who would’ve thought a baby would just show up — no warning, no note, just a basket on the doorstep like something out of a dream or a curse.

inside devil may cry, the smell of pizza clung to the air, grease-stained napkins scattered across the desk like fallen leaves. dante lounged in the office chair with his boots up, chewing lazily, spouting off some nonsense as the office theme played on loop in the background. the old TV flickered, casting dull light against the cluttered walls. you were perched on the other side of the desk, picking at your food, half-listening to him, half-dozing through the lull of a demonless day.

then came the knock.

soft. hesitant. not the kind of knock that belonged to someone desperate, not even someone dangerous. just a knock.

you set down your slice, slid off the table, and walked to the door. dante watched, one eyebrow raised as he took another bite.

you opened it.

there was no one there.

just a quiet street and the fading sun.

and the basket.

nestled against the threshold, lined with worn cloth and cradling something impossibly small. a baby, fast asleep, cheeks flushed from the evening chill, the faintest sound rising from their throat like a sigh. their tiny fists curled up against their chest, breath steady and soft.

you didn’t move. just stared. it didn’t make sense — not here. not this place. not you.

“what’s up?” dante called out, his voice casual, still muffled by food.

you stepped back. said nothing. just tilted your head slightly toward the ground.

he came over slowly, wiping his hands on his coat, the usual grin ready on his face — until he saw what you were looking at.

he blinked. leaned forward. stared.

“…the hell?” he muttered, crouching beside the basket. “is this—?”

he didn’t finish the question. didn’t need to.

he stood again, scratching the back of his neck as he looked between you and the baby, eyes narrowed in a mix of disbelief and the kind of dread that came when the world changed a little too fast.

“we can’t leave ‘em,” he said, almost to himself. “but we sure as hell aren’t set up to raise a kid. not with our line of work.”

the baby stirred again. soft and warm and real.

dante sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. “who the hell drops a kid off at a demon hunter’s office?”

the question lingered in the air, unanswered. but the weight of it settled in both your chests.

outside, the light dimmed a little more. inside, the office was suddenly too quiet.