Father Christmas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
father_chris) wrote2012-10-30 09:33 pm
father_chris) wrote2012-10-30 09:33 pm
(no subject)
The letters slowly trickle in. A lot of them are strange, as they usually are this early in the proceedings. Drunks, stoned people, and kids from troubled backgrounds. He's supposed to just put them in a bag and send them to the Elf Ministry, but now and again, one catches his attention.
'Dear Father Christmas,
I don't want any toys this year, all I want is for my sixteen year old brother to come home. Our stepdad kicked him out, and I think he's on the streets, and I'm scared. The police wouldn't look for him but I know you can find any child in the world. His name is Owen Baker, he's about five foot ten, with brown hair. He's most likely in Leicester.
Please help,
Millie Baker.'
Chris sighs. And then, goes over to a cupboard and gets out a large snowglobe, which he shakes, causing a map to appear. Of course, he can find people, if they've ever written to him, or would have written to him. It's easier if they leave him a proper address, or some other way of tracking them down.
He shouldn't really be using it for this, he knows. But Leicester isn't all that far.
He finds twelve Owen Bakers. He eliminates the ones that aren't sixteen, which leaves only two. One is in Wales, the other in Leicester. He zooms in on the Leicester one, and the face of a terrified boy appears, surrounded by what appears to be a gang of muggers.
"Oh, bloomin' 'eck." Father Christmas grabs his coat. There isn't time for the sled or even his motorbike; he calls the nearest reindeer, and climbs on via the stepladder. Donna VIII makes a rather disgruntled noise, but charges off into the night.
Five minutes later, they land a street away. He tethers the reindeer to a wheelie bin and runs towards the commotion. Heroics are definitely not in his job description.
"Oi! Put that kid down!"
It doesn't look like they're especially scared. He can tell this by the fact that they jump him instead.
"Oh man, are you okay?"
Father Christmas opens his eyes. The frightened teenager is poking him.
"Do you need like an ambulance or something?"
Chris sits up. He feels like he's going to have a black eye in the morning.
"That was totally cool." Owen continues. "The way you stamped 'Naughty' onto that guy's face, and hit the other one with the giant book... I mean, seriously, thanks. Are you like... some sort of super hero?"
"No... Did they hurt you?"
"A bit." Owen admits.
He doesn't let the lad argue, when they head to the hospital. Owen double-takes when they collect the reindeer, but doesn't ask as many questions as he might.
"You're him, aren't you?" he asks eventually. "You're the real Father Christmas..."
Chris sighs. "Yeah. You can't tell anyone, all right? I'll get in a lot of trouble."
"Why?"
"Because your sister wrote me a letter. I ain't meant to track down missing kids but you were so close... and then I saw the muggers on me tracker." Chris glances at Owen. "Ain't you got anywhere to go? A mate's house?"
Owen shakes his head.
He asks at the hospital if there's anywhere for the boy to go, but Owen's over sixteen, and nobody is interested.
"Well, I tried." He sits next to the teenager in the waiting room.
"Thanks Mr Christmas."
"Chris is fine." Father Christmas sighs. "Hey kid, you got any bad habits? Light finger? Drugs? Gossip mouth?"
"Not really." Owen says. "I get into a lot of fights with my stepdad."
"Well, I've got a spare room, you could kip there tonight and we can go and see your mum tomorrow. If you're not too weirded out by hanging out with a personification of a public holiday. You got to keep quiet about that bit though, or you'll get me into all sorts of trouble. And if the Elf Inspector turns up, you got to hide."
"I will totally not let you down." Owen says.
"Too bloomin' right you won't!"
"Thanks man."
It's just one night. He tells himself, as he heads to bed.
But he knows.
When you become Father Christmas, you can't tell anyone, unless they get involved too. And if anyone guesses, you have to clear off, sharpish, wherever you are. Even postmen can be a problem. And truth be told, it's lonely. Sure, he's the jolly fat man in the pub, but that's as much socialising as he can do.
And if he gets fired, he's not even sure he could go back to his old life. Does it even exist? The only people who have stayed with him since before he because Father Christmas are a couple of family members. Would all the aging he's cheated over the years catch up with him at once, killing him instantly?
It's just one night. He'll work out what to do tomorrow.
'Dear Father Christmas,
I don't want any toys this year, all I want is for my sixteen year old brother to come home. Our stepdad kicked him out, and I think he's on the streets, and I'm scared. The police wouldn't look for him but I know you can find any child in the world. His name is Owen Baker, he's about five foot ten, with brown hair. He's most likely in Leicester.
Please help,
Millie Baker.'
Chris sighs. And then, goes over to a cupboard and gets out a large snowglobe, which he shakes, causing a map to appear. Of course, he can find people, if they've ever written to him, or would have written to him. It's easier if they leave him a proper address, or some other way of tracking them down.
He shouldn't really be using it for this, he knows. But Leicester isn't all that far.
He finds twelve Owen Bakers. He eliminates the ones that aren't sixteen, which leaves only two. One is in Wales, the other in Leicester. He zooms in on the Leicester one, and the face of a terrified boy appears, surrounded by what appears to be a gang of muggers.
"Oh, bloomin' 'eck." Father Christmas grabs his coat. There isn't time for the sled or even his motorbike; he calls the nearest reindeer, and climbs on via the stepladder. Donna VIII makes a rather disgruntled noise, but charges off into the night.
Five minutes later, they land a street away. He tethers the reindeer to a wheelie bin and runs towards the commotion. Heroics are definitely not in his job description.
"Oi! Put that kid down!"
It doesn't look like they're especially scared. He can tell this by the fact that they jump him instead.
"Oh man, are you okay?"
Father Christmas opens his eyes. The frightened teenager is poking him.
"Do you need like an ambulance or something?"
Chris sits up. He feels like he's going to have a black eye in the morning.
"That was totally cool." Owen continues. "The way you stamped 'Naughty' onto that guy's face, and hit the other one with the giant book... I mean, seriously, thanks. Are you like... some sort of super hero?"
"No... Did they hurt you?"
"A bit." Owen admits.
He doesn't let the lad argue, when they head to the hospital. Owen double-takes when they collect the reindeer, but doesn't ask as many questions as he might.
"You're him, aren't you?" he asks eventually. "You're the real Father Christmas..."
Chris sighs. "Yeah. You can't tell anyone, all right? I'll get in a lot of trouble."
"Why?"
"Because your sister wrote me a letter. I ain't meant to track down missing kids but you were so close... and then I saw the muggers on me tracker." Chris glances at Owen. "Ain't you got anywhere to go? A mate's house?"
Owen shakes his head.
He asks at the hospital if there's anywhere for the boy to go, but Owen's over sixteen, and nobody is interested.
"Well, I tried." He sits next to the teenager in the waiting room.
"Thanks Mr Christmas."
"Chris is fine." Father Christmas sighs. "Hey kid, you got any bad habits? Light finger? Drugs? Gossip mouth?"
"Not really." Owen says. "I get into a lot of fights with my stepdad."
"Well, I've got a spare room, you could kip there tonight and we can go and see your mum tomorrow. If you're not too weirded out by hanging out with a personification of a public holiday. You got to keep quiet about that bit though, or you'll get me into all sorts of trouble. And if the Elf Inspector turns up, you got to hide."
"I will totally not let you down." Owen says.
"Too bloomin' right you won't!"
"Thanks man."
It's just one night. He tells himself, as he heads to bed.
But he knows.
When you become Father Christmas, you can't tell anyone, unless they get involved too. And if anyone guesses, you have to clear off, sharpish, wherever you are. Even postmen can be a problem. And truth be told, it's lonely. Sure, he's the jolly fat man in the pub, but that's as much socialising as he can do.
And if he gets fired, he's not even sure he could go back to his old life. Does it even exist? The only people who have stayed with him since before he because Father Christmas are a couple of family members. Would all the aging he's cheated over the years catch up with him at once, killing him instantly?
It's just one night. He'll work out what to do tomorrow.