Rebirth

It wasn't unusual for citizens of Death City to leave little offerings on the doorstep of Gallows Mansion. Shinigami often wondered what it was which prompted them to do so, as they were almost always left anonymously so it wasn't as though he was expected to return a favour. Sometimes they contained baked treats (he loved homemade cookies), sometimes little signatures of their trade. More than once he'd found a simple thank you note, appreciating the gentle passing of a loved one. The last variety saddened him somewhat which he realized was a bit contradictory, but he couldn't have an entire population living inside the boundary of his soul and not grow attached to them.

Since he'd been spending more and more time at Shibusen, Kid had taken to picking up the gifted items, though he always dutifully informed his father when one had appeared. Tonight was no exception. "Oho!" Shinigami's reflection bounced in the mirror. "More cookies?"

Kid lifted the gingham (who still used gingham?) and peered inside. "No, Father. It's a fruit basket."

"Oh well~" the Reaper lifted his hands playfully, though the gesture managed to look contrite. "Have whatever you like out of it, Kid! I'm going to be here a good while longer tonight."

"Is everything all right?"

"Ab-so-lutely!" Shinigami reached through the mirror to pat his son on the head, then pulled back so the mirror reformed into its usual reflection. Kid's mouth puckered in a quick frown, both at the friendly appeasement and what he knew to be a transparent lie. Something was bothering his father, but he didn't know what - he just knew what he'd felt from the elder god wasn't nothing.

But he obeyed his father by not questioning where it wasn't his place to, and carried the fruit basket to the kitchen to sort it.

For the first time in a while, Shinigami felt well and truly exhausted. The last twelve hours of coordination between the six branches worldwide and averting what he (had Shinigami been more inclined to bitterness) could have called an attempted coup d'etat in the European division... finally everything was once again in order. He would have to reassign some of his more trusted Death Scythes to oversee his interests on other continents, but for tonight he was just glad to leave the Death Room and go home.

Gallows Manor was dark as he slipped quietly through the mirror in the front hall, but it was late and Kid had no doubt gone to bed hours prior. A light glowing in the kitchen caught his attention and he looked in, then did a double take. A few dishes were still sitting on the counter, unwashed and forgotten. Although in a normal house it may have been a regular domestic sight, for Shinigami there couldn't have been a clearer sign that something was amiss. Thoughts of a peaceful evening shattered, he ascended the stairs, already casting out his senses for his son's soul.

Kid's room was dark but against the uncharacteristically rumpled sheets, two glassy golden eyes peered out at him. "F-Father," Kid started, but was interrupted by a wet cough that shook his whole body, whistling in and out with each gasp. It was so strange, so foreign, that he felt himself rooted to the spot until another sickly wheeze jolted him forward.

"What's wrong?" Shinigami demanded, lifting him into a sitting position. There had never been much bulk to him, but Kid seemed ready to snap in half at any moment and the god kept his hands soft. "Tell me, Kid."

Kid shook his head, though the motion made his vision swim even more. He wasn't even sure himself... he could clearly recall eating dinner at the long dining room in his usual place (the first spot to the right of the table head) and choosing dessert from the fruit basket delivered earlier. He'd been about to clean up afterwards when he'd felt lightheaded and left the kitchen to get some air. Unfortunately the brisk night breeze had only made him feel worse, and Kid had stumbled up the stairs to his room, only barely making it to the edge of the bed before promptly blacking out.

"Why didn't you call me?" his father was asking him. Kid wanted to form a coherent sentence but the task seemed too monumental.

But why didn't I notice? was the question the death god wanted an answer to most.

As distressed as his physical body was, Shinigami could see that his son's soul was in worse condition. Weak flickers of shadow danced across its surface to prevent the usual cerulean glow from escaping, and it was streaked through with stains of red. Poison? The thought left him aghast. To imagine that somehow his home had been breached - bad enough inside his city and soul but if someone had gotten to Kid inside Gallows itself - but how? It should have been impossible, it wasn't like they could waltz up to the front door...

A whispered curse in the language of death itself, and Shinigami tucked Kid snugly into his side and streaked back downstairs. With one hand he tore the kitchen apart until he found the contents of the gift basket from earlier. Green apples, dark nectarines... and pomegranates, ripened a deep red.

Oh no. The Reaper shook Kid gently, holding the gingham up for his son to see. "Kid, did you eat the pomegranates in the basket? The red fruit?"

Kid's head lolled to one side as he tried to focus on the question and visual cue, but he nodded laboriously. He wanted to say something else, but darkness refused to wait any longer and swallowed him again.

Shinigami sat brooding in the study's over-sized armchair, big enough to hold even his abnormal frame. This is my fault, he thought darkly, his countenance more suited to his persona of centuries past than recent years. How did I not notice?

It wasn't just his inattention which plagued him with guilt in the early morning hours. Kid was the son crafted from his own soul and certain things were supposed to be inherent to him: the mastery of souls, the skill to wield any Weapon if chosen, the tongue of languages both living and dead as they pertained to his duties. Kid was born with all these things because he was a death god, and even with the inexperience of youth he had not questioned knowing these things before.

But Shinigami also knew which knowledges were missing, intentionally kept from him. It was the reason Kid had not understood why hair dye wouldn't cover his Sanzu lines, nor understood their true purpose. (How could he tell him that, when Kid already worried for him?) Why he believed he'd named Beelzebub himself and not understood that the creature came with its name already old as ages...

Or why a fruit had nearly killed him.

Because he didn't know any better, Shinigami thought unhappily. Because my choices made it impossible for him to know any better.

He wanted to protect his son. It should have been simple. He didn't know what to do when he was the one putting Kid at risk.

Kid's fever broke around dawn, and spots of colour returned to his cheeks as his body purged the last traces of the fruit's effects. He woke and looked around dazedly, realizing that he was still in his father's secure hold but making no move to leave it. "What... happened?"

"You ate something that didn't agree with you," Shinigami answered. "The pomegranate has from the beginning of time represented eternal life and so when you ate it, you got sick."

"Oh," Kid said softly. It seemed like such a crucial thing for him to know that he automatically felt as though he'd disappointed the elder. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't know... they were bad for me."

I should tell you about everything, the death god thought, murmuring reassurances as Kid began to doze off again. It wasn't fair to let this ignorance continue to put Kid in danger, and yet... I can't, not yet. One day, forgive me this necessary evil.

Because he still believed it was the lesser of the two.

A/N: Sorry, this one came out a little weird in comparison to the others. It probably should have been a much longer or stand alone fic, but I wanted to use the idea here. Happy holidays everyone!