Hope you enjoy!

TRUE CROSS ACADEMY - EASTERN COURTYARD

It was in the early hours of the evening that Shiro managed to complete all his work. Outside, a warm golden hue had spread across the sky as the last few rays of sunlight slowly snuck under the horizon. Shiro stepped out into the courtyard once he finished dropping off all his paperwork. He stretched out his arms, working out the hard, tense kinks that had settled on his shoulders and neck. The long hours spent bent over his desk had taken a toll on him. He wished he had the time to take a quiet, leisurely stroll or go out for a drink. After all that hard work, he felt more than tempted to slack off, even for just a little bit. Alas, after taking a quick glance at his wristwatch, Shiro knew he could not procrastinate for long—so he settled for a simpler pleasure instead.

The wind was like a cool sigh against his skin as Shiro rode his motorcycle down the long, winding path from True Cross' residential area and towards the southern gate. The streets were ghost-quiet; there were only a handful of people still milling about, most probably heading back home. Shiro gave a short wave to a pair of known faces as he drove past them, sparing a faint thought to his growling stomach as he eyed the grocery bags dangling from their fingers. Soon, he reached the expressway, and the moment he was on the wide open road, Shiro pushed his foot down on the pedal. All thoughts fled his mind then—only a euphoria-filled grin remained as the miles sped away beneath the black wheels of his motorcycle.

Ah… I've missed this.

It had been a couple of months since he'd had the pleasure of taking his baby out for a ride. There was nothing as liberating as the feeling of the wind buffeting against his face and the loud rumble that resonated between his thighs all the way to the center of his chest. Shiro often liked to unwind like this, especially on a long, hard day; though it was getting harder and harder these days to find time for himself. Putting the recent incidents aside, Mephisto somehow kept finding ways to put more and more work into his plate as of late. If it wasn't additional duties at the Academy, then it was a mission in Greece, Tibet, Argentina... The sneaky demon was a slavedriver through and through.

"Oh? But you benefit well from my little requests, don't you~?"

Shiro revved up the engine and purposely drowned out the little traitorous voice in the back of his head. Although he was taking the scenic route, the destination ahead was not exactly far, and Shiro hardly wanted to spend his alone time thinking about even more work. He let his mind quiet down into a calm buzz as he stared ahead into the distance, watching the clouds bleed into a dark rosy pink as the sky continued to darken.

By the time he finally drove back into the city roads, a chill had settled into his skin, and the diamond-bright stars in the sky dimmed amidst the city's nightlife. Shiro was forced to slow down as he entered the more trafficked areas. His stomach helpfully reminded him that he had yet to eat as he, not for the first time, drove past a familiar bakery whose bright green "WELCOME OPEN" sign had been flipped around to read "CLOSED SEE YOU".

The little shop had only been open for four months and was already incredibly popular, according to a certain demon. Unfortunately, Shiro had yet to have the pleasure of stopping by just yet. Despite not being a huge fan of sweets, Mephisto had assured him this place made a mean dark chocolate lava cake worth dying for, and he'd had the craving to test out that claim since then. Perhaps after this mission, he'd finally have the opportunity to check it out.

Something to look forward to at least, Shiro mused, with a self-deprecatingly grin that remained on his face as he parked his motorcycle outside the gate of the Southern Cross Boys' Monastery.

There was no one outside to greet him save for the soft whisper of the unkempt bushes dancing along with the wind. Shiro crossed the courtyard with an unhurried gait. The entrance door of the monastery creaked as he made his way inside.

"I'm back—" he called out before almost immediately tripping over a broom that had been left in the middle of the floor. Geez, Shiro thought, letting out a soft tch as he straightened it up against the nearest wall, but not before noticing a trail of wrinkled receipts littering the dim corridor that led to the kitchen.

Shiro's eyebrows rose. It had only been a few days since he had last been here, yet somehow the place had become a lot messier than he remembered. He followed the mess into the brightly-lit kitchen, only to let out a short huffed breath of amusement as he spotted three of his assistants slumped around the table, dozing off.

The kitchen was in much more of a disarray than what he'd seen of the rest of the place so far. There was a tall tower of dirty dishes piling up in the sink, next to a few recently cleaned baby bottles drying on the counter. On the table, there were several books—parenting books, Shiro realized as he took a closer glance—spread open, some of their pages already looking worn, foodstains covering the edges. Shiro understood the number of receipts when he saw the multitude of bags lined up on a not-so-straight line on the floor. More books, diapers, and formula powder were some of the many items that had been recently purchased.

A warm sense of fondness mixed with appreciation curled around Shiro's chest. His assistants had clearly been hard at work, diligently looking after their new charges. He winced sympathetically upon spotting the deep bags under their eyes, knowing they would have to put up with all of this without him for a little longer.

Not wanting to disturb their well-deserved rest, Shiro pilfered a small pair of dinner rolls from the basket in the counter before heading out of the kitchen. The sweet-savory bite was a welcome treat to his empty stomach. He took his time chewing through the soft bread, unsure of when he'd next have a chance to pick up some food. He was licking the crumbs off his fingers when he arrived to the twins' room.

The room was draped in shadows, dark save for the cheap pair of night lights that had been plugged into the walls. There had been some changes to the room in the short time he'd been gone. Shiro had only had enough time to build the crib for the kids before duty had called him away. Since then, a makeshift changing station had been created out of some linens and a foldable table Shiro had once spotted in their storage room. An old set of drawers, presumably still empty given all the items lingering in the kitchen, had moved in. There were even a couple of onesies, these brand new, hanging from the inside the half-opened closet.

Most curious of it all, however, were the protection seals that had been placed on the walls and windows of the room; Nagatomo's doing, Shiro suspected, knowing the man to be paranoid enough to take additional precautions like this despite the fact that the monastery lay atop blessed grounds.

Eventually, Shiro's eyes finally settled on the crib again. His heart skipped a drum-like beat as he took a daunted step closer to it, and then another. He held his breath as he peered down to watch the sleeping newborns.

It ached to see them, Yuri's absence a wound still too fresh in his heart. But Shiro was nothing if not masochistic. He drank in every inch of their faces, and he could almost picture Yuri was still here, holding them in her trembling arms.

"Looks like... this one's the quiet one, huh? He's… so pale… That cute wrinkle on his forehead... reminds me of you, you know…"

Her smile had been as radiant as it was heartbreaking.

"Yukio… It suits him, right? And this one'll be Rin."

She'd looked straight at him then, her gaze tired and pained, and even so just as warm as ever with an emotion he'd never dared to voice.

"I'd be happy if they both grow up and become just like you."

"Yeah, right," Shiro murmured under his breath. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

They really did look like normal children, all curled up together like that. It would be hard for anyone to look at them now and call them Satan's spawn. Rin, especially, no longer bathed in blue flames and screaming wild murder as he did at his birth, looked as innocent and fragile as any other newborn.

Shiro, of course, knew better.

What the hell did I get myself into?

Shiro ran his hand through his hair as the stress of the situation settled deep in his gut. It was not the first time he questioned his decisions. Of course, he didn't regret letting Yuri's children live; but bringing them home? He was hardly qualified to raise kids. His own upbringing had been lacking at best, traumatizing at worst. He'd been so filled with anger and spite for the entirety of his childhood… It was his sheer force of will to survive that carried him through most of the early parts of his life, and that resentment had left him cold, alone, unapproachable. It was Yuri's warm, stubborn persistence, the kind glow in her eyes, the gentleness in her smile, that had melted through Shiro's barriers.

He'd been lucky. But these kids? What did Shiro have to offer that could hold a candle to her? They'd know nothing about her, and he'd see her in their faces every day that lay ahead. But what other choice did they have?

"You could always leave them in my care…"

As if. Mephisto's offer had been tempting… As well as outright terrifying. Though the Demon King had become a close confidant, dare he even say friend, Shiro was not foolish enough to place the life of Yuri's children under Mephisto's calculating hands. He had no doubt the Demon King would influence them, one way or another, but Shiro vowed to himself to shield them from his manipulations and guide them as best as he could, for as long as he could. For Yuri's sake if no one else's.

Even so, he couldn't help but to dread what the future would bring for all of them.

"Father Fujimoto?"

Nagatomo's worn figure loomed over the doorway of the twins' room.

"Hey," Shiro greeted softly, stepping away from the crib. "Hope I didn't wake you. How's it been?"

The young man looked like he had been running himself ragged for days, a feeling that Shiro was intimately familiar with. Even so, Nagatomo's eyes held a feverish-bright look of vigilance that only melted as Shiro came closer.

"Well, it's not been too bad. The young one's been sleeping for the most part. But the other…" Nagatomo grimaced, and Shiro's eyes caught on to the forming bruise on his chin with concern.

"Did something happen?"

Nagatomo let out a long sigh of exhaustion. "There hasn't been a single sign of Satan's flame, but the kid's strength is absolutely monstrous."

"Sorry to leave you all to handle it without me," Shiro said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't think I would be summoned so soon."

"No, it's fine. Don't worry about it." Nagatomo was quick to reassure him, his voice still a faint hush. "I was just telling Kyodo-san earlier that the kid's really not unlike Shura, if you add on the possibility of breaking a few fingers."

Though there was nothing funny about the prospect, Shiro couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his lips.

"You guys have been an incredible help. Thank you," he said, placing his hand on Nagatomo's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

"Of course." Nagatomo flushed at the praise. "I'm just glad to see you back. We'd appreciate an extra pair of hands."

"About that..." Shiro eyed the dark bags under Nagatomo's eyes and felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. "I'm going to be gone for another week," he admitted, his voice apologetic. "Maybe even a little longer than that."

Nagatomo, always the trooper, visibly tried not show how disheartened he felt by that. "That long?"

"Yeah, well… I got promoted."

At that, Nagatomo's mouth dropped open. He blinked twice as he processed the news and then his entire face lit up. "Wow! That's—" he forced himself to keep his voice down, though the genuine excitement remained. "That's amazing! Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Shiro said with a crooked smile, though it did little to hide the worry still lingering in his eyes.

"...You don't look nearly as happy about it as I expected," Nagatomo prodded gently, picking up on his mood.

Whether because it had been a long day, or perhaps because this was Nagatomo, Shiro allowed himself a little honesty for once. "I'd be happier if the first task they dropped on my lap wasn't so monumentally—" dangerous, he thought, "—well, a pain in my ass," he finished with an annoyed tch.

His words, of course, immediately brought out Nagatomo's mother-hen tendencies. Shiro could read the worry on the other man's face as if it had been written with a bright red marker.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to look so worried."

"Then why do you?" Nagatomo pressed, without any demand in his voice, and Shiro didn't know how to answer that.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the younger exorcist asked instead when he realized this.

Shiro shook his head. "You're doing more than enough. Trust me." Coming here had shown him that he'd been right to leave Yuri's kids in the care of his assistants. It was this reassurance that had Shiro digging into his pocket for a letter he had prepared just before leaving the Academy. "I wrote some instructions here… Just in case I don't make it back. But don't open it unless that happens."

Nagatomo took the letter, holding it tight between his fingers. "You'll make it through. You always do," the younger man assured him, and the conviction in his voice really did put Shiro at ease.

"Heh. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Like you need it," Nagatomo said with a teasing lilt in his voice. "You've come a long way from being the Order's resident problem child, Father Fujimoto."

"Cheeky," Shiro let out a short bark of laughter. He hadn't heard that in a while. "And you've got a long way to go to catch up to me, Tomo-chan."

A small whine of complaint emerged from the crib, reminding Shiro to keep his voice down. It also brought his attention back to his wristwatch, which reminded him it was time to move on from here.

"Listen," Shiro said, resting his hand on Nagatomo's shoulder once more. "Thanks again. And say hi to the rest of them for me, will you? I've got to split."

"Sure thing," Nagatomo said, stepping out into the corridor to allow Shiro to walk past him. He watched the older exorcist's retreating back, and Shiro, feeling his gaze, paused for one last request, looking over his shoulder to meet Nagatomo's eyes.

"And hey… Take care of yourselves too, will you? Get some rest."

"...You too."

Of course, the moment Shiro stepped back outside, he wished he'd found an excuse to stick around the monastery for a little longer. There was one last thing on his to-do list for tonight, and he was not exactly eager to cross this one off.

Before any long-term missions, but especially in preparation for rituals such as the one he would be performing, exorcists were required to stop by the confessional and speak with a priest to relieve themselves of any lingering doubts or regrets that were weighing on them. Shiro had never seen much point in the routine. There were too many things in his history he was contractually bound from speaking of anyway, so he'd often made a joke out of the practice in his younger years, trading rude and callous words with whoever was the unfortunate soul on the other side of the screen. Over time, his embarrassing temperament had changed; which, of course, made the practice an entirely more awkward experience. As such, Shiro had made it his personal mission to avoid the confessional whenever he could. Even on the rare occasions he did have something weighing on his mind, he wasn't the type to pour his heart out to anyone, much less a stranger who knew nothing about him.

However, as the Grigori had so pointedly reminded him, Shiro had a duty to see through. He at least had to make the effort to show up.

He just… didn't want to do it just yet.

Wish I had more time to spare… Or maybe have a drink to really loosen my nerves...

And wasn't that a tempting thought. Shiro ran his hand down the leather seat of his motorcycle as he contemplated taking one last detour…

TRUE CROSS ACADEMY - JOHANN FAUST RESIDENCE

No matter how many times he made the trip, Mephisto's mansion always struck Shiro as gaudy. He supposed some people might find the extravagant decor elegant—Mephisto had once fruitlessly attempted to educate him on the fine details of its history and structure—but if Shiro didn't know any better, he'd say the clown was overcompensating for something.

Of course, the truth Shiro discovered was that neither the Italian marble floors, nor the vibrant and seasonally-handpicked flowers, nor the fine vases and rugs that had been acquired from many different parts of the world, were an intentional method of intimidation. There was no doubt that the Demon King was a showman through and through—but beneath all that also lay a hoarder in disguise.

Shiro supposed that with a mansion as exuberantly big as this, it would be a waste to leave any room bereft of Mephisto's innumerable collections. Shiro was sure he had yet to see the full extent of all of them, much less of this place. Not only was the size of it a challenge, but in addition, the tricky rooms of the house often traveled, either at the whim of their master, or of their own will; he wasn't sure which one it was yet.

As such, Shiro was disappointed that when he walked through the tall, stained glass doors of the mansion's entrance, Belial was not there to greet him.

"Great," Shiro grumbled as he slowly walked past the large copper vase in the center of the room, filled to the brim with a mix of white and butter-yellow daffodils. Though Belial was almost as ever-presently creepy as Mephisto, seemingly always aware of when Shiro was due to arrive, even when he wasn't invited, it wasn't uncommon for the demonic butler to be otherwise occupied by his Master's whims, and therefore unable to guide Shiro through the mansion.

Shiro stopped short in front of the pair of doors that ought to lead him straight to the foyer, where several grand staircases and a few more tricky doorways awaited him. Or, perhaps, if the doors were in a good mood, they would lead him straight to Mephisto's bedroom instead.

"It's really not as complicated as you make it ought to be. The house will always take you where you need to be, you know~ "

Shiro had yet to make sense of that statement, but he supposed there had to be some logic to this place that he'd yet to figure out. Given how short he was on time, however, Shiro had little patience nor desire to play around with the doorways. He held his breath as he closed his hand around the handle and prayed for the best—

A large, spacious room, as grandiose and extravagantly decorated as the rest of Mephisto's mansion awaited him beyond the door. There was a dazzling crystal chandelier right above the center of the room, and in the rightmost corner of the room, a sentient record player wiggled patiently as it awaited instruction.

It was the ballroom.

"Oh, come on," Shiro muttered under his breath. He took a step back and closed the doors with a bit of a slam. He wasted no time giving it another try.

This time, the doors led him to the kitchen instead. There were a couple of pots and pans floating above the sink, thick bubbly suds dripping from the edges. The cutlery was drying itself off and slipping back into their appropriate drawers. On the floor, Mephisto's favorite panda trash can was hopping after a pair of bananas that were peeling themselves bare; these, subsequently, were being cut into small slices that dove into the row of bento boxes lined up across the counter.

Shiro's eyebrow twitched in irritation, but the faint twinge of hunger in his stomach convinced him to step into the room to at least grab a snack. He grabbed a green apple from the fruit bowl with one hand while his other reached into his pocket.

There was a simpler solution to his problem.

Shiro flipped open his phone. A popup came up on his screen, but it disappeared just as quickly as he thumbed the OK button until the contact list came up, allowing him to dial Mephisto's number. His teeth dug into the crunchy exterior of his apple, the sour juices dripping from the corner of his lips as he listened to the line connecting.

"Hi~ Hi ~ Mephisto Pheles, here! Please leave a message after the—"

Shiro flipped his phone shut before the message could finish.

"Tch."

He eyed the doorway once more. For a brief moment, he wished he knew how to call over any of the other weird servants that he knew were always around… somewhere. Shiro had only once had the rare opportunity to meet the creepy mask-wearing weirdos that were seldom seen much less heard of—and that had only happened because he'd been too injured to walk, and Mephisto had been too lazy to transport him directly, so he'd had him carried away by them to get more bedrest.

"You wouldn't happen to know the way around here, huh?" Shiro asked the trash can that had moved on from chasing after bananas peels and was now hopping by his feet, waiting for him to throw away his apple.

At the lack of response, he let out a short sigh and finished his snack with one last bite before tossing away the core straight into the trash cans' awaiting mouth.

So much for spending my last couple of hours hanging around here, Shiro thought with no small amount of disappointment. Although Shiro would hate to admit it out loud, Mephisto was good company once one got past all his (many) eccentricities. Of course, it had taken a lot of years for him to arrive to that conclusion. When they'd first met, Shiro, in his foolish, daring youth, had vowed to kill the Demon King with his bare hands. The clown had been an infuriating pest, and Shiro had hated him as much as he'd feared him. He, along with everything and everyone around him, had been the primary targets of the bitter vendetta that Shiro had carried with him through most of his childhood.

But in time, his anger towards the world dulled. Yuri broke through his barriers and melted the ice surrounding his prickly heart; Mephisto, already a permanent fixture in his life since the time he'd become an exwire, sought after him with an equal amount of persistence, tagging along in his classes, or missions at his own whim. It had been an annoying, confusing, and oftentimes exasperating experience, but in the end, Shiro came to enjoy the benefit of Mephisto's company. The demon was tricky, yet wise; his advice held hidden layers, and he could be as cruel as he was kind, but though his motives were often tough to decipher, at the core of his intentions, he often seemed to have humanity's best interest at heart.

Perhaps this too was Yuri's demon-loving influence on him, but Shiro couldn't help but to let his guard down around him. He was not crazy enough yet to think that he could tame a Demon King, much less place his wholehearted trust into him, but… Mephisto had really become his closest friend.

Maybe if I ask nicely, he'll just make a key, Shiro thought somewhat wistfully as he went to give the door one last try. To his delight, his luck finally struck true. The door gave way to the comforting sight of the visual eyesore Mephisto called his bedroom.

The room itself was filled to the brim with an otaku-level of paraphernalia: mountains of manga volumes and video games stacked into neat towers; posters of various anime characters covered every inch of the walls; hundreds of figurines were posing happily behind meticulously clean display cases; and atop Mephisto's massive king-sized bed was an extensive collection of body pillows and stuffed animals that bordered the line of either cute or obscene.

There was just one particular thing missing from the room...

"Mephisto?" Shiro said out loud, just in case the clown was just hiding somewhere. Unfortunately, no spontaneous burst of smoke followed his question. It looked like Mephisto really was unavailable at the moment.

At least he's not just playing video games and ignoring me, Shiro supposed. It wouldn't be the first time.

Shiro let out a small sigh and gave a quick glance to his wristwatch. He contemplated whether it was worth waiting for the other to show up, but he knew he was just trying to keep on putting off his visit to the cathedral.

"Ugh." Guess I ought to get that over with. And maybe if he was quick enough about it, he could try stopping by again.

With that thought in mind, Shiro approached Mephisto's nightstand with the intention of leaving him a note. As he grew closer, he noticed a couple of items had already been left on the nightstand. There was a small shot glass, filled to the brim with an amber liquid, sitting next to a book on spirit invocation. Attached to the front cover, there was a note written by Mephisto's impeccable cursive, clearly addressed to him.

Thought you could use a sip of courage~ I'm a little tied up right now, so I hope this can keep you entertained in my absence. Have you learned the steps yet? ~ Mephisto Pheles ~

P.S. Be sure to put on a good show for me, will you? ❤

Shiro rolled his eyes.

"Jerk," he muttered, feeling equally as disgruntled by Mephisto's absence as he was charmed by the somewhat thoughtful gift. He eyed the book with some trepidation before picking the shot glass and downing it in a quick gulp. The liquid burned pleasantly in his throat and warmed him all the way down to his toes. It was a small comfort that he would not be able to indulge in the coming days.

Liquid courage indeed…

The worries that lingered in the back of his mind had not dissipated, but Shiro knew he could not let them cripple him. All he could do was prepare as best as he could for the challenge ahead and allow himself to rely on the support of his fellow comrades.

"Do be careful, won't you?"

He took the book with him on his way out.