Standalone// A Word Of
Title: A Word Of
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Pairing/Character(s): Gokudera, OC
Rating: PG
Summary: A young Gokudera gets a lesson in survival.
There's an art to killing, he says, to the new kids on the block. Some of his listeners will nod at his words with reverence, interject his pratter with muttered affirmations and questions of clarifications. The ones of note are the kids who come to him afterward, whisper in his ear, or wisecrack in caustic tones as he speaks, but dead is dead, isn't it?
Those are the ones that will survive, and the others, well, they learn quickly or they disappear in the alleyways, no one the wiser. Those that get stuck in one way of thinking, one method - they don't last long.
He's surprised to find a young boy, probably no older than five or six, staring at him from some feet away. It takes a bit before he realizes it's the bastard, something like Hayato or other. Hayato's expression is sullen, his face and clothes scuffed up, as though he'd been kicked to the ground a couple of times. Probably had been, actually.
Hayato notices him looking back and scowls. "I just wanted to see what was going on."
"And?" There is something amusing about the whole situation, he decides - a brat and an old dog of a man squatting on the grimy steps of a convenience store making sullen faces at each other.
"You're just an old geezer."
He laughs, a harsh, barking sound that sends Hayato edging back a couple steps. "Someone should teach you to respect your elders, child."
When Hayato stands to move forward again, hints of dirty bandages and old scrapes poke out from beneath his shorts. "Are you strong?"
"And if I am?" He's not. It's been a long time since he's retired from the politics of the families, even longer since he's been on the field. No one ever really leaves, but he's pretty much useless now, was never important enough to eliminate once he had nothing left to give. Now, he sits on the steps of the convenience store, a stone's throw from his apartment house, tossing testing words to the twelve, thirteen, fourteen year olds who are just about to enter the world.
Loudly, impertinently, Hayato pipes up, "Teach me."
He laughs again, but this time, Hayato does not scurry back. This is a first, someone asking this of him. "Sorry kid. I'm just an old man with too much time on his hands." Hayato looks crestfallen, and scowling again, the boy kicks dirt in his direction before running off.
Ah, youth. He sighs, and winces a little as he stands. These bones really are getting old, he thinks, the joints popping a bit as he walks back to his apartment. A half-blooded brat! It's a pity he won't live long enough to see if the kid sinks or swims.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Pairing/Character(s): Gokudera, OC
Rating: PG
Summary: A young Gokudera gets a lesson in survival.
There's an art to killing, he says, to the new kids on the block. Some of his listeners will nod at his words with reverence, interject his pratter with muttered affirmations and questions of clarifications. The ones of note are the kids who come to him afterward, whisper in his ear, or wisecrack in caustic tones as he speaks, but dead is dead, isn't it?
Those are the ones that will survive, and the others, well, they learn quickly or they disappear in the alleyways, no one the wiser. Those that get stuck in one way of thinking, one method - they don't last long.
He's surprised to find a young boy, probably no older than five or six, staring at him from some feet away. It takes a bit before he realizes it's the bastard, something like Hayato or other. Hayato's expression is sullen, his face and clothes scuffed up, as though he'd been kicked to the ground a couple of times. Probably had been, actually.
Hayato notices him looking back and scowls. "I just wanted to see what was going on."
"And?" There is something amusing about the whole situation, he decides - a brat and an old dog of a man squatting on the grimy steps of a convenience store making sullen faces at each other.
"You're just an old geezer."
He laughs, a harsh, barking sound that sends Hayato edging back a couple steps. "Someone should teach you to respect your elders, child."
When Hayato stands to move forward again, hints of dirty bandages and old scrapes poke out from beneath his shorts. "Are you strong?"
"And if I am?" He's not. It's been a long time since he's retired from the politics of the families, even longer since he's been on the field. No one ever really leaves, but he's pretty much useless now, was never important enough to eliminate once he had nothing left to give. Now, he sits on the steps of the convenience store, a stone's throw from his apartment house, tossing testing words to the twelve, thirteen, fourteen year olds who are just about to enter the world.
Loudly, impertinently, Hayato pipes up, "Teach me."
He laughs again, but this time, Hayato does not scurry back. This is a first, someone asking this of him. "Sorry kid. I'm just an old man with too much time on his hands." Hayato looks crestfallen, and scowling again, the boy kicks dirt in his direction before running off.
Ah, youth. He sighs, and winces a little as he stands. These bones really are getting old, he thinks, the joints popping a bit as he walks back to his apartment. A half-blooded brat! It's a pity he won't live long enough to see if the kid sinks or swims.