A/N - It's probably come to your attention by now that I update erratically. Even if I decide to set a plan for updating stories, I invariably fail to meet them due to time constraints, writer's block, etc. Nevertheless, here we are with chapter three.

- A boy experiments, a teacher tries to do his job, and a father watches on with pride and, perhaps, concern: "the child only looks human".

Chapter 3

Something about daylight took all scariness out of places like this, Death the Kid mused. Not that any graveyard held much fear for him, of course. He sat on a bench in the far corner, and a multitude of grave-markers, some simple others ornate, stretched out before him. The place was characteristic of many of Death City's graveyards. Kid knew such places well. His father had brought him to graveyards to learn more about being a shinigami. So far, the eight year-old had learnt that graveyards were typically empty of souls, but full of the tell-tale signs – imperceptible to humans – that the dead inhabited the land. He had felt death, had smelt and tasted it. It was everything Kid knew he was, but couldn't quite understand.

And yet, a graveyard was simple to him; neat and tidy as everything should be. Kid found the place itself comforting as a whole, even as its haphazard layout made him twitch occasionally at the chaos of it. Other children might have gone to a park, or to buy sweets with pocket-money. Kid had just wanted to get outside. His tutor hadn't objected strongly, having not quite come to terms with his student. Kid hadn't had much experience with Death City's schools (the few days he had attended the primary school had ended in disaster), but he was pretty sure that teachers weren't supposed to be afraid of their pupils.

For this reason, the boy was able to do as he pleased much of the time, on the understanding that he met his father's current expectations. Shinigami was very clear on the subject; he wanted Kid to have an education and life like other children. Or, at least as close to that as Kid could get under the circumstances. One would not find many friends in a graveyard, for example. Nor several of the other places Kid frequented, like Shibusen's library with its symmetrical beauty, or the times he'd wandered to the city limits, curious of what lay beyond the seemingly endless desert.

At this thought, Kid decided to practice a experiment he'd recently embarked on. Though Mr Hollis would be annoyed if Kid was out too long, he could easily say to father that it was 'research'. He'd leave the graveyard first though.

---

The skateboard itself had not been a problem for Kid. He had a tendency to persist in subjects that interested him, and skateboarding had been one of them. Father had been delighted Kid had taken an interest in a pastime human boys had, even if it had led to Kid breaking things inside and outside of the house until he got his head round how to manoeuvre and, perhaps most importantly, stop. In the process, Kid had managed to cause more damage to things around him than he had to himself.

At the moment, Kid had no intention of letting father know what he was planning next for his Beelzebub. He only rarely kept things from his father, but he knew from experience that Shinigami took being a death god very seriously, and probably would not like Kid playing around. Such as, for example, summoning his skateboard.

Kid frowned at his hand as he watched the black-blue shadows swirl around it in skull-shaped waves. Most of his attempts at summoning Beelzebub had started and ended like this, with Kid drawing on his other-than human abilities resulting in little more than a funny light show. Originally, Kid had found it curious that becoming over-emotional or particularly focussed on something created these weird skulls. Shinigami had told him it was simply part of his soul wavelength, and nothing to be worried about. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to convince the headmistress of the primary school of this fact, which had led to Shinigami giving up the idea of having Kid be educated with his peers. Shadows were one thing, but a class of five-year olds seeing shadows breaking an untidy desk was another. Kid had spent the next day in the smallest room in Gallows Mansion that had no furniture, briefly convinced that he was, as several children had pointed out, a "scary monster". The shadows rarely made a violent appearance after that.

Kid pictured Beelzebub in his mind, the board and its wheels, the two skulls decorating the underside. It was at home, and he wanted it here. Here. There was a sense of motion, and the shadows flared in response to Kid's command. To his delight, the skateboard materialised before his hand, and slid neatly to the ground in front of him.

Looking around to make sure he hadn't been spotted, Kid mounted the skateboard, and headed back towards the city centre, satisfaction making him go far faster than was necessary. The success would be worth any punishment from Mr. Hollis for being late for lessons.

---

He skidded to a halt outside Gallows Mansion some minutes later. Picking Beelzebub up – he hadn't figured out how to put it back where he'd summoned it from – Kid opened the door to reveal two figures. One, the worried face of Mr Hollis, and the second the simple mask of the Shinigami.

"Ah, Kid! Welcome back!" For some reason, Kid could be away from his father for no time at all and still have this kind of happy greeting on his return. Hollis was anything but welcoming.

"Death the Kid. You skipped your lesson again." His stern glare would have struck fear into the heart of any other boy. Kid looked back nonplussed.

"I was doing research."

"On your skateboard?"

"Yes."

Hollis opened his mouth to say just what he thought of that, but didn't get the chance. Shinigami took the board from Kid's unresisting hand and examined it, turning it this way and that.

"Still in one piece. And so are you. The research was okay, then?" Shinigami handed Beelzebub back to his son, apparently satisfied.

"Yes, father." Kid replied, glad that he'd managed to get past this discussion safely.

Joseph Hollis walked into the living-room with two cups of tea on a tray. It was a sign of his nervousness that he had delayed their talk about Kid by offering to make tea. Hollis himself didn't like the stuff, and he didn't want to think about how the masked god drank anything with a body that, from some angles, looked paper-thin. It was his morbid curiosity of that sort which had convinced the well-to-do tutor (he took the description as a compliment) this job would be the death of him.

"A skateboard, sir? I hardly think it's an appropriate kind of 'research', regardless of what master Kid thought he was doing."

"I disagree." Maybe to prolong his employee's discomfort, Shinigami took a long sip of tea before explaining himself.

"You won't have seen it, but that thing had traces of Kid's soul wavelength on it. He's experimenting, and I think it's a good thing."

"His...soul." Hollis hadn't been a Shibusen student, having had married into this strange world of wavelengths, demonic influences and the like. He licked his lips and drank some more tea in an effort to hide his confusion.

"Oh, dear, that's it isn't it?" Shinigami put his cup down and clapped his hands, the sharp sound causing Joseph to spill tea onto the table. The god leant forward causing Hollis to become transfixed by the mask's two eye holes. Even this close, he could see no face behind it. "The child was human", he could fool himself with that much. He'd told himself that from the day he'd applied for the job. This had quickly been amended to; "the child looks human", which had its own small comforts. The father, on the other hand...

"I'm afraid this is my fault, Mr. Hollis."

Hollis couldn't reply, having been suddenly struck – not for the first time – by who actually paid his salary. "Good grief," He'd say to his ex-Technician wife, "I'm working for a god!". Maybe he'd not truly realised it until now.

"You see, I brought you here because I wanted Kid to have a teacher. He needs to know about the world. I tried putting him in school, but it didn't work out. But you can't teach him everything. I suppose I should have been clearer on that." He tapped his mask thoughtfully with one finger.

"Well, no, I wouldn't presume to teach him everything!" Hollis felt obliged to defend his position. He knew his job, after all.

"Not at all. But there are things Kid needs to learn himself. He's a death god, and there's only me and him around now. There are plenty of people who would like to take advantage of Kid. He's not old enough to defend himself yet."

"I don't suppose you could explain those things to me?" Reminding himself silently that his former pupils weren't threatened by nameless enemies, Hollis took the opportunity to gain greater understanding. Shinigami had the good grace to at least appear to be considering the request.

"Hmm...no. I don't think so. I've given you your role and I don't feel like changing it."

"And...today?" Hollis persisted lamely, hoping to salvage some facts from this conversation.

"Oh, it's quite simple." Shinigami made Hollis jump by clapping his hands once more. The fortunately now empty teacup dropped from his hands.

"A shinigami's soul is far more adaptable than a human's. There are skills we can draw on to alter certain things. Objects, for example. Kid is very attached to that Beelzebub of his. To me, it makes perfect sense that he'd use it to put his abilities into practice."

Hollis sighed in relief, for this explanation made far more sense than he'd been expecting, and was certainly more mundane. The child was, after all, a deathgod. There were definitely worse things he could be practising.

---

Kid swerved around the tree and headed back towards the wall. It was getting easier now, controlling Beelzebub on his own. It seemed to react to his thoughts as well as his motions, instinct having occasionally saved him from some nasty falls. And, at other times, having led to then as when Kid stopped too quickly, flinging himself face-first into the grass. He had even, and he hardly dared to believe it, got it to hover. He knew that shinigami could fly, as he'd seen father do so a couple of times. He hadn't managed himself, though not for want of trying. The moment Kid had felt his skateboard leave the solid earth, he decided it would be a suitable alternative. For now. Looking to the grey sky, he wondered just how high he could get...

One upshot of his dedication to this 'research' was that it did, for a time, temper Kid's other habits. He had not, for example, really been bothered by the streets of Death City as he had headed home, and had sped past cafes with chairs upturned on tables, broken fences and a florists with a sign reading 'E H OWERS'. Kid had intended to stop as he reached the far wall of the mansion's back garden. He did not expect to notice the mass of leaves that had been left, untended, around the trees. But as he did so his attention wavered, and he began to weave uncertainly towards his goal, head turned back towards the leaves that really did need to be swept up. For this reason, Kid did not see the wall rushing up towards him, did not have time to check his speed or turn as Beelzebub's wheels clattered along the flagstones. Instead, he flung out his hands and closed his eyes, awaiting the crash against the hard wall. It never came.

A blue light surrounding him, Kid found himself levitating up and over the wall that was taller than he was. Eyes closed, he didn't see the spectacle but felt it as the ground lurched away from him. Beelzebub's wheels scratched the top of the wall, depositing its rider onto the grass some feet below. Kid heard yelling from passers-by as, dazed, he got to his feet. A blurry minute past until Kid noticed the dirt smearing his shirt. Successfully ignoring the urge to remove the offending garment – it wouldn't do in public – he turned to head back into the house, thoughts of flying forgotten. He wasn't sure he had another shirt the same colour in his wardrobe.

---

Shinigami heard the crash and the cries that followed, not from Kid but from the people around who were obviously startled to see a small child fall over a wall on a skateboard. Leaving the teacups where they were – Hollis had left, for the moment satisfied with what Shinigami had eventually explained – Shinigami headed out. Kid pushed the front door open just as his father reached it.

Most parents wouldn't look twice at a child having a couple of grazes or a muddy shirt. It was, to them, the sort of thing to be expected. Shinigami, on the other hand, had had time enough to understand the way his son thought. Dirt was not tolerated. Minor injury was for the most part ignored.

"You crashed? You all right?"

Typically, Kid didn't respond, being too busy brushing dirt from his clothes. This action was unfortunately counter-productive, for it was also managing to smear mud into the material, causing Kid to become increasingly frustrated until Shinigami tugged at the offending shirt-sleeve to gain his son's attention.

"He-llo Kid!" Shinigami sang, leaning down to the boy until they were practically mask-to-nose.

"I crashed. My shirt is muddy."

"I can see that. You don't need to worry about that." Shinigami replied, close proximity revealing to his Soul Perception what he had already guessed. For a start, Kid shouldn't have needed to come in through the front door. It seemed as though Kid's research really had come to something, and it was all Shinigami could do to wait for Kid to reveal it himself. It was his achievement, after all.

"Yes I do. It's not symmetrical this way. I must change it." Kid started towards the stairs, or at least would have done was Shinigami not still holding his shirt.

"Want to tell me what happened?!" Shinigami clapped his hands in anticipation. Kid looked up at him with narrow-eyed complacency that only just hid his true, uncommon, reaction of surprise.

"It flew. Beelzebub flew over the wall." He didn't get any further before Shinigami – in another uncommon reaction – was hugging him in his over-sized hands. The awkward gesture wasn't always appreciated by Kid, who had a very particular idea of formality, but in this case he patted his father's finger in bemused happiness. He still wasn't sure what had happened, or how he'd made it happen, and said this much to father.

"It's a very clever thing you did, Kid!" Shinigami praised. "I'm very pleased with your progress, definitely!"

"Thank-you, but what was it?"

"You see, Kid, shinigami can manipulate things around them."

"Yes. We destroy them." Kid's brow creased at this sentence, comparing it as he had done most things death god related to the basis of their existence: all things ended.

"No-no, not like that. Not with this. You see..." Shinigami raised a hand and looked around the room. He knew, in theory, he could will movement of inanimate objects in the same fashion Kid had. As he wasn't used to it, he could only hope it would work. It wouldn't do to be giving a lesson where the student was more proficient than the master.

They had come into the living-room now, Kid's clothing temporarily forgotten. There was a book on the table, and it was this that Shinigami gestured to. Kid kept his eyes on the thick volume. Like with Beelzebub, a faint blue aura began to surround the book. It shuddered on the desk before rising into the air and sailing calmly over to Kid, who took hold of it.

"See?"

Kid nodded. He did see, and it had appeared so easy for father.

"Why haven't I see you do things like this?"

"Well, it's not one of our most important abilities. Like flight, it's helpful, but not the easiest thing to learn. Like you say, we're more predisposed, uh, used to destruction. That you've begun to grasp the theory already is a very good sign. Shinigami can't get along in this world" Shinigami lectured as though quoting someone else's words "without adaptation, and we cannot adapt to the world without having our skills progress too."

Kid nodded solemnly and put the book back on the desk.

"Let me do it."

Shinigami watched Kid focus intently on the book for about a minute. Then, the boy fidgeted anxiously, embarrassment colouring his face. It was a day of rare events, Shinigami mused.

"Um....father?"

"Yes, Kid?"

"How do I do it?"

"Pretty much like how you got your skateboard to you."

Kid blinked, having thought he'd got away with that little trick.

"I..I just thought about it. Asked for it." He answered hesitantly, trying to hide his surprise at having been caught out.

"Uh-huh. And that's what you need to do here."

Once again, Kid looked to the book, glaring as though he could scare the leather-bound volume into motion. Shinigami made an impressed sound as a blue light surrounded the book. At this, Kid took a deep breath, lips moving as he quietly willed the book to do his bidding as Beelzebub had done. The book shuddered in its place – and promptly disintegrated.

As Kid clenched his fists in angry disappointment at this failure, Shinigami patted his shoulder encouragingly.

"I did say it doesn't come easily. Put it this way, you definitely got it to move somewhere!"

Kid mumbled something about the book not moving in the way he wanted.

"Anyway!" Shinigami was keen to turn to another subject, "Maybe we're not going about this the right way. You've got years and years to learn this stuff. Hey, have you thought about taking on a Weapon?"

But Kid was no longer in the room. Sighing, for the boy really was a handful sometimes, Shinigami tracked him down to where he knew Kid would be. Standing in front of his wardrobe, tugging out a black shirt identical to the dirty one that was now in the laundry basket along with every other piece of clothing Kid had recently decided was unsuitable for him to wear until washed. Some had been disposed of simply for getting creased, a habit Shinigami was starting to think he needed Kid to get out of.

In his bedroom, the Shinigami's son was home. Within its four walls, symmetry reigned and everything outside of it: be it skateboards or doomed books, was forgotten. The only reason he didn't have two beds was because a second would not fit; almost everything else was duplicated exactly. Shinigami had taken it as a positive thing that Kid hadn't simply demanded that he took another bedroom in the mansion. Like his occasionally non-symmetrical interests, Kid showed a few signs of not being completely driven by his obsessions. 'A few' was enough for his father, and so long as his son was happy, and could be kept that way, Shinigami was happy. For now, if not for much longer, being a death god could wait.