Note: I don't know, I felt like indulging in some of the pure, unadulterated angst that was my bread and butter before I started dabbling more in fluffy hurt/comfort lol Go figure, it's in two parts, but this time I actually split it up early on during writing instead of at the last minute XD

Also, on a random note, I've recently started moving my stories over to AO3 in light of some of the recent issues FFN has been having. I don't really expect the site to go down and I don't particularly like AO3's layout, but I figured it was better safe than sorry. It's already going to take forever to move it all over now. It's just for archiving purposes, so I'm still going to be mostly active here and everything will get posted here first. But if you read on AO3 too and see all my old crap popping up, I apologize X)

Part 1

Yato is wandering the streets in the chilly winter night when his father finds him. Sleep has always been a fickle companion, and something less than a friend more often than not. Stress always turns him into a terrible insomniac.

Warring with the heavens, nearly losing Yukine to the box, worrying about what Father is planning and what might happen to Yukine and Hiyori, and being tasked with dispatching Father before the heavens get involved, along with a handful of less pressing concerns, have put dark shadows beneath Yato's eyes and turned sleep into an elusive enemy. He tries not to wander too much because Yukine won't be happy if he wakes and finds him missing, but tonight Yato has little use for nightmares and even less for staring up at the ceiling until daybreak.

The room had begun feeling stifling, the walls closing in on their restless tenant and suffocating him in dark and silence, but Yato regrets his bid for fresh air now.

"Yaboku," the shadows whisper.

He closes his eyes and keeps walking, even though he knows it won't do any good. He could teleport, he supposes, but Father always finds him when he decides it's time for a family reunion. And some traitorous little part of his heart wriggles in expectation. The last lingering piece of the child he was still responds to its name.

"You aren't really going to ignore me, are you?" Father asks, his amusement thick over the pretend hurt.

"What do you want?" Yato asks, burying his hands in his pockets and letting his shoulders slump.

He is worn out from weeks of constant stress and centuries of manipulation, and he doesn't have the energy for a fight right now. His boots drag along the street as he drifts aimlessly onward, invisible as a ghost to all but the man who falls into step beside him. Father's new face is smug and cast in pale light and shadow from the light of the full moon, and Yato turns his gaze to the ground when something inside him twists into knots.

"Can't I just want to stop by and say hello to my precious child?"

Exhaustion drags at Yato's limbs, and he wants to curl up right there in the middle of the street and sleep this all away, nightmares be damned. "What do you want?" he repeats without any heat.

"Fine, fine. I see you aren't in the mood for chitchat. I want you to fetch Bishamon for me. She's been holed up in Takamagahara since the heavens pardoned her, surrounded by shinki, and I'd rather not have to go all the way there to have a chat. You two have gotten all buddy-buddy. Find a pretense to get her down here with as few shinki as possible, preferably without the hafuri."

Somehow Yato isn't surprised. He knows Father wants Bishamon dead for attacking him, and even more so because she knows too much and has seen his face. A better question would be why he's asking Yato to do it for him, knowing how uncooperative he's been lately, but maybe that's exactly why. Time to drag the errant god back to the fold, by whatever means necessary. And he undoubtedly suspects that Yato has said too much to Amaterasu and might be planning to kill him himself. He'll want to put a stop to it before it goes too far.

Yato is far from stupid, whatever everyone else thinks, and he has a good idea of what Father is angling for now. He's just too tired to care all that much. He's tired of fighting and running and dying one little piece at a time.

He wonders if that's why Father has chosen now to bring it up, waiting until he finds Yato prowling the night because he knows the god is already weak and vulnerable and too worn down to keep fighting.

It's Yato's job to stay strong for Yukine and Hiyori, who are still really just children and shouldn't be facing the danger he's put them in at all, and he's always been the one who stands strong when things get hard and holds them all together when they start falling apart. But he doesn't want to be strong right now, and he wishes there was someone besides Father to catch him when he falls.

"I already fought to keep her alive," is all he says. "I don't want her dead. Why do you think I'd bring her out for you to kill?"

Father doesn't deny his intentions. "Family over drinking buddies. She hunted you for centuries and still isn't exactly a ray of sunshine. But you've always had me, haven't you? Mizuchi misses you. Time to come home."

"Maybe I don't want to go home."

Father laughs, loud and bright in the stillness of the night. "Of course you do," he says with the heavy finality of knowing, and Yato hates that he's seen down to that little piece of Yaboku still trapped somewhere deep down inside him. "Anyway, who else is going to help me? You did a brilliant job taking care of Ebisu for me!"

Yato hates the way his heart lifts and flutters at the praise. He positively basks in even such a little thing—a thing he isn't even proud of.

The child inside him will always want his father to be proud of him, and he hates himself for it.

The guilt quells that sick flutter of hope as quickly as it comes, because he is still horrified but what happened to Ebisu and the part he played in it.

"I didn't want him dead either," he says harshly. "I don't–"

"You're such a good child," Father says, sickly sweet. He smiles, and his eyes seem to glow in the moonlight. "Your rebellious phase has gone on for a bit too long this time, but I can forgive that. Do me a favor and you can come home and we'll forget this ever happened. You can even bring your kid with you. We'll be one big happy family again."

For one brief, traitorous moment Yato lets himself imagine it, going home with his father and his sister and his kid. He imagines them eating dinner around the table and sharing stories and laughter, going out on adventures, whispering "I love you's" in the dark.

He knows it's a lie. That was never the kind of family he had, not even in the better times.

"I don't want Yukine anywhere near our family."

"You've changed as you've grown up." Father gives him a sidelong, considering look, eyes glittering faintly in the dark. Yato looks back at the ground and slips around the corner and wishes he was in his bed. "Maybe I was too hard on you when you started rebelling. I know things went a little too far and you aren't happy with it anymore. But once we neutralize the threat of Bishamon and the heavens, we'll be free to build our own life again. We can change things to be better. I'm willing to work with you and do things your way this time. Once you do this for me, nothing will stand in the way, and you can bring your Yukine home with you and we'll make some improvements and be happy together."

It's a lie. He's never going to change. He's just manipulating you again.

Yato looks over despite the voices clamoring in his head, hoping his eyes don't show how fragile he feels. Father smiles a little, one corner of his mouth lifting upwards like he knows he's won.

"Father…" Yato's voice is weak, uncertain. Wavering.

It's scary how much he wants to buy into this lie.

"Good boy, Yaboku," Father says with that smile.

"I hate you," Yato whispers in a thin voice.

Father's smile widens. "You love me," he says with confidence.

Yato doesn't know how it's possible to both hate and love the same person so much, to the point where the snarled knot of emotion is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in his chest. The pain and pleasure, grief and hope, disgust and longing, hate and love are too much for one body to contain, especially one as small as Yato's, and it's tearing him apart from the inside out. Why can't he just let go?

"Won't you help me?" Father asks.

One word escapes Yato's lips in a breathy exhale: "Yes."

It's sick, the way Father's delighted grin makes his heart lift. It's so wrong that he is so desperate for the love of a man he hates so much, a man who has spent centuries dreaming up new ways to torture him and has forced him to do unspeakable things. But this is his father, the only father he has, and he wants… He wants…

"Wonderful," Father says. He reaches out, warm fingers cupping Yato's cheek, and they draw to a stop in the middle of the street. Yato leans into the touch automatically, even when his brain is screaming for him to run and never look back. He's so exhausted and broken and lonely, and he wants his father to care. To pull him into a hug and say it's going to be okay, even if it's all a lie. "You don't look well. Stressed out, huh? Get some sleep, kiddo. Things will be better, you'll see."

Yato wants to cry when Father pulls his hand away. For a second, it felt…

He doesn't love you. Never has and never will. Don't keep trying to win affection from someone who's never going to love you back.

How pathetic.

"Well, I'll see you and Bishamon soon!" Father says brightly. "Do try to hurry. The sooner we take care of it, the better."

And then he's gone, disappearing into the night as abruptly as he had come. Yato stands there, alone, in the middle of the street and stares out at the shadows lurking between the darkened houses.

He feels small and alone, sick to his stomach and broken. It feels like he has just made a deal with the devil. What has he done?

The night has grown teeth, and he returns to his prison even though it's still much too small and suffocating. He's even more restless than before and knows he won't sleep even if he tries, so he slides the window open. A gust of frigid wind sweeps in to tangle in his hair and trail a frozen touch along his skin, and the winter chill seeps into the air and settles into the dark corners of the room, slowly filling it up. He shivers just a little. He had barely noticed the chill outside, too absorbed in his own thoughts and Father's visit, but now he notices just enough to lead his feet over to the other futon, where Yukine lies asleep.

The boy twitches, brows drawing together, and Yato leans down to pull the covers back up to his chin. After half a second of consideration, he pulls the blankets from his own bed and carefully drapes them over Yukine as well, tucking the child in as best he can to shield him from the cold.

He lingers there for a long time, crouched beside the sleeping child illuminated by the glow of his lamp. He reaches out, hesitates, and softly brushes a few strands of unruly blond hair away from Yukine's face, trailing his fingers lightly across his kid's forehead and down his cheek. The shinki stirs ever so slightly, sighing in his sleep, and snuggles down into the blankets.

A faint smile ghosts over Yato's face for the briefest of seconds. He wonders if Yukine knows how much he loves him, even after such a short time together. If he knows that Yato means every gesture of affection and feels all the fierce pride he expresses. It sure would be a tragedy if Yukine was love-starved too.

Yato stands and drifts across the room again to hop up on the windowsill with one leg folded underneath him and the other bent at the knee. He wraps his arms around his bent knee before folding over to rest his cheek against it as he blinks out blankly at the darkness cloaking the streets.

He doesn't want to kill Bishamon. Crazy bitch or not, he's grown a bit fond of her. And even if he hadn't, killing lost its charm centuries ago. That's something he only does for Father now, whether it's because he has no choice or is used to following orders or is just obsessively seeking the pride and love he craves.

Yukine won't want him to kill either, and he has to consider Yukine now. Going against his guidepost's wishes isn't something he should do lightly. Yukine and Hiyori have put so much faith in him, believing he can change and supporting him along the way. He doesn't want to betray that.

Father is…not someone Yato should want anything to do with. He is cruel and manipulative and cunning. He has threatened Yato's friends and taught him the cruelest lessons and forced him to kill again and again and again. He is, quite truthfully, a horrible person.

Why should Yato want a person like that to care about him? The things he would have to do to win Father's approval would be horrific. They would be things that would chip away at his pride and love for himself, and why should he sacrifice his own sense of self-worth for someone who certainly isn't worth it?

But there's still that piece of him buried deep down in the darkest corner of his soul, the one that always keeps him coming back again and again and again. More than the fear and the threats, it's the threadbare promise of a family, of love and belonging, that lures him back like a moth to the flame every time. It has been a thousand years, and some part of him is still a broken, twisted child tugging at his father's sleeve and whispering 'love me'.

He is absolutely, utterly pathetic.

He watches the rosy hues of dawn bathe the world outside the window and then brighten to gray morning light and hears Yukine stirring in his blankets and still hasn't decided what he should do. He's wavering. He needs to make a decision and fast.

"What are you doing?" Yukine asks groggily. A strangled sound escapes his lips as he says, "It's freezing in here! How are you not freezing? Close the window!"

Yato has gone numb a long time ago, blind to the faint clicking of his chattering teeth and the shivers running along his skin, but the cold has settled into his bones like a soul-deep ache. His limbs are stiff as he slowly unfolds them and slides off the ledge so that he can close the window. He stretches out the kinks in muscles tight and achy with cold and disuse and turns to Yukine with a smile he isn't feeling.

"'Morning," he says, because he can't justify calling it a good one.

The kid has the blankets pulled tight around him and huddles down into them with only half his face peeking out. He's looking quite irritated with Yato's thoughtlessness, but slowly his brows draw together and his eyes flicker with concern.

"Are you still not sleeping?" he asks, and Yato hadn't realized the kid had noticed his recent insomnia. "You aren't looking so good."

"Awww, are you worried about me?" Yato coos with some flicker of his normal mischief. He is supposed to be strong, he has to be strong for this child, and he can't afford to fall apart now. "That's sweet. I love you too!"

"Of course not!" Yukine turns bright red and averts his gaze and pulls the blankets up over his nose as he glares at the floor. "That's not what I said! Who would love you?"

Yato's smile softens to something melancholy and resigned, even though he knows it's the kid's embarrassment talking rather than his heart.

Yeah, who would?

A decision crystallizes in his mind, sharp and cutting as broken glass.

"Get up, kiddo. We need to go have a chat with Bishamon."

Note: Child abuse is honestly one of the saddest things ever, and it's such a big problem. You can really mess people up like that :/