Six of Crows Oneshots

The One Left Behind

⚠️TW: SUICIDAL THEMES PLZ DONT READ ANYTHING THAT COULD POSSIBLY TRIGGER YOURSELF⚠️

Adventures.
Escapades.
Enjoyable things.
Things Kaz Brekker was not a part of.
Things he could never have.

It had been five months. Five months since Pekka Rollins had fallen and Kaz Brekker took the Barrel for the Dregs.

Inej had caught nearly a hundred slavers.

Nina and Matthias were somewhere in Ravka, or maybe Fjerda, Brekker's luck they were hiding here in his own city, making their money off of a sweet shop they'd opened together.

Wylan and Jesper were flourishing. The Hendricks trading company was doing better than the old Van Eck enterprise ever could.

So that left Kaz.

He's always been somewhat of a soldier. Not like Nina, of course, but something more in the metaphorical sense.

He was Jordie's little brother, homework-doer, and right hand wingman. Always there for his older brother's every beck and call.

He was his father's farm hand, the perfect child, the one to always calm the horses and win barrel races for money. Always the little smiling golden child he was supposed to be.

Then that ended.

He became Per Haskell's attack dog. The rabid feral creature fed scraps of spite and given only the worst jobs. But he took the them, because that's who he was. There was an expectation to be met. Always the monster, the warning bedtime story.

Then he was less of the attack dog, and more of the supposed mastermind. He was still serving someone else, always. Always the boogeyman in the shadows, the Devil's Dealer all for another dollar.

He met his Crows, and hoped he could put his skills to good use for them too. He couldn't change much any more but he could attempt a bit for them. Everything, for them. Always for them.

And then they'd left.

And he was no longer a soldier, servant, or anything for anyone.

And saints above. He knew he's supposed to want PEACE. He should be HAPPY. He should love this prospering peace (as reasonably as possible in the Barrel) over Ketterdam.

Yet, what is a soldier without a war? What is a storm without the whistling wind? What was Kaz Brekker without his cause?

They were gone. They'd all left him. What was he supposed to do? Just sit here? DO NOTHING?

The small kvas glass shattered in his hand, the glass shards crinkling in his leather gloves, some of the larger pieces even cutting into his pale fingers. He couldn't really bring himself to care, much less feel the pain at all.

Kaz Brekker didn't grieve. He didn't get lonely.

But on nights like these, where the hollow feeling spun his mind up, he wanted to hit something. Now. He needed to get out. Do something.

Dirtyhands needed to do something.

Before he could process anything he was hobbling down the Slat's staircase.

And he was out the door.

Down an alleyway.

And against a brick wall.

"L'l Brekka' boy finks 'e can wa'k through the Barrel wifout gettin' caught, don't he?" The Dime Lions breath stunk of the cheap alcohol from the West Stave. Somehow that just pissed Brekker off more.

Well, Brekker wasn't here anymore.

Dirtyhands was though.

With a crack of his cane the fight begun.

*mini time skip brought to u by my concussion*

It was over too quickly. Much too quickly.

Three Dime Lion's down, a knife wound in Kaz's side, and it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to satisfy the aching emptiness in Kaz's ribcage.

He needed more. He didn't want to hit that low tonight, so he needed something more. He needed something to push him away from that edge.

So, he made the trek to the Slat again. The Dregs cheered at his entrance, seeing he'd been in a successful fight. Kaz grabbed a kvas bottle from the bar with a glare and they all went back to their jobs.

Taking the stairs as quickly as he could with such a wound was painful, but he managed like always.

Empty bottles littered the floor of Kaz's old office. He'd turned this one into his private room. (that he rarely used, he usually fell asleep in his office downstairs.) Well, that's if he slept at all. Kaz didn't do much of that these days.

He nudged a broken one away with his cane, his shoes crunching the glass down into the wood floors.

He shed his jacket, the one he doesn't remember putting on, and flopped in his rickety chair.

Later, he'd say he doesn't recall opening the bottle. Or how the bottle was gone within moments with no hesitation.

Brekker does remember the painful memories that lapped at him like the harbor's cold waves. He remembers the empty and hollow feeling the bottle wouldn't fix. The ache that violence couldn't soothe.

You're just a disgusting Barrel rat. Nothing more than a rat in a gutter.

They left you because you are stuck. You are stuck in the canals and grime of this city. You are nothing to them. You are nothing compared to everyone.

He hated this. He hated Ketterdam. He hated Jordie for bringing him here. He hated that Jesper reminded him of Jordie. He hated that all his Crows had left him behind just like Jordie did when he needed them.

But most importantly of all, Kaz Brekker hated himself.

He prided himself in everything. He was supposed to be the untouchable perfect mastermind.

But Saints above, he was just a kid.

Angry tears may or may not have been streaking his face that night. He didn't even know how long he'd sat there. Could've been minutes, hours, or even days.

Maybe Kaz Brekker didn't bother to clean his wound.

Kaz Brekker didn't want to die, but did he really wanna live any more either?

Maybe Kaz Brekker had neglected the shadow who loomed over him since the Reaper's Barge. Greed may be his lever, but Death serves no man.

He would beg the angel to take him away from this wretched existence. Kaz Brekker would greet the Angel of Death like any demon, with a smile. He didn't need to drown to die, there were plenty of other ways, and letting the hollow numbness consume he was the most appealing at the moment.

The details of that night are murky as the Harbor waters to Dirtyhands and Kaz Brekker alike. For that analogy you can thank Kaz Rietveld, after all, he would know the murky waters the best.

A/N: ...if anybody wants a feel better fic I have one already slightly written. Either way Kaz isn't dead (sorry?) but it's more angsty than truly comfort yet.But I can make it comfort, or make a whole new purely comfort piece just lmk. Tysm for reading!!