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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Mind the Gap, Epilogue

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: A family can be a mom, a dad, their baby, mom and dad's boyfriend who is also the baby's honorary uncle, a cat, and a total of five dogs.

***

“You know, you and your brothers had been baptized long before you were six months old.”

The speakers are not on, but Ernesto is still able to hear every word Imelda’s mother is uttering due to the disease that seems to affect many people the age of fifty - the certainty you absolutely need to yell into the phone for your words to be heard on the other side.

Imelda would very much appreciate not hearing them, if the way she drops the side of her head against the passenger side window with a thunk is anything to go by. “I am aware, mamá,” she almost groans. “But we’re doing it now, no? We’re on the way there, by the way, that’s what I called to let you kno--”

“And I am glad, but I cannot see any reason why you had to wait this long.”

Imelda’s head thunks back against the window just as Ernesto changes lanes to get past a car whose owner seems to be missing the foot that’s supposed to go on the speed pedal. Somewhere in the back, Héctor groans quietly.

“I had work to do, Héctor had work to do, and if we wanted to have the ceremony in Santa Cecilia we needed time to organize,” Imelda is gritting out. “I don’t see why we should have rushed things, considering that Coco is not at risk of imminent death. Nor has she had enough time to commit significant sins on the mortal plane.”

“Of course she has not, but you know it is important for babies to be baptized--”

“And besides, the Pope decided limbo is no longer canonical some ten years ago.”

“He also said it is no reason to delay--”

“Ah, we’re getting into a tunnel. Signal is bad. See you later,” Imelda snaps, and ends the call before dropping against the backrest with the expression of a luchadora who barely made it through the end of the match. “Remind me why cancelling the entire baptism out of spite is not a good idea?”

“Ceci worked really hard on the ropón and Coco looks beautiful in it,” Héctor speaks up.

“I already paid for the entire damn thing,” Ernesto supplies helpfully.

A chuckle. “Ay, we’re stuck, then,” Imelda says, and turns back to Ernesto. “... Sorry. What were you saying before the call again?”

“The concert next month. The latest piece Héctor wrote is a duet and we could use a woman’s voice. You should come with us, it will only be a couple of nights and you’d only need to be on stage for that song. Armando is already sold to the idea.”

It seems a very reasonable proposal to Ernesto, but Imelda frowns, pulling the car’s window down just enough to get some wind on her face. “I know he is, but I am not completely sold to the idea of leaving Coco in my brothers’ care for any amount of time.”

“It can’t be that ba--”

“You were not there when they came up with the self-rocking crib,” Héctor interjects from the back.

“The self-rocking crib?”

“Yes. Thankfully they tested it on Pepita first. She was not very happy about being ejected against the wall, but you know what they say about cats landing on their feet.”

“Ah.” Ernesto briefly debates whether he should tell them about the surprise the twins are planning. Not that he knows what the surprise actually is, they just briefly mentioned they were going back to Santa Cecilia a few days earlier than them to prepare… something.

Ah, it will be fine. Probably.

“Well, maybe we could find someone else to look after Coco,” he finally says instead. “Or keep an eye on them while they look after Coco. ”

Imelda hums. “I guess Ceci may be able to.”

“... Anyone else?”

“Don’t be like that, she’s her godmother.”

“Not yet she isn’t, you have time until tomorrow to change your min--”

“Your co-godparent,” Héctor pipes in. “Meaning that if anything happens to me and Imelda, you two will be morally obliged to step in and help her out. Together.”

“Uuugh. You both had better live long and healthy lives.”

A chuckle. “We’ll do our best,” Imelda promises, and for a time the car is quiet. Not for a long time, with Héctor speaking up again soon enough.

“Are we there yet?”

Ernesto sighs. And there he hoped he would stop asking. “No.”

“My leg is all pins and needles.”

“Wouldn’t have happened if you sat like a normal human.”

“But Coco needed me to hug the baby seat, she wouldn’t settle otherwise.”

“Well, she’s asleep now. You can let go.”

Sprawled across the back seat in order to keep his arms wrapped around the sleeping child on the baby seat, his left leg folded awkwardly beneath him, Héctor shoots a very offended look which Ernesto glimpses through the rear view mirror.

“No,” he declares with all the defiance of a father refusing to hand over his baby to King Herod himself to be slaughtered in the Massacre of the Innocents. Ernesto shrugs.

“Suit yourself,” he says, and keeps driving. A boring task right now, the road straight and mercifully empty. They should be in Santa Cecilia within a couple of hours, he estimates, give or take a few--

“Are we there yet?”

“Por Dios, I was prepared for the baby to be insufferable throughout the trip, but you’re worse,” Ernesto groans. On the passenger seat, Imelda rubs her temple.

“We could stop a few minutes, so Héctor can stretch his legs - don’t protest, you know you need it. I wouldn’t mind a break either,” she adds, and glances over at Ernesto. “Do you want me to drive the rest of the way? You’ve been at the wheel the entire time.”

“I can drive the rest of the way,” Héctor volunteers.

“Absolutely not,” Ernesto and Imelda say as one.

“Oh come on, if this is still about that thing with the level crossing in Colima, it was weeks ago and--”

“Coco is in the car,” Imelda reminds him, and Héctor promptly shuts up. When Ernesto pulls into a service station and stops the car in the small parking lot, he slowly disentangles himself from the baby seat. As Coco does not, in fact, bolt awake screaming in horrible pain the second he lets go, he finally gets off the car and takes a few steps.

Or rather, hops awkwardly on one foot while trying to regain sensation in his left leg. Imelda watches him hop towards the toilet with a chuckle, and turns to put a hand on Ernesto’s arm. “I’ll be getting coffee for both me and Héctor. Knowing you, I assume you’d prefer a beer.”

“I’m supposed to be driving--”

“Look at you, being all resonsible with a baby on board. But no, you’re not. I’ll take over from here,” she cuts him off, and Ernesto smiles.

“I’ll take two beers, then. One for me and one for the señorita in the back.”

Imelda laughs, and smacks his chest before she picks up her purse. “I’ll be right back. If the señorita in the back awakens and demands a drink, you know where the bottle and the thermos with her milk are.”

“I may have forgotten, Héctor only showed me sixteen times,” Ernesto calls after her, leaning against the side of the car. He arches his back to stretch, groans at the satisfying pop somewhere in his spine, and pulls out his phone. Sofía has sent him a photo showing the couch in Héctor and Imelda’s living room, currently occupied by four napping chihuahuas, an unimpressed-looking cat, and an upside-down Xolo dog.

Pet sitting them here is a lot better, she wrote. At least it’s not my shit they chew up. No shoes among the fatalities, though, so no need to castrate the big one. Tell Imelda that.

Ay, how unfortunate that Dante is getting the snip either way, Ernesto thinks, much like Diablo and Lobo did. He could have Clara and Zita spayed, true enough, but the procedure is more invasive and he’d rather spare them the ordeal if it can all be fixed, literally, by fixing Dante. They’ll book the appointment as soon as they get back, and then he and Héctor will have a drink in male solidarity. Soon, possibly before either Clara or Zita can--

“Bababababa!”

Ah, so the señorita is awake. Ernesto puts away the phone and sticks his head back into the car. “You called?” he asks, and Coco grins up at him with half a tooth, absolutely delighted. She reaches up with a squeal, and Ernesto grins back.

“You want me to pick you up? Is that it?”

“Aaaababah!”

“Is that a yes? I’ll take it as a yes.” Getting Coco out of her baby seat gets another delighted squeal out of her, chubby hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He bounces her a bit and she gives a joyous laugh. “Ah, look at you. Don’t tell your papá I said it, but sometimes I get what he means when he--”

“BLEAGH!”

“Gah!”

Getting half-digested milk and apple puree all over his shirt is not what Ernesto expected to happen, but in retrospect he probably should have. To his credit he doesn’t give in to his first instinct, which is to drop the baby to tend to his shirt, so he will get to live another day. He just stands there, staring down at his ruined shirt, holding Coco at arms’ length.

Unaware - or maybe perfectly aware - of the mess she has made, Coco burps and laughs, legs dangling in what almost looks like a little dance. Ernesto sighs, and stares at her in the eye. “I take that back,” he informs her. Coco giggles.

“... I suspect I know what that look means. I will not be the one to change your diaper.”

“Paaa.”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll leave it to your--”

“She’s awake! She didn’t cry, did she? Coco! Papá is here!”

“Paaaaaaaa!”

Héctor takes Coco from Ernesto’s hands with a wide smile, not even noticing the condition his shirt is in, and twirls around with her in his arms, making her laugh harder. Ernesto would warn him not to spin too much, but it seems she’d already emptied her stomach, the little demon. In the end he just scoffs, gives her an offended look she absolutely ignores, and grabs a clean shirt from his luggage in the back of the car before he heads for the toilets to try and somewhat salvage the one he’s wearing. Maybe if he washes off the worst of it now, his mother will know how to fix the rest. He’s halfway to the toilets when Imelda calls out.

"Here's your beer, it's not as cold as you like it but-- ah. I see Coco got you."

Ernesto turns to meet her gaze, his expression solemn. “I am afraid your mother was right.”

“... Qué?”

“You’re too late. Your daughter has now definitely sinned on this mortal plane,” he declares. “Do you know how much I paid for this shirt?”

Imelda raises an eyebrow. “Ah, more than you should have. It doesn’t fit you that well. You should just arrive at your parents’ place shirtless. They’re used to seeing you shirtless by now,” she adds, and laughs at Ernesto’s indignant sputtering as he informs her that was low.

But then she kisses him and promises she will keep his beer in the ice box fridge until he’s back, and he can find it in himself to forgive the affront after all.

***

“... And this my mamá, see? Emilia. She is your other abuela, can you say abuela?”

“Abbwaba!”

“Heh. Close enough, querida. Close enough”

Sitting cross-legged before his parents’ grave, with Coco nestled comfortably in his arms, Héctor kisses his daughter’s head before turning back to the gravestone with a small smile. Ricardo and Emilia Rivera are smiling back from it, a few years younger than they were when they died.

Finding that photo was a struggle, because the gas leak that destroyed his home spared none of the family albums. Ernesto nearly tore down his own home, but in the end he was able to dig up a bunch of photographs from one of their very last Nativity plays - and among them was one photo of Héctor, looking a little embarrassed in his angel wings and fake halo, with his parents beaming at either side of him.

The original is now proudly displayed in the living room in Mexico City; Imelda’s parents have a copy, which Héctor always finds on their ofrenda when he and Imelda come to spend Día de los Muertos with them. Two cut-outs from a third copy are now gracing their gravestone.

I should make more copies. Just in case.

In his arms Coco squeals, and holds out a chubby hand towards the smiling faces of her grandparents. Héctor’s somewhat dampened smile brightens again.

“Mamá, papá, meet Coco. She’s very happy to meet you.” He bounces the child a little in his arms. “She crawls everywhere and puts everything in her mouth, just like you said I did. And she's got my eyes! Yours, mamá. Not the nose, thank God - no offense, papá, but… come on.” He laughs a little. “Ay, I shouldn’t complain. I mostly grew into it, like you said I would. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see that you were right. I’m sorry you don’t get to be here today.”

Héctor pauses a moment, and kisses Coco’s head one more time before he speaks again. “... I wish you were here to give me advice, but I’ll do my best to be as good a parent as you were. I, uh. Well, my family is not really traditional now, I guess. I don’t know if you’d approve. I don’t know if you’d understand. I’m both relieved and sad I may never get to know, and then sad I’m relieved at all because-- either way, I wish you were here.”

He pauses, and swallows. Oblivious to the painful lump in her father’s throat, Coco has managed to grab a flower and is trying to put it in her mouth. He takes it out of her hand gently, placing it back before the grave. “But I wanted to tell you, I believe I am doing the right thing. And I am very happy. We are all very happy, and doing our best, and that… that is the most important thing, I think.”

Their smiling faces stare back, forever unchanging. He never got to see their bodies - he was told it was for the best - and now he is glad of that. This is how he wants to remember them: whole, and alive, and always smiling. They would smile today seeing their granddaughter, he’s sure. He likes to think that somewhere, they still are.

Coco sure is smiling plenty for someone with only half a tooth, still babbling and trying to reach out for the faces on the gravestone. Héctor holds her a bit closer, and her hands press on the glass over the photos like she’s trying to grab those smiles for herself.

“Abbwaba,” she chirps, and laughs like someone just told a really great joke.

Must be papá. Mamá’s jokes were terrible, Héctor thinks, and when Coco turns to look at him again, laughing, he laughs just as hard.

***

“Oh, you look so handsome!”

That is something Ernesto usually appreciates hearing - he appreciates it very much, truth be told - but it does lose some of its appeal when the person saying it is your mother as she circles you to make sure your jacket looks absolutely spotless.

“Uh, yes. So, are we ready to--”

“Isn’t he handsome, Estéban?”

Estéban de la Cruz, who clearly needs help getting ready far more than Ernesto ever did - anything vaguely more elegant than an undershirt seems to make him ill at ease - glances over and gives him a shrug that probably translates to ‘I have to listen to this every day, now it’s your turn’.

“Looking good,” is all he says, causing Ernesto to blink. This kind of thing, his father looking at him and talking to him like a normal specimen of homo sapiens, is something he has yet to get entirely used to. He remembers times when he saw his father sitting on the couch while staring at the wall in an alcohol-induced stupor, and being both relieved and frustrated by it. A part of him rejoiced at the chance to just pass by unnoticed and spare himself one of his moods, while the other wanted to grab him by the shirt and shake him, knowing full well it would amount to suicide.

I am here, damn you. I’m right here. Look at me.

“So handsome,” Adela repeats for the eleventh time, snapping him from his reminiscence. “You know, you should find someone.”

As his father looks suddenly very busy fiddling with the buttons of his jacket, Ernesto holds back a groan. “Mamá, can we not--”

“You know Mirela’s son? He’s a nice boy too, and word is that he also may be--”

Oh no. No no no no no, this is not happening.

“Ay, look at the time, I really need to go! See you in church!” Ernesto yells, and sprints to the door, almost forgetting to pick up the sack of coins on his way out.

***

“That’s a very generous bolo.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Ceci would never let me hear the end of it if I gave anything less.”

“Ah, don't be modest. You wanted to be a good godfather and bring plenty of good fortune to your goddaugh--"

“No, it was definitely Ceci."

"Ah." As children swarm around them to pick up the frankly astounding amount of coins Ernesto has scattered around, Héctor laughs and puts an arm around his shoulders. “Ay, don’t worry, mi amigo. I have a song in mind that will more than make up for your losses.”

Ernesto, newly-minted godfather, snorts. “It had better,” he says, elbowing him in the ribs, but his lips are already curling in a smile. Héctor lets out a yelp that’s mostly for show, and looks over to where Imelda is standing, clad in a beautiful dress Ceci insists on tailoring just for her along with Coco’s pure white ropón.

“No, no purple, for God’s sake,” he remembers Ceci muttering as she took Imelda’s measures. “This is your child’s christening, not Lent!”

Imelda does favor purple over most colors, but she looks stunning in the blue dress as she speaks to guests, Coco squirming and giggling in her arms as Óscar and Felipe make faces at her. She gets to make some noise now, after being on her best behavior through… most of the ceremony, a few drum-shattering shrieks aside. Héctor finds himself smiling dreamily.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” he sighs, and Ernesto raises an eyebrow.

“Imelda, or Coco?”

“Both.”

“Heh. Yes,” Ernesto concedes. For a few more moments they just look on, side by side. For just a split second Héctor allows himself to wish circumstances would allow him to grab Ernesto’s hand, but he knows better than that; they will not go out of their way to hide, but they have got to be practical. If there is anyone present at the moment they may try to come clean to first, it’s probably-- ah, speaking of them…

“Ernesto?”

“Mmh?”

“The twins are planning something during the reception, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are. It may or may not involve explosive material.”

“Por Dios, tell me you talked them out of it!”

“Why would I? I like fireworks.”

To the boys’ credit, the display is pretty spectacular. The only casualty is a perfectly replaceable tablecloth, and Coco’s sheer delight as she claps at the lights, nestled in her grandmother’s arms, is well worth the loss.

It also causes enough of a distraction for the three of them to slip their arms under the table and hold onto each other’s hands for a few moments, squeezing tight.

***

“Home, sweet home!”

Héctor’s dramatic declaration would be more accurate as ‘bed sweet bed’, really. When they made it back to their apartment it felt anything but sweet, with a baby cranky from the long trip and five dogs, plus a cat, either very offended by their absence or bouncing off the walls, frantic for their attention after a grand total of two hours on their own after Sofía left.

It took about an hour to put down their things, feed the pets, feed the baby, take the dogs out and put Coco in her crib. Then, and only then, can the three of them collapse on the bed and breathe in a sigh of relief.

“We survived,” Ernesto mutters into the pillow.

“Seems like it,” Héctor groans. “Now we can sleep.”

And then, of course, Coco starts crying. It takes Imelda approximately half a minute to pick her up, decide she’s not going to be able to keep standing on her own two feet long enough to soothe her, and return to their bed with her. She lays down with her and Coco settles quickly, nestled securely in her arms. She never moves around when asleep and Pepita is keeping watch as always, so it’s safe enough, Imelda reasons with a yawn. She only realizes she forgot to close the door when Pepita jumps in, curling up next to Coco. She groans.

“For the love of God, close the door before--”

“BOOF!”

“Yip! Yip! Yip!”

“Agh-- Dante, no, wait--” Héctor trails off with a yelp when Dante jumps up on the bed, landing across his legs and just barely missing his crotch with a clumsy paw. Out of the corner of her eye, Imelda notices Ernesto reaching down.

No dogs on the bed, she wants to say, but Dante is already up and she is tired enough to admit defeat, at least this once. She sighs and shushes Coco while she falls back asleep, trying to ignore Ernesto’s little monsters as they snuffle around to find a spot to snooze. Once they finally settle, Imelda closes her eyes and tries to sleep. And tries. And tries.

On the pillow, Pepita is purring away. The dogs are mostly silent, except for the occasional twitch and half-snore. Coco is suckling on her thumb as she sleeps, Héctor is breathing with his mouth open as usual, and Ernesto is snoring softly behind her. She could blame any of those things for the lack of sleep, but she knows that’s not it.

Finally, quiet and careful to stir no one, Imelda half-sits and looks across the bed she used to share with Héctor and no one else, and that used to feel so large.

It’s quite crowded now, with the three of them and Coco resting on it, Héctors’ limbs splayed in all directions and Ernesto a solid presence behind her, their pets filling up all remaining space. Not a single gap left.

It is perfect. It is whole.

It is home.

Imelda nods silently, and leans back down. She tucks a lock of hair behind Coco’s ear, kisses her forehead, and closes her eyes with a sated smile.

***

Aaaand it's over, yet another fic that got out of hand and ended up at least three times longer than planned! Hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it.

(Also, letting a baby sleep in the Big Bed with mom, dad, their boyfriend who is also a honorary uncle, their cat and their five dogs is really cute in fiction, but can go very wrong in reality if someone turns in their sleep. Don't do that.)

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #mind the gap

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

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Promise Me Forever [8]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 8/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

"Oh, it's gorgeous!" Kyrie gushes.

Lir smiles at her, still holding the dress up to her shoulders. The wedding gown—something she's had to get used to saying, the disbelief that this is actually happening not quite gone yet—is only halfway done, with sections pinned together, but the sentiment is sweet. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course! It's going to be beautiful on you, I can tell." Putting the bundle in her arms on the foot of the bed, Kyrie crosses the room to run her fingers over the silk of the bodice. "I might have to ask you to make mine, if . . ."

A blush stains her cheeks as she falls silent. "If Nero ever proproses?" Lir prods, gently, and she nods. "I'm certain he will. You two have been together for some time now, haven't you?"

"Unofficially. yes. Officially, only about a year or so. Are you going to add lace?"

Lir carefully carries the gown over to the mannequin and hangs it. All of these things, the fabric, the doll, the sewing equipment, had been sent by her mother, along with a pattern and strict instructions not to deviate from it. Her little rebellion is the red beads she intends to sew into the edges of the veil. "Yes. The skirt and bodice will both have lace."

"Well, how can I help?" Kyrie asks. "I know a bit of sewing, but you can give me directions."

"You can help me pin the bottom hem if that's alright," she replies.

Kyrie agrees, and the two work together to put the straight pins in to fix the rough edge. Once that is completed, Kyrie helps her slide the dress on so she can make adjustments and ensure the bottom is even. Lir stands on a chair, watching Kyrie work in the mirror, trying to keep herself from feeling excited.

At least, not too excited. Her parents had been thrilled with the news, and it was little trouble to arrange for some food and refreshments with the money they sent. The wedding and ceremony were going to take place right in the Devil May Cry, and Lir had spent the better part of two weeks getting the place ready with deep cleaning, some fresh paint, and repairs. Dante had humored her well enough, even going so far to help when she asked, but he did not seem to share her enthusiasm.

Kyrie is just finishing up when there is a knock on the door. "Don't come in!" Kyrie shouts, but Dante already has the door open. She hurries over waving her hands. "Don't look! It's bad luck!"

"It's not like I haven't seen her befo—ow, ow! Okay!" He enters with his eyes closed, rubbing the tip of his nose. From what she'd heard, Lir gathers that Kyrie had accidentally caught him there with the door. "I came to see if you ladies needed anything. Nero an' I are goin' out to grab some of that paint you asked for, Lir, and I was thinkin' we'd get dinner and bring it home, too."

"That would be wonderful!" It's these small moments of thoughtfulness, more than anything else, that fill her with a bittersweet ache. They make her happy, certainly, but with them come the what-ifs that she doesn't want to consider: what if they had met under different circumstances, what if they could love each other like they did in the movies? "Where were you thinking?"

"Mm, no clue. 'S why I came up to ask you two."

Kyrie presses her hands together. "I could really go for a cheeseburger right now, with some fries and extra bacon. What about you, Lir?"

"Uh . . ." She catches sight of the hopeful cast to Dante's features. "It sounds great, actually! I'm famished."

"Okay." Kyrie moves back to her, but Lir spies Dante peeking through his fingers. "The dress looks nice," he says, but skirts out the door when Kyrie yelps at him.

Lir is laughing when she turns back to the dress with an annoyed huff. "I don't know how it is you two ended up together," Kyrie chuckles, "but thank goodness. I don't know anyone else who could put up with him for very long."

She pauses in smoothing a wrinkle from the waist, her heart in her throat and her mouth dry. Nero knows, at least in part, why she's here. Dante had told him it was an arranged marriage, and left it at that. Had Nero not informed Kyrie? Should she? Instead, she clears her throat and asks, "Is he truly that difficult to be around?"

". . . No, not . . . not exactly." Glancing in the mirror reveals Kyrie looking at her hands, clasping them slowly in front of her. "I don't know him that well, if I'm honest. I wasn't conscious for a lot of what happened in Fortuna, and he didn't stick around for very long once it was done. It's only been in the past few months that he's really become more of a fixture in our lives outside of showing Nero the ropes, but . . ."

Her gaze lifts to fix on Lir's through the glass. "He's suffered, I think. So, he shuts people out, and closes himself off. It's easier if he doesn't get attached, because he's the only one like himself, you know? So, he's lonely, but he can't do anything about it. Nero was the same way for a long time. Now that we have the orphanage, he's a bit more settled, but both of them are like . . . dogs that have been abused. They're angry, and hurting, and lash out to drive others off."

"Sounds about right," Lir murmurs.

By the time they are finished with the hemming, the guys are downstairs and calling up for them. Kyrie helps her replace the dress and Lir quickly gets dressed before heading downstairs.

They have set up the food on the table in the sitting area. Nero and Kyrie sit on the floor, so Lir steps over Dante's legs to take a spot on the couch next to him. Nero hands her a takeout container that has her burger and fries inside, and Lir digs in. She still isn't used to all of the fried and greasy goodness, marveling how delicious everything is.

"Can't believe you two are really doing this," Nero says. "A few weeks ago it seemed like you didn't want it at all."

"What can I say? Things change." Lir watches as Dante steadfastly picks the pickles off his burger with a frown, smiling a little at the gesture. "A few weeks ago, I didn't know I had a laundry room, if we're listing them."

Nero rolls his eyes. "There's a difference between that and getting hitched. You okay?" He asks Lir. "He didn't blackmail you or anything, did he?"

Beneath the teasing, there's a genuine concern, and she sets her burger down. "No, nothing like that. We just talked about it, that's all. Although I don't think he could threaten me even if he tried. He's too nice for that."

"Don't tell him that," Dante complains, and she laughs.

"Your family is coming, Lir?" Kyrie asks.

She nods, dabbing her face with a napkin. "My parents and my sisters will be here. And some members from our . . . town."

"That's so nice," she says. "It's too bad you don't have any family nearby, Dante."

"Yeah . . ." He scratches his head, as if nervously, and Lir frowns. "Speaking of which," Dante says, "Nero, you want to do me a solid and be my guy? Thing? For the wedding?"

Nero frowns. "You mean best man? Why me?"

"Who else am I gonna ask? Morrison?" Dante snorts. "You're the only one I've really spent time with outside of work, and you've got a good head on your shoulders. Besides, you'd be doin' me a favor, which means . . ." He grimaces. "I'd owe you one."

Nero laughs a bit evilly, but a quick elbow from Kyrie has him swallowing that down. "Sure, yeah, no problem." Then he glances at Lir. "Do I gotta wear a tux or something?"

Lir laughs and shakes her head. "No, it's casual. Just whatever you're comfortable in."

They continue their meal amiably, and Kyrie and Lir discuss some of the details with the other two chiming in with jokes. Once the food is done and cleaned up, Nero steers Kyrie to the door. "Gotta get home before the sitter costs us an arm and a leg," he says. "Hey Dante, I'll be back on Saturday if you need more help."

"Yup," he says, and they say their goodbyes as the couple leaves.

Dante stands next to her by the door, and she looks up as he looks down. "I should probably get started on the painting," he says.

"Actually," Lir replies before he can walk away, "there's something I've been thinking about. That I think we need to discuss."

He makes a face. "I'm already marrying you, what else could you possibly need?"

She gives him a look and he chuckles at his joke. "Fine, fine. What is it?"

"Come sit," she says, butterflies in her stomach as he heads back to the couch.

Once they're settled on the cushions, Dante in his usual sprawl and her with feet tucked under her, she finds it hard to speak. She's been thinking about this for days, and it feels important, yet now that the opportunity has come up to suggest it, nerves leave her struggling for the right words. Dante tilts his head to study her, his amiable expression shifting to concern. "Hey, what's buggin' you? You've got a funny look on your face."

"Do I?" Lir touches her cheeks, then drops her hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He frowns. "Is it serious? Gotta be honest, you're starting to make me a bit nervous."

Her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, a habit she's picked up since living here that's more liberating than she'd thought it would be when her mother had drilled it out of her. "I think it is, but maybe it's not. It's just . . . We have to convince everyone I've ever known that you and I are . . . Well, that we've been intimate to some degree. They'll expect it. My mother can be . . . difficult, but I've no doubts that she's told them how perfect we are for each other, if only because she doesn't want to feel like she failed to teach me properly."

"I'm not followin'." His brows furrow as he turns to face her fully. "I thought they didn't want us being, uh, intimate before the ceremony?"

"Not like that," she says quickly, "but I'm supposed to be your wife, right? So, they'll judge us based on that, and if something is amiss, they might . . . call it off and find someone else to set up with you."

"Could they?"

"I don't know, honestly. My older sisters are all married or engaged, and Ilya is too young. But they might, if they felt desperate enough, break one of the engagements. There's not a precedent, though, so I don't . . . I don't know."

Dante rolls his eyes, which makes her blush. "I'm marrying you. What more do these people want?"

She swallows the embarrassment she feels at that statement. She knows that he is doing this to keep the seal in its place, and out of obligation from Sparda's promise. Lir has not let herself think for even a moment that he was doing this because he wanted to, or for her, outside of the oath. He had said he liked having her around, and that was more than she could hope for.

Yet hearing his annoyance stings, so she hurries on, "They will want it authentic, I guess. You have to understand, this is our entire lives. Was, anyway. For hundreds upon hundreds of years, waiting for this union. And they have . . ." Lir can't meet his eyes as she murmurs, "Expectations."

"Expectations," he repeats, flatly.

Her entire face is burning now, but she presses on. "For how we'll act around one another, for how affectionate we'll be, particularly during the kiss and in the hours between the wedding and the ceremony." He says nothing, leaving her fumbling. "I thought we could practice."

"Practice what?"

Lir cannot read his tone, which is why her reply comes out in a whisper. "Kissing one another."

"Uh . . . okay." Lir looks up at him in surprise, and Dante shrugs even as she notices the pink that tinges his neck. "I mean, if you think it will help."

"I just thought if the wedding was our first time kissing, it would be awkward, you know?" she says.

Dante nods vigorously. "Yeah. Yeah I can see that. You want to, uh . . . tell me what you want?"

Lir blinks, debating. She hadn't actually expected him to agree, not completely, so she tries to figure out what to do. She slides towards him, kneeling on the couch, and Dante sits up, his arm draped across the back as he leans towards her.

She places her hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes. "Like this?" she whispers, and presses her lips to his.

Dante is frozen under her, and she counts to three before pulling away. Her heart is pounding despite the brevity of the kiss, and she licks her lips as she glances between his eyes. "Was that okay?"

"Yeah," he answers, his gaze darting to her mouth. "But why not something more . . ."

"More?"

"Yeah. More."

"I don't understand," she murmurs.

He nods, and then she feels one of his hands at the base of her neck, his fingers sliding through her hair and pulling the tie away so it falls around her face. "You should wear it down," he says, "for the ceremony. It looks nice."

There is something there, in his tone, in his eyes, that she does not recognize, yet it makes her pulse race all the same. "Okay."

Dante smiles faintly, his thumb smoothing over her cheek. "Do you remember what we talked about? Before, when I asked you to marry me for real." Hesitant, she nods, and his other arm curls around her waist, holding her against him. "You make that easy to forget sometimes."

Make what easy to forget, she wants to ask, but she can't, because he tugs her back down, sealing his mouth over hers. The grip on her head and her back make her feel safe, and there's the familiar scent of him in her nose, soap and aftershave and a hint of something spicy, like curry, and her heart is in her throat as he kisses her again, and again. Each one is soft, slow, just his lips meeting hers carefully, and Lir tilts her head to make it more comfortable.

The palm on her back pulls her closer so she is halfway laying on top of him as the hand in her hair begins to stroke the locks. The combination is intoxicating, and Lir sighs into his mouth, her hands clenching against his shirt. Dante pulls on her lips and she sinks against him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders.

He pauses, their lips barely touching. "Is this—?"

"Yeah," Lir quickly says. "Can we try it again?"

He lets out a laugh that is half a groan before guiding her back down, and she presses against him eagerly. She has read about this before, both in the books she was allowed and the ones she and her friends would hide, the ones where sex was both wonderful and terrible, but she's never experienced it, and she drinks the sensations in almost greedily. His lips are softer than they look, somehow, not unlike the silk from which she's making her dress, and she nibbles on one, and then the other, until he huffs and draws her in to kiss her properly.

Dante sinks into the cushions, and Lir follows eagerly. She tilts her face as she slides her hands into his hair, tugging on the strands as he does the same to her. She can feel the hand on her back move to her hip, and Lir adjusts one leg, lifting her knee to press on his hip to allow him to feel her thigh. He gives a sound that sends a flutter straight through her, and as his mouth opens she dips her tongue inside, sucking in a tight breath when it meets his.

But then Dante responds aggressively, rolling his tongue into her mouth, licking slowly. His hand grips the back of her thigh, his fingers digging into the denim, and Lir starts to touch him in turn, running her fingers along his neck and shoulders and down the wide expanse of his chest. It is overwhelming, but in the most thrilling and delicious way, and every time Dante makes a noise in his throat she feels it reverberate to her core.

She grips his shirt, using it as leverage to close the nonexistent space between them. All she wants is be closer to him, to bask in the warmth that's radiating from him like a furnace. "Dante," she whispers, and doesn't recognize the pitch of her own voice.

He growls against her lips. The world rocks, shifts, and she is on her back, his thigh wedged between hers, his mouth hot and insistent against her own, his body caging hers to the cushions.

Lir reaches up and presses her palms to his face, the stubble along his jaw scratching her skin. Their lips slant as they deepen the kiss, but when she hears a rip in the leather, it jolts her awake from the kiss. She pulls away, her head hitting the cushion, and they stare at one another in shock. "Sorry, sorry—" he says, practically scrambling off of her.

"No, it was me," she pleads, quickly sitting up. Her eyes fall to the side, heat flushing her face, and she sees the leather of the couch is ripped. Did he do that?"

She glances back and finds him sitting on the edge, sucking in deep breaths. "You okay?" she asks, biting her lip.

"I should be askin' you that." He looks at her, and she thinks there's a flicker of red within his pupils. But it's gone when she leans closer to see. "You alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"What? No! I . . . I enjoyed that." She smiles at him shyly.

"You did?" Dante seems surprised, so she nods with a chuckle.

"Okay," he says, and then grins. He looks utterly charming, and Lir smiles back. "Okay. But maybe we shouldn't do it like that at the wedding."

Lir laughs and shakes her head. "Probably not at that ceremony, no."

The statement sobers them both completely, and they look at one another before looking away. The air is awkward now; Lir wishes they could go back two minutes to when she was in his arms, or better ten, before she had asked him for a kiss.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Lir needs to go to bed. It's late after a busy day, and she's showered and in pajamas already, teeth and hair brushed, clothes put away, shoes neatly placed by the bedroom door. Her room has been tidied and downstairs the dishes are finishing their cycle in the dishwasher, the shop and the city falling into quiet as it slows down for the night.

But she sits on her bed and stares at the wall in a daze. Every time Lir begins a task, she ends up drifting away, feeling Dante's lips on hers, his hands on her, sinking into the leather couch as he covered her body with his strong one and rocked against her. Her heart skips a beat, snapping her out of it, and Lir blushes furiously, chastising herself for drifting away in a daydream again. It's been like this all evening, ever since she cleaned up downstairs and went to her room, desperate for some space so she could figure things out.

It seems foolish to get her hopes up after something as mundane as a kiss, yet Dante had, quite literally, taken her breath away, and those emotions that she tries to ignore are all the louder now. What happened to the girl who scoffed at those silly, passionate books and the unrealistic expectations they set? Her eyes drop to her lap, where an unfinished bit of knitting rests. Once completed, it will become a quilt that sits at the foot of their marital bed, and she had chosen a red yarn as similar to the color of his coat as she could find.

Only now the act of making it is less obligation and more desire. She has come to treasure the sight of his smile and the sound of his laugh; will this earn one of those from him?

Or, perhaps, another of those kisses?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she mutters, jumping up to shove the knitting into a drawer. She needs to go to bed, get some sleep, and forget about all this. Her feelings will only complicate things, and with the wedding and ceremony in just a few days' time, there is too much to do for distractions.

But before she can climb into bed, Lir knows she won't sleep. A bit of milk will do the trick, she figures, moving to her door to listen. It's been quiet downstairs, so she figures Dante must have gone to bed while she was in the shower. It's almost midnight, so she quietly slips out her door and heads towards the stairs with a glance at his room.

There's no light underneath the bottom of the door, so she breathes a sigh of relief. But when she turns to the top of the steps, Dante is there, and Lir yelps, nearly jumping out of her skin in surprise. "Sorry!" he laughs. "I thought you were asleep!"

"I wasn't . . . What are you doing?" she asks.

"Finishing up that painting. Wanted it to be done for you to see tomorrow. I was just gonna go shower and get to bed myself . . ." His voice drifts off as he rubs the back of his neck, climbing up the last step. "Sorry for scaring you."

"Scaring me?" she echoes. "Why would you think that?"

"Bout hit the roof," he chuckles. "Can't believe you didn't hear me climbing the steps."

"I guess I'm used to you now," Lir replies.

They stare at each other awkwardly. Her face heats up every time she glances his way, thinking about that stupid kiss. Dante is frowning, and she wonders if it's because he's annoyed, or if he feels as strange as she does. She opens her mouth and begins to say, "I was heading downstairs," just as he says, "Is everything okay?" They both laugh, the tension dissolving a tiny bit, and Lir smiles at him.

"Ladies first," he chuckles.

She gestures to the stairs. "I was just going down for a glass of milk. Would you like one?"

"Bit late for milk, isn't it?"

"It always helps me sleep." Her heart pounds in her chest as she waits for his answer, and that's something else that she has to learn to control: these odd, flaring reactions to his presence, his voice. They'll only make this harder on both of them in the end.

Dante looks her over. "Trouble sleeping?"

Lir swallows. "Yeah. Just can't get comfortable, I think."

He nods. She expects him to say goodnight, but instead he doesn't move out of her way; instead, he leans on the railing. "Is there something I can do to help?"

"Um." Uncertain of how to respond, she only stares at him, and the longer the silence drags the more forced his smile becomes, until it's nearly a grimace. "You could . . . sit with me?"

"Sit, huh?" Dante looks visibly nervous, and Lir curses herself for such a stupid request.

"You don't have to," she says quickly. "I'm really fine."

"No, no, I'll do it, uh . . . Sit, hm?" He glances at his bedroom door. "Let me wash off this paint and I'll come and . . . sit."

He steps around her, and Lir watches him hurry into his room and shut the door. Feeling like an idiot, she goes to the kitchen, keeping all but the light over the stove off as she pulls two mugs out of the cabinet. She decides to opt for hot chocolate instead of the milk, and in a few minutes she is pouring hot water into the mugs over two packets of cocoa mix.

Dante walks in as she tops them both off with a bit of creamer. "Haven't had this since I was a kid," he laughs as she hands him a mug.

He must have showered, because his hair is damp, and his t-shirt clings to his shoulders a bit. Lir feels a bit weak, not really understanding why, but she only nods as she sits next to him at the kitchen table.

She watches nervously as he takes a sip. He pauses with the mug still pressed to his lips, and his eyes widen a fraction before sliding closed as a hum reverberates from his chest. "Damn," he mumbles, "I hate to say that's better than what Mom used to make, but it's pretty close."

Relief fills her, and Lir relaxes against her chair, taking a careful drink from her own cocoa. The silence that descends between them is amiable, comfortable, broken only by the ticking of the clock over the door; it's the little moments like these, where the world is quiet and it feels like it's only the two of them in it, that make it so much harder to ignore the thoughts that have swirled around her lately. Yet, unlike usual, they don't feel foolish or suffocating. Merely there, and she smiles a bit to herself as she studies him, thinking that marrying him won't be so bad.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #collab #promise me forever #pmf

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Title: you gave up half your life Fandom: Supernatural Summary: When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance. AN: Remember when I ranted about season 7? Yeah good times. Here’s my 10.000 words Salty Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

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Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.

That pact was lie.

Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.

During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.

The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.

(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)

Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.

He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.

Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.

“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.

Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.

“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.

The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.

(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)

Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.

Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.

The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.

“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.

He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.

Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.

Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“

“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”

“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“

“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”

He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.

Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.

Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.

When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.

“Hey, Kev-“

Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.

“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.

“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.

Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.

“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”

Kevin stared at the black ink.

“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”

For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.

“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”

Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.

“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.

(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)

Sam wished he could say the same.

After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.

“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”

“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”

Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.

“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.

“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”

The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.

“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.

Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”

And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.

“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”

Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”

He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.

Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.

Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.

“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”

Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.

“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“

“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”

Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”

Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”

Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.

Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.

“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“

“Crowley?”

Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.

“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”

Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.

“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”

“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”

Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.

“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”

In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.

Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.

And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”

(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)

Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.

“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.

Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”

Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”

They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”

Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.

(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)

Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.

(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.

Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.

Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”

Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.

Until he couldn’t.

The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.

Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.

(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)

But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.

And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.

They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.

“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”

They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.

“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”

And then something curious happened.

The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.

Well, that was a first.

“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”

What.

Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.

“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome?”

Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.

“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”

Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”

Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.

Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.

“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”

Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.

When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”

The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.

“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.

(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.)

“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”

Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)

Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.

If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.

“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”

A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.

“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”

Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.

“Angels are real!?”

Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)

“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”

A lot.

“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.

When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.

What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.

(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)

At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.

Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.

He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).

Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.

“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”

Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.

At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.

The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.

That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out.

Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.

Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.

Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.

Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.

The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.

(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)

“Just keep them going, please.”

Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.

Sam was tired.

His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.

What a fucking waste of space he was.

When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.

The next day he hit a dog.

Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.

“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”

“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”

The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.

When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.

The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.

The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.

She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.

Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”

“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”

While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”

“No idea.”

Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.

“What and how does it kill then?”

“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”

Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.

“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”

Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?

“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”

Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”

He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?

(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)

Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.

He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.

Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”

“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”

Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”

“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Look,�� Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as you can be with those things.”

Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”

“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”

Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.

“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”

“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”

Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”

A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.

“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.

“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.

“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”

“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.

“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.”

Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.

“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”

“I like our-“

Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”

“Sam!”

Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”

“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”

Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”

Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.

Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.

The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.

Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).

“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”

Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.

“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”

Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.

Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.

“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.

When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.

Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”

The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.

“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.

They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.

“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”

“Alright. Directions?”

Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.

The entire façade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.

“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.

There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.

“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”

Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”

Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.

“No?”

“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”

“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”

In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.

“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”

“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”

Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”

(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)

“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”

“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”

Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.

And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”

The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.

After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)

Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.

He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.

And Gabriel has said “no”.

Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.

“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”

“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”

Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.

“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam

Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do

Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.

Another dead end.

After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).

Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.

Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.

Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.

(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)

But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.

“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”

Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”

“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.

Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.

“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”

“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.

Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”

Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“

Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”

“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.

But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.

Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”

It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.

Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.

It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.

Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.

He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.

He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.

When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.

Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.

And they were right in that assessment.

When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.

“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“

“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”

“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”

“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“

“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“

“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”

Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”

“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.

“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”

Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.

Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.

“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.

Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”

Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”

Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.

“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”

Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.

“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”

Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.

“Thanks, Marty. I’ll give them a ring.”

When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.

It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.

Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.

Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.

And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.

Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.

From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.

“Irv! Good to see you.”

“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.

The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.

Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.

“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”

Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”

They left two days later.

“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.

“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.

“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“

“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”

“But it’s not enough!”

Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Kevin was used to it, though.

They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.

“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

#spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #kevin tran #supernatural #fanfic #I AM STILL SALTY AND I HAVE CONSUMED 3 SEASONS MORE SINCE

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zenithlux · 4 years

Text

Cadence Update - 28

Catch up on the full story here!

Now and again we try To just stay alive Maybe we’ll turn it all around ‘Cause it’s not too late It’s never too late

Never Too Late - Three Days Grace

---------

Over the next few days, things fell into something akin to a schedule. Nero and Nico would arrive in the morning before Dante had even rolled out of bed. Then, Nero would carry Roxy to the backseat of the van, give her the blade Kuro had blessed, and wait for Vergil to hop in after. It had only taken a day for the devil-hunting duo to lapse back into what Vergil assumed was normality. Nero and Nico fought more with each other than they did demons, but Vergil could sense a certain underneath all the arguing. When they did encounter any demons, Nero would let Vergil out and the two would fight them off together.

There was just one, glaring problem: Vergil couldn’t kill anything on his own.

He had been worried something like this might happen. It didn’t matter how strong he was on his own; he was still a familiar. And, for reasons he still hadn’t figured out, familiars couldn’t kill other demons. Every time he tried, he failed miserably. His most vicious attacks would do nothing, leaving Nero to kill them himself. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the demonic energy always shot straight at Nero, no matter how much damage Vergil had done. Nero had apologized, but they hadn’t figured out how to fix it. And the less energy Vergil had, the more pain Roxy was in. Every day put Vergil further from figuring out how to fix her paralysis, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Nico had tried to solve it. Nero had used their blade instead of Yamato, but it didn’t do anything. Nico had offered to drag Roxy out, but she could barely raise her arms, much less stab a demon. She’d been too weak to summon Aki, much less hand him off to anyone else, so that was out. Vergil tried everything he could think of. He’d dragged a few demonic bodies back to the van, but both had spurred back to life before they reached her. Nero had done the same, even holding her hand to kill them, but the energy still flocked to him. Vergil had even slipped back into his corporeal form to try and direct more energy at her. But nothing happened, and he had a sinking feeling that nothing ever would.

How had Kuro managed this? Aki mentioned that it had taken the dragon a few years to even manifest himself, much less reveal his existence to her. Another lie that, unfortunately, Roxy hadn’t been aware of. Vergil had learned through her thoughts that Kuro had revealed himself to her as some kind of passing demon with interest. She hadn’t had a clue that he’d already existed within her and had just waited until he could show himself to let her in on it. But no matter how much Vergil cared for her, they didn’t have years. They all knew that Mundus would be back. The former (or current?) Demon King would find his way out in due time. And if Roxy was this week, both her and Vergil would be dead in a heartbeat.

Or enslaved, the thought of which was much, much worse than a quick death.

After four days of no luck, Vergil could tell that even Nero was getting upset. “How long do you think this will take?” He said even though his present company had no hope of answering him. “I can’t stay away from Fortuna forever, even with Dante’s constant visits.” He sighed, rubbing his fingers aggressively through his hair. Vergil didn’t blame his son for being so close to a breaking point. Vergil himself felt positively miserable, as his only contribution to the last few days had been almost-demon-kills and long, fitful naps beside his summoner.

He could feel Roxy’s frustration as strongly as his own, even though she was rarely lucid enough to express it.

Nero stabbed through another demon, wincing as the energy swarmed him. “Sorry, Pops. I’m not doing it on purpose.” Vergil shrugged, prowling around Nero impatiently, before pouncing on another demon, biting its neck for good measure. It didn’t bleed out - of course not - and Nero shot it without about as much gusto as a snail. “Is she close to standing at least? Surely she’s getting stronger.”

Vergil sighed, but it came out as nothing more than a huff. ‘No’, was the easy answer, as ‘I don’t know’ made him uncomfortable. Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything as Nero plopped himself on the ground, spinning Blue Rose in his hand. Vergil sat beside him, glancing at the van behind them. Nico was missing from the front seat, probably checking on Roxy. She was fine if a bit tired. Vergil could feel her in the back of his mind no matter how far away he got. She was mildly more awake today - thankfully, as she’d been in and out of sleep for a few days now - but her back still hadn’t healed. Vergil could still see the strings connecting them; small, fragile things that still didn’t show any signs of improvement.

Finally, Vergil sighed and tapped the ground. Nero glanced at him, and he drew a circle in the dirt with a claw, before drawing a line through it. Nero snorted, but Blue Rose stopped spinning. “I can’t stay here much longer.” Vergil drew a question mark and Nero sighed. “Nico will stay behind to help, but Kyrie needs me.” Vergil nodded, even though his heart sunk at the thought. Nico could only do so much. He hoped that Roxy would at least be walking before Nero left, but it wasn’t fair of him to expect that.

So, he drew a single word in the dirt, “Go.”

Nero nodded. “Don’t worry, pops. It’ll all work out.”

A rumble pulsed around them. Vergil’s ears flattened on his head as he searched for the source. A quiet dream laugh echoed from beneath him. He slammed his head into Nero’s side. The younger hunter swore as he rolled to his feet and darted to the side, giving Vergil just enough time to leap out of the way. A massive demon burst through the ground, sending chunks of concrete in all directions. Vergil’s gaze jerked to the van, but he was forced to dodge away as a giant fist slammed down where he’d been standing. “Wonderful,” Nero said as he propped Red Queen on his shoulder. “I swore I killed you months ago.”

Vergil had never seen this creature before. It towered over them with lava swirling through its rocky body. Two, massive horns curled off the top of its head, but Vergil’s attention was drawn to the massive, shark-toothed mouth in place of its stomach. “Human!” The creature roared. “You were the one who fought my brother?”

“Guess so,” Nero said. “And he was just as ugly as you.”

Vergil wanted to roll his eyes, but his gaze kept shifting to the van. They needed to pull the beast away before it crushed the helpless women inside. But Nero wasn’t moving, and the last thing Vergil wanted was to draw attention to them. The creature roared again before his stomach snapped open. A ball of fire shot at Nero, but he simply hopped out of the way before Vergil could react. Nero clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “And now I’ll just have to take care of you too.” He slammed Red Queen into the ground, revving it with a wink. That time, Vergil did roll his eyes; Nero was acting far too much like Dante for his liking.

The creature roared again. Another fireball shot at Nero. Vergil backed away, glancing at the van again. Nico was in the front seat now but had yet to move. But with a building at her back and the demon in front of her, Vergil knew she wouldn’t have a chance. He considered going back to the van himself. There wasn’t exactly much he could do to the monster.

Unless.

He closed his eyes as Nero continued to run the Goliath around. Vergil wasn’t sure why he and Dante spent so much time playing with their prey, but it didn’t matter. Instead, Vergil focused on his memories of Shadow. The way her body moved and twisted in whatever way she wanted. She could have fought a creature of this size, and he couldn’t rely on Nero any longer.

My tail…

His eyes snapped open. Of course. He’d spent hours working on summoning his demon tail. Surely that could use that now. And as Nero continued fighting, Vergil focused on his tail. After a few moments of nothing, it snaked out around him, sharpening in a form similar to his demon tail. More tendrils seeped off his body in response, and he was satisfied when he found he could recall them at will. Perfect. As Nero slashed across the demon’s chest, Vergil leaped forward, slamming his tail into its leg. The creature howled, surprised as he swung at Vergil. But Vergil sunk into the ground surprised to find that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He slipped back out on the other side, stabbing his tail into the opposite leg. The demon swung to the side and his stomach-mouth widened. But as the fireball launched, Nero appeared and knocked it back into him.

“Not bad,” Nero said. “But you need a lot more practice.” Vergil glared at him, but Nero’s wings appeared and the man was gone, launching into the air. Nero kicked the Goliath in the head, leaping off of it with a whoop of delight. The monster stumbled. Tendrils shot from Vergil’s tail, wrapping around the creature’s legs. He yanked back as hard as he could. Goliath went down in a heap. Vergil backed away, snarling as Nero moved to take its head off. “You ugly piece of…”

“Wait!” Nico said.

Nero froze, Red Queen inches from the beast’s neck. Alarm swept through Vergil as he realized that Roxy was standing, arm over Nico’s shoulder. The frozen blade was in her other hand as they limped toward them. “What are you…?” Nero’s voice trailed off as Roxy shakily extricated herself from Nico’s arms and stumbled slowly forward. Vergil moved to her side, uncertain what he could do if she fell. And while the pain was obvious between them - Vergil could feel it in his own back - her determination was as strong in her eyes as it was in her heart. The strings between them pulsed with energy, though it was far less than Vergil wanted. She unsheathed the blade as she approached the dying demon. Its eyes rolled up toward her.

“You,” It whispered. “My master wants you.”

“Well,” She said, out of breath as she dropped the sheathe. “He can’t have me.”

Then, with both hands on the hilt, she stabbed the creature straight through the eye. Blood pooled at her feet as it screamed; a shrill, terrible sounding thing. Then everything went ominously silent. His body vanished, leaving behind trails of red orbs and demonic essence. It all cascaded into Roxy, nearly overwhelming her. Vergil moved first, leaping to her as she clumsily dropped to her knees. He propped his body against her back as the sword fell from her hand. She took a deep breath as her head fell back toward the sky. “There,” She said quietly. “I did it.”

Then she slumped forward, her eyes closed, and she said nothing more.

#zenni-writes #cadence #update #vergil #nero #nico #vergilxoc #vergilxroxy #I'm glad the fight scenes aren't as long as Blazing Tempest #;_;

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shianhygge-imagines · 5 years

Text

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} Nero

AN: Ahem... confession I’ve never personally played dmc4... Nero’s personality is based off of what I’ve seen of dmc4 on YT and from dmc5.

So, hopefully this isn’t too off the mark.

Still getting it together with the jet lag, if I’m being completely honest. I slept through an entire day just to fix it a little. And I’m still waking up and falling asleep at odd hours.

|Masterlist Link| |First Chapter| |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, Y/N! You know you want to!” Dante teased, while dragging you through the streets of Fortuna. Somehow, your brother in law had managed to drag you from the confines of your room to another city almost completely isolated from the rest of society.

At first, you’d been under the impression that Morrison had given the two of you a new job. Dante had practically burst into your room that morning with a bright grin, chattering about how the two of you had a lot to get done in the next few days. That “we’ll be set for a few months.” So, thinking that it was a high paying job for once, you’d practically flown out of bed to get ready for a rewarding mission. You’d been suspicious of Dante insisting that you ride along with him on his bike, but you’d let it go on account of Dante giving you the puppy eyes that made you incapable of carrying a grudge against him. It had taken you half a day of traveling before you’d started to read the road signs along the highway. All seemed fine until you’d read, “Fortuna - 30 miles away,” and you’d promptly screamed at Dante, who, like always, laughed at your expense. You had reluctantly agreed to wanting to meet Nero, but you didn’t think that Dante would spirit you away the very next day.

It was at that point that you realized why Dante had been so insistent on you not taking your own bike. He didn’t want you trying to run away. No matter how much you argued, Dante didn’t stop the bike the rest of the way to Fortuna. And it wasn’t like you could simply jump off a motorcycle that was going 130mph.

“This is humiliating, Dante!” You cried, digging your boot heels into the cobblestone ground as Dante dragged you backwards through the streets. If was a fact that the two of you looked ridiculous to the people of Fortuna, and you could almost hear them whisper about the rowdy outsiders.

“Well, it wouldn’t be humiliating if you’d. Just. COOPERATE!!” Dante grunted, giving a hard yank with his arms wrapped around your waist. The leather on his coat sleeve gave a protesting squeak.

“You can’t make me do this!” The protest left your mouth along with a loud yelp at suddenly being yanked.

“You’re a grown ass woman, Y/N!”

“And as a grown ass woman, I can make my own decisions!”

“Well, you sure ain’t acting like one! Stop being a coward!”

“I’M NOT A COWARD!”

“YES, YOU ARE!”

“NO, I’M NOT!”

“YES.”

“NO!”

“YES!”

“NO!”

“WHAT ARE YOU SO SCARED FOR?”

“I AIN’T GOING TO BE A REPLACEMENT!”

…..

“…What?”

Your answering grumble was enough of a sign for Dante to turn you around in his arms, forcing you to either stare at his chest, or his face. You weren’t normally this unreasonable. “Y/N… what’s really bothering you?”

“… I’m scared that he won’t like me trying to play at being his mother, Dante.” You whispered, wanting to disappear in a hole at all the stares being directed at the two of you. If Nero was anything like his father or uncle, then he was the type to dislike being underestimated. “I don’t want to just pop into his life after eighteen or so years and be like, ‘Hey! I’m your stepmother, I’ve come to support you!’ What if he thinks that I’m pitying him?”

“Y/N… you don’t have to be his mother. Just… be there for him. Nero’s not the kind of person to just take charity, but he’s also not the type to dislike a person upon meeting them.” Dante sounded so sure of himself as he reassured you, but you still fidgeted from the nervousness.

“I… I’ll go see him, but if Nero finds my presence annoying, then I’m out. I just want…” You didn’t finish your sentence as you toyed with the necklace around your neck. I just want a family, again. You didn’t have to voice the last bit, the suddenly somber glint in Dante’s eyes told you that he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“You know… maybe you should let me come to my own conclusion before you start worrying.” A playfully annoyed voice suggested from behind. An embarrassing squeak left your lips as you spun around to confront the voice’s owner, indignant at being caught unaware.

The first thing that caught you off guard was the chin length white hair, still so striking even after spending years in the company of the twin Sons of Sparda. He was young, but he was tall, almost as tall as Dante, if not a few inches shorter, and you had to tilt your head to look him in the face. It was like a slap to the face with how similar he looked to Vergil, and you found yourself taking an involuntary step backwards in shock. He had the same blue eyes that made your legs weak, stubborn, passionate sapphire eyes so much like his father’s. But that self-assured smirk was without a doubt something that Dante shared with the young man. Without a doubt, the young man that stood before you was Nero.

A silence settled over the three of you until Dante broke the silence. “Hey, Nero! Long time no see! How have you been, kid?” Your eyes narrowed at your brother in law… real smooth, Dante. Real smooth.

“We just saw each other two days ago, Dante. Not much has changed since.” Nero’s expression was absolutely blank as he pointed this fact out to Dante. It was true enough, which probably made Nero very suspicious of Dante’s sudden return with a stranger nonetheless. The young man’s eyes flickered to look you over before he directed the next question towards you. “So what brings you to Fortuna?”

“We were actually looking for you, Nero.” You winced at how uncomfortable you sounded.

Nero spread out his arms briefly as he spoke, “Well, here I am. What did you need that warranted coming back so quickly? The city’s still in ruins you know?”

“Actually,” Dante started, raising a finger to the sky, “how did you find us so quickly?”

Nero blinked once… twice… three times before using his thumb to point backwards at the large estate behind him. “You were both making a ruckus outside of the orphanage… and I live in that orphanage.”

You lifted a hand to smack Dante on the back of his head and turned to glare at him. “So your plan was to drag me kicking and screaming across Fortuna until Nero found us?! What kind of shitty plan was that!”

“Ow! Hey! Y/N! At least it worked!” Dante protested when you tried to hit him again, pointing at the much younger man. “Worked like a charm! He found us!”

“Yeah, after half of Fortuna pointed and stared at us!” You threw your arms up in exasperation before promptly burying your face in your hands and muttering, “Ugh. I’m so not ready for this.”

“Uh. Dante? You going to introduce us?” Nero chimed in, a smirk on his face as he crossed his arms, waiting patiently for the two of you to get your acts together.

Dante gave an easy grin as he hauled you up from your hunched and embarrassed position, spinning you around and draping his left arm strategically over your shoulders so that you couldn’t lift your arms to hide your face. You shot your brother in law an indignant scowl when he proceeded to poke your cheek with his index finger. “This particular ball of pint sized sunshine… is Y/N. She’s my sister.” At this, your cheek twitched from how unbelievable this lie was.

Nero, for his part, looked equally unimpressed, and shifted his weight to lean on one foot. “Right. You don’t resemble one another at all.”

“She’s adopted?” Dante explained, sounding unsure of himself as he shrugged. “Anyways, I thought I’d bring her here to help with the relief effort. Y/N’s a bit of a do-gooder and likes to look after people.”

Oh, how you wanted to strangle Dante. You weren’t pint-sized and you sure as hell were not a do-gooder. If anything, Dante’s the do-gooder with how often he doesn’t accept payment for his jobs. Deciding that you’d deal with Dante’s lame explanations later, you slapped a friendly smile on your face and offered your right hand for a handshake, “Nice to meet you, Nero. Dante wouldn’t shut up about you.”

For a brief moment, Nero’s blue eyes flickered back and forth between your eyes and your offered hand, and you knew that you were being sized up. After a few seconds, Nero’s thin lips curved into a boyish grin and he took your hand in his, giving a gentle but firm shake. “I appreciate the help, Ms. Y/N.”

Before you could respond that Nero didn’t have to add a title to your name, a shock seemed to run up both of your arms, and the two of you promptly released each other’s hands. By your side, Totsuka hummed in recognition at the familiar presence, and Nero’s demonic arm started to glow. Nero’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at you, “Who are you, Y/N?”

“I… uh… think it’s better if we talked about this in private, Nero.” Dante suggested, getting in close to Nero and whispering, “Y/N’s connected to the Yamato.”

The younger man seemed to recoil at the mention of the Yamato, confusion plastered on his face as he glanced at your own bewildered face. “Yeah, fine, we’ll talk in the garage.” With a small wave to follow, Nero pulled away from Dante and began to stroll towards the large ornate building behind him, pulling open the nearly demolished black gate to lead the two of you through.

It might have been a very beautiful orphanage at one point, if not for the rubble that littered the property. You thought that perhaps at one point, children might have spent their time running around the large lawn, noticing the various tire swings decorating the larger trees and the metal playground. There were definitely still children living in the orphanage, as you could see their little faces peaking out at you from the orphanage windows, but you guessed that it was still too dangerous for them to be playing outside.

Around the side of the orphanage was a less ornate structure attached to the building. The garage seemed to have been a side thought to the entire structure, only added because of convenience from the looks of how bland it was.

It was only after the three of you were inside the garage that Nero turned around and demanded, “Okay. What the hell is going on?”

Dante made the expression that he normally used when he was about to start spouting nonsensical information, so you kindly stepped up to cover his mouth. “My husband was the previous owner of the Yamato.”

Nero blinked for a moment before looking down at his still glowing arm, “You’re not here to take it back, right?”

You shook your head, hand still firmly on Dante’s mouth. “No. I’d imagine the only way to retrieve the Yamato would be to cut your arm off.” When Nero defensively hid his arm from your view, you chuckled and shook your head. “Besides, the Yamato tends to be attracted to its owner’s next of kin.”

“Next of kin?” Nero muttered before something seemed to click in his head, “Wait, so does that mean my father is…”

“My husband, yes.” You confirmed, looking as uncomfortable as Nero was.

“Then… are you my mother?” You didn’t know if it was hope, anger, or sadness that made Nero’s voice tremble just the slightest.

You shook your head sadly, “I’m not, Nero.”

“But if you’re not my mother, then… oh.” Realization dawned on him at the circumstance to his birth and suddenly the boy looked pained, “I’m sorry.”

You managed a grateful smile, your hand dropping from Dante’s mouth. “You’re a sweet boy, Nero. I’m sorry that I didn’t come find you sooner. It must have been difficult without parents.”

“I wasn’t alone, though.” Nero’s blue eyes lit up from memories of happy times, “I had Credo and Kyrie to help me. I… uh… do you want to meet Kyrie, Ms. Y/N?”

You nodded the affirmative and moved to follow Nero into the main house, “I’d love to, Nero. And you don’t have to call me Ms.”

“Then, what do I call you?”

“Just Y/N is fine, Nero.”

“Y/N, then.”

….

“Seriously, guys? You just forgot about me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Around a year later.

“Nero, behind you!” Bang!

“Thanks for the save, Mom!”

…

The two of you stood in silence at the center of a ring of ash, having killed a good handful of demons. Both of you paused in awkward silence, your eyes wide in surprise, and Nero bashfully sporting a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“I mean… uh…” Nero stuttered, trying to explain his slip up before huffing and giving up, scratching the side of his cheek, “Can I… call you that?”

“You want to call me ‘Mom?’” you wheezed, eyes burning from the overflow of emotion you sudden felt.

“I mean, if you don’t mind-”

“I don’t.” You interrupted, looking touched and determined to make this work. “I don’t mind if you call me that.”

Nero’s posture relaxed a great deal, a relieved grin appearing on his lips. “Seriously? That’s great.” The younger devil hunter gave a huge sigh, “Okay… Mom.”

You bit your lip when Nero called you his mother again. “Nero… I’m going to hug you now, okay?”

Your son’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t question your request, merely opening his arms, voice just the slightest bit hoarse as he replied, “Okay.”

Before you knew it, you had Nero in your arms, pure joy flowing through you as he hugged you back. “My son. My beautiful son.”

Did you hear that, Vergil? He wants me to be his mother. He’s our son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

#shianhygge #shian imagines #DMC #DMC4 #DMC5 #DMCV #devil may cry #Devil May Cry 4 #devil may cry 5 #devil may cry imagines #vergil sparda #vergil #vergil x reader #nero #nero sparda #dmc nero #dante sparda #dante #dmc dante

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sethrine-writes · 5 years

Text

How to Court Your Demon 101

Fandom: Devil May Cry 5

Pairing: Nero x Demon!F!Reader x Kyrie

Words: 1842

Warnings: Some fluffy stuff, a whole lot of confusion.

Commission Request: 1500 words, Nero and Kyrie attempting to court a demon!Reader, who is unfamiliar with human customs as they are with demonic ones - a whole lot of confusion, and the couple keeps messing up somehow. Helpful Dante.

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @aryaea! Thank you so much for commissioning me!

------

The shop was relatively quiet, considering the time of day. Mid-afternoon, a slightly cloudy sky, mild temperature – the day just screamed to be ruined by some sort of unholy entity wishing nothing more than for the destruction of mankind. Yet, there you sat, curled up –quite literally, considering your serpentine-like body– book in hand and only somewhat irritated at the quiet that surrounded you.

Given your demonic nature, it was only natural for you to want to stir something up, if not for the gratification of possibly annoying one or both of the Sparda twins, of which you had somehow found an unlikely partnership with, then simply as something to do with your free time. You were holding back, however, and for what you believed was a good reason.

Dante and Vergil had visitors for the week, more kin of the Sparda line, as well as his mate.

You knew the couple well, you liked to think, enough that you were often within their good graces when they came by the shop. Nero was present more often than Kyrie, but it did not hinder you from befriending both individuals and gaining their mutual trust, enough that you had revealed your truer, more naga-like appearance to them on more than one occasion.

In your time knowing them, you studied how they interacted, intrigued by human customs and how they chose their respective mates. You learned, over time, that their dynamic was built on honesty and transparency, and their connection was like no other you had witnessed, at least when compared to other demons.

Such trust and understanding were nearly unheard of amongst demon-kind, though your kin were some of the few who prided themselves in standards when in search of a mate.

Truth be told, you were rather envious of Nero and Kyrie, as you had yet to find a mate who could meet such standards. Had they not already found each other, you would have surely entertained the idea of possibly courting one or the other, perhaps even both, as they both possessed traits you found desirable.

A missed opportunity, really, but they complimented each other in the best of ways, and it brought you great joy to be within their presence and to witness their devotion to one another. They were happy, and you respected that.

Lately, however, it felt as if something had changed between you and the couple. You weren’t entirely sure how it came about, but you felt at fault, nonetheless.

During their last few visits, you had felt the need to stand down or become defensive, specifically when in the presence of Nero. In your eyes, he was showing signs of aggression and attempting to show dominance over the room. His actions were enough to keep you from looking both he and Kyrie in the eye, as you didn’t want to further upset him by doing so.

Turns out, him baring his teeth as often as he was just meant that he was smiling and having a good time, according to Dante, who found the whole situation much more hilarious than it really was. A compromise was met, and Nero did his best to not grin quite as wide while you did your best to read the situation better.

Nearly a month later, Kyrie had returned from some sort of festival the city was having. She was in a delightful mood and very amiable in conversation, but that was all overshadowed by the brightly colored markings along her face.

Once again, you found yourself on the end of being pushed back, as all you saw in the bright colors marking her lovely skin were warnings to stay away, do not interact. You remained quiet, even when addressed, and, laughably, she believed that she had done something wrong to upset you.

Again, Dante came to the rescue, announcing that it was just face paint, that the combination of colors meant nothing, despite your conditioned mind believing otherwise. The paints were, apparently, a fun way to involve oneself in the festival, and once you looked closer, you were able to see the makings of a butterfly swirling about her sweet features.

Human customs were weird and confusing, but you were still learning and doing your best to understand, just as the couple was attempting to understand your own.

Gentle laughter caught your attention suddenly, eyes darting to the door just as it began to open. You smiled at the familiar presence that accompanied the laughter, glad that the couple you’d previously been thinking of had made it back safely from their trip to the store.

When they entered, Kyrie’s eyes were immediately on you, and you could see the mirth and excitement she held at having your company within her own. Nero was behind her, though he seemed a bit leery, and you had to assure yourself that it was not because of you being there.

“Where are the other two?” he asked.

“Your father had other business to attend to across town, accompanied by Trish,” you answered, words lisping only slightly due to the forked nature of your tongue, “Lady is still on her mission, and Dante disappeared upstairs some time ago. I did not ask his intentions.”

“Probably for the best,” Nero said, and though he visibly looked more relaxed, there was still an odd tension about him that you could sense, and it had you slightly on edge. Kyrie’s calm presence kept you grounded, however, and you shifted only marginally where you were curled up, your smooth-scaled body sliding over itself with the adjustment.

“We have a surprise for you,” Kyrie spoke next, “or, well…you’ll see!”

Your eyes immediately darted to the large fabric bag she took from Nero’s hand with both her own, though she immediately bypassed you and into the back where the kitchen was located. She returned immediately after with empty hands, looking to Nero with a giddy nervousness that intrigued you just as much as it confused you.

“You ready, Nero?”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with before anyone else shows up,” he groused, though his tone didn’t seem to upset Kyrie in the slightest.

Intrigued, you watched as the couple met each other in the large open area of the shop, Kyrie smiling up at Nero. He gave a lilting smile of his own as he wrapped an arm around her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head, and then they began to move together.

You tilted your head curiously as they started up an odd sort of movement, some synchronized bit that led into seemingly off-beat patterns from one another that gave way to their own individuality.

It was obvious they were dancing, but it wasn’t like some of the dances you had seen other humans partake in as couples, nor did it really resemble the line dances that you had seen Dante practice on more than one occasion. They seemed to be trying to move in a way that their own bodies could not – and they were very keen on keeping your eye contact as much as possible, things that felt familiar in theory, but did not add up.

When they came to the last bit of their dancing, they both turned to you, Kyrie a little breathless and Nero looking just on the side of embarrassed, but pleased with the outcome.

You, however, were deeply confused.

“That was…good?” you supplied, and instantly, you could see the couple’s faces fall.

“I meant great! It was very nice,” you tried again, but it seemed the damage had been done.

Had you offended them, this time?

“Did we do it wrong?” you heard Kyrie asking Nero, who looked all sorts of disgruntled, perhaps even on the side of angry.

“I shouldn’t have trusted that damn book he gave me,” he seethed quietly, and you were reminded of the tone Nero often used when speaking of his father, whom he was still learning to coexist with, as you had come to understand.

Frankly, the whole situation was a mess of confusion from all parties.

“Geez, and you guys call me the dense one,” Dante suddenly spoke up, all eyes fixing themselves on the demon hunter who entered the room from the kitchen.

When did he even come downstairs?

“What’re you doing here?” Nero ground out, earning an exasperated scoff from Dante.

“I live here, kid,” he answered with a deadpanned expression, head tilting up in acknowledgment, “and you didn’t do it wrong, you just can’t express the movement you need to, not like our resident snake demon, here, can.”

Dante then turned to you, hands on his hips and shaking his head as if disappointed, though his smile suggested he was being playful.

“They’re trying to court you, if you hadn’t noticed. Been trying to for a while, now.”

Nero’s teeth were showing, and this time, you recognized the threat behind the action, though it wasn’t directed at you.

“Hey, asshole! You can’t just-”

“Nero, it’s okay,” Kyrie fussed lightly, and Nero looked down at her before giving a huff and looking away. Her kind eyes turned to you after, gentle as ever as she held your gaze.

“Dante’s right. We’ve been trying for several weeks, at least, to court you. We wanted to try some of your customs so that you knew we were serious in our interest, but everything we tried backfired. I thought that this time, surely, we would get it right, but…”

You watched as she reached for Nero’s hand, who immediately gave her more petite fingers a reassuring squeeze.

“You wish…to court me?” you asked quietly, carefully, surprised that you had missed the signs.

Looking back, it was much more obvious to see their attempts, and each one had come off wrong simply because they just didn’t know exactly how to proceed. Had you been the one courting them, you would have gone through the same measures, surely stumbling over whatever complex customs humans had for attracting mates and such.

“If we haven’t completely ruined our chances, then yeah,” Nero said simply, his words genuine.

With a soft hiss of a sound, you unfurled yourself and slithered your way closer to the couple, gently curling about them until they were partly wound within the tail of your body. They were unafraid of the action, taking the movement in stride as you came to face them directly with a serene smile.

“I accept,” you said, and instantly, Kyrie’s smile was bright and welcoming as she reached out and took hold of your hand. Nero’s grin was much smaller, but the impact it held made your insides warm pleasantly.

“Fantastic! Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk dinner. I was thinking…pizza,” Dante mused, and immediately Nero was frowning in disgust at the demon hunter.

“Again?! Are you crazy?”

Late-afternoon, a clear sky, mild temperature, and two potential mates that wished to court you as much as you had wanted to court them – the day didn’t turn out so bad, after all.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc5 #dmc nero x reader x kyrie #dmc 5 nero #dmc kyrie #poly!fic #commissions

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 5 years

Text

Run Away from Your Problems Chapter 4

Nero x reader

Summary: They’re BAAAAAACK

Word Count: 1245

The next couple of months were rough, to say the least. Actually running Devil May Cry fell entirely on Y/N’s shoulders, trapping her at the office and not letting her work in the field like she usually would. There may have been other reasons outside of that, but she’d be damned if anyone else found out about that. Nero and Nico ran the mobile unit most days, parking it at the office at night while they struggled to clean up the aftermath of the Qliphoth. Trish and Lady took care of the rest of the rest of the planet. All in all, it was a lot of work to keep the books on the flow of money, but the place was running like a real business for the first time since it opened.

Kyrie kept running the orphanage without Nero. He’d officially moved out of the orphanage and into the third and final bedroom in the office. Dante’s was left alone since everyone hoped he would return soon--with or without Vergil--and the final belonged to Y/N herself.

Everything was running smoothly enough that Y/N was debating on hiring someone to run the business end of things. It was becoming clear to her that being in a house with Nero once again was only serving to drag old feelings back to the front of her mind, and she needed the outlet of beating the shit out of some demons to vent them. With or without her partner. They had the money to afford it, now, after all . . . She was in the middle of one of these debates with herself when the door slammed open. Doors violently opening was fairly common in Devil May Cry, but not in the middle of the night. Everyone knew better than to barge into a place where at least one armed hunter was sleeping. So she did what anyone in her position would do. She pointed the gun she’d been cleaning--Blue Rose, Nero had finally let her toy around with it--at the intruder instantaneously.

“Well, that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?” Dante smirked upon entering.

And that was all the prompting she needed to sprint across the room and jump into a tight hug, gun dangling loosely from the fingertips of her dominant hand. “It’s good to see you,” she breathed.

“You too, kid.” He stepped past, allowing Vergil to enter the building behind him. “I’m guessing Nero is here since you have that?” he asked with a pointed glance at Blue Rose.

“He’s asleep upstairs.”

“Was asleep upstairs,” the youngest Sparda’s voice came from the top of the stairs. “About time you two showed up.”

“Nero, you should be asleep,” Y/N chided. “You guys just got back.”

“Like I can sleep when this guy is banging down the front door.”

Dante at least had the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry, kid. Me and Verge could use some sleep too, honestly. Maybe we should talk about all of our problems tomorrow.”

“All the rooms are full . . .” Y/N pointed out.

“Vergil can take mine,” Nero spoke up. “You and I can share.” She thought she saw redness creep under the collar of his t-shirt. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Dante’s pale eyes flashed between the two of them as he tried to suss out what’d happened--if anything--between them during the months he was gone. He chose his next words carefully while his brother looked on in confusion. “You can also crash with me.” The ‘if it makes you uncomfortable sleeping with him’ went unsaid but was heavily implied in the way he looked at her.

A glance over at her best friend told her that Nero was less than pleased at that offer judging by the way his eyes narrowed. “It’s fine, Dante. Kind of a lot’s been going on around here, and you need as much sleep as you can get,” she tried to placate both of them.

With her decision made, Nero quickly slunk into his room to grab a pillow; Y/N never had more than what she needed on her bed. It also provided a convenient opportunity to calm down a little. As soon as Dante suggested she stay with him, there’d been a surge of rage through Nero that could only be compared to a flashfire. Reasonably, it was a fair suggestion; they’d done much more than just sleep together in the past, after all. Subjectively, it was clearly jealousy that caused his anger. Based off that one conversation a while ago, Nero had come to realize that he might have a thing for his old friend, and that whole interaction with his uncle only solidified it.

Maybe suggesting that we crash together wasn’t such a great idea after all, he mused as he slunk towards her room. There was another thought lurking at the back of his mind along with this full realization of his feelings. What if she just thinks I’m replacing Kyrie with her? To which he promptly resolved to keep his feelings to himself at least for a little while. Because he was oh so known for controlling his emotions.

Meanwhile downstairs, Y/N and Dante shared a look.

“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked once he was sure he heard Nero enter his room. “You two finally get together or what?”

“He and Kyrie broke up not too long ago,” she sighed. “They’re still friends, but it’s been rough on him. He’s gotten weird about some things like me and you. Well, weirder anyway . . .”

Surprisingly it was Vergil that spoke up, “If my son is anything like the rest of our family, his reaction has nothing to do with some other woman.”

“As much as I hate to say it, he’s right,” Dante agreed. “We’ve all got a ‘what’s done is done’ sort of attitude towards life.”

“That why you two have made up?”

“Beating the shit out of each other for a couple months helped.” There it was, the familiar shit-eating grin on the devil hunter’s face.

While the sight of that smile made Y/N return the look with a smirk of her own, she could see the hallmarks of exhaustion etched into the man’s face like the features on a statue: bags under his eyes that looked like he was ready to travel to China, longer whiskers on his chin that were a bit long even for him, a furrow between his brows that usually wasn’t as deep as the Grand Canyon, etc. When she looked over at Vergil she noticed similar signs on his face. “Okay, you two look like you’re about to fall down. We can all talk tomorrow.”

“I assume there is a shower in this place?” Vergil inquired.

“Yeah, I’ll show you where it is,” Dane sighed. “Night, babe. Good luck with the kid.” He kissed her temple like he’d done a thousand times before they even started sleeping together. With a gesture to his brother, the two of them were trudging up the stairs.

Y/N shook her head, not looking forward to the conversation that would have to happen between Nero and his father. It was bound to be explosive, and she’d just gotten the shop looking nice. As she closed up the shop (locking the door, killing the lights and jukebox), she decided that she could keep running things a little longer and use the spare profits to fix the shop after the fight.

#nero x reader #nero imagine #dmc imagine #reader insert

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auswriteforyou · 5 years

Text

Better Man. (Antonio Dawson, Chicago PD.

Summary: Can I request an Chicago PD Antonio x Reader where he goes undercover in a gang and ends up falling in love with Reader trying to save her from abuse and success

TW: Abuse, graphic, cussing.

Who are you? That was the biggest unanswered question in life wasn’t it? You used to think you had a pretty good idea. A nursing degree under your belt, a great job at Chicago Med on the way and then shit hit the fan.

You chalked it up to wrong place, wrong time. A man who wouldn’t take no for an answer, your inherit need to help people, a man’s inability to take a fucking hint. You had been walking home from your shift at the bar, not a glamorous gig but it paid the bills, when you rounded the corner and there they were. Your nightmare. A gaggle of boys stood, muscular and inked to the teeth with familiar symbols. You adverted your eyes, going as far to switch to the opposite side of the street but nothing helped you that Wednesday, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

Miles “Chipper” Franks was taken with you from first sight. A kind hearted girl who obeyed the rules of passing them by. You were beautiful, and you were going to be his. He called out to you, noting the badge hanging off your purse that stated your credentials as a nurse at Chicago Med that you’d only gotten the day before. His buddy had a bad cut and while you were always willing to help, no one could deny the group if they wanted. It wasn’t allowed.

You should have ran, you should have moved fucking states and never looked back because now? Who are you?

The cracked lip, the bluish, red bruises speckling your body slowly turning yellow left you unrecognizable as you surveyed your body. You were his ‘girlfriend’ but you preferred the term punching bag or obsession. Victim is one that might fit.

The house door you ‘shared’ with him and his closest cohorts slammed open, voices yelling with your name mixed among them and you made quick work of skittering down the stairs. You had become the unofficial medic in your months there and you knew better than to keep them waiting.

They were hauling in a man you’d never seen before, stab wound to the leg and you bristled at their lack of intelligence in at least covering the wound. His head was lolled back so you couldn’t see any features, only familiar tattoo marking and the makings of dark brown hair. You grabbed your kit, hoping Miles had refilled it after last usage and landed on the ground beside the man. The crash barely pained you, your body having learned to absorb the highest pain.

“What happened?” Even your voice sounded different, distant. Like a whisper from yards away in a rock concert.

“Some bangers jumped us on our own fucking corner.” Miles raged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and forcing you to look up at him. “Fucking fix him!” He slammed your head into the arm of the couch, leaving you rattled for a few moments before you got to work. You really needed more information but decided to just be extra cautious.

Your patients eyes were open now, concern in deep brown irises as your own swam with the impact. You muttered some reassurance to him that you were going to fix him and there was no need to worry. He didn’t acknowledge it, just kept staring at your messed up face.

That was the first time you met Antonio Dawson, or as you knew him then - Dante Alonzo.

He was apparently good at whatever it was he did for Miles, quickly taking the spot of right hand man in only a couple months when the old one mysteriously disappeared. He was one of the trusted ones, being left at the house sometimes to make sure you didn’t make a run for it but with your ear present injuries you highly doubted you’d make it far anyway. In those two months, you learned so much about the man it made you feel human again, made you keep ahold of whatever shred of hope stayed alive in you. He was funny, smart and so kind to you that the day he told you he was a cop and going to get you out of this, it didn’t surprise you at all.

Miles had broken your ribs, shattering two with a hard kick of his boot after you ‘back talked’ him. You asked him what he wanted for dinner. He said chicken. You said there was none in the house. He beat the shit out of you. That night he’d left you with Antonio, who you talked through fixing the ribs Miles hadn’t let you tend to until dinner was fixed. It was then that he divulged his secret to you, and all that hope filled you once again.

It was two days later that Antonio’s team raided the house, taking down the whole group in one swoop during the monthly meeting. Antonio cuffed you for show as he had told you he would those two long nights ago, not at all alerting the group that you would in fact be the snitch. They had such loose lips around the girl that wasn’t really important in the first place. You rolled on them like that Chef Boyardee can in those old times commercials.

“Good morning!” Maggie greeted you as you walked through the glass doors of Chicago Med, “Excited for your first day?”

“More than.” It had been two more months, your skin healed and spirit lifting through countless therapy sessions. Chicago Med had been more than happy to reaccept your application after learning that you had not in fact bailed on your first day almost a year ago. You’d already finished your paperwork and training, this was your first day on your own and while you resented everything that happened to you, it came with a pretty good side effect too. Not much scared you anymore.

“First patient is in Room B,” She had a smile on her face that you didn’t know how to read but took the file from her anyway.

“Hi, I’m -,” Your words cut off in your throat as you read the name on the line. “Dante.” Your eyes snapped up, smile spreading on your face as you caught sight of Antonio reclined on the bed.

“I think I might have a concussion, mind checking me out?” He grinned as you pulled the curtain shut, his gentle hands pulling you to him in a soft tug. You laughed, looping your arms around his neck as he hugged you to him.

“You have something wrong with you alright.” You laughed, tugging on the soft strands your fingers found purchase in. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just checking up on you, I know you said you’d be fine but I’m not.” He laughed lightly. He had kissed you about two weeks ago, panicking immediately after until you dragged him in by his collar and showed him just how much you didn’t mind. You’d been in love with him after that first time you’d been left alone together.

He was everything the pain hadn’t been. He was soft touches and kind eyes, longing looks and longer hugs, patient smiles and stupid jokes. He was your humanity, the one who made sure it wasn’t hero transfer before wrapping you in his arms and deciding to never let you go. And yeah, Antonio Dawson was the best hero Chicago had ever had.

But he was an even better man.

—

Trying to get to the requests you guys sent me like forever ago! I know this is kind of all over the place but hope you enjoy it. :)

#chicago pd imagines #chicago pd #Antonio dawson #Antonio dawson imagines #Antonio x reader #Antonio x female reader #Antonio dawson au #Antonio dawson aus #Antonio dawson imagine #writing #me

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Crimson Tide Ch9

Chapter Nine - Answers

---Trish---

She felt it the moment she crossed; the pull.

It niggled at her, an itch she refused to scratch no matter how insistent it became. To do so would mean her death, and there was still so much she had to do. She would not surrender, not now and not ever. If Mundus couldn’t kill her, neither would this. It was an annoyance, not worth thinking about.

At least, that’s what Trish told herself.

Only you and V seemed to notice anything was off, but even that much irritated her. She didn’t like others seeing her weakness. It made her blood boil to imagine anyone pitying her. She was strong, capable and completely fine on her own. She didn’t need anybody and never would.

Even so, her heart sank to find no recent traces of Dante and Nero.

She hadn’t expected the mission to be easy, but it would’ve been a nice change.

She sighed and tilted her hips, taking a closer look at the bloodstain marring the colorful ground. Demonic, thankfully. A few months old if she had to guess. Same as the other stains she’d found so far.

She huffed and turned back to you. “Nothing new here, demon blood from about two months ago.”

You grimaced. Trish wished she had better news. The team had been here for three days now, based on the clock in Nico’s van. After the initial arrival, they headed down to the remains of the Qlipoth to begin the search. It didn’t look like much, just a massive stretch of colorless rubble. Hidden between two chunks, Lady found boot prints. Dante’s, judging by the size. Lady was ecstatic, grinning more than she had in weeks back home.

I wonder if she’s admitted to herself she loves him yet?

Unlikely. Lady was a master at self-deception. Ironic, considering her ability to sniff out secrets in others, or to discover plots meant to kill them all.

They set out in the same direction, following the trail until it vanished in a sea of purple grass. The pull strengthened with every step but she shoved it aside, focusing all her energy on tracking. Not her strong suit. They circled the area for hours, frustration mounting by the minute as time dragged on. She was about to suggest simply continuing in the same direction a bit longer when Nico spotted the familiar pattern in the dust.

That was when she noticed the tense silence between you and V. The normal banter and affectionate touches were gone, replaced with scowls and crossed arms. It was ridiculous, hardly the time for a lovers’ spat. Hopefully you’d talk to Kyrie or Nico about it and everything would return to normal. A tiff was the least of the troubles plaguing the group and she despised the fact that it was drawing your focus.

We can’t afford to get distracted.

When you pulled her aside a few hours later to chat, she almost choked. It didn’t even cross her mind that you might approach her. She covered her surprise with a cough and followed you away from the group, mentally cursing her luck. Why would you come to her, of all people? She’d never even been in love! Literally any other person here had more direct experience with whatever was going on between you and the thrice damned poet.

What a waste of time.

She glanced at you with a neutral expression. You were fidgeting, worry written across your face as you followed her through a field of florescent flowers. It was tempting to shout at you, but she bit her tongue and waited instead.

“So, uh, V and I had a fight,” you began. She almost laughed.

“I gathered.”

You leaned down to pick a flower, holding it out to Trish for assessment. An orange blossom with red spots. She recognized it instantly as a fire pansy and nodded. Safe to consume. You popped it in your mouth as the two of you trod on.

“He wanted me to stay behind,” you said after a pause.

Ah. So that’s what happened. Trish took a moment to process, working through her own thoughts on the matter. She’d spent hours training you every day for months, honing your skills until you could beat her if she was having an off day. It made sense that he wanted to keep you safe at home, keep you out of danger, but you weren’t helpless. She honestly found it slightly insulting, taking it as a slight against her mentorship.

She took a deep breath and wrangled her irritation. Indulging that line of thought would do her no favors.

“Idiot. You might be more useful in a fight than he is now, if he didn’t use Nightmare.”

You grinned and sucked on the petals.

“Well, I think he was more worried about the noises I kept hearing and the pain in my head,” you replied thoughtfully.

The blonde furrowed her brow. She’d seen you collapse and rub at your temples, and you definitely seemed out of it on the ride over. It was unlikely you had the gift, but if the shoe fit…

“Yeah, V mentioned something about that on the way. What’s the sound like?”

“A hum, like a bumblebee. It gets worse every time I hear it.”

She hid her shock behind a mask of understanding, taking another few steps before asking her next question. “Did it coincide with the portals opening?”

You froze, wide eyed. “How did you know that?”

Trish almost groaned. This could be bad, really bad. But she needed to be sure. “Have you had any visions? Any flashes of things you that weren’t really there?”

You stared at her, gaping like a fish. She resisted the urge to stick a finger in your mouth and waited.

“Yeah, a burst of light and color on the way to the portal. It was too fast to see anything, though.”

Trish reeled back as if you slapped her.

Fuck, how in the Hell?!

It made no sense; you didn’t have a drop of demon blood in you. She’d know if you did. How the Hell did you have demon powers?

“What is it, what’s wrong with me?”

You sounded terrified and Trish couldn’t help but cringe at the alarm in your eyes. This was insane, it didn’t make any sense. There was no logical reason for you to have the gift, none whatsoever. She sent a pulse of demonic energy at you, just to be sure, but there was nothing. Not a drop.

So how did this happen? Could it be something else?

Don’t jump to conclusions. Think it through.

She had to be wrong. The gift manifested at birth, why would it only start happening now? Even before the Qlipoth, portals popped up on a regular basis. You would’ve felt it years ago as a child. So, either it was something else, or something had changed.

It had to be something else. There had never been a human with the gift, only demons. If you had it, it flew against everything she knew was true. She couldn’t accept it, not without solid proof. Too much was at stake to make unverified claims.

She swallowed her turmoil and licked her lips. “I’m not sure. Tell me if it happens again, I want all the details.”

You deflated, disappointed at her lack of a clear answer. She wished she could offer some reassurance, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Okay,” you agreed softly. “What about V?”

Trish sighed. His concerns made more sense with the new information, but even so.

“He meant well, but I agree with you. It isn’t a choice he gets to make for you. It’s probably a good sign that he told you about it, though.”

You spat out the spent petals and grimaced at the aftertaste. “It’s not even about that. I get where he’s coming from, but the way he told me was just… ugh!”

You threw your hands up in frustration, failing to find the words. This was exactly why Trish avoided interpersonal relationships. Eventually, somebody got hurt and regardless of the outcome, it was a distraction. Sex, she understood. Love? Not so much.

“Why come to me about this? Wouldn’t Kyrie be a better help?”

You flopped onto the ground, reaching for another flower to suck. The blonde joined you, crossing her long legs beneath her and waiting for an answer.

“You have a point, but everyone else seems so… stressed out? You’re the only one of us who has their shit together. Plus, you might just be the Queen of objectivity.”

Trish sighed and leaned back. The pull tugged at her mind, insisting on her surrender. If only you knew just how screwed up her shit was…

---V---

The poet watched you walk away with Trish and sighed. He could imagine what you were discussing. Truly, he couldn’t have handled it much worse, but he’d run out of time. It irked him, knowing that he upset you and hurt your feelings. It seemed like such an obvious conclusion at the time. You saved his life by forcing him to let you handle the problem; he simply wanted to do the same.

Yeah, you fucked that up Shakespeare.

As always, thank you for the input. How do I fix it?

How am I supposed to know? I’m a damn demon.

He rolled his eyes. Griffon had a point. So, who could he ask?

You were already talking to Trish. Lady didn’t trust him; she was out of the question. Nico would tease him, though she may have valuable insight afterwards. The mechanic often spotted things others missed.

What about Kyrie?

Come to think of it, she may be the best option. Her warm heart and caring nature made her an easy person to talk to and though he didn’t know her well, he found her easy to like. Considering all she’d been through with Nero and what she was doing now to save him, she’d probably understand his position better than anyone else.

Perfect.

Since you were off with Trish, the group was taking a break to rest and eat. The perfect opportunity. He stood and headed for the van.

Kyrie was inside stirring a skillet. It smelled incredible and reminded him of all the times he’d found you in the same position during the Qlipoth crisis. You didn’t cook as much lately and he missed it, missed sneaking up behind you and stealing a hug or making you laugh and swat at him with whatever kitchen implement you had on hand.

“Hi, V. Are you hungry?” Kyrie asked with a slight smile.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I was wondering if I could get your advice?”

She gave him a genuine smile and turned down the heat, setting aside her spoon to face him directly. Her hand waved at the table in a gesture of invitation.

“Step into my office. It’s about Y/N, right?”

He glanced at her through his hair, a sheepish look on his face as he sat down and nodded.

“I noticed you two seemed off. What happened?”

“I… may have asked her to stay behind,” he confessed, fingers twitching in his lap. Griffon’s chortle of amusement did nothing to ease his nerves, nor Shadow’s roar. Nightmare, at least, had the grace to remain silent. Or the lack of interest.

Regardless.

“Oh… that explains a lot. Do you have any particular reasoning?”

“She’s ill, and we don’t know why or how bad it is.”

Kyrie nodded knowingly, picking up her spoon and stirring once more. “I can understand that. I felt the same thing when Nero lost his arm. And then he vanished from the hospital! I about had a heart attack.”

V cringed, remembering his visit to the man in question to recruit him to battle Urizen. He was the reason the young warrior left the hospital.

“Sorry about that…” he said.

She scoffed. “Water under the bridge.”

The poet grimaced. Would she still feel that way if they couldn’t bring Nero home? Even for such a gentle soul, forgiveness of that magnitude wouldn’t be easy.

“What’s going on with her? How bad is it?”

He leaned forward, bowing his head and hiding behind a curtain of black. “She’s been hearing things. Some kind of hum, and it causes her pain. It’s growing worse.”

Kyrie hummed and set down her spoon, turning to face him and peeking through his hair to meet his worried eyes. Her own were swimming with sympathy and understanding.

“That does sound bad. I won’t patronize you with empty reassurance, I know from experience how useless that is. I will, however, remind you of everything she’s already endured to get here. She’s stronger than you think, especially after training with Trish.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean the illness won’t overpower her, leave her exposed when it matters the most,” he replied. Images too terrible to ignore filled his mind of you falling to some nameless enemy. His heart twisted as he pictured your face, still in death.

“It might. Just as Nero could’ve died facing Urizen so soon after losing his arm. The stitches hadn’t even closed properly yet. But he went anyway, because that’s who he is.” Kyrie paused and stirred the skillet again, sending a fresh wave of the mouth-watering aroma swirling through the van. She turned back to him with a soft smile.

“It’s part of why I love him; he can’t stand idle when others are in trouble, especially those he cares about. She’s the same way. She wouldn’t be the woman you fell in love with otherwise, and no matter how much it hurts you can’t take that away from her. All you can do is be there when she needs you and hope for the best.”

“How can the bird that was born for joy sit in a cage and sing?” he recited, exhaling deeply and setting his hair aflutter.

“Exactly. And, just so you know, it always helps to be open. Loving someone isn’t always enough; you have to be a team, too.”

The poet lifted his head and met Kyrie’s eyes with a conflicted smile. He knew she was right; he wasn’t an imbecile. But it was difficult to accept outright. The urge to hide you away until no danger lurked tugged at him, warring with his respect and growing understanding.

And you still need to apologize.

He sighed. Where to even begin?

A resounding crash spoiled his thoughts. The van lurched from a sudden impact, throwing him from his seat and Kyrie to the floor with a yelp of surprise, the skillet thankfully spilling only on the stove top. Through the window he saw the horizon tilt as the vehicle lifted just long enough to send his prone body sliding across the floor before the weight settled back onto four tires.

We’re under attack!

“Kyrie, stay inside!” he cried, jumping to his feet and grasping his cane as adrenaline flooded his system. She nodded from her crouched pose and he ran, tattoos already swirling as he threw the door open.

Outside, Lady and Nico faced a trio of Antenora. They were fifty feet away and closing fast, mindlessly slashing toward the two women. The corpse of a Hell Bat lied beneath the window and he could only assume that was what hit the vehicle. The fresh dent in the faded yellow paint confirmed it and he brushed it aside to focus on the remaining threats.

The mechanic hurled a small object at the foes as Lady sprayed them with bullets, her face twisted in rage. V sent a pulse of energy through the bond and ebony shards lifted from his flesh in a storm, racing ahead of his sprinting feet to form Griffon and Shadow. He reached Nico just as her grenade detonated in a flash.

A cloud of silver fluid spewed from the tiny object to coat the three demons. Nico cheered as Shadow vaulted at the Antenora’s and shifted into a spiked wall, ripping at all three demons. Griffon flapped forward and a sphere of purple lightning crackled from his body.

“What a shock to see you ugly bastards here!” the bird cackled.

Nico lobbed another grenade into the fray. V’s eyes widened as it hovered a few feet over the demons and flashed a searing shade of jade. With its light, all three demons lifted for the briefest of moments, then slammed back into the ground as if a giant had crushed them underfoot. Lady grinned and discharged another burst from her minigun.

He sensed the demons fading and bolted forward as Shadow landed a series of sharp blows on the nearest beast. He used her back as a springboard and sank his cane deep into its skull on his descent. It collapsed to the ground and he set his sights on the next just as it turned to face him.

“For King Vassago!” it howled, swinging its cleavers at his face, but Shadow dissolved and carried him out of reach easily.

A streak of platinum light blasted into its chest, leaving a massive cavity behind as it turned on a dime to hit the last foe. It took a step back as if trying to flee, but the bolt ripped through it anyway. V turned to spot you and Trish sprinting back to the van at top speed, more crackling golden light granting you extra speed.

He scanned the area for any further threats and relaxed. Only three Antenora’s and a Hell Bat? How stupid were demons, to attack them with such a poor force?

And who the Hell is King Vassago?

---Reader---

You reached the group faster than you thought possible, thanks to Trish’s lightning. It felt like flying; wind rushed by and your hair blew out behind you, but you barely had time to enjoy it before it dissipated. Your feet tingled as you slowed to a stop near Nico.

You scanned her and Lady for wounds, heart pounding in fear that barely retreated at the lack of blood. V seemed fine, too, but where was Kyrie? Most likely in the van, but you had to know for sure. Judging by the size of the fresh dent, the van probably shifted. She might have fallen or hit her head. You bit your lip and headed over to check.

“Sweet! Those worked even better than I thought!” Nico crowed. From the way her eyes sparkled as she stood, it was obvious she had a fresh batch of ideas to test.

A flash of auburn hair with a smile in the window eased the worry in your heart; Kyrie was fine. No one was hurt. You could relax.

The tension in your shoulders faded and you sighed. Separating from the group might not be wise, going forward. What if a more powerful demon had attacked? Even with Trish’s speed boost, you doubted you could’ve made it in time to stop any serious carnage. Someone could’ve died or been seriously injured.

Not an option.

You glared at V. If he’d only kept his mouth shut, you never would’ve stepped away. It was sheer luck that nothing catastrophic happened. Next time you might not be so lucky, and even to think it made you boil in rage. A muscle in your cheek twitched and you clenched your jaw, imagining all the ways this dumb fight could end up getting someone killed.

Trish cleared her throat beside you and gave you a meaningful glance, but there was no stopping your fury. Lady kept her eyes locked on her weapons, studiously staying out of it. You wished Trish would back off, too, but after what just happened you refused to steal a moment alone with the poet to deal with it privately.

You scowled and stomped over to him.

His stupid protective streak needed to be addressed; now.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as you neared him, recognizing the wrath in your expression. You got within three feet and crossed your arms to keep from throwing a punch, lips parting to launch into a tirade.

Then you heard it. The hum. But it was different, clearer and more direct, and…

Why doesn’t it hurt?

Your rage vanished. V was staring at you, his concern growing with every second you remained silent. You barely noticed, too focused on the stream of visions racing through your mind. White plains speckled with patches of iridescent fluid. Heat. The taste of gasoline in the air. Bizarre shapes looming in the distance. It was all so clear.

“Little fox, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” V asked, reaching out to grasp your shoulder.

“The hum is back, but there’s no pain.”

Trish’s eyes widened and she came to join you and the poet. “Do you see anything?”

You closed your eyes, focusing on the imagery. Dusty stones. The sound of wind. A pale sky with two suns glowing overhead. You licked your lips and relayed every detail. The blonde gasped as you spoke, and you paused. Did she know what was wrong with you now? Did she have the answers you so desperately needed?

She only spoke two words. “Which way?”

Your eyes shot open to stare at her, blinking in bewilderment. “What?”

She grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the van, V and Lady following a beat later. “I’ll explain on the way, just tell Nico which direction to drive!”

What the fuck is going on? I don’t know which way to go!

Trish rolled her eyes at your lack of a response and forced you to turn a small circle. You closed your eyes, trusting her knowledge to guide you to whatever answer she was looking for. The hum rose and fell until you gasped at a sudden burst of insistent resonance. You froze. That was it, right there!

“There!”

The blonde hummed and in less than a minute, Nico was barreling toward the horizon at full speed. Pots and pans clanged and machine parts shrieked at every bump but Trish insisted she floor it, no matter what. The blonde stood beside the driver’s seat and stared out the windshield, scanning the landscape for something with total focus. You couldn’t take it.

“Trish, what the fuck?! What’s going on?”

She glanced at you as if she’d forgotten you were there, but her eyes shot back to the view almost instantly.

“I don’t understand how or why, but I think you have the gift.”

You wanted to strangle her. What did you have to do to get some damn answers? “What gift?”

“It shouldn’t be possible, only demons can do it.”

V growled from behind you, equally irritated at her half-answers. “Care to elaborate?”

She sighed, still focused on the cacophony of color speeding by. “Basically, you’re a compass. The hum is a portal opening and the visions are a peek at what’s on the other side. I just don’t understand why!”

Wait, what? I don’t have weird powers, no way!

Nico hit a bump and you staggered. You barely noticed.

None of it made sense. You weren’t special, not like that at least! Demons and the Underworld, monsters and magic… all of it was still so new to you. For over twenty years, you lived your life like anyone else. No mystical powers, no dark forces or climactic battles. You were just a nurse.

Who wields a sword and is in love with a guy who shares his body with three demons.

You started trembling and took a seat on the couch. After all you’d seen, all you’d experienced, was it really so hard to believe? So much had changed; if someone told you a year ago this was where your life was heading, you would’ve laughed in their face.

But here you were.

In the Underworld.

Searching for a pair of demon hunters.

You leaned back and rested your head on the cushion. The hum was getting louder, but it didn’t hurt. Silver linings. It did seem connected to the portals; you said as much to V at your mother’s. Maybe Trish was right.

“I see it, I see it! A portal!” Nico shouted. Lady and Kyrie cheered from their seats at the small table and Trish smiled. Straight ahead, an amber gateway stood tall amongst a grove of purple and gold trees. The hum pulsated in recognition as you stared at it and you knew the truth.

There was no denying it now. All that was left was a single question.

Why me?

#fanfic #v x reader #dmcv #Crimson Tide #reader insert #devil may cry #my writing #dmc trish

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crimsxnrebellion-blog · 5 years

Text

Comfort

[Here’s my first contribution to DxL Week! It’s not the best, but I wanted to get it done before I left for vacation!]

Dante hardly expected any kindness from the woman he had just met in that damn tower. Neither of them was in any state of mind to help anyone else out. At least, he didn’t feel like being kind. After watching his brother, the only family he had left, topple off a ledge and into Hell where he could have no inkling of an idea if he would survive or find his way back, he felt like lashing out. Screaming. Fighting anything that moved. It didn’t help when they returned to his shop and he found it in shambles, reminded of the fact that he would have to have repairs done for his home to even be livable again.

Unlike Lady, he never would have thought to offer a near stranger a place in the hotel room she had called home for a few months. He followed her into the small room after she struggled to find her key, curses mumbled under her breath. He shut the door behind him but remained awkwardly in the doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets. There was only one bed in the room and a small recliner. A small TV sat on a stand across the bed next to the door to the tiny bathroom. He felt claustrophobic, and he sighed in relief when she opened the window. The storm had passed, and the smell of fresh rain wafted into the room.

“Make yourself at home.” His gaze fell on Lady as she shoved her prized rocket launcher, Kalina Ann, in the corner. He still didn’t know how she had convinced the front desk not to bother her and now him about the very obvious weapons they carried. Judging by the look of the place, he assumed she easily bribed them with a little extra money each week.

Following her lead, he removed his own weapons from his person and his coat. He hung his coat on the headboard and set Rebellion against the wall. Ebony and Ivory were placed on the nightstand next to the lamp.

Lady sank down into the recliner with a sigh. Now that he looked, he realized how exhausted she looked. Her eyelids drooped over bicolored eyes, and her posture was limp and bent forward. He knew it wasn’t just the physically demanding trials of Temen-Ni-Gru that weighed on her. She had been through emotional hell and back just as much as him that day.

“I, uh, I can help pay for this,” he muttered, toeing his boots off and tucking them next to the nightstand. “I don’t have much, and a lot of what I have saved is gonna have to go toward fixing my shop, but I can give you something for sharing the room with me.”

Lady glanced up from her boot strings. Even from here, Dante could see redness in her eyes from the tears she shed herself. As if hearing his thoughts, she glanced back down at her feet and kicked her boots off.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she muttered as she lifted the makeshift bandage on her thigh to check the wound her own bayonet had left thanks her own father. The blood stain reminded him that she was human. A formidable, strong, talented human. But human. One that didn’t heal in seconds and wouldn’t survive an impaling or being shot in the face. And yet she still fought demons. She had fought him without batting an eye. “Not now, at least. You can pay me back later. This...hasn’t been the easiest day for either of us.”

He nodded, inwardly relieved. He hated being in debt to her already; they had only met a few hours ago and she had shot a rocket at him after soaring through the air on a motorcycle. Damn...If he wasn’t sure she hated him and they weren’t both so emotionally spent, he might have actually tried to woo her. He had a thing for badass women, but, at the moment, his libido felt nonexistent. He felt lost, and he hardly recognized himself in that moment. If he had looked into the future to this moment but twenty-four hours before, he wouldn’t recognize himself. He would scoff at the puffiness around his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, the fact that he wasn’t on top of the beautiful woman he shared a room with. It was a strange feeling. It made him uncomfortable, though he didn’t have the energy or willpower to do much about it. The bed started to look more and more inviting, lumpy as it looked. But first, he needed a shower.

“Mind if I get a shower?” He managed a smile, though he doubted his really reached his eyes. It felt forced. Dead. “I smell like a demon’s asshole.”

The smile that twitched the corners of her lips matched his. “You really do. For my sake if not yours, please do.”

Dante snorted and headed toward the bathroom. “Feel free to join. We can save this place on their water bill.” The offer was half-hearted. And empty attempt at finding his old self again. At least it distracted him from his troubled mind.

He flipped the switch in the bathroom and closed the door. Leaning against the wood frame, he released a sigh. Hot tears burned his eyes and he finally let them drip from his eyes. His frame shuddered as he fought to hold back his sobs, the screams of anguish caught in his chest. He felt like a failure again. First his mom, now his brother. His hope (small as it had been) to live a life with even one member of his family was extinguished as quickly as it had sparked. He should have tried harder to save him. Convince him to stay. That their stupid father’s home wasn’t meant for them. They were meant to be there. In the human world. Together. Living something of a normal life after all they had been through.

His fingers curled into his palms as he cursed under his breath and swiped at his eyes. He started to unbutton his jeans when he paused. The only soap in the shower was obviously Lady’s, and the last thing he wanted was for her to find any other reason to put a bullet between his eyes. Now that he had allowed his devil to awaken, he itched to resurface at even the slightest irritation. He didn’t want to give himself a reason to lose control.

Dante opened the door and began to ask for permission to use her lily scented shampoo but paused. Lady had moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Her face was buried in her palm, and the other hand gripped the comforter beneath her. Sensitive ears caught the sound of her soft sobs despite her attempt to muffle them with her hand.

The sight made his heart ache despite his own sorrows. She just watched her own family burst to pieces as well, and he suspected many of her wounds were fresher than his. He didn’t know the whole story; only that her dad went crazy and killed her mom to break the seal Dante’s own father had place on the demon world and bring literal hell on earth. Gain the power of Sparda and whatever bullshit he led himself to believe. Judging by her rage, she was at least old enough to know exactly what was going on.

Silently, quieter than one of his stature should be able to move, Dante crossed the room to her. The second the mattress sank down beside her, Lady flinched away, nearly sending herself off the edge of the bed. His hand hovered in the air where her shoulder had been, but the glare she shot him lowered it.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare ya...”

“What? Think you can take advantage of me because I’m crying?”

Dante flinched. The sad part was that, if she had been someone else, that might have actually been his plan. “No...I just...I don’t know. I’m shit at this comforting stuff.”

Lady crossed her arms and scoffed. “Then why are you even trying? I thought you were going to take a shower.”

“I was, but I didn’t want to use your soap without asking.” Out loud, it sounded a little stupid to even ask. Though, he supposed the twitch of a smile that he nearly missed as she wiped her face with her hand was worth it. “That stuff ain’t cheap. And I didn’t see anything provided by this shit hole.”

“Help yourself. Never thought a demon could be so considerate.”

The comment stung. It was a reminder that his heritage had caused all of this. That, in some ways, he was responsible for her family shattering to pieces. Did she blame him like he blamed himself?

“I’m sorry.” He glanced away from her, but he could feel her curious gaze burning a hole in the side of his head. “I know this whole thing was because of me. Well...my dad and him being a demon who betrayed his kind but...I’m sure you hate me because of what I am but I am sorry.”

Silence fell over the room for several minutes, one so full it seemed as if the sound of their breathing had ceased along with their words. He should say something else. Even get up to go take his shower and leave her in peace. He had already made the situation uncomfortable, so he should ditch now before he made it worse. Lady couldn’t care less if he was sorry. Not because she was cold, but because he was a demon. To her, he was the worst of the worst. Demons were never sorry.

The featherlight touch on his wrist stopped his train of thought dead in its tracks. He glanced over to find Lady resting next to him again. She wore a small, tight smile despite the tears in her eyes. Guilt and relief washed over him at the same time; he wasn’t sure how to read her reaction. Did he upset her more or was she happy?

“No...It’s not your fault. None of this,” she finally croaked out. Her free thumb wiped away her tears. “You’re different. I know you are. It took me a while to realize it, but I know you’re not evil, even if you are part demon.”

Her bicolored gaze fell. He took a chance and shifted his hand into hers. She didn’t flinch away. “I’m learning quickly that some humans are worse than demons.”

Dante squeezed her hand. “Yeah...” He smiled as she rested her head on his shoulder. He could have added more. Added how that was a harsh reality he still needed to learn. Something that might help him accept himself for who he was. He couldn’t change it after all.

He glanced down at the woman resting against him. Her eyes were closed and her breathing had evened out. He chuckled softly to himself and wrapped an arm around her frame to support her. The whole ordeal must have exhausted her more than he thought, though he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t quite mind either. His shower could wait.

If she could see the good in him—enough to pass out on his shoulder despite her intense hatred of devils—then, maybe someday he could, too.

#dante #lady #devil may cry #dmc #dmc fanfiction #fanfiction #dxl #dxlweek #dantexlady #dantexladyweek

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

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Promise Me Forever [7]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 7/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante considers his options carefully, listening to the sounds of Lorenna in the kitchen. "This marriage . . . does it have to be done soon?" Augustus frowns, and he adds quickly, "I only ask because, well . . .?"

He doesn't even know where that thought was going, but Augustus must take it some kind of way, because understanding dawns on his face. "Oh, of course! It would make sense, given your, ah, heritage, that you would be rather possessive of her, particularly once you are newly wedded. Rest assured, we’ll have you two married in no time."

Dante blinks at him. "I don't get it."

Augustus chuckles. "Oh don't worry. Her mother will sort out the details. And my daughter knows well enough what to do. All you need is to lay back and let it all happen." Then he frowns a bit. "Your father didn't give you much detail, did he?"

"No, I guess he didn't."

They lapse into silence. Dante does his best not to fidget, but this visit is taking far longer than he'd like and he's worried about what Lir might be enduring. Augustus pulls a pipe and a pack of matches from his jacket; the sight, and scent of the smoke when he lights it, reminds Dante of his father. "She seems much happier here," Augustus says. "As unexpected as this was, I'm glad for that."

"Was she miserable before?"

"No, not as such. Overlooked might be the better word. Lorenna worried more for our eldest daughters, leaving Lirael to her own devices, for the most part, at least until Ilya was born."

"Listen, I gotta be straight with you." Dante rubs his hands on his jeans, wondering if he is making the right choice. There is a low sound of voices from the kitchen, and he wishes he could talk to Lir first, but Augustus seems decent enough. "I didn't know anything about this until Lir came," he says. "Sparda disappeared when I was a kid. I didn't know he had made this deal."

"I see," Augustus murmurs. "Then it is good that you have been so accepting."

"See, that's the thing, I, uh . . ." Dante rubs the back of his head, trying to find the right words. "Lir is a great girl, and I like her a lot. I really do. She's sweet and funny and kind and she makes a killer lasagna. But, uh . . . I don't think this whole marriage thing is . . ." Augustus frowns, slowly lowering his pipe. "It's not that I don't want to!" he hurries on. "I mean, don't want to do it with Lir. I do. I would? It's not Lir, it's, uh, it's anybody. I don't know if I'd marry anybody."

He cringes a bit as Augustus stares at him. "I see," the old man finally murmurs.

"It's just, I'm a devil hunter, right? Not good at anything else, really. And I got baddies riding up to my door all the time, I'm always going here or there to slay something or fight something. And having someone like Lir at home, waiting for me, or even in danger?" Dante shakes his head. "Never felt it was right."

There is a long, tense moment during which Augustus merely looks at him, his face unreadable. "The marriage itself," he says, quietly, "is merely a formality. An act of good faith, if you will. The promise is fulfilled without it, if that is your wish."

"What would happen to her?" Dante asks, jerking his chin towards the kitchen. "She was terrified when she got here of what would happen if I sent her back."

"You said that you would if it was her, did you not? Rest assured, so long as the promise is fulfilled, Lir would live comfortably at the compound as your . . . Well, concubine is too archaic a word, perhaps." He sighs, rubbing at his chin. "She would be kept in special rooms, where you could visit her whenever you pleased, for company or for relations."

"No, no, woah, hold on," Dante says, holding up his hands. "No, you got it all backwards. I want Lir to stay, she can stay as long as she wants! It's the marriage thing, you can't just force two people to get married because two guys made a promise two thousand years ago. Did anybody ask what she wants?"

Augustus bristles. "We trust in Ler's judgment."

"You do. I don't. And what is this promise anyway?" he growls, starting to get angry. "Everyone is talking about shit I don't know about and I'm starting to get pissed. What the hell is the point?"

He frowns as the old man looks around, then leans in a bit. "Well, it's to bond her magic to you. A way to keep the wards in place. You've heard of the magic Ler used to seal the demon realm?" Dante nods, and Augustus continues, "He promised to keep the oceans safe if Sparda would give his son for his daughter. Now there is a son and a daughter so it needs to happen. I can feel the magic already growing thin the longer it waits."

Dante swallows thickly. He doesn't even want to think about what would happen if another seal opened. It had taken him and Lady months to get rid of the ones that escaped out of the Temen-ni-gru, and Nero was still dealing with Fortuna. "What do I have to do?" he asks.

"It is simple," Augustus shrugs. "You make the seal with your bodies. You know, intercourse.”

Dante stares at the older man, simply nodding his head. Then he turns his head and shouts, "Lir!"

Augustus jumps, but Dante ignores him and stands. "Lir! Get out here, will ya?"

She appears at the door with a frown, her mother following. "Everything okay?" she asks as she makes her way over.

"Would you excuse us?" he mutters through gritted teeth. Dante grabs her by the arm and pulls her towards the steps, hurrying her upstairs until they are in his room, when he shuts the door and locks it for good measure.

He turns to see her staring at him, her eyes wide. "What in the world is going on?" Lir demands.

"You have to get them out of here," Dante whispers loudly.

Lir rolls her eyes. "I know they are a lot, but they are mostly harmless. Honestly, they will love you, it's me they—"

"They want us to fuck!" he hisses, stepping up close to her. Lir swallows visibly and Dante nods. "Yeah. I know all about it. Why didn't you tell me about it? You lied to me!"

She holds up her hands pleadingly. "You seemed against the marriage, so I thought bringing up the . . . lovemaking would go over worse. And, after Morrison's visit, I didn't . . . I mean, for all I know, it's bullshit! Maybe we just have to shake hands, or rub elbows, or . . . I don't know. But I didn't want to bring it up when I don't believe in it like I should."

Dante tenses, raising his shoulders and pointing a finger at her, trying to think of something to say. But Lir simply stares at him, so he turns furiously and begins to pace. "We need to get out of this," he says.

"You know, I'm starting to think I should be offended," Lir huffs.

Stopping in his tracks, Dante looks at her sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, you're so violently against sleeping with me," she says, not meeting his gaze. "Would it really be so bad? If it was to save the world?"

"No," he says, shortly, "but if I'm gonna have sex with you, it's gonna be on my own terms, not because of some promise no one remembers."

Lir bows her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "So what do you propose? We don't . . . have to get married. I'm already over that. But this other part . . I don't think we can get out of it."

Dante growls, cursing under his breath as he walks over to the dresser. Planting his hands on the wood, he takes a few deep breaths to keep his temper. "We need to figure out if this is real or not." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her nod. "Why the hell would Ler make the seal based on two people . . ."

His voice trails away, not wanting to say it again. To his surprise, Lir laughs. "Maybe he really did hate Sparda," she jokes.

Dante turns sharply, his eyes narrowed as he looks at her. He feels his shoulders sag and rubs his forehead as he asks, "So, what, uh . . . goes into this anyway?"

"Into the wedding?" she asks. When he nods, she sighs and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, tugging at the blanket with her fingers. "A normal one, I suppose, with the council and my parents. Yours would be there, too, under normal circumstances, but you can invite whoever you wish to stand in for your family. We have a little ceremony and a party afterwards, and then we consummate the . . . the seal."

"In front of everyone?" he cries.

"No! Oh!" Lir bursts into laughter, and he frowns again. "No, no, we would just go somewhere." She gestures her hand in a circle as if that explains anything.

A loud knock on the door interrupts them. "Hello! Are you in there?" Lorena's voice is sing-song on the other side, and the doorknob jiggles. "Everything alright? Can't be doing anything in there without the wedding first you know!"

"Mother, please," Lir calls. She stands and opens the door, revealing both of her parents standing on the other side. "We are allowed privacy in our own home, aren't we?"

"Oh, of course." But that doesn't stop her from stepping inside, looking around herself with a wrinkled nose. "This won't do at all, I'm afraid. Have you forgotten everything you were taught about keeping house, dear?"

"This is Dante's room, not mine," Lir counters. "I'm not telling him what to do with his space."

Lorena does not answer for a moment, simply turning in a circle to take it in. "Well. It will need to be fixed for the wedding night at least."

Dante grits his teeth. "The wedding—"

"We were just discussing that," Lir interrupts Dante, and she gives him a pleading look as he scowls at her. "Before we set a date, is there a way we can see the texts? To be sure everything we do is accurate," she hurries when Lorena frowns.

"We don't normally share them with outsiders," her mother says in a scolding tone.

"You want me to screw your daughter but not answer my questions?" Dante growls.

It is utterly the wrong thing to say. All of the color drains from Lir's face while her mother's takes on a rather unflattering purple hue, and her father's lips press into a thin line. "I have never—" Lorenna begins, her voice quivering.

Quickly, Lir interjects. "It was lovely to see you both. Allow me to show you out."

"What!" Lorenna looks ready to blow, her face puffed and her hands clenched as she yells at her daughter. "I did not raise you to be so rude! I am your mother, and we are the protectors of the word of Ler! You will not send me out when I have business here!"

Augustus lays a hand on her arm. "Please calm down. It was a shock to Sparda, he didn't know—"

"Well that isn't our problem, is it?" she shouts. Then Lorenna points a finger at Dante, who scowls back. "Just because your father didn't think it important enough to mention, mark my word, that seal is real and it is breaking! Demons could break through any day now, and then what will you do, Mister Big Devil Hunter? Do you think I'm happy to give my daughter to a demon? But it's what I must do to stop that from happening! Now you will get married, fulfill this oath, and I'm not hearing another word about it!"

Dante looks at her, this ugly little woman screaming not only at him, but at Lir, and decides that, quite frankly, he's had enough of her and this entire ordeal. "Get out," he says, his voice cold. "Whether you do it through the door or the window, I don't give a shit, but get the hell out."

"Why you—"

"Mother, please!" Lir pleads. She steps between them, her hands on Lorenna's arms. "Please. I'll call you tonight, okay? Let me talk to him."

Lorenna fumes, but Dante can only look at them incredulously. Lir is going to talk to him? What about them? But Augustus is the one who intervenes, pulling his wife from the room as Lir follows, their footsteps on the steps heavy as she begins another tirade about rudeness until the front door opens and shuts and leaves the Devil May Cry in blessed silence.

He waits for Lir to come back upstairs, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. What the fuck is he supposed to do? It was one thing when this . . . this sham of a marriage was far off and distant and nearly forgotten; now that it's slammed itself into his face, he wonders if he should send her back to wherever the hell she came from and get on with his life. The whole bit about a seal breaking is probably bullshit, anyway, and maybe everything she's ever told him is, too. And he lapped it up because she was pretty and nice and took care of him.

Truly furious now, Dante stalks down to the office, more than ready to tell her to get her shit and get out, just like he had her parents. But the sight that greets him has him pausing, even if it only makes him angrier. Lir is sitting on the couch, her head buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she tries to muffle the sounds of her crying.

He frowns, takes a step towards her, and stops. Lir hadn't cried since her first day, and it's even more unnerving now that he knows her better. He puts his hands on his hips, cursing under his breath and wondering if he should call someone. Maybe Lady or Morrison will come comfort her? Nero?

"Damn it," he mutters. No, that's stupid. And something tells him that it would only make things worse to call someone else.

He approaches cautiously, but Lir makes no indication she knows he is there. "Hey," he says lamely, his voice quiet. Dante pauses a foot away, and Lir takes a few gulping breaths. Then he sits next to her, not sure what to do before finally giving her a pat on the back. "Uh, sorry about all that."

She shakes her head, curling away from his touch, and that hurts. "No, it's . . . This is my fault. I thought they wouldn't come here, not as long as I was . . . If they thought everything was going well, and . . ."

"It's not your fault," Dante sighs.

"It is! I should have been more honest. I should have known you didn't understand." That stings him too, but Lir groans as she holds her face. "The worst part? They knew this would happen. There was so much debate about whether or not I should go. If my older sisters had been able to, no one would have questioned it. And they wondered if they should wait, but the wards were getting thin and it's like, I'm the last hope, you know? But I'm just hopeless."

"Then we'll do it." Her head snaps up, her lips parted with surprise, and he shrugs and tries to appear nonchalant. "We'll do the . . . the sex thing. It's only the once, right? Then we can go back to how things have been, and you won't have to worry about them coming after you."

"What? No!" she cries.

"Why not?" he asks incredulously. "Isn't this why you came here in the first place?"

"I can't let you do this." Lir stands, wiping the tears from her eyes before she begins to pace. "There must be another way. Another spell, maybe, or some magic I can find . . . Maybe I can figure out how to alter the agreement, make it so it's only on me and has nothing to do with Sparda, or figure out where the gates are thinning and go there and—"

Dante laughs, shaking his head, and she stops to look at him with a frown. "Are you crazy?" he asks.

"What?"

"You're talking about using magic that doesn't exist anymore. And what, going to the ocean? You some kind of submarine?"

Lir pops her hand on her hip with a huff. "It might work," she argues, but her voice is unconvinced.

Dante smirks. "Should I be offended? I mean would sleeping with me really be so bad?"

Her cheeks flush, and that relaxes him. This feels more normal, whatever that means, and, while he's still not pleased at how the day has gone, she's not running. Not like everyone else has. "It's not that," she explains, "but I . . . I don't want you to do this because you have to. Because you feel forced into it. And it's not fair to put this on you, especially when you knew nothing about it."

Dante sighs. "There's a lot about being a Sparda that isn't fair. Just add it to the pile. Besides," he adds with a small smile. "it'll be worth it to see the look on your mother's face."

Lir laughs quietly, wiping away the last of her tears, and Dante feels something heavy in his chest. She looks almost frail, almost delicate like this, and there is a surge to protect that goes beyond what he does for the city. Before, killing devils was just because he did, no reason beyond to make a buck and because he was good at it. Deep down there might have been some sense of justice and the benefit of humanity and all that, but after losing Vergil it became more of a reaction. Dante killed demons because he did, and never bothered to think any further than that. Nero had brought some of the fun and the thrill back. Being around the kid had breathed some life into him and into the Devil May Cry, but Nero could take care of himself.

But Lir is different. He doesn't understand why or how, but he wants to protect her. He wants to make sure the oath is filled and the power keeping the demons in their dimension stays firm. He wants the world to be safe because she is in it.

"Hell," he says out loud, mostly thinking to himself, "if we're gonna do this, might as well just get married and have it full stop."

"What?"

He blinks, coming back to himself, but the words, once spoken, don't sound quite as awful as they did the first time he heard them. "I like havin' you around," he muses, "and it's not like anythin' has to change. Nowadays, marriage is more a legal thing, y'know? Go to the courthouse, have someone sign a piece of paper, and it's done."

"Is this because of my parents?" she asks, quietly.

Dante considers that carefully. "Nah. It's about you. Havin' you here, keepin' ya safe. And, if it's you, I don't think it'll be so bad."

She stares at him, frozen, the color drained from her face. The moment stretches on long enough that Dante starts to wonder if he said the wrong thing, and when a few tears roll down her cheek, he knows he screwed up. "Aw hell, don't—"

Lir rushes over to him, halting just shy of tackling him on the couch. She looks down as he gazes up, wondering what to do, when tentatively she reaches for him and wraps her arms around his shoulders. It isn't the first hug she's given him by any means, but it feels different; she presses her face to his shoulder and leans her weight against him, and Dante half holds her as she sags into his arms.

"Thank you," she whispers. "You won't regret—I'll do whatever it takes to make this work, I promise."

He smooths his palm along her back comfortingly. "It's okay," he says. "Should be fine. Like we're business partners."

She chuckles and looks up, their faces nearly touching. Her eyes are still watery, but shining, and Dante can't look away from her damp lashes. He feels her fingers stroke the base of his hairline, sending shivers through him, gulping as his eyes drift down to her lips.

"Lir," he murmurs.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" She pulls away with an apologetic smile, leaving a ghost of her touch on his skin. "Are you still sore from your fall this morning? I think I have something for that somewhere. I didn't mean to be so careless."

But Dante holds onto her hips, keeping her pressed against him. "You're really okay with this?" he asks. "You want to marry me after just a few weeks, just in case some old demons made a bet? You could have anyone. You could fall in love someday."

Her expression shifts into something so sad that it tugs at him, makes him want to comfort her in any way that he can. "Things like that are in the movies," she tells him. "They don't exist for someone like me. But I . . . I really do like you, Dante. Even if it weren't for this oath, I wouldn't mind marrying you at all."

Dante isn't too sure about that. He's never been in love, but he's seen others, and Nero and Kyrie are definitely in love. Even his memories of his parents are filled with their warmth, their kisses in the kitchen and their friendly arguments. But maybe she is right; love doesn't happen to people like them.

He nods and loosens his grip, allowing Lir to ease up. "Let me call my mother and appease her," she says. "Then I'll get you something for the pain, and then we can start planning." She turns to head back upstairs, but at the base of the steps she turns and smiles at him. "Thank you for this, Dante."

Dante nods and watches her hurry upstairs before he realizes what he's just done. Suddenly his palms are sweaty and his mouth is dry, and he sinks into the couch, running his hands on his thighs. "Getting married," he murmurs under his breath, shaking his head.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #collab #promise me forever #pmf

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