Chapter Text
Karma, Garou has decided, is the Biggest Bitch™ in the universe.
And as somebody who has actually had the entirety of the universe rammed up his ass by God (and had then promptly forgotten because it was traumatic or some shit like that–) he feels perfectly entitled to make this declaration.
Because if Karma was not the Biggest Bitch™ in the universe, why would Garou have ended up on the doorstep of the most dumb and hotheaded hero in all the HA?
He had barely managed to get out the words “Delivery for Ba-” before he was hoisted in the air by the lapels (no by the collar not the lapels … shit does he look bougie enough to have motherfuckin’ lapels? ) of his threadbare shirt. The paper bags full of groceries smacked against the sides of his knobby knees, and he heard the telltale crack of breaking eggs.
Well fuck. He can kiss goodbye to his perfect five star customer rating.
Garou looked down, and to his amusement, his toes were barely off the ground, and the hero below him had his arms raised quite high. So much so that his elbows were locked straight, and his biceps were squishing into the curve of his face.
The younger boy shook him and shouted, “What the fuck are you doin’ here?!” and Garou realized he was beginning to run out of air and his throat was getting quite uncomfortable.
Figuring that his customer rating was already going to be in the toilet, Garou hefted up the bag with the broken eggs and whacked the hero in the side of the head. The grocery bag burst and out tumbled the eggs, two heads of cabbages, and several boxes of artificially bright blue cookies in the shape of Amai Mask’s chibi-fied head.
Garou was promptly released and he took a moment to clear his throat because Christ the boy had a strong grip .
He coughed, trying to sound bored, trying not to let his voice rasp from the way the younger boy had choked him.
“The fuck you think?” He scoffed as he tossed the remaining two bags of groceries at the younger boy’s feet. “What the fuck kinda name is Badd anyways?”
Metal Bat was standing there, fists clenched and fuming, but his threatening aura was somewhat dampened by the… literally everything else about him.
The hero looked like he had just woken up from a nap. He was standing there, half a head shorter than Garou, with egg whites running down his cheek. His hair was free from whatever product he used to get it in that dumb shoe shape, and it fell into his eyes, soft and straight. And he was dressed in a blue tee that seemed to be several sizes too big, and nyan-printed pajama pants several sizes too small.
Garou let his eyes trail over the stupid toaster strudel shaped cats, pooping rainbows all over his thighs.
“Well the fuck kinda name is Garou?!” The other boy snapped, wiping the sticky egg whites off his face with the back of his hand.
“A fuckin’ amazing one.” Garou scoffed. Then his eyes flicked down to Metal Bat’s stupidly tight pajama pants again. “What the fuck are those pants?”
“Don’t insult my pants!” He replied, stepping out of the door and onto the (Christ another one?) cat shaped door map. His feet were bare.
And they were kinda small.
Funny to think such an obnoxious loudmouth would have such small feet. Come to think of it, Metal Bat was kinda short, wasn’t he? Had he been this short last time they were fighting?
“-know that my sister bought these for me with her own money!” because of course his little demon brat of a sister would buy those pants.
“Wow. They really fit your personality.” Garou replied drily.
Metal Bat crossed his arms, affronted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He grumbled, looking down at his pants.
“Means you're a pussy.” Garou snapped back, and shoved a smartphone into Metal Bat’s chest. “Sign this.”
Metal Bat swatted his hand away. “Takes one to know one!”
The phone fell out of his hand and skidded across his stupid cat-shaped doormat. It clattered onto the brick steps and Garou scooped it up, enraged. There was a hairline crack, running along the top right corner, right across the front camera.
That motherfucker. It took Garou three weeks, working 16 hour days and skipping meals, to save up for that phone.
Garou was about to punch the boy right in his stupid button shaped nose, but then took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was turning over a new leaf, that he needed this job and he needed to keep a low profile. It took him a solid month to find himself a new identity. He had to find a hikikomori who looked somewhat like him, without any living friends or family members around to check after him or ask stupid questions, AND with an unexpired driver’s license.
The driver’s license was essential if he wanted to start working some more cushy delivery jobs. After watching a few youtube videos and hitting a few mailboxes, it was easy enough figuring out how to drive, and maybe someday, he would even save enough for a truck so he could do some higher paying contract work. A clean life wasn’t easy for a high school dropout.
Who’dve thought it would be so hard to find that perfect fake identity? He’d gone around chasing the wake of every monster attack, picking through the rubble of buildings before the firefighters and ambulances arrived, looking for that perfect identity to steal. Incidentally, he had managed to dig out quite a few injured folks and pets, and he’d left them on top of the ruins for medevac to pick up. It wasn’t that he was being nice or anything though! No sir– he was just making sure he did not try to steal the identity or belongings of a living person.
It took him a whole month to find that shiny new identity, but nothing about the process of digging through rubble had felt like a waste of time. After all, he could go and raid the fridges of every abandoned household. Nobody was interested in food waste in the wake of urban catastrophes.
Garou thought back to his first time digging through the rubble of Z-city, nearly a month ago. That had been right after the green S-Class Tornado brat had torn up the entire city trying to destroy the Monster Association.
That day, Garou had managed to carry off a chest freezer, with an entire frozen lasagna, two pounds of frozen veggies, a gallon of cookie dough ice cream, and two weeks worth of meal prepped chicken and pork cutlets. He ate it all the first night, and his injuries healed themselves right up. What a godsend, after having to eat monster corpses for two days.
But now he was getting sidetracked. The point was, Garou had turned over a new leaf, and he’d be damned if he let some spoiled idiot hero ruin it for him.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and scratched his belly, right over the spot where King Oroshi had impaled him. He scratched it and could almost imagine the black and red scales of his scar shivering in response to his irritation.
“Just sign the fuckin’ delivery, Meathead Brat.” He snapped, “And don’t go smacking my shit around again! Not everyone can afford a new phone every week.”
The other boy huffed and scribbled his fingers over the screen, gazing up at Garou in– what was that? Suspicion? Curiosity? Well Garou certainly didn’t have time to stick around and figure it out. He still had half a truckload of groceries to deliver if he wanted to make his daily quota.
Winter was approaching fast, and he needed to save up enough to buy himself a coat, and maybe a portable heater if he couldn’t make enough to rent some little shithole. He remembered how miserable it was after he ran away (oh who was he kidding he was kicked out) from the Dojo. It was the tail end of winter and it was so fucking cold he swore he’d been hibernating like a fucking bear trying to get warm in the dinky little shack in the woods.
Miserable.
Garou turned to leave, but then a warm hand grabbed his arm.
“Wait–”
Garou turned around, eyebrow raised. Metal Bat opened his mouth, as if he had more to say, scowled, then shut it again. Then opened it again–
“What the fuck do you want?” Garou asked, less venomously than he was trying for.
“I asked you what yer doin’ here.”
“Fuck if I know.” He replied, shrugging nonchalantly, “What are any of us doing here?”
Metal Bat was not amused. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t report you to the HA.” threatened the younger boy, drawing closer. He was starting to get angry now, for real this time, and the rage seemed to roll off of him in waves.
Garou felt a shiver down his spine. Anger or frustration surely. He flared his nostrils, lifting his chin and looking down at Metal Bat, playing his height advantage out to its full potential.
Then he smirked and leaned in, not able to help himself.
“You’ll miss out on my excellent bedside manner.” He leered, and used his other hand to pat the younger boy on the cheek.
Metal Bat gaped, surprisingly easy to fluster. Garou used the moment of surprise to snatch his arm away and retreat back to the delivery truck.
Checkmate.
“That's for… –that’s not even– that’s for nurses, you dipshit!” He shouted towards Garou’s back.
Garou climbed into the delivery truck and slammed the door shut. He snapped his phone into the little phone holder the company had provided him, the address of his next delivery already mapped out.
Then, he rolled down his windows. “Whatever, dumbass. See you in hell!” Garou shouted back as he flipped Metal Bat the bird. “Fuck you!”
“Fuck you more!” Metal Bat bellowed, flipping him off with two hands. Tch. Garou wished he could’ve flipped the other boy off with both hands and both feet.
If only he didn’t have to drive.
“Fuck you most!” Garou crowed victoriously and stomped the gas pedal to his truck.
He looked over his shoulder as he began driving off, and did a double take.
Metal bat was now kneeling at his doorstep, nearly in tears, and his little sister was shouting bloody murder. One tiny fist was clutching the younger boy’s ear, and the other clutching those Amai Mask cookies, crushed and covered in egg yolks.
Garou winced. Metal Bat was a ginormous dick, but he did feel a little bad about those cookies.
Ah well. They were the kind of toxic looking blue that did not belong in nature. It’s probably better for the brat not to eat them anyways.