#aboutdantemeta

“Shower’s hot big guy!” Dante called from, predictably, the shower. The tiled bathroom was steaming up already—he liked it hot—and, given that the water heater was almost as old as hewas, there was no guarantee it would last. He had at least payed all the appropriate bills for the month, so there was no danger of the water itself being shut off. Next on the list was the heater itself. Baby steps, he thought as he heard the approach of Credo’s footsteps.

Dante ducked back into the shower and stuck his head under the water, such that he did not hear what Credo pulled the curtain back and stepped in behind him. He certainly feltit as the man pressed his chest and hips to Dante’s rear and wrapped corded, scarred arms around him. Dante sighed under the water and then leaned his head back slowly. Conserving hot water was paramount in their home.

Good Morning – credante

Dante’s eyes fluttered open at the sudden in the bed shift next to him. Before he could protest, Credo had leaned over and was trailing kisses up his broad chest, to his collar bones, his neck, his jaw, and finally, satisfactorily, planting one right on the man’s lips.

“Maybe gettin’ up early isn’t so bad after all,” admitted the devil hunter, tangling his fingers in Credo’s soft chestnut hair and pulling him back in for another, deeper kiss.

“You aren’t up yet,” Credo warned, his lips hot against Dante’s, one hand sliding down the man’s body. “But it shouldn’t take long.”

They laughed together and kissed once more, slowly, as the rosy fingers of dawn pressed at the blinds and beckoned a new day.

Mundus. That Nightmare—Dante can hear the capitalization—means Mundus is once again plaguing his granddaughter’s dreams. The rage burns behind his eyes, but he has only soft words for Myra. For a child so young, she is incredibly articulate and expressive. Without hesitation, then, the halfbreed devil hunter leans down and picks the girl up.

"That's... kind of a big question, isn't it?" The slow grin on his face betrays nothing of the turmoil into which this question has thrown his mind. Every time it seems he's come to terms with his life, with how things have gone, the choices he's made, the situations into which he's been unceremoniously thrust, something like this comes up.

The question should be innocuous. He could say "a smaller dick", or "pepperoni, mushroom, and onion pizza, extra cheese" and absolutely get away with it. But it feels... disingenuous, inauthentic... And he's getting a little old for those games.

"A family," he says quietly, leaning forward and forcing his leaning chair back onto all fours. His elbows lean on the desk before him, scarred with blade and burn marks, an old thing that could tell many tales, were it gifted with speech. "I want... my family... the whole thing, y'know... I wanna see mom again, and dad, too... Why not? Y'know. I can want whatever, can't I?"

I want to fight alongside Vergil, instead of against him. I want to feel that synchrony we have... want to feel the blood pounding in my ears as we both cheat death again and again, because that's who we are, the sons of Sparda.

His jaw tightens immediately, blue eyes flashing with the old rage, the old anger and hate, something that has not eaten away at him in what feels like ages. Visions of his time at St. Lamia’s flash behind his eyes every time he blinks. If it had started good, he cannot remember it. Mundus had found him, and quickly—he, the unadoptable twin, not even remembering he wasa twin.

Dante considers theloose collection of people who put up with him… and how loose that collection truly is, after all. Kat remains, but for how long? Myra? From another world. Damian? A beautiful, occasional dream. I drive people away, he thinks, to protect myself.

He runs a hand over his hair, stopping to tug minutely at the white patch near the back and clicks his tongue. It hurts, to hear it aloud. Positive reinforcement has been rare in his life. He has to cling to it—he hasto.

“That’s probably right, but I’m damn well stuck with them, so I guess we’re even. Piss off.”

When Dante crashes, he crashes hard. He is dead to the world for hours on end, sometimes days. It would be worrying, except his friends know him and understand how he operates. During one of these bouts, however, he manages to push himself up and, at the very least, shoot someonea text. He doesn’t know who, but it reads:

[SMS] am fine. Sleepy. <3

“Vergil’s a shitty name,” he answers more quickly than is probably appropriate. “Eh… I mean—erh…” The old devil hunter sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t want… anyone else to have it. It’s stupid, but… that was his name and I… they can have mine, if they want it… and whatever curse comes with it, but Vergil…”

He trails off, unable to finish.