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Since escaping the clutches of the Alien Association, his owners for six long years, the man once known as Atomic Samurai lives a very sedate life, despite being one of the most powerful entities in the universe. Not like people he used to know, people like Blast, who were zipping around here and there, investigating galactic conspiracies for a ‘hobby’. He has no desire to do that, let alone to perform his old role of hero. Occasional rescues from the forest, that's what he does, always disappearing before the person can thank him, remaining so mysterious that he himself is suspected as being a forest monster, but a semi-benign one. Not far from the truth. The rest of the time he works at keeping he and his son fed and safe, and then relaxes, or attempts to.
It's a very special day when his son walks over to his father's bed one morning while it's still dark. They sleep in the same room because they both prefer it that way after being separated for so long. Plus Kamikaze can never really relax these days, and he is dozing when Izanagi approaches him. Dozing, that's about as deep as he sleeps, the light sleep where clownish dreams but not nightmares dwell. He sleeps with his eyes half open, black irises fixed on the faint outline of light that is the door, his left hand wrapped around the scabbard of the Sun Blade. It would be dangerous for anyone else to attempt to wake him, but his son has always been able to bypass his walls and triggers without ill effect.
“Dad?” Izanagi only needs to whisper the word once for his father's eyelids to open all the way, although it's another moment before Kamikaze is sure he's looking at reality. Sometimes, often, he wakes up and doesn't know whether he's in a cell, someone else's bed, or his own. The waking process is different for each, but they all require a second of consideration.
“Yes?”
“It's Christmas. Do you remember?”
“...” For a second Kamikaze doesn't. Soft things like Christmas and its joy have been tortured out of him. Remarkable that his son heard about it while also a slave in the same organisation.
“Monsters have no need for Christmas.” he rasps, his eyes turning all black, his skin flaring with tiny black lines, like abyssal maggots are gnawing away at him.
The effect fails to scare his son, who laughs. Leaping on top of his dad, Izanagi hugs him, which makes the maggots creep deeper under his skin and out of sight.
Although he would like to lie supine forever, in the absence of a woman in his life Kamikaze eventually has to heave himself out of bed, sitting up and thinking about undoing his hair from the ponytail it's in to keep it out of his face whilst he sleeps. Nope, he decides, it's not yet messy enough to warrant him spending energy in fixing it, or in putting it in its regular style. Everyday he thinks he'll cut it short, but he never does.
Once he's made breakfast for himself and his boy, he lies back down, intending to snatch another few minutes of sleep before he has to see to his other chores. Staying still is one of the worst things he can do for himself, because then his mind begins looping down dark corridors, but still he does it, playing with fire.
He's just closed his eyes when his son speaks.
“Dad? Merry Christmas.” heaviness presses on his stomach, a piece of wood, but not a rough piece and not just some branch, but a carving, and an intricate one. Kamikaze opens his eyes and lifts the gift by one long leg, discovering Ai, the kanji for ‘love’ floating in the dimness before his face. Made from one piece of wood, it appears to have more than an ordinary vitally to it, the swoops of its legs accentuated by the grain and changing colours of the material.
“You made this for me?” he asks, briefly sounding like himself again, his voice light and unmolested by rasp and hiss.
“Yup.” says his son, smile outdoing the stars.