Fatherhood has never been something that Terzo saw in his future.

His own father was awful. There’s not beating around the bush with it. Nihil was neglectful at the best of times and the few moments he did pay attention, he had high expectations and little love in his heart.

Terzo does not usually expect to repeat the sins of his father and he puts in the effort to specifically prevent himself from becoming too much like the old bastard. He is semi-confident that he will succeed in all manners except fatherhood.

He’s almost certain that, if given a child of his own, he’ll be just like Nihil—another awful father in a line of awful fathers. He refuses to put another child into that cycle of pain, thank you very much.

Lucifer, it seems, had other plans for him.

Not even that far into his papacy and Terzo found himself a single father.

The child is not his, despite the whispers in the Ministry that aren’t as quiet as they think. They’re a small little thing with the most pitiable face when they’re upset. They’re a mischievous little thing once they’re comfortable, enough that they practically give Terzo heart attacks on the regular. When they laugh, Terzo feels like all is right in the world, but when they cry, he’s never felt so unsteadied.

Terzo would give all he has to see them safe.

He does not know what he’s doing, not in the slightest. He does his best to emulate what he remembers from his mother, but he’s sure he fails more than he succeeds. She had been a good woman, the only light in Terzo’s life before her passing. She was not perfect, but she would certainly be doing much better than him.

All he can do is his best. He helps them into their little cassock and surplice, holds their hand during unholy mass, and helps guide them through prayers. He ties their shoes, cooks what meals he can, and reads them any stories they ask for. He sings to them, lets them curl up in his office if they so desire, and displays every little artistic creation they make.

No matter what he does, Terzo can’t help the sinking feeling that every decision he makes is the wrong one. Every attempt to be a parent is shadowed by that lingering, creeping doubt.

Even so, the little one is smiling. They are fed and safe with everything they could ever want at their fingertips. There’s no shortage to the amount of spoiling that’s heaped upon them. They’re young, adorable, and the child of Papa Emeritus III; there was never a doubt about the adoration they would face.

Terzo is eased in small measures when their eyes blink open in the mornings, when they smile with crooked teeth, when they curl towards him like they trust him, and when they talk to him without any uncertainty.

He had left them alone for a short moment to take a call. Nothing monumental, but he should’ve known better. Like every Sibling mentions to him: children can get into trouble in no time at all. His child is no exception.

Terzo clucks his tongue before sweeping them up in his arms and away from the shelf they were doing a fairly good job at climbing. (Hm. Maybe they’re spending too much time with the ghouls.)

“Cucciolo, you’re going to crack your head open if you keep doing this,” Terzo chides. He cups their little face, tilting it from side to side. While he hadn’t been expecting any injuries, it’s still a relief to see their face uninjured. “Can’t go terrorizing the Abbey if you’re bleeding all over our nice stone floors, now can you?”

“Oh, gioia mia,” he sighs with all the love and stress in his heart. “What am I going to do with you?” He tucks a stray lock of their hair back into place, gentle in a way that only they deserve.