Welcome to another one of those dumps for father and son fics. The collection is titled His Father and He, because all the good names were taken. (I shouldn't write author's notes when I haven't gotten any sleep...) Basically this thing exists because 1) There's never too much oyako, and 2) I have about a dozen plot bunnies that just won't leave me alone.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia, its characters, locations, or plot line. Bandai-Namco does. You can tell, because if I owned the game, then Kratos and Lloyd would have hugged.

I got the idea for this particular fic after reading a book for English class. One of the older characters (who's dead by the time the story actually starts) reminisces in a flashback about how all she remembers about her first daughter is how she loved 'the burnt bottom of bread'. I'll give a hug to anyone who knows what book that was from.

Anyway, I started thinking about that, being able only to recall some quirk like that about a lost child, and that thought turned into a plot bunny, which turned into this.

Enjoy.

Story Stats:

Title: Burnt Toast.

Genre: Angst (This is probably the first time in the history of fanfiction, that a story has a title with the world 'toast' in it, that's an angst story. Unless there's a 'The Toast of Angst' fic floating around somewhere.)

Summary: Kratos remembered all the little quirks of his lost son... including how Lloyd had loved burnt toast.

Burnt Toast

Lloyd had loved burnt toast.

It was such a small, stupid thing to remember, and yet the memory of that one small trait of his lost son meant more to him then any material possession. The thought kept him company when he was trapped in that terrible darkness that existed only inside his head. The shadows of Anna and Lloyd chased him in his dreams if he dared sleep. Memories of every little moment, every quirk, and every whisper followed him everywhere, no matter where he ran to after that night on the cliff. He could recall in great detail, while trapped in the deepest part of Derris-Kharlan, how Anna had despised cats, couldn't stand the smell of garlic, and was superstitious about the number thirteen. He could recollect the little things of his son just as easily. His first word, the day he first learned to walk.

And how, once the little boy had graduated to solid foods, he had loved his toast slightly burnt.

After that terrible night on the cliff, when all that he had loved in this world had been stolen from him, he was sure that those old memories would be the only things he could ever love ever again. He wouldn't be able to look at a cat without remembering how his wife would shriek with anger at the sight of one. At the smell of burnt toast he would hear his son's little giggle inside his head. While he had been with them, his withered heart had started to beat again, and started to swell with happiness with his newfound family. When they had been taken away, his heart had grown sick and died.

He felt nothing.

Nothing in fourteen years.

But now, after fourteen years of numb existence, Kratos Aurion thought he could feel his dead soul slowly coming back to life.

The latest Chosen of Regeneration in Sylvarant, a young girl named Colette, was about to start her journey. Yggdrasill had assigned Kratos to watch over her as she completed her journey. She was the most promising Chosen in years, and he could not allow her to die prematurely. Kratos had accepted this task in the hope that, maybe this time, Martel would be resurrected and the world saved. It was supposed to be a simple mission.

But then that boy, Lloyd, had appeared, and Kratos had feared that his world would come crashing down.

The boy was about the right age. By his home there was a grave where his mother, a woman named Anna, was buried. She had died after being pursued by Desians. Kratos had listened to the boy explain, as a heavy lead weight seemed to form in Kratos' chest. This couldn't simply be a mundane coincidence.

This boy… was his son.

Kratos had done all he could to keep Lloyd from joining Colette on her journey, which would inevitably end in her death. He wanted no harm to come to his son, even if that meant never seeing the boy again. However, fate seemed to have something else in store for him. Lloyd had, after a long chain of events, ended up a part of the journey anyway. Kratos had rediscovered his son… only to lead him to his death.

Such irony.

Kratos' mind wandered away from his bleak future, back into the present. The party was currently camped at the edge of the Triet Desert. Night was beginning to fall, and the Chosen had decided that they should set up camp here for the night. They would reach Ossa Trail in the morning.

Dinner was being prepared. Raine had been forbidden from touching any cooking implement or ingredient. Genis, Lloyd, and Colette, were starting to build a fire made from driftwood they had collected after a lengthy search near shoreline, which was only a mile away. Genis and Lloyd argued over how to correctly arrange the wood, while Colette tried to pacify them both. Kratos, who was sitting at the edge of the camp alone, looked away, slightly amused by their antics. They could almost be a family out camping, rather than a ragtag group trying to save the world.

"What should we have for dinner tonight?" asked Colette, once Genis and Lloyd had stopped fighting.

Genis shrugged, "What do we have?"

Lloyd rummaged in a sack containing their pooled food supplies. "Let's see… uh, some lettuce, ugh, a tomato, bread, I think this is cheese, some ham…"

Genis' face fell, "That's not really much, is it?"

"We should be grateful that we have food at all!" piped up Colette, "If we have bread, we could always have sandwiches!"

Lloyd grinned, "That works for me!" The boy started pulling out the bread he had uncovered. Using a knife, he cut it into slices for the soon-to-be sandwiches. Then Kratos bore witness to a curious act. Lloyd picked up a stick that he had apparently been saving for this particular purpose, took a slice of bread, skewered it on the end of the stick, and then held the bread over the campfire, as if he was trying to roast a marshmallow. No one else seemed to think there was anything odd about this.

Kratos watched Lloyd try to roast his bread, his eyebrows raised. Lloyd eventually noticed that Kratos was staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"I am merely curious," started Kratos, "As to why you are doing that."

"Doing what? Oh," Lloyd waved the stick, "You mean this?" He shrugged, "I just… like my toast a little bit burnt. I figured if I'm going to have a sandwich, then I should do it right!"

"I… see…"

Kratos looked away.

So… this boy liked his toast burnt.

It had been such a small, stupid thing to remember about his lost son. But that one little memory meant more than the world to him.

Because that memory, almost as much as Anna's grave, told him that he had found his son at last.