V. Stormy

Shinigami stood in the entranceway of Gallows Mansion, large hand paused above where the umbrella stand should have been. It was curiously missing and the Reaper's umbrella was now dripping onto the white tile floor with no place to dry. Perhaps he should have come home via the mirror after all.

"Kid?" he called, leaning the item against the wall instead and bopping down the hallway. He doubted Kid was asleep, he rarely left the manor and almost always greeted his father at the door. With the storm was raging loudly outside, Shinigami found his son in the library with no less than a few hundred books spread around him. "Kid!" the Reaper exclaimed, dismayed. "What are you doing?"

The boy looked up, blinking golden eyes at his parent. "Hello Father," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come home. Your books were out of order so I'm fixing them."

"They were alphabetical," Shinigami protested, completely dismayed at his son's latest quirk but trying hard not to show it. "What's wrong with that?"

Disdainfully, Kid answered, "I'm organizing them by size and genre as well. And maybe print date," he added, tilting his head in consideration. "I might redo them again for that."

"That's not necess-" the Reaper began, but Kid shook his head vehemently. Since Shinigami could live with a properly graduated book sizes in his library, he dropped the reprimand and instead glided across the floor and sank into the oversize chair by the fireplace with a sigh. "Where is the umbrella stand from the front hall?"

Kid quivered, his fingers tapping on the cover of the book he was holding. "I got rid of it," he said. "It was... it didn't match anything."

Shinigami beckoned, and Kid came obediently to his side. "It doesn't need to match anything. Where did you put it?"

"But it was uneven," the child whined, peeking at his father through his bangs; the stark white lines in his hair shifted with the movement.

Summoning his patience, the Reaper explained gently, "It was a gift, Kid. From some of the students at Shibusen. The way it looked wasn't why it was important. Do you understand?"

Kid trembled, his eyes darting back and forth. "But... but... it was lumpy," he insisted.

"Well," Shinigami sighed again, too tired to argue. "Lumpy or not, I'd rather have it back. Did you put it away?" At the complete silence he received, he prompted sternly, "Kid, what did you do with the umbrella stand?"

"I'm sorry!" Kid wailed, throwing himself at the base of the chair. "I hated it! I couldn't look at it!" He lifted his head to look at his father, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm awful, but please don't hate me! Please.. please don't get rid of me..."

And Shinigami knew he'd been right all along: there was something wrong, something he'd missed all this time, and it was finally making itself known - now if only it would make sense. Deeply chilled by the revelation, he lifted Kid from the floor and held him tightly. "Of course I don't hate you. I would never hate you, Kid. Please calm down, it isn't... it's not that important. There's a good boy..."

It seemed like forever before the sobs finally stopped, but even after they had, Shinigami didn't let him go. Instead he sat thinking, surrounded by a mountain of still-unsorted books that he'd need to put away so Kid wasn't troubled all over again. Looking back, he realized that the boy had always displayed this tendancy and now everything: the counting, the neatness, the meticulous habits even at a young age... it added up. It wasn't a flaw; Shinigami would swiftly and fiercely chop anyone who suggested his son was flawed, but it was still something.

When the first rays of dawn chased the last of the storm clouds away, Shinigami carried his son up to his room and put him to bed. The most he ever found of the missing umbrella stand was a few shards in the back garden, and he replaced it with something plain and matte black.