Lost Traveler

—I'll never get used to the smell,— Nero muttered, wincing.

—You get used to it,— Dante replied, without looking back.

—I don't want to get used to it.

Vergil said nothing. His cold, calculating eyes were already fixed on the reddish horizon where he knew the portal lay. Or perhaps he was thinking of something else.

It was strange to remember the moment the three of them began fighting side by side. Even stranger was that Vergil was now living with his son after disappearing practically his entire life, reappearing only to rip off his arm and unleash hellish chaos. But things had changed after Dante and Nero beat him senseless and somehow managed to bring him to his senses.

Over time, things between them stopped feeling tense; in their own way, they got along, and none of the three knew when it happened. Although they did know why.

Because of you.

Because you had managed to get three emotionally inept men to sit in the same room without them trying to kill each other.

You had appeared in Dante's life during a mission. You, a photographer obsessed with getting the perfect picture of demons, never seemed to understand the meaning of the word danger. Dante still remembered the first time he saw you: crouched behind some destroyed ruins, camera in hand, with the kind of survival instinct only a completely insane person could possess.

The demon appeared behind you far too quickly. You would have died right there if Dante hadn't appeared at the last second, cutting the creature down before it could touch you. He vividly remembers wondering what on earth a woman like you was doing in a place like that. But what truly baffled him was that, instead of thanking him for saving your life, you turned furiously toward him.

"All the photos came out blurry because of you!"

Dante stared at you for a few seconds, demonic blood still dripping from his sword, while you checked the camera with genuine indignation.

And that's when he was completely smitten.

You were the kind of woman who contradicted him just to see him argue. The one who walked into his office without knocking, moved empty pizza boxes off the sofa, and forced him to live like a functional person. You took over the store's bills. Technically, you paid them with Dante's money, but he still found it impressive that, thanks to you, he had hot water more than twice a week and a steady supply of electricity for an entire month.

But you also scolded him, even though he was a grown man, a legendary demon hunter, and several years older than you. When he did something stupid, you treated him like an irresponsible teenager. Lady and Trish would laugh at him every time they heard you reprimanding him from across the office. Dante was never bothered by it; he loved you and was sure he wanted to be with you. That's why he decided to propose.

He had imagined hundreds of possible responses. In most, you ended up laughing at him. In others, you slapped him for kneeling and soiling your pants before kissing him and accepting. He even considered the possibility that you might insult him first, just to keep up the tradition.

What he never imagined was seeing you cry.

He panicked as soon as he saw your hands cover your face. He didn't know what to do. He had faced giant demons, infernal portals, and ancient monsters that were much easier to handle than a woman crying in front of him. He jumped up, trying to fix something he didn't even understand.

—Hey, hey, calm down…— he murmured quickly. — You can say no if you want. It's okay, really. I understand.

He knew that, after all, his work consumed him. He lived surrounded by violence, danger, and blood. He was half-demon, probably not the most stable man on the planet to build a life with. You deserved someone who would be with you every day, not out killing demons.

But you shook your head, wiping away your tears in frustration, and confessed, your voice trembling, that you felt too old to get married.

Dante stared at you as if you'd just spoken in another language. He'd never thought about that. He was so much older than you. He'd never had a relationship that lasted long enough to worry about age or time. For a moment, he even thought you were talking about the difference in your lives. That thanks to his demonic blood, he'd end up outliving you.

But that wasn't it.

You told him you couldn't give him children, that the doctors had always warned you it would be difficult for you to get pregnant, and now, at your age, you felt the chances were even slimmer. The prime of your youth, as you yourself said through tears, was over. Perhaps he should find someone younger. Someone who could give him a family without complications. Not a woman who was starting to worry about the wrinkles around her eyes.

Dante watched you silently for a few seconds and then burst out laughing. You were obviously furious. You pushed him away immediately, humiliated and angry, unable to believe he could laugh in the middle of something that was so important to you. You turned to leave, furious, but Dante grabbed your arm and gently pulled you back, one hand encircling your waist.

—Honey, I've heard much scarier things coming out of demon mouths,— he said, chuckling softly. —Do you really think I care about that nonsense?"

You looked at him and knew that for the first time since you'd known him, he was completely serious. He told you he didn't care about having children. He just wanted you. He didn't need anything else. Then you kissed him and finally said yes.

The truth was, Dante had never been too concerned about having children. He'd just discovered he had a nephew; his father's bloodline clearly wasn't going to disappear anytime soon. Besides, he'd much rather share his life with you than chase after some absurd idea of ​​a family legacy.

What neither of you expected was that the doctors would be wrong. It turned out you weren't completely infertile. A month after the wedding, Dante nearly fainted when they found out you were pregnant. Not with one. With two.

Twins.

The universe really did have a strange sense of humor, because between him and his brother, it had to be Dante who was the lucky one with his genes.

You still remembered the look on his face when the doctor confirmed the second heartbeat. He sat completely still next to you, staring at the screen as if he'd just been told Mundus had returned from the dead. You decided to have the babies without even thinking twice, and from that moment on, Dante started taking care of you three times over.

The pregnancy hit you hard from the start. Nausea, dizziness, constant aches and pains, and a brutal exhaustion that made you barely want to get out of bed some days. On top of that, you were carrying part-demon twins, which probably explained why it seemed to drain all your energy.

Dante transformed into a surprisingly attentive husband. He cooked for you—or tried to—helped you walk when your legs hurt too much, and practically forbade you from lifting heavy things. He even started accepting fewer missions so he could be with you, or so you thought. In reality, he'd been secretly paying Nero to take jobs in his place for weeks. Of course, he never thought to tell you because he was absolutely certain you'd kill him if you found out he was sending Nero out to face demons all alone while he rested with you at home.

But he managed to conceal the situation despite being a terrible liar. Every time Nero returned with fresh injuries, Dante would come up with some ludicrous excuse before you could get too suspicious. They weren't clever lies, but they worked, and now that you were close to giving birth, Dante had practically become a shadow by your side. He wanted you to rest, avoid stress, and not do anything that might exhaust you.

That's why, when a major new demonic threat appeared, Dante vowed he'd be quick. Go in, destroy that son of a bitch, save the world, and be back with you before dinner. With an excuse, he ended up descending into Hell along with Vergil and Nero, leaving you in Lady's care. He trusted her almost as much as he trusted himself.

As they passed through the portal back, covered in demonic blood, Dante already imagined how the day would end. You'd sit on the sofa while he massaged your swollen feet, and you'd complain, between bites of pizza, that his daughters were already just as troublesome as him even before they were born. Dante would smile like a fool, taking all the blame.

When they arrived, they went through the gate where they had left the SUV—that piece of junk on wheels that Nero insisted on calling a vehicle—and he didn't expect to see you leaning against the door. You were wearing a loose maternity dress, your hair pulled back in a messy bun, and one hand was pressing against your enormous belly. Beside you, Lady held your arm, her expression a mixture of panic and resignation.

Dante stopped dead in his tracks. Nero nearly crashed into his back for not braking in time, and Vergil barely raised an eyebrow, though even he seemed to sense that something was wrong.

—What…?— Dante began, but he was already moving toward you before he could finish the sentence.

You slowly moved away from the SUV, walking toward your husband, your breath coming in short, ragged steps. You frowned, your hand pressed against your belly, trying to manage the contractions that came every few minutes.

—Honey…— Dante caught up to you in just three strides, instinctively placing his hands on your enormous belly. —Are you okay?— You looked at him with an expression heavy with sarcasm and exhaustion.

—Oh, yeah. I’ve never felt better,— you replied, your voice tense. —I’m only eight months pregnant. I had to come to Hell because nobody told me you three were going to play at slaughter, and right now I feel like a demon is twisting my uterus from the inside. But other than that, fantastic.

Nero looked away, clearly trying not to laugh because he knew it wasn’t the right moment. Dante blinked, looking up at Lady, who was still leaning against the truck with her arms crossed and a face that looked like she’d lost years of her life during the drive.

“Why did you bring her?”

Lady let out a dry, incredulous laugh.

—Why did I bring her?— she repeated. —I had no choice. She started having contractions three hours ago. I told her to wait, that we should call an ambulance, that coming to Hell to get you wasn't the first thing we needed. But this woman started yelling that if we didn't bring her herself, she was going to walk through the gate, and believe me, Dante, when a woman eight months pregnant looks at you like that, you're gonna get off your ass.

From the driver's seat came another exhausted groan. Nico, the driver and mechanic, was slumped against the steering wheel, her expression one of utter weariness. Clearly, she too had been dragged into this mess by the demands of a pregnant woman desperate to find her idiot husband before he died in Hell. She'd probably gotten Lady's call and had no choice but to speed off to get you.

Dante closed his eyes for a second, practicing breathing exercises he'd learned from a manual, "How to Stay Calm While Your Wife Gives Birth." But not out of panic that you were about to deliver, but rather to decide not to kill someone.

He looked at you again, this time with a mixture of guilt and concern that he barely tried to hide.

—Let's go to the hospital,— he said immediately, putting an arm around you and pulling you close. —Now.

—That's what I've been saying for the last three hours,— Lady muttered.

Another contraction hit you before you could reply. You clutched the front of his coat, wincing in pain, and Dante practically panicked as he felt you trembling.

—Oh, no, no, no…— he murmured quickly, placing a hand on your back. —Love, breathe. Breathe, okay? We're leaving now. It's over.— Nero watched the scene with a mixture of nervousness and guilt.

—Maybe we should move quickly…—he commented.

—Such an observer, —Nico grumbled as he restarted the engine.

Lady yanked open the back door of the SUV.

"Get in before this woman decides to have the twins right here and I end up traumatized for life."

Nero approached you from your other side with obvious clumsiness. He still didn't quite know how to handle you while you were pregnant; he seemed a little terrified of touching you too roughly and accidentally breaking something.

—Relax,— he said in a softer voice than usual, offering you his good arm for support. We're here. Everything's going to be alright.

You looked at him immediately with a strange mixture of affection and maternal irritation.

—And you,— you said, raising an accusing finger at him. —Since when do you go to Hell without telling me, huh? What do you think? Just because you killed a couple of demons, you can disappear without asking permission?

Nero opened his mouth to defend himself, then closed it again. Maybe he did have arguments. Maybe he could say he was an adult now, that he’d been fighting demons for years, or that he was technically stronger than everyone still believed. But he simply couldn’t, because you had been the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had.

From the moment he met you, you didn’t need any explanation to make room for him in your life. You served him a plate of food at the Devil May Cry table and told him, horrified, that he was too thin. Nero still remembered how strange it felt to have someone worrying about him like that.

When he lost his arm, you took care of him for days on end without letting him complain. When they discovered he was Dante's nephew, you didn't panic or treat him any differently. You just sighed, looked up at the ceiling, and said that Dante's father had clearly been an idiot too, because that family had a serious problem raising children properly.

So yes, even though Nero was an adult, even though he could already face enormous demons on his own and wasn't obligated to obey you, if you scolded him, he would listen and apologize afterward.

But before you could say anything, you noticed another presence in front of you. Dante's older brother was still exactly where you had left him, motionless, with the Yamato resting at his waist and that unreadable gaze fixed on you.

The last time you had seen him before the pregnancy was during that awkward dinner where Nero decided to try to give him a chance. There were long silences, tension thick enough to cut through the air, and conversations that never quite happened.

Vergil just watched you as you slowly let go of Dante's arm and Nero's shoulder and started walking toward him. Your steps were short and careful, forcing you to breathe between contractions as the weight of your belly seemed to announce your presence before you did.

You stopped right in front of Vergil and slapped him. The thud echoed. Nero's mouth fell open in shock. Dante let out a low whistle, smiling slightly at the woman he had for a wife. Lady covered her face with one hand as Nico muttered something like "shit…" from the truck.

Vergil didn't move an inch, his head tilted slightly, his eyes downcast, a little surprised by what you'd just done, a reddish mark beginning to appear on his pale cheek.

—You white-haired idiot,— you spat through gritted teeth just as another contraction shot through your body. —Only because I'm in this condition and you look too much like my husband am I not strangling you right here.

You took a deep breath, pressing a hand to your stomach.

"I hope this time it wasn't your fault."

Silence fell for a few seconds. You hadn't planned that slap with true malice toward Vergil. Honestly, you didn't even dislike him, which was rather strange considering everything he'd done. He'd opened hell portals, unleashed enough chaos to traumatize entire cities, and ripped off Nero's arm as if it were a recreational activity. But after living with him for months, you'd discovered that Vergil wasn't cruel for pleasure. He was just an idiot, just like your husband, who needed fatherly affection.

So no, you didn't hit him because you hated him. You hit him because, in your exhausted, pregnant mind, the most logical explanation was that Vergil had dragged Dante and Nero on another suicide mission because he'd decided to play Demon King again. Especially since it was exactly the kind of thing you'd expect from him. You didn't stop to think too much. Not with the contractions tearing your back apart. You just saw Vergil and reacted.

What didn't occur to you for a second was to consider the kind of man you had for a husband. Because if anyone was capable of concocting an absurd excuse, smiling in your face, and then willingly embarking on a hellish mission while promising to stay home and rest, it was Dante.

Vergil turned his eyes slowly toward you. The corner of his lip lifted barely, so slightly that anyone who knew him would have thought you'd imagined him smiling. Then he sighed, bringing a hand to his reddened cheek.

—It's good to see you anyway,— he said in that deep, calm voice that sounded serene even after being slapped.

Indignation flashed across your face again, battling directly against a smile you clearly didn't want to let out.

—You’re…— you began.

You couldn’t finish when another contraction hit you, sending your hand flying behind you and slouching slightly. Dante appeared behind you before you could try again and wrapped a protective arm around your waist.

—You’ll have time to kill it later,— he said with surprising pragmatism. —If you want, I can help. But now we need to get to the hospital.

Another contraction shot through your body, stronger than the previous ones, forcing you to tense up against Dante as a gasp escaped your throat.

—I’m not having this baby in Hell, —you muttered through gritted teeth when the pain subsided only slightly. —The girls will have enough family trauma without adding this.

Dante wasn’t listening anymore; all his attention was still on you, on how you were clutching his coat, and on the visible tension in your body.

So he began guiding you back toward the truck with far more care than he normally used when carrying legendary demon weapons. Nero followed closely behind, though he glanced at Vergil first. It was a strange mix of "I'm sorry" and "you totally deserved it." Vergil, of course, didn't react. He stood motionless for a few more seconds in the middle of the infernal clearing, still touching his reddened cheek as if he could still feel the echo of the blow, before walking behind you.

When Dante helped you into the truck, you raised a hand again and pointed an accusing finger directly at his chest.

—And you,—you muttered wearily. —You're next.

Dante let out a small, nasal laugh.

—I know. —He leaned down to kiss your temple gently. —Get in, love.

The door slammed shut.

The truck shot off as Nico began to curse because no one was considering the emotional state of the driver trapped with a pregnant woman about to give birth, another woman who spoke to her forcing her to go for the pregnant woman to take her to the entrance of hell to look for her husband and three men with demonic blood with more traumas than swords.

The drive to the hospital felt endless to Dante. He didn't care that Nico ran every red light he encountered, hurled insults at half the city from the window, and broke enough traffic laws to lose his license about ten times in a row. It was still too slow for him. Every contraction of yours made him feel like his heart was going to burst out of his chest, and every tiny twitch of pain made him more nervous than any demon he'd ever faced.

Nero tried to distract you by talking, Lady yelled at Nico not to crash the truck, and Vergil sat silently in the back, probably wondering how he'd ended up involved in an emergency delivery. Even so, amidst all that chaos, Dante couldn't stop thinking that nothing would change.

Because meeting you had put his life in order in a way he never imagined. Before you, there were only demons, debts, cold pizzas, and empty rooms. Then you came along, forcing him to remember to pay the bills, get enough sleep, and come home because someone was waiting for him there.

You gave him something he lost as a child and never imagined having again: a home, a family. And now, sitting in that disinfectant-scented hospital room, watching you sleep, exhausted, on the bed while you held your two newborn daughters to your chest, Dante understood that he would have gone through Hell a thousand times over if it meant coming back to you in the end.

Especially when both girls had completely white hair.

══════════════════════════════

i took inspiration from the following pieces ; " the seasons : spring " - 1896. " feather " - 1899. " the precious stones : topaz " - 1900.

the style was already in my wheelhouse when it came to linework, there wasn't much adjusting there i needed to do. if anything, the real curve for me was the shading/clothing folds. i normally do nawt shade with this level of detail in terms of the such defined, crisp shapes, but hey - it taught me something new despite being my biggest opp ever.

i think i could have done better on the color palette, but oh well - it's done now. it's more saturated than i'd like and i think mucha's work is more muted? idk, maybe it's my monitor. my other biggest problem was.... the embellishments. frames are hard to make look nice y'all - especially when you're cranky and running out of steam. still, not bad for doing what i could with what i had. i also really did enjoy shading it all. <3

The Devil May Cry shop was in complete disarray. One of the couches had been shoved aside. Towels were everywhere. Nero had nearly kicked the front door off its hinges trying to carry supplies in fast enough, and Dante looked like he was two seconds away from having a full spiritual collapse.

“You said we had more time!” he stressed.

“How was I supposed to know?!” you shot back.

“I had a PLAN!”

“You don’t even plan lunch, idiot!”

“That’s DIFFERENT!” he points in your face.

"If you don't get that damn finger out of my face, I'm going to bite. it. OFF!" you snapped

Across the room, Nero looked deeply, deeply uncomfortable as he held an armful of blankets.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he said carefully, “I fight demons better than I handle… this.”

“You’re doing great,” Kyrie assured him gently.

Kyrie, unlike every other person in the room, actually looked calm. Competent, even. Which currently made her the most powerful person in the building. Meanwhile, Vergil stood near the jukebox with his arms crossed, somehow looking exactly as composed as always. Which was irritating.

“Why is he calm?” You pointed at him accusingly.

Vergil regarded you evenly. “Panicking would not improve the situation.”

Dante looked borderline offended. “Okay, well, sorry for loving my wife.”

“I did not say otherwise.”

“You implied it.” Dante argued.

“I implied you are loud.”

Another contraction hit before Dante could argue back.

“Oh okay- nope! forget him- holy shit your demon baby is trying to rip me apart!!”

Dante immediately dropped to your side again. “Hey, hey, hey- look at me.”

You grabbed his hand hard enough to threaten circulation. He let you. Actually, correction- he squeezed back immediately, thumb rubbing anxiously over your knuckles while he looked at you like he’d fight the universe itself if it would make this easier.

“You’re okay,” he said quickly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Right, sorry, bad wording. You’re... uh... strong?”

“That sounded stupid.” You gave him a look. “It sounded very stupid.”

“Okay, yeah, I heard it after I said it.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dante had been unbearable for the entire pregnancy. Protective in the most irritating ways possible. You reached for something on a high shelf once and this man practically teleported across the room.

“I got it.”

“…I can reach that.”

“Yeah, but what if you fall?” he said.

“It’s a shelf, Dante.” you sighed.

“People die from shelves probably.”

you rolled your eyes. “No, they don’t.”

“You don’t know that.” he argued.

And don’t even get started on the cravings. At two in the morning, you’d muttered that strawberries sounded good. Dante had crashed through the shop door like a man on a divine mission. Three hours later, he returned dramatically covered in rain, holding up one slightly crushed carton.

“I have succeeded.” he smiled to himself.

Vergil took one look at him and said, “You appear feral.”

“I went to three stores.”

“You could have waited until morning.” Vergil said simply.

“She wanted strawberries now.” he shrugged like that explained everything. To Dante it did.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, though, the reality was finally hitting him. You’d never seen him this stressed. Not against demons. Not during fights. Not even when he and Vergil nearly killed each other over stupid brother issues. But this? This had him pacing holes into the floor between contractions while Kyrie repeatedly tried to make him sit down.

“Dante,” she said patiently, “you are making her more anxious.”

“I’m not trying to!”

“You’re yelling.” Kyrie answered.

“I’m emotionally invested!”

“You’re spiraling.”

“I KNOW.” he shouted.

At one point, Kyrie asked Nero to boil water and he stared at her like she’d handed him a nuclear bomb.

“…How?”

Kyrie blinked. “…On... the stove?”

“Right. Yeah. Right.”

Vergil exhaled quietly through his nose.

“I share blood with this man,” he told himself. “Remarkable.”

“Oh, shut up.” Nero called.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, you were exhausted and Dante looked worse.

“You look terrible,” you told him weakly.

“I’m stressed.”

“You’re stressed?!” you shouted.

“I’m emotionally supporting you!”

“You almost passed out earlier!”

“In my defense, there was a lot happening!” he huffed out.

“You fight giant monsters!”

“Yeah, but they’re not our baby!”

That shut the room up for a second. Even Vergil glanced over. Dante rubbed a hand over his face immediately after, clearly realizing how emotional he sounded.

“…Man,” he muttered quietly, “I really love this kid already.”

Your expression softened instantly. Oh, there he was. Not the cocky hunter. Not the loud idiot. Just Dante. Your Dante. Terrified and excited and trying so hard to hold himself together for you. You reached for his hand again, this time more gently.

“C’mere.”

He moved immediately.

You tugged him down enough to press your forehead against his.

“You’re doing okay,” you murmured.

Dante laughed weakly. “Pretty sure I’m not.”

“You are.” you insisted.

Another contraction interrupted before he could answer. Immediately his entire expression shifted again.

“Okay, okay- breathing right- uhhh-” he stuttered through his words.

You started laughing despite yourself. “Dante.”

“What?!”

“You’re panicking harder than me.”

“I KNOW.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A cry filled the shop, and everything stopped completely. Dante froze. You froze. The whole room just… paused. Kyrie carefully placed the baby into your arms and Dante stared like he couldn’t fully process what he was seeing. A small head of white hair and tiny vibrant blue irises looking right back at him.

“…Whoa,” he whispered.

You looked down, exhausted and emotional and completely overwhelmed all at once. Tiny. So tiny. Dante slowly sat beside you like sudden movements might somehow break reality.

“That’s…” He swallowed hard. “That’s our girl?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, idiot.”

His eyes never left her, and for maybe the first time in his life Dante Sparda had absolutely nothing clever to say. He just looked wrecked by love.

Behind you, Vergil spoke quietly. “…The child has your eyes.”

Dante blinked rapidly like he’d just remembered other people existed.

“RIGHT?!” he said immediately, emotional devastation gone in a split second. “Did you see that? That’s MY kid!”

Vergil looked unimpressed. “You contributed biologically. Do not become arrogant.”

“I’m gonna teach her sword tricks.”

“You will wait until she can stand.” you said.

“She’s already strong, I can tell.”

“She is six minutes old, babe.” you stated.

“She’s got potential.”

You groaned tiredly.

Kyrie laughed softly from nearby while Nero looked like he still hadn’t emotionally recovered from the experience. "Kyrie please promise me we won't do this to ourselves."