six of crows oneshots !

PART 1 - DAD KAZ

Ketterdam wasn't a place for children. Especially not the Barrel, with its reputation of crime. Thievery. Murder. Despair. A place crawling with criminals, scattered in gambling halls, scathed with bad influence and the forever impending sense of doom and paranoia isn't for the faint of heart, meaning children growing up here are either protected by a rich man's servant, cooped up in the "safety" of their homes or left dead in the streets, abandoned forevermore. 

This exact reason is why Kaz Brekker was so randomly taken aback when his gaze found itself pointed at a young boy, accompanied by nothing but shadow. Originally, Dirtyhands was only planning on making his way back to the Crow Club, accompanied quietly by his Wraith and Sharpshooter, so to find such a youthful expression looking up at him so expectantly was nothing he was prepared for.

Kaz Brekker would never hurt a child, albeit his reputation as a cold-hearted, ruthless Barrel boss. He could never bring himself down to such a level. Not after what happened; he just couldn't. Even so, that didn't mean he wouldn't let himself simply ignore pitiful children, foolishly finding themselves alone in streets so heavily warned against by their parents. Besides, he wasn't in a particularly good mood to begin with, what with the hellish pain pulsating in his bad leg as he walked, and the several shouting matches he had been finding himself in lately against morons in his club. Kaz merely frowned at the face of the infant, before trying to pick up his pace, wanting the warmth of the Crow Club to aid his troubles. That was, however, until his gaze was snapped back down once more, at the feeling of small hands on his leg that sent a sickening sensation of dread and disdain through his veins. His gaze met the small boy's again, and he scoffed, contempt lacing his sharp voice.

"Get your hands off me, kid." Kaz growls, his eyes boring into the soul of the little child, as he lightly used his cane to push the hands away from his leg, though with no efforts to harm him. The boy couldn't have been older than six, but his red face held hardly any emotion, his light eyes almost empty looking. It was like looking into a visage, a broken shard of something with missing purpose, with lost intention. The boy did not speak, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of bravery. 

Kaz pausing his strides caused Inej and Jesper to follow suit, their eyes moving from each other, to Kaz, to the infant. Inej watched the boy with a small, commiserating smile. Jesper watched the child with suspicion, and confusion. Neither of them knew why Kaz was giving the child even a fraction of his attention, but neither of them protested, or questioned him either. They only watched, the most typical reaction for the Wraith, the most unusual for the Sharpshooter.

When the boy made no efforts to move, or speak, and just simply watched Kaz with vacant eyes and an unoccupied gaze, Kaz looked around for a second or two, trying to gauge this child's situation in spite of his skewed morals, his harsh reputation, his own thoughts regarding the matter at hand. It only took him a few moments to notice that nobody was paying the young boy a single ounce of attention, making it evident that he was a lone wanderer. Foolish, Kaz thought, he's not going to last another minute in this place.

Pushing aside his conflicting feelings, and the ever-growing pain in his poor limb, Kaz managed to lower himself into a crouching position, facing the child with no traces of kindness or sympathy in his expression, par the slight softening of his brooding eyes. In his usual, rapsy, gravelly voice, Kaz decided to ask the boy,

"Where are your parents? Are they here?" His tone, mixed with the deep, growl-like sound of his voice, would bring any other child fright or upset, but once again, Kaz was solely met with observing eyes, and a small, inexpressive frown. It's almost as if the child in front of him was a ghost, only partially in his presence, and lacking its senses. His lack of speaking confused Kaz, though he refused to let it show on his face or his tone, instead letting it linger in his black, twisted, wretched heart. Or atleast, what was left of it.