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"Cohabiting Half-Demons?" It's more likely than you think - Part 7

Part 1 | Masterpost

Fandom: Devil May Cry Ship: none, this is all brotherly feels with a dash of Nero Summary: It's post DMC5, and things are good. Vergil's relationship with Nero is still up in the air, but six months in Hell and two months of cohabitation with Dante has gotten them pretty used to each other. There's literally no issue between them, except all of Dante's friends seem to think there is.

Yes it's been quite a while. I have been working on this (admittedly more off than on since the last update) and trying to figure out exactly how I want the aftermath to go, and where to actually end the story and it's not there quite yet.

Last time we left off after Dante and Vergil finally got the big misunderstanding cleared out, but it's not really as easy as that. Some things can't be taken back, and their usual coping mechanisms clash.

Part 7

Vergil wakes with a crick in his neck. He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but clearly he must have drifted off at some point. He groans lowly as he moves his head from side to side stretching the cramped muscle. Thankfully they heal quickly now that his head is no longer hanging like that.

His gaze falls to Dante. At some point he’s contorted himself around to bury his face in Vergil’s stomach and wrapped his arms around him. He shakes his head fondly, Dante always was clingy.

He sighs and looks blindly into the distance. So many years gone, the world moved on without him, changed at a rapid pace, but not this aspect of Dante. It was there all along, and he had not seen it. That day Dante had learned to hide just as Vergil had learned to run.

His hand still resting on Dante’s head tightens slightly. If he had known- if he hadn’t been fooled- all those years ago… would things have been different? But how could he not? Even now after everything, they nearly made the same mistake. If it hadn’t been for Nero- he huffs momentarily amused at the sudden thought that Nero’s conception truly had been fortunate. But all too soon the amusement flees.

He should have been there for Nero, but he wasn’t.

He thought he had it all figured out, and yet…

He hadn’t realized his death had affected Dante the way it had. He had utterly fallen for Dante’s ruse. To think when Dante said let’s end this, he meant entirely, the both of them, because he couldn’t bear-

Suddenly, he cannot stand being touched anymore. He pushes Dante off the couch and stands up full of restless energy. Dante lands with an oof and a groan. Vergil desperately grasps for an excuse.

“When did you last shower, Dante? Go take a shower.”

Dante looks up at him disoriented from the rude awakening. There’s a flash of hurt before it hides behind a reflexive fake smile - and no no NO!

Vergil growls, bends down and pulls Dante up crushing their upper bodies together hard and fast. “Do not misunderstand me, Dante.” He pushes Dante away just as fast. He stumbles backwards and Vergil turns away.

“I just- I can’t.” He forces the last through gritted teeth.

The urge to move wars with the urge not to let Dante out of sight, but he cannot face Dante right now. What would have happened if he had moved out? What would he have returned to? The fact he even considered leaving without telling Dante at all- his throat feels clogged with cotton, tension winds up his back to his neck and shoulders and-

“Okay, okay!” Dante interrupts his train of thought firmly. “I suppose the smell is kinda bad, I’ll take a shower. Sheesh Verge, that nose of yours,” he complains with a groan and a dramatic whine, which reveals he’s being purposefully dramatic about it.

Vergil takes a deep shuddering breath, relieved and grateful that Dante goes with it. That he doesn’t focus on Vergil’s inability to just get ahold of himself.

Dante’s footsteps move towards the bathroom. The door opens and closes and it’s not long before the shower starts.

Vergil closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, trying to center himself. He cannot accept it.

He oscillates between anger and the kind of terror that grips his throat like the discarded nightmares of Mundus’ torture.

“A month? No wonder I’m so stiff” Dante had said to V on the Qliphoth with no real surprise, as if it was not the first time he’s not moved for a month. And Vergil cannot help but think perhaps It wasn’t just a matter of healing after that first confrontation with Urizen, perhaps he simply did not have the will to go on.

Dante had spent five days “napping”, after he’d learned Vergil was moving. It was only when Vergil interrupted him that he got up to pretend at normalcy.

Even now Dante’s presence feels flat, lacking the normal fluctuations. Easy to mistake for sleep, but he’s clearly not because the shower just turned off, and Vergil just spent who knows how many minutes locked in place mentally and physically due to this conflict.

He starts towards the kitchen. He needs to focus on something else. Something that isn’t the thought that he could have clawed himself back to a world wherein his brother was gone.

He opens the fridge and looks inside but he might as well not have bothered. There are food items in there, but connections just aren’t made, and he isn’t really hungry. Then he thinks of Dante apparently intent on wasting away, and grabs the carton of eggs with a growl. Eggs are versatile. He sets them on the counter and tries to make his thoughts focus on ways to cook eggs.

Eggs…

Decisions…

Dante has exited the bathroom, his footsteps stop by the doorway. Vergil can feel Dante’s gaze on his tense back. He hears Dante take a breath in preparation to say something and holds his own in anticipation.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you,” Dante says lowly, guilt and shame threaded heavily in his tone and Vergil feels too much at once.

“Shut up Dante!” he snaps, because somehow, some way he will figure out how to deal with this. Not knowing, to have gone on not knowing… the potential consequences. He turns around and levels his brother with a glare.

“Do not think to spare me from the truth.”

Dante sighs. He runs a hand through his damp hair and Vergil notes that Dante decided to re-don his coat, and it irks him somehow. “Vergil…“ Dante pauses looking for the words before landing on: “I wouldn’t have died if you’d moved.”

And ha, maybe not, but-

“Not from lack of trying,” Vergil returns humorlessly.

Dante flinches and Vergil hates it. Dante is not supposed to be timid and ashamed. It sets his teeth grinding and his nails digging into his palms as a reminder to keep them human blunt because a single drop of blood would reveal his slip in control.

“Verge, I am not- It’s not-“ he starts, but gives up trying to explain. He rubs his face. “I don’t want you to stay out of pity.”

This again.

“We’ve been over this. I never wanted to leave in the first place.”

The skepticism on Dante’s face is clearly masking his insecurity. Still Vergil has little patience for repeating himself.

“Are you accusing me of lying?” He walks three measured steps to stand in front of his brother and waits expectantly until finally he meets his eyes.

“I do not lie, Dante.”

Dante concedes, not stubbornly like if Vergil had won a fight or like when he finally backs off with a smile and hands raised because he knows he was being obnoxious, no he looks down and takes a step back. Vergil bites back a snarl, because it’s all wrong. Dante should be fighting him tooth and nail for any ground. There is an urge to attack, to force the issue, but the terror that Dante will not fight back is too strong.

“I am not going anywhere,” he knocks the palm of his hand against Dante’s forehead, “get that through your thick skull.”

He turns around with a huff, takes measured steps back to the kitchen counter, and takes another centering breath. He cups his anger carefully, feeds and stokes it, because the alternative is not acceptable.

Briskly, he washes his hands, and dries them, wondering idly when he last changed the dish towel - it’s better to focus on the mundane - and decides it has been too long and tosses it at Dante’s face. It’s not really wet, so it’s unable to gain any sort of notable speed, but it is unexpected so it lands.

Vergil’s lips twitch upwards at Dante’s surprise, even more when Dante loses some of that blankness to bemusement.

“Really, Vergil?”

“Throw it in the hamper, will you?” Vergil simply says and opens the drawer for a fresh towel and hangs it in place.

Dante of a month ago, before all of this would have tossed the towel right back in Vergil’s face, this Dante walks away from the fight and does as asked. It unsettles Vergil, but he powers through the feeling. He takes a bowl, and carefully cracks four eggs into it. No shells fall in and he tries to draw the usual simple satisfaction from it, but it falls rather flat. He throws the shells in the trash and washes his hands again.

Dante returns to the doorway. If he’s going to hover he can make himself useful.

“Do we have any vegetables in the fridge?” Maybe Dante will have more luck actually looking.

Dante trudges over to open the fridge. Meanwhile Vergil pulls out the large cast iron pan and sets it on the stove. He adds a bit of oil and turns it on.

“We have some tomatoes… carrots- I’m not even sure what this is, some kind of cabbage, it’s green, leafy.”

“It’s a savoy,” Vergil remarks, remembering there was some leftover last he made stir-fry.

“Gesundheit.”

Vergil sends him a half-hearted glare and it’s met with a half-hearted smile - still Vergil do appreciate the effort. He pours the eggs into the pan and turns the heat low. The eggs sizzle and the scent of cooking eggs fills the air.

“Do you think you can rinse the tomatoes or does that exceed your culinary capabilities?”

“I think, given a chance I may even be able to halve them with a knife.”

Vergil scoffs. “That remains to be seen.” Nonetheless, he opens a drawer to pull out a cutting board and gestures at the knife block. Next he puts two slices of bread in the toaster. He’s not entirely clear on when they acquired a toaster, it was certainly not here to start with, but Dante had been rather enterprising in retrospect. Acquiring things here and there, like the table and the pair of mismatched chairs.

Little things he’d done for Vergil more than himself, back when just the idea of going out into the city amongst humans and their noise had felt like it would expose every raw nerve in his body.

He glances at Dante and promptly swipes the box of small tomatoes out of his hands.

“Hey-“

“Wash your hands first Dante.”

“I just took a shower.”

“Did your gloves take a shower?”

“I won’t be touching them with my gloves-” he wiggles his fingerless gloves- “besides it’s not like either of us can get food poisoning.”

Vergil narrows his eyes, considering his angle of attack. “Those gloves went to the Underworld with you, you sure you wanna test your hypothesis?”

The strike lands as intended, as Dante is suddenly eyeing his gloves suspiciously. He huffs, pulls them off and washes his hands. Satisfied Vergil relinquishes the tomatoes back in Dante’s care.

The bread pop up from the toaster and Vergil moves past Dante towards the fridge. He doesn’t really think about putting a hand briefly on Dante’s back as he moves by him in the narrow space leftover between counter, Dante and table, but he does when he turns back around to find Dante looking up at the ceiling trying not to cry over the tomatoes.

Something as simple as casual touch, with no meaning or intent behind affecting Dante to this degree… Vergil should do something about it. Dante clearly needs… a hug or something, but just the thought of it sets Vergil’s skin itching restlessly. He cannot do it.

He cannot open his arms like Dante, not even sardonically, because it would mean getting touched in return.

It’s frustrating, because it was fine yesterday. Better than fine, it was good, right, but now it is not. The frustration only makes the itch worse.

Vergil sets the butter he just retrieved from the fridge on the counter, then sets his hands firmly on Dante’s shoulders and steers him to sit down in the chair that’s unofficially his. He squeezes slightly and allows his hands to rest there for a moment longer than he otherwise would - it’s as much as he can do.

He refrains from looking at Dante any more allowing him his privacy to gather himself as he pulls out plates, butters the toasts and assembles their breakfasts, each consisting of a piece of toast, two eggs sunny side up and halved tomatoes on the side. On a whim he decides to cut the toasts once on the diagonal turning them into triangles. It looks more right somehow he thinks as he takes a moment to lay them slightly on top of each other reclining against the edge of the plate. A sprinkle of salt on the eggs and tomatoes and done.

He realizes the moment he sits down after depositing their plates and utensils that’s he’d not at all considered anything to drink. He sighs. It’s too late to make coffee and it’s not like it does much for them anyways. He cuts into the yolk viciously, deriving an unreasonable amount of satisfaction from making it bleed. Quickly he cuts a piece of bread and uses it to help scoop up yolk, a piece of egg and a tomato before raising it to his mouth and biting down. He chews, assessing the flavors and textures: the crisp, still warm buttered toast, the rich creaminess of the egg yolk accentuated by salt and the sweet tomato which bursts with moisture as he bites down. He swallows and is a preparing another forkful when he notes Dante hasn’t even started.

He’s fingering one of the pieces of toast. He looks up at Vergil shortly before looking down with a wistful expression.

“Mom used to cut them like this,” he remarks quietly.

Vergil feels a sudden strange disconnect from his body a sort of hot-cold tingling. Something like phantom fingers running through his hair and an arm encompassing him, squeezing him for just a moment and a familiar voice saying warmly, “see it takes just a little bit more effort, but it’s more fun like this.”

The memory, because that’s what it is, lingers like warmth in his chest. Vergil swallows thickly and kicks Dante’s foot under the table.

“Eat before it gets cold,” he grouses.

Dante should have looked up with a grin, knowing he’d gotten under Vergil’s skin somehow, instead he nods and starts eating.

Oo o oO

Dante isn’t sure what’s gotten into Vergil. His energy is on the fritz, buzzing and erratic to Dante’s senses.

It’s Dante’s fault, he never should have admitted to not intending to come out their fight alive. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a fact. It’s not the first time he’s felt this way. Still, he should have known; people are odd about this sort of thing. It had just slipped out. He was worn down and tired and he’d been going over so many things from his past and it had slipped.

He hadn’t expected Vergil to be so affected by it.

He still doesn’t understand why Vergil is so affected by it.

His attempt to apologize was rebuffed. Vergil’s energy is still erratic even if it settled just a bit while he was cooking. He still feels one wrong move from exploding or running off. Touch in particular seems a no go right now, it’s worse than when they’d just returned from Hell, but Vergil doesn’t even seem willing to stab him right now. It’s why Dante was taken off guard when Vergil’s hand touched his back.

He can’t even explain what had gotten into him. Something about the casualness of it. Just two people sharing space, when Dante expected, still expects, Vergil to leave.

Vergil doesn’t lie. Not outright. He says he’s staying, so that’s at least his intention.

It may be better if he left. Surely, Vergil would be happier. Dante doesn’t know how to fix this, everything he does seem to only make Vergil’s energy more erratic. Vergil makes a good impression of being calm, but he cannot fool Dante, not when he can feel the spikes of power Vergil can’t keep under control. He wishes once more he hadn’t told Vergil. He’s too tired for this.

He wishes he could just turn a switch and get out of this slump.

It’s not so simple.

The world feels dull around him - everything but Vergil’s fritzing energy, which cannot help but draw his attention.

They finish eating. Dante doesn’t really taste the food, he goes through the motions of eating only because Vergil wants him to.

He’s not entirely sure why he’s so particularly worn down today. Vergil says he’s staying. It was all a stupid misunderstanding. He should be better today, at least able to pretend to be better, but Vergil had taken one look Dante’s attempt to put on his mask of normalcy and freaked right the fuck out. He feels like a house of cards, with one of the foundational cards pulled out. How is he supposed to keep standing?

He hasn’t had the energy for more than some half hearted attempts at teasing.

They clean up. Dante is on drying duty and as he’s sluggishly drying the last fork, Vergil makes quick work of wiping down the counters and the table. He’s not sure if Vergil actually said anything, but soon enough the fork is plucked out of Dante’s hand to be put in the drawer and then they’re apparently leaving the shop.

It’s a sunny day, one of the first really warm days threatening summer’s arrival. It’s the afternoon rather than morning it turns out, but that’s really par for the course. People are out enjoying the weather. Children are playing in the park they cut through and Dante realizes the purpose of their outing is groceries, as this is the path they usually take.

Vergil walks like a man on a mission; A grocery mission that he dragged Dante on. Still, Dante is grateful. If Vergil hadn’t announced “we’re going out” with no room for argument. If he’d left on his own, Dante would have spent the entire time wondering if he would return at all, if he’d finally come to his senses and decided enough was enough.

Vergil says he’s staying so he’s staying. He said he wants to stay. Said he never wanted to leave in the first place. Dante hadn’t done anything to make him want to leave after all, but surely if Dante doesn’t find a way to be normal again it’s only a matter of time before Vergil changes his mind.

Still, it’s just a lot of effort, and today he cannot seem to muster it, no matter how hard he tries. His small attempts are met with Vergil seeing right through him and his prickly energy like the twitching tail of an otherwise outwardly calm cat moments before it sinks its claws in. He doesn’t know what Vergil wants from him, so he ends up just following along.

They get a variety of vegetables. This is a Vergil thing, he likes to try new vegetables and is currently considering something the sign proclaims a fennel. Any other times the amount of vegetables would make Dante roll his eyes, but today he admits to himself it’s something of a relief. Vergil hates wasting food; he wouldn’t leave with the fridge full of perishable food he knows Dante wouldn’t touch on his own.

The fennel goes in the cart.

They move on to meat and dairy and it becomes a bit of a blur until suddenly they find themselves in an unfamiliar aisle and Vergil puts something in the cart Dante never in his life expected.

“Yeast?” Dante blurts. “Are you going to bake?”

Vergil shrugs, which Dante takes to mean he probably will, but isn’t willing to commit. The whole idea leaves him baffled - and why baking is so different from cooking he isn’t entirely sure - but in the end he figures there’s probably a recipe for bread somewhere in that cookbook, so it’s really not strange at all.

Before Dante knows it, they’re suddenly ready to pay, but before Dante can pull out his wallet, Vergil has manifested a credit card from seemingly nowhere and paid. When did Vergil get a credit card?

Dante feels wrong footed the entire way back to the shop. Only a couple of months ago it took Dante practically strong-arming Vergil out of the shop if it involved being anywhere around people. Now Vergil has a credit card and - Dante suddenly remembers - he had printouts from the internet.

He’s caught up to the modern day in leaps and bounds and the things he needed Dante for has shrunk to nothing.

The familiarity of the shop is only a slight balm on the way Dante feels unnerved. He wants nothing more than to make a beeline for his chair and his desk for the thin veneer of normalcy they provide, but then Vergil hangs up his coat on the coat hanger.

Dante stares, because he has never done that before. It leaves him in that elaborate vest of his with his arms bare, and Dante can practically feel the discomfort it brings him, because he never goes without his full ensemble. Vergil however looks at him expectantly. Dante wants to balk, suddenly conscious of the way he wants to keep his coat on, which he realizes Vergil must have noticed.

Still, Vergil is not gonna one up him here; Dante hangs up the coat.

He feels uncomfortable and bare, despite the long-sleeved shirt underneath, but as they stand for a moment watching their coats, blue and red, hanging side by side, Dante understands why Vergil did it. It feels less like either of them is on their way out the door.

Vergil takes the groceries Dante carried and pushes him towards the couch. He would have gone for his chair, but he’ll take the couch, sure. It apparently matters to Vergil.

He lies down on the couch and breathes in Vergil’s scent, and maybe Vergil had a point about the couch, not that Dante is going to tell him. He feels so heavy.

He sleeps probably, because next he knows Vergil is pushing him up into a sitting position so he can sit down. Dante blinks and Vergil has cracked open one of the huge tomes he usually doesn’t read when Dante is around. Dante cannot muster his curiosity and leans his head back against the backrest.

It is tempting because Vergil’s shoulder is just there, but Dante resists. Somehow, he still wakes up to getting pushed away as Vergil goes into the kitchen again. He returns after a relatively short while and Dante has pushed himself more upright, tries to lean more the other direction, but still finds himself woken from another nap by Vergil pushing him away.

He leaves for the kitchen again, it’s a baffling behavior to be honest and soon he’s back, this time with a cup of tea. Dante considers Vergil’s shoulder again. Vergil doesn’t feel quite so prickly and erratic anymore. Slowly he leans their shoulders together. Vergil doesn’t react either which way and Dante finds himself relaxing into the touch, something that’s been wound tight since this morning unwinding. He finally dares to lean his head on Vergil’s shoulder as well and not even that is met with a rebuff.

He hums a rumble in his chest, that Vergil answers similarly. He feels like he is in a bubble and he wants to cradle this moment. He’s only half asleep when he feels Vergil’s restlessness rear again so he’s not woken by Vergil getting up again so much as he just opens his eyes.

It takes a bit longer for him to return this time, he’s doing something more in the kitchen. Something’s getting whisked. Making dinner perhaps. The oven door creaks open and shut. Then the water turns on, and there’s a clatter of the items used as Vergil starts clean up. A peculiarly sweet scent starts to emanate from the kitchen, rising in strength as time passes.

Curious and baffled but unwilling to intrude on whatever Vergil is up to Dante stays put, though he sits up straighter. His eyes land on Vergil’s book open on the coffee table. It’s open on a page about the theory behind blood seals, Dante rolls his eyes, of course it is.

It’s not that Dante has never opened a book. He’s learnt plenty from books, but anything relating to blood comes relatively innately to demons, and due to their half demon nature it’s not something he’s had to read much on. Blood is power, it’s pretty basic, adds that extra oomph in any spell, an extra layer of security in a seal, longevity. Have to kill every single fucker in a room to be able to leave it, that sort of deal.

It’s just like Vergil to read about something he already probably knows better than whoever wrote this book.

It’s been perhaps something like half an hour since Vergil left. The lovely smell has only increased. Dante has realized by this point that Vergil has made good on the maybe shrug from earlier. He’s about dying from curiosity, but nothing can quite prepare him for Vergil emerging from the kitchen with two plates with pastries.

“You made pastries?” Dante says delighted, only Vergil would be so mad as to make pastries as his first attempt at baking.

Vergil rolls his eyes at Dante’s reaction and hands him a plate. The pastry is round with custard in the center and dusted with powdered sugar.

“It’s not quite successful,” Vergil says after taking a bite, chewing and swallowing.

Dante takes a large bite, intent on proving him wrong, and yeah it’s maybe more sweet buttery bread-y than pastry-y but still crisp outside and soft in the middle.

“This is delicious,” he says around the mouthful of sweet treat.

Vergil rolls his eyes, but it’s rather clear he’s pleased.

“Though of course if you’re not happy you should definitely practice more.” Dante grins. He doesn’t have to say he’ll gladly eat the results of that practice.

“You always did have a sweet tooth.”

“So did you.”

Vergil hums non-comittingly, but Dante knows the truth. Vergil had rediscovered pastries at some point for him to even get the idea to make some. Vergil had bought pastries with that credit card of his on one or more of his outings.

Dante feels laughter bubble up in his chest and it feels amazing. He’s not sure what exactly is so funny, but there’s something about the idea of Vergil buying pastries, standing in line in a bakery - it’s so mundane and discordant with the accusations Lady had thrown his way - oh the nefarious things Vergil gets up to when Dante isn’t watching him, like reading and buying pastries and somehow learning to use the internet.

Vergil kicks him because he thinks he’s laughing at him. Dante pushes him in return and for a moment as their eyes meet all truly is well.

-

Hope you enjoyed! As usual I love to hear what you thought :D

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