Work Text:
Stupid little Cutty-Flunky-Franky, didn’t want to pull his own weight, just scarfed down food and threw himself into designing weapons and battleships and Iceburg still didn’t know what the hell Tom had been thinking, bring the idiot brat home with him-
“Now there's a scowl if ever I've seen one,” Kokoro smiled, nudging his shoulder with her elbow. “Berri for your thoughts?”
“Save the berri for groceries,” the teenager grumbled, pausing for a moment to resettle the sack of rice slung over his shoulder. “It’s been two weeks, he should know better than to run off without helping us carry stuff at this point!”
“He’s still adjusting, Iceburg. It’s hard, being left behind by parents who don’t understand you, and in a whole new place at that. It’s no scales off our tails to be patient with the kid.”
“Skin off our noses,” Iceburg muttered.
“Right, right, that’s what I meant.” The mermaid who did her best to live unnoticed amongst humans shot him another smile.
As the evening kept growing darker, they left the thinning marketplace crowd behind on the way back home. Kokoro did her best to maintain a light-hearted conversation, but Iceburg just couldn’t keep up his side of it, too annoyed by stupid Franky scoffing when asked to carry a basket of fruits and then taking off on his own. Brat didn’t even know the streets all that well yet - and if he got lost somewhere on the way, inevitably Iceburg would be the one Tom sent back out to find the twerp. Probably alongside Yokozuna, just because it was dumb to walk the streets alone after dark, but still-
Someone shouted.
Not nearby. Down an alley, just as Iceburg and Kokoro happened to be walking past, and the echo hit his ear. “Ow! You little-”
“Let me go!”
Franky.
Shit.
Kokoro yelped when he abruptly dropped the rice; Iceburg only hollered back over his shoulder, “Go get Tom!” as he bolted down the alley. It twisted to one side, then the other, then hit a three-way intersection, a couple of lit streetlamps in one direction and gloomy shadows in the other. Iceburg heard more muffled noises, the sound of a struggle, and ran into the dark.
His eyes adjusted quickly, and spotted three big shapes crammed close together by a wall, blocking in a smaller, struggling figure. Snatching up a loose brick, Iceburg snarled, and threw himself at the first one. “Get off him!”
The man he crashed into yelped, tumbling downward. Iceburg managed to keep his feet, getting in a couple of good hits with the brick, before large hands seized his wrists and hauled him back. He lashed out with his feet, scored at least one heavy stomp to bare toes - all the men were swearing, while Franky kept yelling, Iceburg just needed to cause enough of a disturbance for the brat to wriggle free and run-
Someone’s fist collided with the side of his head, and the world exploded into stars.
“-burg, Iceburg! Get up!” Shit. Did he fall? Weight pressing down against his shoulders paired with cobblestones underneath his chest and cheek would say ‘yes’. Growling, Iceburg tried to shove back to his feet, only for that weight to abruptly shift to his lungs and force out a wheeze. “Dammit, leave him alone!”
“Sure, sure,” one of the men laughed, “We’ll leave the pretty boy ‘lone ‘til we’re done wi’ you, lil’ shit.” Iceburg clawed at the ground, twisted his head, ready to glare with a silent promise even if he couldn’t get in enough air to shout - except he saw what the bastards were doing, fighting to yank down Franky’s pants, and sure the little twerp always preferred to just go around in his underwear at the house and in the scrapheaps, argued at top volume against being made to wear actual shorts or trousers elsewhere, but not for this- “Quit kickin’, baby girl-”
THAT made both Franky and Iceburg snarl, each of them struggling harder against the fuckers pinning them in place, even as the men just laughed. The one holding Franky’s arms behind his back grabbed the kid’s hair, yanked his head to one side to expose his neck, and Iceburg hissed seeing a couple of tears escape furious eyes. He twisted and jack-knifed, trying to get out from under the guy kneeling over him, refusing to just give up and let this happen - but apparently taking inspiration from his friend, the man yanked his bandana off to seize Iceburg’s hair, and slammed his face against the ground. At least two or three times- Iceburg lost count way too quickly. He thought Franky might have screamed his name again, somewhere in there; definitely heard the bastards laughing again, one of them joking about a two-for-one special.
And then came the best sound Iceburg had ever heard:
“HEY! GET OFF MY BOYS!”
Tom.
In an instant, the weight against Iceburg’s back vanished. Three screams rang out in quick progression, which faded into the distance - probably thrown clear out of the city to the ocean waves. He pushed at the cobblestones, ignored the blood running down from his nose, and managed to make it onto his knees when big, broad, trusted hands scooped him up.
“How many times have I said, don’t go running into a fight headfirst, kid,” Tom chuckled, tucking Iceburg into the crook of one arm, like he was a baby instead of a teenager. A moment later the fishman deposited Franky into his lap, just as carefully. “Alright boys, lets get you home before Yokozuna pitches a fit.”
Blinking slowly, Iceburg tried to get his vision to stop spinning. By the time he managed it, Franky had shifted, rolling over and clambering up in order to peer intently into his face. “What,” the teen grumbled. “You’re okay, right?” Frowning, scrawny eyebrows scrunched together, looking as hesitant as Iceburg had even seen him, the brat nodded. “Then it’s fine. I’m fine. C’mere.”
Mostly in an effort to get Franky to quit staring like he was dying or something, Iceburg hooked an arm around the twerp’s shoulder and tugged him down, tucking Franky’s head under his chin.
He still didn’t like the little shit, but like hell was anyone else allowed to hurt him.
(And if Tom grinned down at the two of them with a proud gleam in his eyes, well. That was just a bonus.)