Chapter Text
In a home where oddities abound, a child does dwell,
In a family quite peculiar, as tales can often tell.
With quirks and eccentricities that set them apart,
Christmas, for this little one, is a wondrous work of art.
Amidst the lecture of an all powerful celestial for a dad,
And a sister who speaks to plants, it's not so bad.
Siblings with strange hobbies, each a little weird,
In this unique world, joy is truly revered.
As winter's chill wraps 'round, and snowflakes start to dance,
The child's heart leaps with glee, as he steals a quick glance,
At the looming Christmas bush, bedecked in lights so bright,
And ornaments collected through many a curious night.
He ponders what wonders, surprises, and cheer,
This family, so different, will conjure this year.
With bickering gods, and singing pet creatures
There's never a dull moment, that's a simple fact.
As he drifts off to sleep on this magical eve,
In his dreams, he believes, and he readily perceives,
That in his strange family, love's the common thread,
And Christmas is the time when it's so joyously spread.
So, he rests his head on a pillow so grand,
With visions of oddities dancing through the land.
Excitedly thinking of the coming Christmas morn,
In his quirky world, a new day is born.
Death opened his eyes silently, ears perking as he made to listen for any sign of anyone who was still awake and present. When it was clear that was not the case, he jumped out softly from his bed and crept from his room and out into the main hall.
There he waited a moment, searching for any indication of his Father's presence. None came and so he quickly made his way down the hall, hardly able to contain his excitement if the way that he skipped with a bright smile on his muzzle was any way of telling.
Carefully, Death dragged out all that he had hidden away for the special occasion. A golden bush covered in bright, colorful fireflies which he had begged for from Tithonus during a trip to Olympus. A tall glass of sake which he had snuck away from Junshi in Takamagahara. To complete the now decorated throne room, he set out a plate of cookies and gently laid out five ornately wrapped presents.
Shutting his eyes, he waited with bated breath for something to happen. He listened for the sounds of a jolly fat man sliding down some imaginary fireplace or for the sounds of bells in the air.
"Death?"
Rather, he was met with the sound of a disapproving voice.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Death turned his eyes up slowly, scared to meet his father's gaze, "Have you ever heard of Christmas Father?"
"That silly ritual in the mortal realm?" The All Mighty asked, his face screwing up in confusion. "What does that... oh. I see."
For just a brief moment, Death felt some fleeting hope that his father would not be angry with engaging in something so trivial and maybe, just maybe, would even entertain his idea of fun.
There was no immediate reaction. No immediate tell to what his father might have been feeling. He walked closely around the room, taking in the scenery and even stopping to take a sip of the sake left out for Santa. He turned back to face Death and mocked him with a look of pride.
"You look down upon what will one day be a shared responsibility between you and your sisters and this is what you take from it? I spend hours upon hours teaching you of the world I created and of the creatures who inhabit it and all you can think of is a ritual born of out nothing."
"Father," he said, finding his voice in the silence that followed. "I only meant for–"
"You meant to be insolent!" The All Mighty yelled, tossing the sake aside and kicking away the golden bush in one swift motion. "Look at this," he said, picking up the five gifts wrapped on the ground. "We are immortal. There is nothing to want in our hypothetical hearts."
He dropped them where they stood and shook his head in disappointment.
"Clean up here whenever you finish playing this game of your's."
Death stood still, gaze stuck to the ground as his father left. Once he was sure that he was gone, he balled up his fists and swiped furiously at his eyes as tears ran down in streaks. With a resentful sigh, he stooped low to start picking up all he had prepared, swiping up four of the presents with a particular vigor and failing to notice that he had missed the fifth.
"Harder!" Puss cried out. "Harder!"
Muerte complied, thrusting his hips forward in such a way that–
"My apologies, dear mortals, that might not be the most appropriate start to this tale, but let me weave it for you in any case. Picture, if you will, a story of predator and prey entangled in a love so profound. Yes, I am Athena, the ancient goddess of wisdom, and I have observed the enigmatic dance of love for eons. Allow me to share, for it is as intricate as the cosmos themselves.
In days of old, cherubic beings roamed, wielding arrows to pierce hearts and spark love. Yet, my methods are gentler. Love, you see, transcends mere fleeting emotions. From my celestial perch, I perceive its profound essence—a tapestry of connection, trust, and respect. Love is multifaceted, like a gem with countless facets.
There is the love of parents, unwavering and boundless, akin to my guardianship over Athens. A celestial presence, much like a benevolent parent, watching over their children.
Friendship love, a bond unbreakable, echoes the loyalty of my devoted followers and even the unexpected alliances between creatures, teaching profound lessons about mortality.
And then, my personal favorite, there's romantic love. It thrives amidst complexity, a rollercoaster of emotions, demanding patience, understanding, and revealing itself in the unlikeliest of places.
No form of love is a stroll through the garden. It's a journey, a transformative experience, where individuals become better versions of themselves, learning that they are all in this intricate web of existence together.
So, even though some other gods, namely Zeus because he's a snob, might not agree, that's my take on it. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Puss in Boots and the Grim Reaper, an odd pair for an odd tale? Whatever will he do now, without that pair of sickles?"
Muerte woke with a tired groan, his head foggy and his back sore in a way that he had never known before. He rolled around and only then did he notice the orange mass of fur latched onto his arm.
Of course.
The memories from the previous night immediately came back to him and with a content sigh, he rolled back into his original position, the sheets shifting beneath him.
His first thought was that none of it could have been real. As much dopamine as it brought up, there was no way that he could have confessed his feelings for someone after so much time. He never had sworn by the words of his father's vows, but he had sworn never to love again. By every action, he had been successful in that goal, eyes never darting to any beautiful women who met their fates too soon and emotions never exposed to the warm personalities of those he observed.
Puss in Boots was different. He was not the first cat. The illogical, unfair nature of the species had haunted him all of his existence and not just because his brothers were cats of some sort. He had insisted time and time to his sister that she bring about an extinction of sorts to get rid of their kind, but stubborn as she was, Life had refused. And so despite his hatred of their kind, he put up with their nine lives, harvesting each life with more vigor until the treacherous things had no more excuses to live.
The grudge he held was always there, but he made a point to never make it personal. Only when Puss had so bravely and arrogantly declared that he "did not fear death" was the agenda more than just work. Life had unsurprisingly warned him not to overstep his bounds, but with each meaningless death, those bounds only seemed to stretch in his view.
Now he was here, laying beside the very life that he was once committed to taking for himself. How the tables tended to turn.
A moment later, Puss began to stir. He felt the cat's claws flex several times, digging softly into his fur until they slowly retracted. A pair of emerald eyes met his a moment later and a slow yawn followed.
"Muerte..." Puss practically purred.
"Puss," he acknowledged with a nod, shifting enough to mostly free his arm.
For his part, Puss seemed sheepish when he realized how tightly he had been holding on and immediately scrambled back to give the wolf some space.
"So," he mused in the awkward silence that followed, "how did you sleep?"
"Well enough," Muerte said, raising his arms over his head and sighing in bliss at the satisfactory crack that followed. "It has been many ages since I last slept in a bed."
"I'm surprised that you even had a bed considering the whole, you know," Puss took a moment to look him up and down, "not mortal thing."
Muerte ignored the quip, "Many eons ago. Before the line of your family ever even started. Things were simpler in those days. I had my brothers and sisters to do with whatever I pleased. The work I carried out was never the burden that it is now. I had no idea that the future would hold this–me stuck here as a mortal."
"Hey," Puss said, trying to appear unbothered by the complaint, "things could always be worse."
He mused the statement for a second and then surprisingly enough, nodded his head, "That is true. We did kiss last night."
"And I take it that you enjoyed that kiss?" Puss asked, seduction creeping into his voice.
"I've had better but for our first time, it wasn't all that bad."
Puss scoffed, feigning a look of offense, "Every dame that has ever touched my lips swooned enough that they never wanted to kiss again!"
"I'm not every dame," Muerte said plainly. "I'm..." he trailed off with a frown.
The tabby quickly took to reassuring him once more, "We'll figure things out. Don't worry so much." He stood up and stretched, heading for his boots, torn up cape, hat and sword. "In the meantime, we could settle down here in Far, Far Away. You could even get a job."
"A job as... what exactly?" Muerte asked with a look of plain confusion.
"Again, we'll figure it out," Puss reiterated as he took the first steps out of the door. "In the meantime, try not to let Donkey talk you head off when you meet him."