THE GOOD SON
Notes: My first Soul Eater fanfic! This is a series of interludes between Shinigami and Death the Kid as he was growing up, because I think the father/son dynamic between them is adorable and should make people say "awww" when reading it.
"Until you have a son of your own... you will never know the joy, the love beyond feeling that resonates in the heart of a father as he looks upon his son. You will never know the sense of honor that makes a man want to be more than he is and to pass something good and hopeful into the hands of his son. And you will never know the heartbreak of the fathers who are haunted by the personal demons that keep them from being the men they want their sons to be." ~Kent Nerburn
I. Progeny
Spirit had been floating on air since the announcement, doing all the toasting and gifting associated with expected fatherhood. He had been in the midst of buying the pub another round (which his wife had reluctantly approved, provided there were no other women present) when he received word that the Reaper wanted to see him. So he found himself walking the long guillotine path with a spring in his step and a jaunty whistled tune as he dialed on the mirror.
"Yo, yo, whassap?" the death god greeted, though in a fraction of his usual volume as he appeared in the reflection, beckoning Spirit to enter. As the man stepped through, he was further surprised to see that the Reaper's typical buoyant bounce had also been drastically reduced. He was about to ask what was wrong, what dire circumstance had brought the normally exuberant Reaper to a state of restraint, when he finally noticed what the massive white hands were cradling, nearly hidden in their blocky grasp.
Peeking out from a grey blanket was a tiny face, eyes closed in a peaceful sleep. A male infant, his dark crown of hair marred by three distinct white lines encircling the left side, though they ended as abruptly as though they'd been cut.
Spirit's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Where had the Reaper gotten a baby of all things from? A thousand ideas - shamefully, though he'd never admit it, not all of them were complimentary - flew through his mind. "What-" he began, floundering for a phrasing that wouldn't sound like an accusation. "Where'd- how did..."
"Isn't he adorable?" the shinigami gushed, oblivious to the redhead's consternation. "Just perfect."
"Sir," Spirit tried again, then gulped as the question came out in a rush, expecting a shinigami chop in response. "Where-did-you-get-a-child-and-whose-is-it?"
He got one, but it was gentle. The Reaper somehow managed to convey a disapproving look through his mask and answered, "He's mine, of course." He used one blocky finger to adjust the blanket wrapped around the infant as Spirit was picking his jaw up off the Death Room floor. The Death Scythe had to admit, it wasn't the most incredulous thing he'd seen... but it was close.
"Yours, uh, and...?" the redhead hedged. "And what's his name?"
The god chuckled and waved his hand, careful not to jostle the child. "Just mine, Spirit. And his name is Death. Death the Kid."