X. Companion

If there was one sight that never failed to amuse the Reaper, it was priceless expressions of the shopkeepers in Death City when the occasion rose for him to enter one of their establishments. Their eyes would betray their feelings as they tried to overcome fear with the respect he was owed. Truthfully, Shinigami was happy when people didn't simply flee in terror from him. A few scant decades of his playful persona hadn't yet been enough to overcome humanity's deep-rooted aversion to death, even if they happened to share the same city with him. His own actions of centuries past probably hadn't helped that perception.

But it couldn't hurt to try and put them at ease. "Hello, hello!" he waved cheerfully, hoping it would put a little colour back in the man's cheeks. "Kid, say hello."

"Hello," Kid echoed, stepping in beside him. His golden eyes were roving over the tall shelves, silently taking everything in, and the god thought it was a sign that Kid really needed to get out of Gallows Mansion more often. Shinigami had often reminded him that he was free to explore the city - it all fell within the boundaries of his soul and so he could keep an eye on him - and yet the boy rarely ventured out. Perhaps this would change things, he hoped.

"W-What an honour..." the man stammered. "H-How can I help you, Lord Death?"

"We're looking for a pet, and conveniently this is a pet store," Shinigami informed him energetically. He leaned over, raising one giant hand as though to impart a secret. "Something friendly would be best. My son's never had a pet before."

Relief was palpable and the store owner looked curiously at Kid as though seeing him for the first time; Kid, on the other hand, gave his father a chagrined look. "Father, please. I can hear you," he protested.

"You've certainly come to the right place," the man enthused, leaping into his sales pitch in order to prevent too much thought into the fact that two death gods (even if one was scrawny and unimpressive) were shopping in his store. "We've got the friendliest, cleanest pets in Nevada. What did you have in mind? A bird, or a turtle? Maybe even a cat or dog? We've got a nice litter of collie pups that are looking for a good home."

Shinigami turned to ask if any of those sounded appealing, but there was a notable lack of Kid in the spot where he'd been standing moments before. A quick scout of the aisles and they located Kid standing in front of a shelf of bottled fish flakes, arranging them deftly into some coordination that only he understood. "Kid," the Reaper said, sounding put out. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes I do," was the quick reply, slender fingers straightening each bottle so the labels were facing out exactly at the same angle. "This will only take a moment, Father. I'll be right there."

The shopkeeper was staring, mouth hanging open slightly. When he realized that Shinigami was looking at him expectantly, his jaw snapped shut audibly. "A-Ah, as I was saying," he said. "Perhaps something smaller, like a rabbit? Or fish, if he likes the idea of fish-"

"No," Kid interrupted. "Fixing the aquarium supplies doesn't mean I want fish, it just means they weren't neat."

"No fish," Shinigami confirmed, saluting.

"No fish," the man hastily agreed. He looked desperate to come up with another suggestion. "A-Ah, what about-"

Shinigami held up a hand, interrupting and sparing him any more awkwardness. Instead he and Kid wandered the aisles together. The death god wasn't sure how well this would go over, and it quickly became evident that the answer was: not well. "This rabbit's ears are different lengths," the younger god stated flatly, giving the aforementioned creature a scowling glare so fierce that it burrowed under the straw. "And that puppy has an uneven number of spots. Father," Kid said conversationally, "there's something wrong with all these animals. Does the owner of this place know that his wares are defective?"

Defective. The word hung there like an ugly stain.

The problem isn't with the animals, Shinigami thought, but did not voice the sentiment aloud. Immediately he felt guilty for even having such an observation, because it was easier and more welcome to think that there was just something he'd missed than to believe that Kid was getting... worse.

"Kid," he began, only to find that the boy had once again disappeared from his side.

This time the Reaper found him crouched in front of a pen full of kittens. He kept reaching through the bars and whatever he was doing, it eventually earned him a nip on the fingers. "Ow!" Kid stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth, and Shinigami would've chuckled at the normalcy of the gesture if he hadn't already been so concerned. "It's got one more whisker on the left than on the right! I was just trying to fix it!" Kid huffed, crossing his arms.

Shinigami placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I think that's enough for today," he said gently. "Let's go home."

The walk back to Gallows Mansion was mostly silent, until the Reaper tried cautiously, "Kid, this symmetry of yours... there are going to be times when you can't apply it to everyone and everything, like that cat. That wasn't- you could've hurt it."

"I wouldn't," the child answered swiftly, wounded that his father had even suggested such a thing. "I was only going to make it balanced! If it were symmetrical, it would be a much happier cat, I'm sure of it. Because everything in the world needs to be balanced, to keep order. Isn't that right, Father?"

Shinigami knew he had to put a stop to this quirk before the behaviour got much more out of control. He drew himself up, determined to be gentle but firm. Kid never disobeyed him, all Shinigami needed to do was make it an order and that could be the end of it. No more counting the same set of dishes for hours, no more possessions missing from the house because they'd had some kind of indelible flaw which only Kid could see. No more worry that something minuscule had caused Kid to have a nervous breakdown or left him sobbing in the corner over his perceived inadequacies.

But that would be admitting that there was something wrong. That he didn't appreciate Kid for who he was. That he was flawed.

And he did not want to see the look that would come over Kid if he believed, even for a second, that Shinigami didn't love him as he was, quirks and all. Not sure if the damning feeling which gripped him was meant for himself or the boy, Shinigami nonetheless answered, "Yes, Kid. Keeping things in order... is very important."

Just not as important as his son.