Soft as Concrete

wellthengetouttathesoupaisle

Summary:

The bills have to get paid somehow. He'd almost said yes to the last job his contact sent his way, but then the Gojo family reached out with an offer too good to be true and a whole lot of spite towards the Zen'in family as motivation. Toji really couldn't refuse.

So yeah, now he's working round the clock, nine to five. What a proper adult he's become.

In which the cards fall a little differently, Toji lands a more legitimate job, and a former assassin winds up playing babysitter and bodyguard to one snot-nosed, six-eyed brat.

Notes:

thank u again xed for this idea lmaoo they're top tier as usual <3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

The kid is too damn smart. That's the first thing Toji hates about him.

Which—okay, yeah, probably not the best foot to start off on with the boy he's being paid a fat fucking sum to bodyguard. But the kid is just so fucking annoying. Toji wants to grab him by the back of his stupid dragonfly patterned yukata and toss him up into the low hanging branches of a tree. String him up by his ankles, maybe. See how much he likes that.

God, his wife would kill him if she were alive to hear him now. Wouldn't ever let him near Megumi again, that's for sure. He knows she'd be already pissed if she found out he's babysitting someone else's brat while his own son is stuck in daycare, diapered butt planted firmly in a baby bouncer.

Well, the bills have to get paid somehow. He'd almost said yes to the last job his contact sent his way, but then the Gojo family reached out with an offer too good to be true and a whole lot of spite towards the Zen'in family as motivation. Toji really couldn't refuse.

So yeah, now he's working round the clock, nine to five. What a proper adult he's become.

But this Gojo kid. He doesn't want to be babysat. Plus he hates Toji with a burning passion for no good reason. Doesn't exactly sting his pride (thank you, self-loathing), but it sure as hell is irritating as shit. He considers duct taping the kid's mouth shut eight times a day, and he'd have done it by now if it wouldn't land him out the door so fast, his head would spin.

"It's hot," the Gojo kid argues as Toji tries, unsuccessfully, to convince him to wear a pair of shorts and a t-shirt instead of picking from his collection of hideously patterned yukatas. Because frankly, it's embarrassing to be seen with him in public. "This material is light."

"Material," Toji scoffs. "Shut up, you're like six."

"I'm eleven."

"That's practically the same age."

The Gojo kid shoots him a look of pure disgust. "Maybe to a geezer."

He's more offended than he should be by that. "Hey. I'm only twenty-one."

"And you already have a kid?"

God, he fucking despises this brat. "I don't wanna hear another word out of you."

The Gojo kid crosses his arms and looks way too smug for a six-year-old. Eleven-year-old. Whatever. "Or what?"

"Or I won't be taking you downtown. You can stay here and mope since you aren't gonna be allowed out otherwise."

That does the trick. The kid looks suitably pissed. Downright murderous, if the deep trench between his eyebrows is any indication. Then again, he also looks about as threatening as a kitten with those batting white eyelashes long enough to rival any shoujo manga protagonist.

"I don't need anyone to be with me when I'm out," he spits, and oooo, Toji's shaking in his boots.

"I'm sure you don't. I'd love to let you run off and get hit by a lane-jumping car."

The Gojo kid side-eyes him. "Okay, then why don't you?"

Toji reaches out and whacks the back of his head. Or he tries, but the kid's stupid technique gets in the way. "'Cuz then I don't get paid. Just put on the damn shorts."

Fucking hell. He has an easier time dressing a screaming, cranky, just-woke-up-from-a-five-hour-nap-with-shit-in-his-pants Megumi. At least he can just wrestle his son's pudgy limbs into whatever he wants instead of having a twenty-minute debate on Japan's latest fashion trends.

Toji tells him this. The Gojo kid doesn't seem to appreciate the comparison very much.

"Sorry your son has to suffer from your bad taste, then," he shoots back nastily, and you know what? Now the kid's gone too far.

"My kid is the cutest fucking baby in the world," Toji tells him, sincerely considering gutting the brat. Inverted Spear of Heaven is sitting inside his stomach at this very moment. "He's cute as shit."

"Lucky him. He must have taken after his mother."

"Look," Toji snaps, fed up. He dangles the black basketball shorts in front of the Gojo kid's face. "There's a strong breeze today and unless you want that flimsy piece of fabric billowing up like a school girl's skirt and flashing the color of your undies to everyone within a five-meter radius, I'd wear the damn shorts."

Lord, he really did just say 'undies', didn't he? Still, the kid's cheeks go pink, even though he manages to look even more pissed off than before. Toji shoves the articles of clothing in his face and lets go without bothering to make sure he catches them.

"I'll give you two-minutes and...let's say twenty-three seconds to get changed," he tells him. "After that you're outta luck."

Then he walks out of the room and slams the door shut. The kid mutters something under his breath that sounds like a surprisingly articulate string of curse words, and Toji can't help but grin proudly. There's one thing he can take credit for.

Megumi's gonna grow up with the biggest potty mouth there is, too. Toji's gonna make sure of it. He already can't wait for the inevitable parent-teacher conferences. He's pretty sure Megumi babbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'fuck' last week.

Unless he'd been saying 'fork', in which case, bummer, but Toji is fully willing to try again with him until he gets it right.

The door bangs open and the Gojo kid emerges sullenly in his basketball shorts and a thin, short-sleeved hoodie. Despite the look on his face, his hands are wiggling around the hoodie pocket in obvious interest.

"I was right," Toji observes, choosing to frame it more as a statement than a suggestion. "This is why you should never question me. Don't you love having pockets?"

The Gojo kid grumbles. "It's alright."

Toji shakes his head. "It's free storage space. You even have pockets in the shorts, look."

"What am I even supposed to put in them?"

"You can put a lot of stuff in pockets," Toji tells him. "Guns, for example."

"Guns?"

"Guns. And a wallet, which is not as practical, but still useful I guess."

There's the barely concealed disgust again. "Why are you so weird? I feel bad for your son."

"You seem to care an awful lot about my son."

The Gojo kid looks away, sullen again. Toji surreptitiously examines his face with interest. "Just wondering what he's like since he got stuck with you as a dad."

Ouch. Eh, not like he's wrong. Still, now that Toji thinks about it, he's never actually seen another kid anywhere on the entire Gojo compound. He sneaks another glance at the Gojo brat, who notices because the little shit notices everything, and scratches his chin consideringly as they walk towards the courtyard gate.

Yeah, he thinks he gets it. This is why his wife had proposed they have more than one kid, even though Megumi by himself is plenty, thank you very much. Something about children needing siblings.

Otherwise they grow up into little freaks, like this one over here. Too smart and wide-eyed for their own good. The Gojo kid already looks like he's seen some shit. Sort of reminds Toji of the faces he used to make when putting up with the crap deal of living with Old Man Zen'in.

"Tell you what," he says, running a finger down the scar carved into the side of his mouth. "I'm gonna bring Megumi with me to work tomorrow."

The look on the Gojo kid's face is hilarious. Toji almost wishes he had a camera. "What? Why?"

"So you can meet him and realize he's the superior sibling."

"He's not my brother. And you might get fired for that."

Toji rolls his eyes. "Please. I'm fully capable of looking after two snot-nosed brats."

"Right, but then who will look after me?"

It takes a second to click. Toji glares at the kid's self-satisfied smirk. "Fine, so you don't wanna meet Megumi? Alright, good to know."

Hook, line, sinker. The Gojo kid's eyes widen marginally in dismay. If anything, Toji can appreciate how easy little kids are to read.

"I never said that," the brat snaps, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as they reach the gate. "Bring him if you want. Not like I care whether you lose this job."

Yeah, that last part probably isn't a lie. At least Megumi might win him back into the brat's good graces for a while. Plus he won't have to pay for daycare anymore. Double win.

He leans down and scoops the Gojo brat up by his armpits. The kid squawks in surprise, legs kicking, as Toji settles him atop his shoulders and pinches his calf to avoid an untimely black eye. Small hands curl into his hair as the kid scrambles for balance.

"What are you doing? I'm too old for this."

"Too slow is more like it, stubby legs. We'll make it downtown by sunset at your rate. Now shut up and stop squealing before someone thinks I'm kidnapping you."

The Gojo kid kicks once at his chest, but he settles down. The weight of his stomach rests against the crown of Toji's head. It's the same thing he does with Megumi at home, whenever he needs to keep his son occupied and both hands free. Although, given the number of nose dives Megumi's nearly taken, he should probably invest in one of those baby carriers instead.

Still, the Gojo kid doesn't feel like he weighs much more than his own son. He's pretty short for his age; maybe he'll hit his growth spurt later on. Toji hopes so, for the kid's own sake.

But yeah, who ever said he was bad at this whole parenting thing? It's not so hard. The Gojo kid starts to relax after a few minutes, legs swaying idly over Toji's shoulders as the grip on his hair begins to loosen. Look at him, taking care of a brat that isn't even his own. His late wife might even shed a tear of joy.

"Kid—" he begins.

"Satoru."

Toji cranes his neck to eye the kid in confusion. "What?"

"My name," the Gojo kid sighs. He looks more unimpressed than affronted. "You've been here for three weeks and you still don't know it."

Well, maybe there is still room for improvement. Whatever. Three weeks isn't even that long.

"Satoru," he amends. "Need you to do me a favor."

The kid stares down at him doubtfully. "What?"

Toji cracks his knuckles. "Since you'll be seeing plenty of my kid from now on, he'll probably end up looking up to you. So, I want you to—"

"Hold on, he's not my responsibility," the kid begins, a note of complaint seeping into his tone.

"—teach Megumi to swear." Toji finishes. There's a pregnant pause. Then the kid pulls the most repulsed face Toji has ever seen. I have no respect for you, it reads clear as day.

They garner quite a few looks walking down the street as Toji tips back his head and cackles.