Work Text:
It was a job Shouta had done time and time again. By now, there was no emotion connected to the actions he took. The glide of a heated bullet, the gory squelch of a knife as it pierced into flesh, it was quick, precise. Routine. That is until now.
As Shouta stared at the small child standing, stiff as a board in front of him, he took the time to rethink his career. How did he fuck up so immensely? He glanced at the small –too small– hand in front of him, taking note of the impressive wad of cash stuffed between stubby fingers. After another moment of awkward silence (he was still deciding if the kid was real or not), he cleared his throat.
“Why are you here kid?”
How the hell did the kid even find this place? It was a dingy little apartment he called a safe house, hidden in the corner of a city that was probably going to be demolished. He called it smart, Hizashi said it was depressing. Now, back to the matter at hand, why is there a kid at his door?
At the acknowledgment, the kid’s shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, breathing a little deeper. Their tiny face scrunched up with determination as they looked up at the gruff man.
“ I need you to kill my dad, please.”
The kid’s voice was young and high but firm, wavering only slightly as they spoke. He looked the kid over once more. They looked tiny, maybe 6 or 7 at the oldest. They were skinny and bruised, probably malnourished in dirty clothes two sizes too big. They had long green hair, matted to the back of their neck.
And, he noted, while the kid stood up straight and looked him in the eye, when they thought he wasn’t watching their eyes would wander to his plate of unfinished dinner on the dinner table. They were probably hungry. I mean, they looked half-starved. Was he going to let them in and feed them?...he was going to let them in and feed them.
“Fucking Hell.” Shouta muttered, running his hands down his face as he stood up with a sigh. His back cracked as he moved, leaving the young kid (boy? girl? he couldn't tell) in the doorway.
“Come in if you want, just leave your shoes by the door.”
Was the kid even wearing shoes? He should have checked. Fuck it, its not like the carpet was getting any cleaner. Did he leave his knives out? Again, why the fuck was there a kid at his door?
He lumbered to the kitchen as the door to his apartment creaked closed and he heard tiny feet stepping hastily inside. Cursing, he looked at his near empty fridge. ‘Shit, hope the kid likes eggs.’
Pausing in his scavenge for food decent enough to feed a small child, he glanced into the living room to see the kid (He really needs to find something else to call them) standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“Hey, the bathroom’s down the hall, first door on the right. Go wash up before you eat.”
With this, he was met with a confused stare. Sighing, he pulled out a pan, and an egg, pointedly setting the pan on the stove. When he turned around and saw the kid still shuffling confusedly he stifled a groan.
“I’m making you lunch. Go clean up.”
Slowly, the kid nodded their head and scampered to the bathroom.
By the time the kid got back, face clean and hands washed, the food was warm and plated. They eyed Shouta , the man very pointedly pretending not to notice, who was sitting on the other end of the table eating his previously unattended food. They climbed onto the chair quietly, without addressing him. They didn't touch the food either, just stared at him with big green eyes.
"You can eat it, kid. It's for you."
At that, apart from a quiet 'thank you' the kid dug in, shoveling food in their mouths as if it was going to be taken away at any second. He had half a mind to tell them to slow down, but he thought better of it, not wanting to scare the kid. God knows his face does that enough.
They sat in moderate silence, sounds of chewing muffled by the television quietly recounting the news. After a few minutes, he pushed his plate aside and waited until the kid cleared their plate. When they did, he decided to figure out why the hell this kid decided it would be a good idea to find him, an assassin of all people.
“Do you know who I am? What I do?”
“You kill people?” They raised their shoulders and dropped them, avoiding eye contact and focusing on picking up the last crumbs on their plate.
Close enough.
“Yeah, sure. If you knew that, why come to me? Why not the police? ” Hypocritcal, he knows. Shouta is nothing if not a hypocrite at heart. Never mind, not the point, back to the kid.
At that the kid frowned, picking at their fingers now that their plate was clean.
"They, um, don't believe me..."
A frown crossed Shouta's face, as he thought over the kids' words. He hummed thoughtfully.
"Why exactly do you want me to kill your father?"
"He hurts me." The kid stared pointedly at the table, tears welling in their eyes as they prepared for inevitable questioning. Too bad Shouta wasn't going to ask. That was a good fucking reason if Shouta ever heard one. He just nodded.
"Alright. Sounds good kid. He'll be dead by Friday."
Did he think that through at all? Absolutely not. In fact, he can hear Yamada rolling his eyes at him from here, but sue him. He's had a long week and beating the shit out of an abusive fucker seems like the perfect stress relief. God knows he wished he could do the same thing to his dad.
The kid blinked at him in shock, tears practically evaporating. "W-wait, really! Don't you need a, um, contract, or my name? Aren't you going to ask questions?"
Shouta snorted.
"No. Besides, I think It would be better for us both if I didn't know your name."
Shouta got up and stretched, joints popping - God I'm old - and trudged over to his desk, grabbing a crumbled up receipt and a pen. He heard the squeak of a chair and the pitter-patter of tiny feet following behind him.
"You got a mom, kid?"
The kid nodded, practically bouncing on his heels. Whether it was anxiety or excitement, Shouta didn't know. "Yeah! Her name is-"
Shouta shoved the receipt in the kids face, cutting them off.
"No names. Give your mom this. Tell her to call when she's safe and I'll get the information I need. If she can't call, find a phone booth or get an old person to let you borrow their phone. Ill take care of it."
The kid looked down at the scrawled phone number in awe, eyes twinkling.
"So cool!" They mumbled.
"What was that?"
"Nothing! Thank you Mister Eraserhead!"
Shouta nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Oh and about payment-"
"I have enough! I saved up and everything."
Shouta blinked as the kid grabbed the bundle of cash out of their pocket once more, holding it up to him.
"Kid. I'm not going to take your money." He was a criminal, not a monster. He just had a moral code, he wasn't soft. Not at all. Besides, if Hizashi found out he took money from a literal child he would be on the couch for weeks.
At that the kid teared up again, looking up at him wide-eyed.
"You're not gonna do it?'
"When did I say- kid." Shouta sighed, kneeling down so that he was on the kid's level. "I just don't take money from kids, okay? I'm still going to kill your father." That was a sentence he never imagined saying.
The kid sniffled before bursting into tears. Shouta mildly panicked - I'm an assassin for fucks sake I don't know how to deal with crying kids - awkwardly rubbing the kids back before they threw themselves at him, hugging him with all their might and mumbling 'thank you's' under their breath.
Shouta sighed, rubbing the kid's back as their tears slowed. "No problem kid, but you should probably go. You shouldn't be here."
The kid nodded, rubbing their eyes as they backed away. They were beaming, eyes still red but practically bouncing to the door and pulling on their shoes. They grinned at him, stepping just out of the door and bowing.
" Thank you Eraserhead Sir! Don't worry, I wont lead anyone to your super secret base. If you need me, just ask for Midoriya Izuku!"
The kid- no, Izuku whipped his head left and right, before booking it down the hallway. If he wasn't so tired, Shouta might have laughed. Maybe. He settled for a sight sigh, shutting his door quietly.
"I swear I said no names."