The croaking toads should lull him to sleep, this night. Always, the peepers and the crickets sang for him this way. Being grateful was enough. Kitaro was an appreciative person. To dwell so comfortably in a forest all his own and away from the troubles of the world was a luxury most fulfilled only in escapist dreams of pretend. Away from the bulging economic bubble, the abusive and ever-scapegoating education system, the rugged untenable forces of capitalism, and the homogeneous erasure of any individualist sticking his neck out too far; he was living the life. As any good ghost would, should society strike down that proverbial hammer, he should go right on through.

It wasn't suspicious for a secluded boy such as himself to stay up late when he had no obligation to rise early. He kept friends with things that lurked in the dark, so he never gave Medama-Oyaji any troubles before. Kitaro was a special boy, obedient and disciplined as far as his father's standards had any say. He forced no societal expectations on his son. It was a normal expectation, rather, for the last of his blood to merge with the peepers and play. Conducting melodies, leap frog, dancing among the leaves...all was truly precious to behold.

In truth, his modest son could be a rowdy child, and age hadn't stopped him. His inner child was just as vibrant as it had been many decades ago, so his father thought. Yet he sometimes wondered. "Kitaro, do you wish your mother was here?"

In his warm bed of leaves, Kitaro stilled at the sound of his father's concerned voice. "I have you, Father. I have you and Sunakake," He might have missed a beat, but he left little indication that it upset him. His fingers wrapped around the tiny body of his father and pulled him to his chest, where the old man proceeded to crawl into the space under his jaw. "I am a very fortunate person to have a father that thinks about me all the time."

"Oh, my sweet little boy," Medama-Oyaji murmured, utterly overwhelmed. It was always like this. Kitaro never had anything else to say. Prodding him for more wasn't something his father felt he could justify, especially not when the previously lethargic boy looked at him so adoringly. Pressing his palm up and onto his one and only son's cheek, Medama-Oyaji counted it as a blessing. At least Kitaro didn't look as if he had no will to live anymore. At least he wasn't outright saying so, either. In fact, a smile worked it's way up his boy's lips and he breathed a soft giggle. It was a muted sound, as if the laughter he shared was a secret he only meant to share with his old man. Medama-Oyaji was not fooled this time. He thought he knew Kitaro well, but he couldn't assume to analyse or understand everything.

He didn't need to pry into his every thought just to reassure that he loved his son. Nevertheless, the burdens that locked Kitaro's body in bed didn't stop him from nuzzling the eyeball nestled against his neck. Between the two of them exchanging reassurances, Medama-Oyaji worried that Kitaro had the propensity to deliver more.

Medama-Oyaji wished he could hold the insistent boy's weight, bundle it in his arms; kiss his son's temple goodnight, and embrace him until the crows squawk into the afternoon, and the root headed rat chews on their porch. He would snap at the trickster and proceed to prepare a bath for Kitaro, shampooing and scratching all the itchy spots on his scalp. This was not to be unfortunately, not in his prone body. Instead, the boy held and pampered him, insisting that there was nothing more in the world he could possibly want. Medama-Oyaji let him be, concerned with providing Kitaro enough space to himself.

Watching the boy endure so much loneliness and bottle up his heart evoked this unfathomable grief within Medama-Oyaji, however. Over time, the more he awaited his son's approach, the more he assumed. "Don't be sad, Father. I'm happy with you. I'm so warm and snug."

That was a lie, or an exaggeration. Medama-Oyaji knew his body was clammy, but for his own sake the child was compensating. He barely possessed a body to cuddle with, and no one has to consider an eyeball as an option. No one but Kitaro. "I want you to be. I want to romp with you and wrestle all that energy out of you, so that the next time you're like this, it's because you've released every uncomfortable feeling you've stored inside."

Hidden under his auburn hair, sensitive ears attuned to the fretful words of his old man. Kitaro paused, the slight movement of his smile frozen in thought. Just when Medama-Oyaji thought he had no other insistence, Kitaro answered. "You already do. I enjoy when we lie together like this. This is enough, just the way it is. This is wonderful, living with barely a care in the world. I'm not human, and I'm much older, so I don't need to be indulged more than I am."

"I am not even half human, and I dream about delights such as that. Don't you want more of that? Have you truly never thought about curling up close to someone bigger, someone who could kiss your cheek and sing you to sleep?" Medama-Oyaji inquired, scooting back on his buttocks so he could study any changes on Kitaro's face. It seemed that the conversation was finally proceeding. They had run in circles for many years like this, and both of them had infinite time to internalize blame.

"I have," Conceded the boy truthfully, cheeks dusted by a faint glow. He remembered the tingles he received from Neko-Musume's kiss, the shudders he felt when a woman held him close and sang him to sleep. That woman had been his mom as well. He had lost two mothers to death and Hell, and mortality of which he never had to understand.

"What kind of dreams are they, Kitaro? Could you tell me one day?" The question was meant to sound patient, but it probably wasn't heard as he intended it to. As Kitaro languidly sat up, Medama-Oyaji slid down into his waiting palm. The slow hiss his child made wasn't moody so much as a form of panning out the conversation.

Stretching one arm over his head, Kitaro began to recount the images and thoughts he'd so readily denied. "They're memories. Some I've not spoken of much. Sometimes remembering it one way is too dull, so I reinvent it."

Kitaro wasn't comfortable confiding in everything to him. Perhaps not to anyone, for this was a personal matter one didn't just talk about. He listened without interruption and watched as his son began to massage the back of his own neck. Rather than prod him with more questions, Medama-Oyaji merely nodded gravely for him to continue as he wished, if he wished. Kitaro was reluctantly willing to have this conversation, though readiness was lost to him.

"I didn't forgive the Shinigami. Not really. I let him go because I couldn't stand to see him anymore. I wanted him to pay for killing my first mother. She cooked a meal for me, held me, rubbed my head, and even let me sleep by her side. She sang to me and cried for me. She sacrificed her life all for me. Gave up on finding her son again for me. I felt so loved that I couldn't contain how happy it made me. I was overindulged and let my guard down..."

"She was planning to kill you, son. There's nothing for you to be guilty about. I doubt you replaced her son, either, but think of it like she found what she was looking for, if not who," Medama-Oyaji broached in a tender voice, sagacious and solicitous at once. He stroked the base of Kitaro's finger to substitute kneading his shoulder, craving to play the nurturing role of the parent he dreamed to be. "If I'd only been there for you..."

With a noise of dissent, Kitaro shook his head. His wrinkled eye was beginning to blur, and he made little effort to fight it, but it was a waste of energy. "I'm too old to be so naive. I should have listened to my gut. I trusted Nezumi-Otoko too soon, even knowing how he is. I went above and beyond my reach, expecting more from his intentions. Just like Yamada. Innocent people died because I trusted in his change of heart. All because I felt how empty they are."

Another instance he'd left Kitaro all to himself. Medama-Oyaji suppressed a sigh for his weepy eyed son. If only he were there, Kitaro might not blame himself so resolutely. Squeezing the finger he'd caressed, Medama-Oyaji shushed him. It wasn't in order to silence the things he had to say, but to assuage the raw exposure of his heart. "Kitaro, there are beings in this world that only desire for themselves. Even if that means snuffing out others in the process. You're a bright boy with the biggest heart I've ever seen. It doesn't matter how old you are, you have every reason to let out those feelings without being ashamed. Your patience is eating you from the inside."

Tears dampened Kitaro's sleeve as he rubbed his wet eye and wept tacitly. "I wanted to beat him. Every time I remember his sorry face, I want to cave it in with my fist. I resent him. Why can't I forgive him? An innocent person wouldn't be so monstrous and scary."

"Oh, Kitaro...you're my adorable, mischievous little rascal. Sometimes you were a big, ungainly rascal. Who knew you could be dramatic, after all? It's fine for you to be impish, but it's also fine to be angry and sad. You can't just put off anger like you can homework," Recounting a time he unknowingly rejected his crying son, Medama-Oyaji arranged apologetic words in his mind. "It must have been so difficult for you, but you kept it all under control for so long. You're my pride and joy, and I just hope you don't commit our reactions so close to your heart. I'm so sorry, my son. I wish I had noticed sooner. I wish I had taken the trip with you. You'll always be my son, whether you remain as you are or grow into a man."

A serene little gasp filled Kitaro's lungs as he absorbed his father's aweless, smitten gaze. "What…what are you talking about? Daaad!"

An overturned smile of sorts altered Medama-Oyaji's pupil as he reached out and pinched handfuls of Kitaro's nose, startling an unsteady snort out of him. "I've had you all to myself for so long, I never liked considering that you needed to go out on your own…"

Bemused by such grievous words contrasting his father's playful, mushy chuckles, Kitaro gingerly plucked the diminutive man from his face with a nigh involuntary grin mashing his teeth together. He hid half of his face in the leaves, suddenly bashful from all the doting attention he was getting. His cheeks were beginning to hurt, but Kitaro could only add more pressure to his jaw, following a grimace.

"Kitaro, I think it's time for you to stop suppressing your will to love," Medama-Oyaji continued without his usual mercy, "I'm not going to rush you, but those girls will need an answer from you someday. Yumeko-chan won't be a little girl forever, and Neko-Musume has been more than willing to fulfill your needs."

"Dad, I'm not…!"

"You're not what?" Medama-Oyaji ribbed affectionately, admiring Kitaro's tussled hair as the boy curled up on his side apprehensively, fingers still gently holding the small eyeball. "Not my smooth talking little lady-killer? I won't have you becoming a deviate for real, now. Just because you haven't had a maternal figure introduce you to the female world doesn't mean you're doomed to be alone eternally."

Kitaro discreetly drilled the pad of his thumb into his father's stomach to rebuke his taunts. He could hardly believe his father was challenging their cozy way of life, how they'd lived for many years. To suggest such a change was unheard of. It was against everything the both of them told themselves. Yokai and humans needed boundaries.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Kitaro chided ineloquently, a familiarly fiendish gleam refracting his eye as his face burned.

"Ki-Kitaro! That isn't fair, taking advantage of your father's weakness!" The tiny eyeball guffawed, kicking off his twitchy energy. The wicked spark Kitaro had faded quickly, replaced with meek warmth as he poked the eye with his finger.

"Sorry, Dad…I couldn't stop myself," He sighed contentedly, rolling over on his stomach to stretch his arms and palm out so he could rest his head on the heel of his free hand and watch his father recover. "I'm not used to all of that teasing at once."

"Ooh…I wish I could kiss and eat you all up like Sunakake-Babaa threatens to," Medama-Oyaji pouted. It was truly unfair that he couldn't envelop the boy in his arms or toss him around. Kitaro barely received the attention from his father that the old man wanted to give. It was something that he accepted on his best days, but on nights like this it seemed so close yet so far.

"That's excessive and you know it," Kitaro giggled under his breath, tingles washing over his skull in waves. He tried to be happy with the sentiment alone. "I'm no glutton for punishment. Blech…"

"Oh, feeling rude since we're alone, are we?" Medama-Oyaji shook his eyeball in the same manner one would their head. Pretending he wasn't lonely and was detached from a lot of childish desires was so like Kitaro. Medama-Oyaji had hoped he could get the boy to talk about it on his own accord, but he was coming just too short. "Don't come crying for my help once you get your just desserts."

Hiding his smile behind his hand, the boy mumbled, "I won't need to."

"Is that so? Need I go and give Neko-Musume my blessing? Even she has grown partial to life outside these days," Medama-Oyaji tutted at his child's covert orneriness. The tease was to humorous effect, Kitaro worrying his eyebrows as if uncomfortable.

"I don't want things to change between everyone…I would feel bad if we couldn't all be friends anymore," Kitaro said mildly, averting his eye to look up at the cieling.

Medama-Oyaji was for once in tune with his son's tone, and opted out of more teasing. Clearing his throat, he imparted, "Kitaro…I think it's best for me to give you some advice. Would you hear me out, son?"

Unable to contain his surprise, Kitaro stuttered, "Y-yes, Father. Of course."

"Everything you want is behind your fear. I won't tell you to make a quick decision, but there will come a time you will want to communicate what you want clearly to those girls, for everyone's sake. Those two aren't possessing the same mentality when they seek attention from you. Yumeko-chan is much younger than you both and will likely grow out of her romanticization of you eventually. As you are now, you're both worlds apart and integrating into society is something you reject. Unless you change your mind and your way of life, I don't think either of you will be very happy," Medama-Oyaji prudently expressed, regarding Kitaro's reaction with care.

Kitaro's silence was unmistakably disheartened, but he would always listen to his father without interruption. He knew what his father would say if he admitted to his private feelings, and he doubted he could hide them from his own father forever. He'd still hoped they weren't obvious. The old man continued, "Human life is transient, you're well aware. You may harbor some sort of feelings for her, but I don't think you could be happy with yourself if you brought her in too deep, nor do I think you wish to discard your roots. I'd done some serious thinking, and I am prepared to release you from your eternity if that is what you wish. You will always be my son, whether you are a human or a yokai. If you change your mind and don't have the resolve, however, I can't promise you things will ever be the same. I worried a lot about whether or not you'd regret it forever."

"Dad…Yumeko-chan is more like a cute granddaughter to me," Kitaro blushed, attempting to mask his confusion without much merit. "I really don't need a girlfriend, anyway. I'm happy the way I live now."

"Maybe so, but I think it couldn't hurt for you to get closer to girls. There's no shame in thinking about them. I am more than happy to be a constant in your life. I'd give my life and anything for you so that you can be happy, but there are some things I can't provide. Your mother would want you to grow, I think. I don't want you to hurt yourself keeping things the same. I won't say you need to jump into a relationship or anything of the sort, but I do think you need to stop avoiding those two. Especially Neko-Musume. There's no telling how long that girl's been dedicated to you, and you wouldn't want to take advantage of her patience. Not as a friend or as a man."

A cold iceberg seemed to crash down Kitaro's spine. Guilt was crawling up his gut and squeezing mercilessly. Both Yumeko and Neko-Musume would wait to the ends of Hell for him, he knew. In craving attention and grieving his life without his mother, he had been taking advantage of their infatuation. Worse, he was quite dishonest and dodgy about the whole thing. Maybe his father was right and he did need to grow up a little. He didn't think he was quite attracted to Neko-Musume, but still…how could he make his friend wait so long? He never could put into words why it made him so uncomfortable when they fought for his attention, almost as if it was for sport.

Still, he wasn't an innocent party either. He would be better to Yumeko and respect her age with new insights, but first he would have to muster up the bravery to apologize to Neko for being so insensitive. It wasn't as if he was the most handsome guy around himself, and he hated to think that he might have been too rude on occasion. Almost speechless, Kitaro spluttered out, "Th-thank you for the advice, Dad…"

Patting his knee, Medama-Oyaji stood in Kitaro's palm. The boy's arm had slackened that he could notice, but he couldn't be any prouder. "You're only little more than a human, Kitaro. That doesn't absolve you or me from mistakes, but you have your mother's heart. Don't be ashamed of putting it to use, and don't hide it away. There's no change that you can't handle. Believe in your strengths like those girls do."

Kitaro nodded earnestly, deeply appreciative of the confidence boost he sorely needed. "Yes, Father. I'm grateful for your unparalleled wisdom."

"There you go, blandishing again. My tricky, one and only son."

"Sorry, sorry…I'll make up for it with some tea, all right?"

Author's Note:

This fic was something I started a long time ago then cleaned up to post on AO3. I had Mutual Arising in mind as a parallel so that I could finish this. It's sad to think about, but this is my non-apology for depicting Medama-Oyaji and Kitaro falling out, since their relationship is seemingly so sacred. I don't really know, quiet fandom and all. The 80's Kitaro series is one of my guilty pleasures. I don't like some aspects of it to the point of using those feelings to reframe some alternate events in my own mashup retelling/continuation of Hakaba Kitaro. One thing I really like about the 80's series is that Toda-Kitaro is the feistiest depiction of Kitaro I've seen, and has untapped potential with all his anger. He really gets a kick out of fighting off malevolent yokai reminiscent of Hakaba's own sadism, even if Toda isn't quite the karmic killer Hakaba is and has so much more physical prowess.

I don't have much inspiration to write much pertaining to the 80's series that wouldn't work in a more ambitious Hakaba project, but I did write this sweet little interaction because there's such a drought of GeGeGe no Kitaro fanfiction and it's sad there's nothing specific with these two. I reckon there's a lot of canon content spawning several generations, but it's still nice to see people indulge, so I thought I'd indulge them with Toda-Kitaro finally opening up to his dad.

This is partly a cultural thing but whenever Kitaro is depicted to shoulder everything by himself it has this aspect of taking too long to conclude itself or never reaching that moment (I'm looking at you, 2018 reboot). I'm not particularly a fan of love triangles, myself, but honestly the 80's series, at least when you look at Kitaro's situation and not the rest of the cast, are much more innocent than all the pressuring that's going on in GeGeGe no Kitaro 2018-2020's filler. I make no promises to delve into 2018's scenario but it does occupy my mind sometimes.