#littledemonboy

"Ah-" Iruka hadn’t thought of what he wanted for Christmas. He hadn’t made a wishlist of any sort since he was 10 years old, mostly because no one had asked.

The house was dark, and a candle was lit, set precariously on a pile of books. A pen scribbled lightly on a carefully ripped sheet of notebook paper, the fringe was removed and everything, as the pre-genin sat with a blanket around his shoulders. He pulled the tip of his writing instrument up quickly to avoid ruining his careful penmanship as a shudder ran through him. The air was chilled and his fingers were stiff with cold, but the boy refused to turn on the heater, a behavior developed to avoid the anger of his parents. It was inefficient to heat the whole house when you were only in one room, they said.

That never stopped him before, and his parents frequently came home from missions to an overly warm house, but he hadn’t turned on the heat in a month, and only sometimes opted to start the fire place when he started to think it might be dangerous to stay in the cold. The first list, the wish list meant for his parents, had been written three times, and had degraded into a pile of crumpled paper balls on the floor. They were hardly noticeable among the mass of trash, dirty clothes, and other things that virtually obscured every portion of the floor except for a small pathway between the door and his bed.

If he kept it messy enough his parents would come home, and they would come to see him and get angry about the state of his room. Then his mother would feel how cold he was, and she would wrap her hands around his own and bring them up to her lips so she could blow gently on them and then rub her hands quickly against his skin. “Friction generates heat, my little shinobi.” Her index finger, cooler from holding his hands, would tap his nose and she would fuss over him to his father, who no longer questioned it.  He would shake his head fondly, complain about how she babied him under his breath, and then wrap a blanket around his son’s shoulders before leaving to make tea. Iruka didn’t like tea, but he wasn’t allowed to drink anything but water before bed. Ironically, this meant the boy never drank it in the first place.

Until they came back, he would just have to keep up his mess making, and write his letter to Santa:

Since I am ten years old, I know that some things are too big to ask for. Even if you can’t bring my parents back, I understand. For Christmas I would like a step stool, and maybe a new pan, and some of the gelly window stickers for the window.

My room is messy, and I pulled a lot of pranks recently, and I didn’t believe in you earlier this year. So, if I don’t deserve presents would you come put coal in my stocking anyway? My parents told me you watch over all the kids all the time. It would be nice to know someone is there.

P.S. (that means post script!): I left out the cookies I made and carrots for the raindeer. Sorry they are burnt and crumby. Mom usually makes them,

 He then walked out to the dining room with his letter, and placed it next to the plate of sugary charcoal that were his cookies. He brushed his teeth, and counted to sixty twice while he did it, even though his reflection in the mirror gave him the heeby-jeebies. The teacher had told the girls not to spend so much time in the bathroom primping because their reflection was an evil spirit trying to steal there soul, and if they looked to long it would possess them and they would have to “test how well your classmates can follow rule four”.

Maybe it was ploy to get the girls out of the bathroom, but maybe it was the truth. He wasn’t going to take his chances. Two minutes was probably safe, the girls took forever and they hadn’t been possessed yet.  He changed into his pajamas and slid into bed, he even tried his best to go to sleep and didn’t wait up to try and see him.

The next morning the little boy was hesitant to open the door, but took a deep breath and ran out into the living room just like any other child on Christmas morning. He would never quite forget the wash of disappointment when he laid eyes on the empty space under his carefully lighted Christmas sapling and empty, anorexic looking, stocking. Even the carrots were untouched, and somewhere mid-run he fell to his knees. Smooth wooden panels stared back at his blurring vision judgmentally.

“Iruka-kun, be careful with that! Water is bad for the wood.”

“I don’t care! I don’t! I-“His muscles gave way until he was supporting himself on a locked elbow, and pounding his fist against the floor.

“COME BACK! Come back, come back, come back! C-COME BACK!” Even indulging the childish behavior of a tantrum was unsatisfying without an audience, and the tears felt empty and unproductive. The sobs died down, and his words got quieter and quieter.

“ -Please, please, come back.”

Finally his words were barely audible, and his last weak fist pound slipped on a drop of water.

“Please.”

"Shishishi~ I also want a snow globe!"

Luffy thought about it. Meat was the obvious answer but the more he thought about it the more he realized that he got meat whenever he wanted! Sanji would make it for him. Zoro would punch him in the chest if he choked. Nami would scold him and try to make sure it didn't happen again. Robin would teach him about all the bad things that could have happened.  Chopper would check and make sure that none of the bad things did happen. Usopp would laugh about it and make him forget it. Brook would play a song to dance to celebrate with. Franky would light the sky is fireworks.

So now, he was rethinking just what he did want for Christmas.