battle cry, created by a one-man stampede that threatened to run over anything and anyone in his way.

The target of said pursuer, though, couldn't care less. He sailed over the pavement in leisurely-looking steps. He ignored the frightened, pinched expressions of horror on the bystander's faces (honestly, shouldn't they be used to this by now?) and purposely placed himself in front of a few phones taking pictures of the impeding wreckage ("Cheese!"), all the while managing to always stay a block or so ahead.

He could hear tittering in his ear as he zipped past some people dressed like they were waiting for an anime convention sitting on the railing. "Up to it again, are we?" "You never fail to disappoint us, Iza-chan!"

Out of hard-practiced habit, he didn't even spare them a glance.

Another few steps and Izaya let his hand catch hold of a streetlight post and swung himself around, facing his nemesis in head on. "Shizu-chaaan!" he called, one hand held to his mouth as he leaned away from the post, "You sure you're all right back there? I think I see senility catching up with you!" He released his grip just as a street sign whizzed by, threatening to slice his arm in half. He cackled and kicked off again, a slight hop in his step as always.

He was halfway down the block when he heard sharp rubber squeals – the sliding of soles against the cement sidewalk. The raven-haired informant sighed. Shizuo's persistence was a mixed bag. Sometimes it made him really fun to play with, and other times it made him a right pain in the ass.

Currently, it was the latter. He was actually trying to do his job (for once)!

But it was simply against Izaya's nature to let any of his irritation show on his face or through his actions like a normal person. No, instead his feet bounced off the ground like there were springs glued to his shoes, and he practically floated down the street – a direct contrast to the great ruckus caused by the man following him, objects flying left and right (and sometimes forward, to which Izaya responded simply by shifting a few feet to the side).

Mid-skip, just as he passed an alleyway, though, the hairs on the back of the informant's neck rose and he almost halted. The corner of his eyes caught a flash of white, but he was by the small passage before he could look more carefully.

He allowed himself a frown, but he shrugged it off. It could wait for a few seconds. Izaya latched himself onto another street light and hung, waiting.

"Careful, here he comes!" a voice drifted down from above the lamppost. Not sparing the figure a glance, Izaya heeded its advice and ducked.

"You stupid flea! I told you to stay out of Ikebukuro!" A vending machine flew over his head and he watched it bounce in the intersection, right at the center of the four streets. He would have been impressed at the aim had it been anyone but Shizuo and had it been not been 100% accidental (well, even if Shizu-chan had done it on purpose, Izaya would never waste the effort for a congratulations). Slightly amused at the cars swerving away from the sudden obstacle in the middle of the crossway and waving a quick thanks to the voice, the informant turned back and was almost face-to-palm with Shizuo's hand, which had reached forward to grab him by the collar (presumably).

A quick smirk, and Izaya slid to the side a few centimeters. The grasping appendage missed, and Shizuo fell forward. Loath as he was to touch the Neanderthal, Izaya deigned to use one hand and pressed it to Shizuo's back…

…and shoved.

A few hopping stumbles later, and "Ikebukuro's strongest" was in the way of incoming traffic. Without a second glance, Izaya turned and headed back the way he came, the music of screeching tires, blaring horns, and shouted curses (accompanied by his name) caressing his ears. The relatively quiet sound of applause made him smirk all the harder as he hopped merrily away.

That taken care of, Izaya returned to the alley that had caught his attention earlier with a skip and a jump. He hadn't been mistaken. The hand was still waving towards him, a white pale appendage that materialized out of the darkness as though born from it.

Standing in front of the dark corridor, he waved cheerfully at the shadowed figure. That seemed enough for the person, because he backed off, stepping back into the darkness. Izaya followed without a sign of hesitation, but he placed his hand in his pocket, fingering his knife.

The "person" before him walked ahead of him, feet making not a sound despite the floppy sandals dragging across the pavement. He practically floated, and his long hair waved in an imperceptible wind.

Finally, he turned around. His face was covered by a paper mask, with the kanji for "cat" painted in sprawling calligraphy over the front.

They were an ancient relic of pre-urbanization times, either in the wrong era or in the wrong place (they'd do fine in the rural farmlands, perhaps). Some hung around in the open, choosing to amuse themselves with the antics of city people, like the ones he'd run past earlier, while others simply left. Those that remained attached to the past usually became bitter and, being particularly sensitive to emotion, they became "evil."

Izaya knew this because he'd lived with them all his life. Ever since he was little, he'd been able to see things no one else could see, and things no one ever thought existed. Had they been the dead or pale ghosts, his peers in class probably would have been easier on him as a child, but instead his "imagination" spun shapes of people with only one eye and hair like spider claws, foxes clad in kimonos, and creatures that defied any attempt of description.

Not only could he see them, but he could also hear them, and they talked to him. Some were delighted that a human could meet their eyes and they enjoyed the entertainment he provided. Others simply wanted to eat him.

They called themselves youkai. Demons. Ayakashi. Spirits.

No one believed him, and Izaya wasn't fool enough to try and convince them. After all, seeing is believing, and because he was the only one who saw, and no one else believed him, he was more likely than not to be categorized as a hallucinating schizophrenic and shipped off to the funny farm. (Whether or not he belongedthere was a completely separate issue. Izaya himself could see the argument both ways.)

Even when long nail marks started appearing on his arm, he knew better than to show them off as evidence of the spirits' existence. Others would have just called it a "cry for attention."

Eventually, he learned that if he kept them amused, they were more likely to keep him around. After all, since they were nearly immortal, entertainment was hard to come upon. Keep them interested, and they would be more likely to respond to his requests in return.

It was his trade secret.

Izaya initiated the conversation. "Did you get what I wanted?"

The spirit nodded. "It was hardly a problem." He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a scroll. "I've taken the pains to transcribe their words in human text, for your sake."

The raven-haired informant rolled his eyes as he took the paper. "If you wanted more fish, you could've just asked."

"I really don't understand why you place so much interest in humans when they're so violent and restless. They swarm agitated like ants when you instigate them, ignorant of their purposelessness. So much wasted energy."

"Yes, but that's why they're interesting, isn't it? After all, just a push and humans do the strangest things. Despite your near-immortality, you still have yet to become capable of predicting their movements completely." Izaya tilted his head. "It's also why you spirits still hang around after all, when there's nothing else sustaining you in this barren city."

The cat spirit snorted. "And you call yourself human. If anything, you're far more a demon than even the fallen."

"Why, I take that as a grave insult. I am a human, through and through. An observer, or a researcher, if you wish. It just so happens that the organisms of choice are the same species as me."

He shook his head in exasperation, and then froze. He tilted his head, as though cocking an ear. "Someone's coming. I'll leave you to your business then."

"I'll have more offerings for you next time. Don't forget to say hi to the other guys too!"

"Hmph, as though we have nothing better to do than to play errand boy for you," complained the spirit before his human form was replaced in an instant by the shape of a cat with sleek black fur and two magnificently long tails.

Izaya watched as the feline leaped onto a trash bin and proceeded to scale the wall, leaping from window ledge to window ledge. He pocketed the bakeneko's gift. "Oh, but you have nothing better to do, and you forget, I'm the impetus to the change! The catalyst!" This he exclaimed to the empty alley that was truly empty. His works echoed hollowly off the walls.

It was true. It was a symbiotic relationship. His actions and their consequences were the bread and butter to a spirit's day and sometimes they would gather in hoards to watch him as he spent his day nagging and teasing his current person of interest. Other times, they would join in and the poor victim (even he felt sympathy for them, at this point) usually ended up with a nervous breakdown and sometimes the psychiatric ward.

Really, who were the swarming ants here?

In return, they helped him collect information. They were invaluable as spies, invisible as they were, and given the right incentive, they would repay him, tit for tat. They were strangely honorable like that. Another trait often lost in the modern times.

So predictable, the spirits lived for themselves; they took action depending on whether something interested them, benefitted them, or threatened them.

Izaya had no interest in them, whatsoever, beyond their usefulness.

A familiar bellow, so deafening it shook the gravel by his feet, reached his ears.

Yes, even Shizuo, with his damn predictability and his asinine obduracy ranked higher in Izaya's interest than the demons and their reaching, scraping claws, their blank eyes, and their pointed fangs.

He shivered, but quickly pulled himself together. He could just barely make out Shizuo. Perhaps the man was like a dog, following a scent. He looked up and saw a small gathering crowd of bird demons and a random assortment of masked beings.

Well, he couldn't deny them a show now that so many have gathered, could he? He was in need of a distraction, anyways, and even the stupidity of this absurdly precarious activity would make him forget about his dealings.

"Shizu-chaaan! Over heeeere, my darling!" A jaunty wave, and a flippant flick of his wrist, and Izaya shot down towards the other end of the alley, back into the streets and the bustling city, with an enraged berserker in tow. Taunts and jeers from above reached his ears, but he thoroughly ignored them.

All was normal in Ikebukuro, for humans, informants, and demons alike.