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The Father-Thing Holiday Special
Whoever came up with malls was twisted and evil, and that means a lot coming from Aizen Sousuke. A place - bigger than any human mind can comprehend - stuffed with several smaller spaces, containing things. Things upon things upon things, stacked in neat rows of little shops that people crowd to like sheep, like bugs even, all the while mind-numbingly stupid music blares in the background. Now, Aizen has thought of and created many evils in his lifetime but even he could never come up with such a monstrosity.
Shinji shares the same sentiments for malls, albeit a bit more poetic, so to speak. He finds them too American, entirely foreign to his acquired tastes. Still, parenthood continues to push the two of them to limits previously unimagined, mostly at the behest of others.
“It will be so much fun!” Orihime had insisted over the phone. “Santa is gonna be there!”
At the sound of that omnipresent, omniscient deity, little Gin’s ears had perked up. It was a stab in Aizen’s chest to see that expression on his tiny face, as if pulled right off of Shinji’s own. Mistrust, suspicion, hostility. At six years old, he approaches life with the same distant cynicism as his Dad, often sneering at the things his peers find enjoyable.
“Santa ain’t real!” Gin proclaims, loud enough for all the kids waiting with them in line to hear.
Kazui’s big eyes fill with fear immediately and he looks at his father, who’s frowning deeply. “Yes, he is. Look, he’s over there.”
True enough, Santa - or at least a very convincing representative - is sitting on a big, cushioned chair, surrounded by underpaid staff dressed as sad, sad elves. Kids take turns sitting on his knee, telling him what they want for Christmas and taking photos, all the while their parents look on with pride.
“Tell me,” Aizen whispers in his husband’s ear. “Why are we filling our son’s head with these lies?”
“Because it’s cute,” is the counter-argument Shinji offers. “Ginny, stop bein’ an asshole.”
“Dude!” Ichigo complains loudly, thankfully covering his son’s ears in time.
“That ain’t Santa,” Gin whispers bitterly as he gets ready to sit on Santa’s lap. “And I’m gonna prove it.”
The big red man puts on his brightest smile as the little kid approaches. “Ho-ho-ho, little guy! Why don’t you come here and tell Santa what you want for Christmas?”
Gin eyes him with that unreadable, fox-like expression. A grin spreads across his face, hanging from one ear to the other as he grabs Santa’s beard and pulls it down, exposing the truth to everyone present.
“See!” he yells triumphantly. “Fake!”
As the mall explodes into a pandemonium of screaming kids and yelling parents, Shinji grabs his baby boy like a grenade and rushes him out of the mall, Aizen in tow. He bites back at all the parents that dare speak even one accusatory word against him or his son, all the while Gin giggles happily in his Dad’s embrace. He barely gets scolded for it, in fact, Shinji finds it a bit funny. Gin being an absolute menace in public isn’t the part that concerns him.
…
“I fear he’s becomin’ too much of a dick,” Shinji deduces with some bitterness in his voice.
Aizen eyes the red costume laid on the bed, trying to piece together the meaning behind this scene. It’s Christmas Eve and soon enough, all their friends will start arriving. Bitter luck brought it upon them to be the hosts of this year’s Christmas dinner. They will pull through elegantly, of course. Still, this trivial triumph is little to no consolation considering Aizen will have to put up with the likes of Urahara all day long.
“Are you referring to the Santa incident?”
Objectively, Gin is an asshole. He only ever gets away with it because Shinji is also an asshole and could never scold him for the things he himself does. Besides, he’s completely hostile to any form of criticism towards his parenting style or his baby boy, turning into a blood-thirsty tiger whenever anyone dares say so. However, this latest incident seems to have affected him severely.
He’s sitting on his vanity unit, pinning little pears on his immaculate hairdo. His outfit is all white, consisting of a beautiful off-shoulder cashmere sweater, skin-tight jeans and boots. He gives Aizen a quick look and purses his lips with disappointment at his appearance.
“Ya look like yer with the goddamn FLDS.”
Aizen looks down at his clothes. It's a crimson sweater vest with a light blue shirt underneath. “It’s the Prada sweater you got me, dear.”
“Yuh-uh, last year! Ugh, yes. It’s the Santa thing - go wear this one, will ya, Sousuke?” Shinji fishes a bunch of new clothes for his husband and lays them all on the bed. “He’s too cynical, doesn’t see the magic in the things other lil’ kids do.”
“And that’s a bad thing because…”
“Oh, c’mon! If he doesn’t believe in Santa, then he won’t believe in anything in all his life!”
“He believes in himself.” Oh, yes. Gin believes in himself. In fact, that faith is so strong that he has successfully wedged himself in into a marriage and doesn’t seem to let go. Saved it from falling apart but ruined it in other ways, perhaps.
“Not enough,” Shinji grumbles. “So. Here’s what yer gonna do.”
“Me?” questions the brunette, quickly reaching for his glasses. “What do I have to do with this?”
Shinji rolls his eyes as if he just heard the silliest question. “Yer his Dad, remember? When ya put him inside me?”
“Shinji…”
Shinji comes to sit on the bed, smiling mischievously while pointing to the red costume. “Yer gonna put this one and right on the stroke of midnight, yer gonna come in and pretend yer Santa! That way, Gin will believe he’s real!”
Aizen squints. “No.”
“Sousuke!”
“I said no.”
“Please!”
“No, Shinji.”
“C’mon, I’m begging ya! When have I ever begged ya fer a single thing?”
Aizen snaps around, glaring at his husband. “Every day you ask me for something new and I give it to you! But this… it’s too much!”
Shinji stands up. Aizen knows that look. He’s never managed to escape it, not quite successfully. Shinji wraps his arms around his waist and looks up at him. Looking in the mirror, Aizen has to admit that they make a beautiful pair. Still handsome and radiant, albeit a bit older, more shapely and human-like, entirely lacking the forced, to-fit-in awkwardness of the Architecture student and the up-and-coming young artist.
“Cantcha do this fer our baby boy?”
Their baby boy. Shinji says those words and his mouth is sticky with honey. He looks at Aizen pleadingly, brooding like a child.
“Why don’t you do it?”
“Too short.”
Aizen laughs. He kisses the top of Shinji’s golden hair. “You’re just perfect.”
…
Aizen doesn’t drink. Sure, he’ll sip on the occasional champagne or white wine, maybe an Aperol Spritz if the weather permits it, but other than that, he doesn’t drink. Part of it is in his character, but it also helps maintain the balance in his marriage. Shinji always had it in him to parade around with a glass of champagne and his cheeks dusted sweet pink.
Yet somehow, Aizen is sitting on the couch, feeling the room disappear from under his feet. The world around him seems as if lost at sea, reaching him from underneath the cold waves. He sees random splashes of shapes and colors, catches voices that perhaps once meant something to him. His lips are sticky, and his throat hurts. Two glasses of Rose's famous mulled wine, that’s all he remembers having.
“Oh, my. He doesn’t look so good…”
The sound of that voice grants him a second of clarity. Urahara, he hisses venomously, though the sound never makes it past his lips. Surely, this menace must have slipped something in his drink. There’s no other explanation for this fog that surrounds him.
“Sousuke!”
He recognizes this voice, this scent. Shinji rushes to him. Thankfully, their guests are too busy doing their own thing to notice what’s going on in this little corner of the living room.
“Are you…drunk?” Shinji questions with some disbelief.
Aizen snorts. “Me?” He laughs, a bit too loudly for him. “I assure you, my love. I am cone sold stober.”
To prove this, he stands, balancing on his feet like a newborn fawn, maybe less gracefully. Shinji sighs beside him, trying to hold him back. His touch is comforting. Aizen feels his cheeks beginning to ache as he smiles down at his husband.
“Maybe we should carry him upstairs,” Urahara suggests.
Aizen narrows his eyes. “You,” he slurs, voice full of poison. “Shinji… what is this asshole doing here?”
“Sousuke, will ya-”
“Are ya here to fuck my husband, huh?”
A few heads turn to them. Orihime hands Kazui back to Ichigo, gingerly taking a step forward to help wherever she can.
Shinji grits his teeth. “The kids are watchin’,” he hisses.
Aizen grabs fistfuls of Urahara’s collar. He couldn’t care less about any damn kids, much less his own little viper. All he thinks about is digging his teeth into Urahara’s throat and yanking his carotid out.
“Is that what’s going on?” he demands. “Whenever I turn my back…Do you just pounce on him, you desperate little fucker?”
Urahara’s face remains cold, stony. “I’m not doing this,” he whispers.
This silence, this lack of reaction presses down hard on Aizen’s nerves. “Answer me.”
“Sousuke, enough!”
“That’s what’s going on, isn’t it?” He scans the room quickly, noticing Gin’s little face among the crowd, hidden but not hiding. The little bastard smiles and Aizen feels his stomach flip. “Is that even my fucking kid?”
He hears something incomprehensible, distant, vaguely resembling Shinji’s voice. It’s all drowned out by the sound of him retching, doubling over and emptying his stomach’s contents on Shinji’s beloved plush rug.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
He’s immediately seized by the shoulders and dragged off backstage, away from the prying eyes of the audience. How could he do this? How could he go off-script in such a way? At least this little slip isn’t too alarming, not in the direction he cares about, anyway.
“Christ, he’s heavy,” Shinji complains while carrying his husband upstairs.
Kisuke helps Shinji drag Aizen upstairs, shouldering most of that weight himself. They drop him down on the bed where he continues groaning in pain.
“Should we move him to the bathtub?”
“Nah, I think he’ll be fine sleepin’ it off.” Shinji sighs heavily. He looks down at his husband as his consciousness slowly turns off. “He’ll be fine, he’s just drunk and he’s never been drunk before.”
Kisuke eyes the sight with some mistrust. “Yeah,” he finally says. He’s willing to admit anything if it will help Shinji calm down. The more he looks at this, the less it seems like a person simply being drunk.
“Just fine,” Shinji huffs. “I can’t believe him!"
He sits down on the bed, pouting like a child. He nudges Aizen but he’s already dozed off, snoring like he never has before. “He did this on purpose.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, I do! I do… He never wanted this party and he’d do anythin’ to make it never happen again. That’s the way he does things. That’s the man I married.” He crosses one leg over the other, rubbing an invisible stain off of his leather boot. “He did this with the baby, too.”
Kisuke blinks, confused. “What are you talking about?”
Shinji huffs bitterly. His fingers drum impatiently against his knee. He’s itching for a cigarette but he quit that a long time ago. Kisuke was there when Shinji smoked his last. Sitting in Urahara’s little kitchen, sucking in that drag until the smoke hit his eyes, staring at the pregnancy test.
“Doctor said it too,” he had said, blankly, without looking up. “Guess I gotta clean up my act now.”
“Dunno what he did with my pills but it worked. By the time I found out, it was too late to have a safe abortion. Stupid, stupid man.” He shakes his head, his hair moving with him. “He was so caught up in keeping me chained to him that he didn’t realize what he’d gotten himself into.” He looks at Aizen with some fondness, ruffling his hair. “Lonely idiot.”
Urahara kisses his cheek, the edge of his mouth, his jaw. He runs his thumb over Shinji’s hand comfortingly. “What’s the Santa costume for?”
“Oh. Right. He was s’posed to wear this for Ginny, try to convince him that Santa is real.” He shrugs. “It’s okay, my kid’s gonna be an asshole. It’s hereditary, I know.”
Shinji stands up. He stops in front of the mirror to check his appearance. “I gotta go downstairs and do some damage control. Can ya keep an eye on ‘im fer a bit?”
“Yes,” Kisuke replies with a smile. Shinji bends down to kiss him, first on the nose then on the lips. His smile widens.
Kisuke turns to Aizen. He nudges the man painfully, hoping for some reaction. He glances around the room, checking out all the details and features he knows so well. He stands up, giving his back a small stretch. “Actually, I am fucking your husband. Have been since the day you two got married. Don’t put it so crassly, though, Sousuke. I love him to the moon and back and he does, too. Not that you know what that even tastes like.”
…
Shinji yawns. He opens his eyes and looks at his watch. “Ginny,” he groans. “It’s midnight. Ya gotta go to bed.”
“No!” the little boy refuses, crossing his arms stubbornly. He’s sitting by the tree, staring at the flames in the fireplace. “Ya said Santa was gonna come and I’m waitin’!”
“Maybe he got stuck in traffic!”
“Fine. I’ll wait!”
Shinji purses his lips. “Ya know, not listenin’ to yer Dad puts ya on the naughty list.”
“Hm. If he’s makin’ last minute changes to that dumb list, it’s a clear case of bad business practice! I’d rather not get visited by a conman like him.”
Shinji shakes his head. He can’t be mad at his son. Not with that little face and the way he talks. Smart as hell, just like his Father.
The quietness of this tranquil scene is interrupted by insistent tapping against the window. It slides open from the outside and in comes Santa, bringing some of the cold air with him. Father and son both look on astonished as the laughing man walks into the living room, carrying his big, red sack over his shoulder.
“Ho-ho-ho, little Ginny! Merry Christmas!”
“Santa?” Gin questions. He eyes the newcomer with suspicion, his lips pressed together. “Is…Is it really you?”
“Ho-ho, indeed!” Kisuke belly-laughs. He pulls on his fake beard, smiling when it doesn’t budge. “The real deal, just for you!”
Gin’s blue eyes open widely, his mouth falling open. He looks at his Dad, who simply smiles at him, just happy to be looking on during this miracle. “But… I didn’t write a letter,” Gin admits in embarrassment, blushing. “How did ya know what to bring me?”
“Santa always does. Tell me, is this charming young man over there your Dad?”
“Yeah!”
“Young man,” Shinji chuckles with a roll of his eyes.
“Ah, lovely to meet you, Mr. Gin’s Dad. Will you please leave the room for a moment? I would like to share a secret with little Gin over here.”
“Alright,” Shinji smiles. “I’ll leave ya to it then. Be quick, Santa. It’s already way past his bedtime.”
“It’s the holidays so I can stay up late,” Gin whispers in confidence.
Kisuke sits down on the floor, perching the little boy on the couch. “Your Daddy told me you’re a very good and smart kid.”
“I am! Wanna know what smart thing I did today?” Kisuke nods eagerly. Gin’s smile turns devilish as he looks around the room, making sure Shinji isn’t listening. “I put some pills in my Father’s drink so he’d pass out and leave the party!” He giggles. “Smart, right?”
Kisuke opens his mouth but closes it again. “...very,” he says. “V-Very smart, Gin!”
Gin shines with pride at the praise. “What gift did you bring me?”
“Oh, right!” Kisuke fishes inside the bag and bring out a box wrapped in colorful paper. “Sh-Your Dad told me that you like plants, so I got you this!”
Gin’s blue eyes fill with wonder as he beholds his present. “A seed starter kit!” He jumps on Kisuke’s chest, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “Thanks, Santa!”
“Ho-ho-ho, you’re very welcome!”
Gin grabs his present and runs into the kitchen, shouting ecstatically while showing it to Shinji. He stops for one final hug with Santa before racing to his bedroom, giggling all the way.
Shinji saunters into the living room, smiling. “Impressive.”
“Santa always pulls through.”
He snorts and approaches his lover, sitting down beside him. He pulls on the beard and grimaces when Kisuke winces in pain. “What did ya do?!”
“Superglued it,” Kisuke explains with a groan. “It looks like it worked.”
Shinji continues running his fingers through the fluffy beard and wig, looking for Kisuke’s face. “And what exactly am I s’posed to kiss, then?”
Kisuke wiggles his brows. He grabs Shinji by the waist and lays him down on the carpet. The flames from the fireplace paint him warm and gold, his bubbly laughter bounces around the room.
“There are many more parts of me to kiss, you know,” he sings, leaning in to kiss Shinji, tickling him with the beard.
…
When Aizen wakes up, Shinji is still asleep or at least pretending. Their room is dipped in quiet darkness, interrupted by his husband’s steady breathing. One by one, he becomes aware of his surroundings and his state of being. Most importantly, he takes note of the pain, this dull, stubborn throb that drills into the sides of his skull and slams its hammer into his forehead.
“That’s a hungover,” he assumes and he’s not far from the truth. It’s an unsavory sensation, one he vows to never experience again.
Slowly, he rises from the bed. Outside, dawn breaks slowly, just appearing over the horizon. He groans all the way to the bathroom, vision a bit foggy still, even though he’s wearing his glasses. He opens a little cabinet and looks for some aspirin. He knows all the remedies for hangovers, having helped Shinji through them plenty of times. Water and a hearty breakfast.
Once he feels a bit better, Aizen makes his way to the kitchen. The house isn’t as messy as he expected, at least most of the trash has been collected and the fireplace isn’t packed with ashes. He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work, preparing all of Shinji’s favorite breakfast foods. He even puts on one of Shinji’s favorite jazz records, working and humming his hungover away.
He faintly catches the sound of tiny footsteps coming closer. “G’mornin’.”
He sighs. “Good morning, Gin. Merry Christmas.”
The little boy sits down on the table and starts fixing himself a bowl of cereal. “Smells good,” he sighs. “Whatcha makin’?.”
“Eggs in tomato sauce, Dad’s favorite.”
“Is it ‘cuz ya wanna apologize for gettin’ drunk yesterday?”
Aizen pauses. He might actually kill the fucking kid. “I wasn’t drunk, Gin. I was… I was simply not feeling good. That’s why I left the party early.”
“Shame, ya really missed the best part.”
“Oh, yeah? And what was that?”
“Santa came! And he brought me a cool present!”
Aizen glances at his son over his shoulder. Guess he’s not so devilishly smart if he believes in bullshit like that. “Uh-huh…”
“And get this! I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus!”
Aizen snorts and shakes his head. “Oh, Gin. You know Santa isn’t real!”