Work Text:
Dante couldn't sleep.
It had been two months, fourteen days, twenty-three hours and twelve minutes since Vergil had made his announcement. He wanted a child.
At first it had been like some big joke. Vergil being a father, and with Lady as the mother. Out of all the people in the world Lady was the least likely to accommodate to that. Dante had guffawed when Lady emptied a clip into Vergil's stubborn head upon proposing it. Had laughed as the disgust of the sheer thought of offering herself up to either of them had showed all too clearly on her face. Had at that point laughingly stated that sure, Vergil could have his kid as long as he got Lady to agree to it.
Dante wasn't laughing now.
Vergil hadn't mentioned it out loud to him since that day two months, fourteen days, twenty-three hours and thirteen minutes ago and Lady hadn't mentioned anything about it. But Dante knew.
Knew that for Vergil to actually voice it out loud meant that he had spent so much time thinking about it that he had come up with a plan to make it come true in one way or another. And though Dante often had joked about that his stuck-up twin needed to get to know a woman more intimately; which on most days earned him a glare and a disapproving head shake, or on those days when Vergil was in a particularly foul mood a sword to his throat; the thought of Vergil actually with someone else ate him up from inside.
They'd been together for all of their lives, fuck , they'd even shared the same womb and had identical sets of DNA. And sure, they hated one another. No doubting that. They were too different from one another to stop it. Too similar. Whatever.
Several times they had tried to kill one another, had been lost to different dimensions, been possessed, hell – Dante had been convinced that he'd killed his brother on that cursed island. It had destroyed the red-clad hunter to the point of that when his brother had reappeared, a broken shell of his former self, it had taken days before Dante could even accept that this wasn't just a figment of his imagination. Months before he really trusted the feeling inside his chest that told him that yes, this was the man who he had grown up with. Still; no matter what happened to them they always ended up falling into to the other one's arms, because no matter how much they loved to deny it they were the other half of the same coin.
This tearing feeling inside his chest almost felt like the time when he realized that Nelo Angelo was his brother, the same Nelo Angelo who had just dropped the other half of the perfect amulet. It felt like a part of him had just… vanished into thin air.
No, Dante corrected himself as he rolled over to lie on his side, sleep long since abandoned. Not exactly like that. There'd been a sense of finality to when he thought that Vergil had died. That though the pain inside was blinding he knew with certainty that it was over. Though now when he perused about the matter, that had not been the case, now had it?
This, this felt like a festering wound unwilling to close. As if someone kept on continuously stabbing him, for a few minutes here and there giving him a brief respite to breathe before once more jamming the blade deep in between the ribcage. Toying with him.
That he could picture it all didn't make it any better. Could imagine the way they would complete one another. Vergil's pale, unflawed skin (aside from that small scar on his left hipbone Dante had given him when they were five, Dante's inner self oh so helpfully pointed out) against Lady's battle-roughened one. Her tan to his eternal paleness. Dante knew how they would move, knew that though Vergil's outward behaviour often belied it he was a generous lover and only lost that precious control when he was close. And she would curl her nails into claws and bleed him, if nothing else then to draw a reaction from him. Squirming, making small helpless noises and bucking against him because Vergil truly hated to lose control. Seeing others crack, yes, that he'd strive for, but that final plunge was his to choose.
Dante punched the vacated pillow next to him and sat up, hands covering his face. He didn't want these images. They hurt too goddamned much. And still he couldn't help them from coming to his mind.
Her back arching against him like a bow, fingers leaving imprints on hips as he gripped her tight enough to bruise to gain a better hold to plunge deeper. That moan. God that guttural moan so filled with lust and longing could drive Dante mad just from remembering it.
Furiously aborting the way his thoughts were turning Dante rose, shoving on a pair of trousers and strode up to the roof of the Devil May Cry building, as often when in need to think. Outside the rain was pelting down, but he gave little care of the weather. He kept remembering the discussion he had held with Vergil, the seriousness which had radiated from the elder twin. Not that he wasn't serious for the most of the time, because let's face it Vergil quite often acted like he had a stick shoved up his ass, and some ass that was, Dante's mind helpfully reminded him. But this had been different. There had been something in Vergil's voice which had alerted Dante to that his lover wanted this with the same determination that had led him to raise the Temen ni Gru.
Even though Dante wanted to deny his lover the right to have a child a part of him knew, just as well as Vergil did, that Dante couldn't deny him most things. Unfortunately he loved him too damned much.
Would it kill him to let Vergil have this? No ( Yes ). It could, and would probably force a wedge between them. Even though Dante mostly acted the part of that he didn't care (and sometimes he found himself caught up in the role) he did care.
Why else had he, upon finding his brother more dead than alive, spent four shaking months to nurse him back to health? Why had he watched him go from a being afraid of his own shadow, so warped by having been captured by Mundus all those years ( so broken ) , to once more become the cold-hearted, sardonic, brilliant man he sometimes hated that he loved?
Why did he stay though he knew his brother would leave?
In reality, what else could he do? Love, Dante had come to realize, was a fickle thing, and it loved to fuck with your brain.
Dante had become aware of the intruding sound some time ago, just chose to ignore it for the time being, staring out at the grey-slated sky. He had at last come to a halt in his pacing along the parapet of the building, calmed down to the point of that the thought of grabbing his beloved guns to go and kill something, or perhaps get a drink at the Love Planet.
The sound grew in volume, yet Dante stared ahead, the vision of a miniature version of Vergil and Lady fused together, and something about the image clutched at his heart despite his best efforts to just shove it out of his head. He wondered how it would feel to on a daily basis have a reminder of that particular betrayal. How it at all would work out with their chaotic lifestyles. A child had no place in the world they lived in – it would only end up as collateral damage.
"I hope you've thought of all the details, brother, because this is going to be… hell."
The elder twin gave a derisive snort, as if unable to believe that Dante actually had said that. “He will grow up to be an excellent young man, kept far from your... disruptive nature.” Vergil's voice was like smooth silk, correctly perceiving the way Dante's thoughts had turned.
"He?" If Vergil noticed the catch in the other's voice he made no mention of it.
"He."
The smugness lay heavy in Vergil's voice, something that Dante did not fail to pick up. For some time he was quiet, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. The hunter quietly cursed upon realising that the packet of cigarettes that he had started to carry around shortly before the Island had gotten soaked. Dante did not smoke, never had, but it was a quiet reminder of friends long gone and of the constant danger that lay in his profession. And Vergil's words made him crave to have a sword in his hand, to see the truest of reds pour out of the skull from something. Still, he couldn't approach the subject his brother had brought up. Not just yet. It hurt too much, and he needed a few more seconds of respite.
"How'd you convince Lady to go along with it?" How Dante managed to keep a civilised tone was beyond him.
The dark slayer shrugged fractionally, the gesture economical. "I gave her what she wanted the most."
"Hmm?"
"Ask her yourself."
Dante huffed before he turned to head back towards the door into the building, knowing without looking that Vergil had turned to follow. The younger could not make himself look into the identical winter-blue eyes of his twin.
“Look, I usually don't give two shits in what you do, but I really didn't expect you to sleep with Lady. This...” Dante paused, holding a hand against his chest, absentmindedly rubbing over his heart. “It hurts.”
Dante didn't turn around, and Vergil said nothing. Both of them standing there, only a few feet apart and yet it was as if a chasm had opened up between them.
"I know," the blue-clad twin finally rasped, seeming to come to some internal conclusion. "I never slept with Mary. She agreed to artificial insemination."
For nearly a minute Dante stopped breathing, head jolting up and spinning around to watch his sibling. "You what ?"
He could practically hear Vergil roll his eyes. "I said that I never slept with Mary, and to enlighten you I have never slept with any woman, dear brother, not that it really should surprise you. I know that this… pure behaviour is not something that you have lived by until now, but do you see me throwing a fit about it?"
Dante stopped listening after 'I never slept with Mary,' the words going on repeat inside his head for quite some time. He could clear as daylight discern the annoyance with that Vergil at all thought that Dante thought him capable of doing such a, in his perception, despicable thing. Heard the unvoiced tone which spoke of that no matter their arguments Vergil would return to his side. He would leave, that much was certain, but for once Dante was grateful for that his sometimes stuck-up twin was not planning for those trips away to become permanent.
He could live with the knowledge of that his brother wasn't interested in women, only the children they could provide, human legacy or no. Maybe he could live with seeing miniature versions of his brother. Maybe he could live with being an uncle – he would be an awesome one after all, regardless of that his brother thought he'd corrupt the child. Maybe.