Work Text:
As months pass, life on Mephistopheles evolves. The tensions shift, lowering or heightening depending on the events. Yi Sang turns from taciturn and unapproachable to shyly friendly. Ryōshū and Sinclair develop this weird almost mind-reading thing that's still baffling Dante each time a remarkably accurate translation is thrown in the conversation. Some Sinners get used to spend most of their days in bus seats; others get overly enthusiastic for running Mirror Dungeons just because it's not sitting in a bus.
And as Winter approaches, Dante realizes that it's getting close to one full year since this voyage began. It's strange, to think of it like that. They didn't accomplish much, for so many months. Or maybe they accomplished more than anyone else could have, given the distances and extremely specific difficulties. It feels... unanchored. Like a stretch of time stolen from reality.
There's something else that Dante notices, though. Because as much as Vergilius very firmly kept everyone (except Charon of course) as far as possible emotionally, it's not in Dante's character to just roll with that. They can't ignore him, treat him like just a voice relaying orders and not a full-blown person. They still don't know him, and sometimes they don't quite know where they stand with him. (There have been times when Vergilius had seemed almost friendly. There have been times when he'd looked at them like they were a malfunctioning, soulless object.) But despite all of this, Dante still can't help but care. So they notice when day after day Vergilius becomes subtly paler, the bags under his eyes more marked.
They try broaching the topic with him. Once. Vergilius glares that he's fine, and Dante doesn't dare insist.
It's still in a corner of their mind, though, when Rodya comes to try and convince them to allow the team to organize a Christmas party. (Of course it's Rodya. It's difficult to know if she's the one who came up with the idea first, but when convincing needs to happen, it's usually Rodya being sent to negotiate.)
On one hand, Dante doesn't want to burden Vergilius with one more instance of chaos. On the other hand, maybe a little celebration would do him good. On the other other hand (counting the clock, Dante does have four hands, it totally works), they have to admit they are a bit weak to the fact that several Sinners are already on board and invested, and Rodya genuine enthusiasm would be heartbreaking to crush...
(Yeah, this might be part of why she was sent to negotiate.)
But on the last hand, they have one worry eclipsing everything else.
<Rodya... After what happened with Kromer, are you sure Sinclair would be alright?>
Rodya pauses her argumentation and her expression turns from playfully pleading to serious.
"I discussed it with him. He's not exactly comfortable, but he wants to try anyway. He says it's time he manages to forge better memories over what she did to him."
Dante nods. It makes sense, and they're proud of Sinclair for wanting to claim back his life.
So they agree. Rodya's whoop of success is the exact opposite of discreet, and the other Sinners soon launch into an excited discussion about the specifics of what they'll do, some offering advice from their memories, some more curious because they're not from a District celebrating.
Dante glances at Vergilius. Usually by then he would have already intervened if he was opposed to whatever plot was going on, but right now he's slumped against the window, staring outside, apparently unconcerned. Dante assumes this means Vergilius is either fine with it, or knows something that will stop the Sinners in their tracks anyway.
They decide to not worry about it.
When Dante calls the end of the work shift on Christmas Eve, they're far more concerned with trying to keep the Sinners under control than anything else, because between the ones who are overeager and those who are starting to get seriously annoyed by said eagerness, it's an explosion or ten waiting to happen. They follow the group to the communal kitchen, trying to convince the angriest ones to maybe go rest while the others prepare the party...? but it's such an utter and generalized fail that they begin to suspect there is a severe case of pretending to not be excited going around.
When Charon comes in, Ryōshū swiftly replaces her usual hat by a Santa one. Charon hurries to get her actual hat back, but she just puts it safely in a corner, pulling on the edge of her new hat to make it fit better.
(Dante does not want to know why and how it's Ryōshū of all Sinners who somehow procured three Santa hats. The other two are currently on Hong Lu, who has never celebrated Christmas before and looks at everything with childish awe, and Don Quixote, who is regaling everyone willing to listen (so, mostly Yi Sang and Sinclair) with her tales from Christmas past. While making an impressively efficient work of cutting paper garlands.)
Frankly, it's going surprisingly well. Meursault and Outis are collaborating on cooking. Ishmael is solving the lack of an actual tree by doing some elaborate knotting around a bunch of... sticks... the Sinners gathered in the past days. Gregor is looking confused to be enjoying cutting ribbon for the craft team.
It is... clearly on the clunkiest side of DIY, but it has its charm. And the fact that no actual fight has erupted yet might as well be a Christmas miracle.
Then the door opens on Vergilius, who freezes on the doorstep. Most Sinners just go on with what they're doing, but Dante is looking, and Vergilius visibly pales, his eyes widening worryingly. When Charon approaches him, Dante can't hear what Vergilius whispers to her, but they do hear her answer.
"That's not Charon's name."
Vergilius vacillates, grabs the door frame, then turns and tries to run away, unsteady on his feet enough to stumble and need to catch himself on the wall in the Corridor.
<Vergilius!>
Dante doesn't think, they're already going after him, worry heavy in their stomach. They slam the door shut behind them, just wanting to cut Vergilius from what has him so shaken.
They see Vergilius slide down a wall a few meters farther, his full body shaking. By the time Dante kneels next to him, he's audibly hyperventilating, curled on himself, his fingers pulling harshly at his hair.
Dante doesn't know how to help, but they can't leave him like this.
They put a hand on Vergilius' shoulder, and he jumps before tensing even more with a half-broken whimper.
<Vergilius, you need to breathe...> they say, needing to talk to avoid panicking themself.
They carefully try to pry off one of Vergilius' hands from his hair, and after a bit of resistance Vergilius switches to clinging to their hand instead, hard enough that Dante flinches in pain. They bring Vergilius' hand to their chest, holding it close.
<Breathe with me, alright? Slowly... You're safe here...>
Dante doesn't need to breathe, but they can move their chest to pretend, and that's what they do now, hoping to give Vergilius a rhythm to imitate. It seems to work, somewhat. Vergilius is trying, but his body is fighting him, making him choke several times. Dante keeps encouraging him anyway, not entirely aware of what exactly they're saying, just that they need to keep themself grounded even if it can't help Vergilius given he doesn't hear them.
"D– Dante?" Vergilius manages after a while.
<I'm here.> they immediately answer. <I've got you.>
Vergilius' still irregular breath catches, and he finally uncurls a bit... only to press against Dante with a sob.
<Wh– what? Vergilius?>
Vergilius lets go of his hair to grab Dante's shoulder, and they're definitely going to have bruises there too. Dante tentatively puts their free hand on Vergilius' back.
"... Dante?"
This time, it sounds hesitant, lost, as if Vergilius was not sure anymore of who he's clinging to.
<It's me, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.>
Vergilius pushes his head against Dante's clock, pressing his ear to it, and Dante suddenly realizes that Vergilius does hear them. Not their words, but their ticking. So they go on speaking, just to offer him that anchor point.
Slowly, very slowly, Vergilius' breathing calms down. He's still clinging to Dante with way too much strength, though, so they don't think he's entirely doing better. It's a beginning and that's already something, they suppose, but they'll probably be there for a while. Dante hesitates, but their position really is awkward, so eventually they swallow their doubts and just pull Vergilius on their lap.
Vergilius presses closer. Dante isn't sure if he's shaking from... whatever threw him off balance, or shivering from cold. Maybe both. Dante would offer him their coat, but with one hand trapped in Vergilius' grip it's useless to even try. They tentatively caress his back, and are relieved when Vergilius relaxes a tiny bit.
They wait.
When Vergilius' death grip on them loosens a little, Dante thinks it's a good sign. Their hand is protesting, sensation coming back to it, but they refrain from moving.
"... Where is Lapis?" Vergilius asks out of nowhere, sounding confused and worried.
<Who is Lapis?> Dante counters.
There's a silence, then Dante remembers to keep up the ticking (at this point they're just humming wordlessly, but it's enough).
"No, she's not... Where... When..."
Dante can hear Vergilius beginning to panic again, in his voice but also in his quickening breath and pulse.
<Vergilius, calm down, it's alright...>
It's useless. Vergilius' fingers dig into Dante's shoulder anew, and his shaking worsens.
<Vergilius!>
Their exclamation is accompanied by a cash register's "ding"; not the loudest of the sounds they can make, but enough to get Vergilius' attention. He turns to look at Dante and seems surprised to see them.
"You... how are you... here...?"
Dante needs words for this. It takes quite a bit of maneuvering, with only one free hand and Vergilius sitting on them, but they eventually manage to pull their PDA from their pocket. The fact that Vergilius is out of it enough to not react at all is not exactly reassuring, but Dante pushes forward. They end up putting the PDA down on the floor behind Vergilius' back to type before showing him their message, unable to think up a better solution with their current position.
[Focus. You know who I am, yes?]
Vergilius stares at the screen, then at Dante.
It's frightening to see the uncertainty on his face plain as day.
"... Dante," he eventually answers. "You're... the Executive Manager of the LCB," he adds unprompted.
Dante nods. Vergilius' gaze turns a bit more present.
This time when Dante moves the PDA to type, Vergilius' eyes follow as much as possible without him shifting.
[You're correct. I'm Dante from the LCB. So if you are here with me, you should know where we are, right?]
Vergilius glances around them, then closes his eyes, hiding his face against Dante's neck.
"That's the Corridor in the back of Mephistopheles," he says, his breath warm against Dante's skin.
Dante nods again, careful to not push Vergilius away with the movement but wanting to make sure he knows he's right.
"... It's Christmas Eve."
<It is, yes.> Dante acquiesces.
"It's Christmas Eve." Vergilius repeats. "I shouldn't have– I– I'm sorry, this is all my fault, everything is–"
Dante manages to press a finger to his lips to shush him. Vergilius falls silent and lets Dante gently push him just enough to be able to look at his face.
Vergilius' expression is far too open, and his eyes still a bit hazy. Not entirely here yet.
[It's not your fault. If anything, it's mine, I should have warned you.]
Vergilius frowns at the PDA. He looks like he's trying but failing to process.
[I thought you were aware of what was going on.] Dante adds. [I apologize for assuming. It won't happen again. And in the meantime I'm here for you. Just breathe, alright?]
Vergilius nods, slowly, and Dante is not convinced he understood half of what they wrote, but it's fine. As long as he slowly climbs his way back out of the dark place he fell into, everything else is mere details. He snuggles back to Dante and starts taking deep inspirations before exhaling slowly.
Despite the overall situation and the awkwardness, Dante finds it soothing. They don't know if it's just the instinctual reassurance of feeling a living, warm body against them, or if it's because it's Vergilius. But it's clearly not the moment for that kind of reflection so they push it away.
After a while, Vergilius moves his hand holding Dante's toward him. Dante can't help but flinch, hard. Any movement hurts. They're definitely not using this hand for a few days.
They're not really bothered (it was more than worth it), but Vergilius freezes.
"Are you–" he begins before cutting himself.
He lets go of Dante in a hurry, both their hand and shoulder.
"I hurt you."
Dante shakes their head. It's true that it's seriously painful, but they don't care.
"Liar," Vergilius whispers.
He uncurls from Dante's lap and looks at them in mild horror before backing away from them.
"Of course I hurt you. I hurt everyone. I destroy everything I touch..."
Dante decides that, this time, the PDA is not their best bet.
They throw themself at Vergilius, their arms around his neck, and hug him close. Vergilius' breath hitches, and he stills. Just to make sure their point is clear, Dante grips Vergilius' jacket with their valid hand.
Vergilius eventually lets out a brief chuckle that sounds suspiciously wet.
"You're not going to change your mind, hmm?"
Dante shakes their head.
"You're a lunatic, Manager," Vergilius concludes, but his arms are finally closing around Dante, this time holding them as carefully as the most fragile art piece.
Maybe Dante feels a few tears against the skin of their neck, but they don't plan on mentioning it ever.
It's slow, but Vergilius calms down, until he's slumped against Dante, letting them hold him up, probably half-asleep. He's shivering again, so this time Dante pulls their coat off to put it around Vergilius' shoulders.
He looks at them in sleepy confusion, like he can't comprehend this simple show of care. It's a bit heartbreaking, but if he's doing his "terrifying Color Fixer routine" with everyone (except Charon), Dante supposes that no one would even think of taking care of him. (As for Charon, Vergilius is so bent on being the one caring for her that Dante has trouble seeing the opposite happen.)
Dante looks around for their PDA and grabs it back to type, trying to stay as close to Vergilius as possible.
[How are you feeling?]
Vergilius is slow to answer.
"Cold," he finally admits. "Tired."
[You should go to bed.] Dante suggests.
"... maybe," Vergilius says.
He sounds like he doesn't want to, which is weird and foreign, because usually he just does what needs to be done. Dante can't remember ever hearing want or its opposite in his voice before now.
Then Vergilius pulls their coat tighter around himself and snuggles back to them, and Dante has a realization. It seems a bit too much like wishful thinking, though, but... they have to ask.
[I could come with you.] they offer.
Vergilius reads, glances at their face, then looks away.
"Wouldn't you rather enjoy the– the party?"
The answer to that is obvious.
[No. I'd need to pop in to reassure everyone that we've not killed each other yet, though. But I'd rather stay with you until you feel like kicking me out.]
There's a silence. Dante eventually concludes that the lack of answer is actually answer enough.
[Alright, I'll be as quick as possible.]
Vergilius nods. Dante stands and tries not to think of how much smaller Vergilius looks half-curled on himself under their coat.
They go back to the kitchen, brace themself, and open the door.
They were expecting... well, they don't know exactly what they were expecting, but definitely not Charon announcing "Dante is back" and everyone falling silent to watch them.
<What did you break?> they blurt out before flinching, because... that was really not kind of them.
"Vergilius, apparently," Ishmael deadpans, unbothered.
"Faust told us he has... a bad experience with Christmas," Sinclair hesitates.
"It was made clear that the warning would have been useful earlier," Meursault adds, glancing at Heathcliff who's grinning, predatory.
Dante immediately checks on Faust, but she seems unharmed. She's looking at the wall, apparently unconcerned... but it's been long enough that Dante feels confident reading her expression. She's actually pouting. Then they follow her gaze and realize that someone managed to steal her sword to make it part of Ishmael's handmade "tree".
Whoever pulled this off deserves praise, because that's harmless except for Faust's ego, which makes it perfect.
"How is Vergilius?" Yi Sang asks.
Everyone is waiting for their answer, and Dante can only see genuine concern or impersonal interest, but nothing outright negative, which is a surprise. Seems that they're not the only one getting more attached to Vergilius than he's trying to allow.
<He's doing better. He's not going to come back in though, and I'll stay with him for now. I just wanted to warn you so you wouldn't wonder why I disappeared.>
Rodya relays their words to Charon, who nods. Dante hesitates.
<Hum, Charon, do you want to come with me?>
After Rodya translates, Charon shakes her head.
"Charon thinks that seeing her would not be good for Verg right now."
Dante has a moment of confusion, then remembers that this all started with Vergilius calling Charon the wrong name. They might have no clue of what happened to them both, but they can guess that Charon is making the right call.
<I trust you.> they answer.
Charon looks a tiny bit surprised.
Dante puts a hand on the door handle behind them, more than ready to go back to Vergilius now that they've seen nothing is on fire (yet). They almost say "have fun for all those who can't", but they swallow it. It would be way too heavy.
<Don't let this tarnish your fun, OK?> they say instead.
They receive several affirmative answers, and a few good nights. They leave the room without regret.
In the Corridor, Vergilius is waiting for them, standing near his door but his eyes already on Dante. He's wearing Dante's coat more like a blanket than a piece of clothing, which is surprisingly disarming. Dante walks up to him and silently puts a hand on his arm.
Vergilius turns to his door and Dante can feel him tense, but he opens it without pausing and brings Dante inside.
It smells of ash.
It's silent, and dark, and cold, and none of these should feel out of place for a room, but somehow it feels... different. Like a night outside with no living presence.
(It smells of ash, and Dante can't help but wonder if they would have witnessed a fire had they come in earlier, while Vergilius was still unsure of where and when he was.)
Vergilius starts shivering anew; he hurries to the bed and Dante follows his lead. He only takes off his shoes, before reluctantly leaving Dante's coat on a chair and quickly getting under the covers. Dante imitates him.
Vergilius' hands find their arms under the blanket and hesitate there. Dante pulls him close to hold him, and Vergilius relaxes. Barely a few minutes later he's asleep, pliant and trusting against Dante.
They refuse to sleep, keeping watch instead, and they're grateful for that decision when they manage to shake Vergilius out of the beginning of a nightmare. Then another.
When morning comes, it's been four.
By now, the smell is gone, the room pretending to be normal, like Vergilius always pretends to be fine. But now that Dante has seen behind that mask, they don't think they'll ever stop trying to catch any hint that Vergilius needs support.
Vergilius begins to stir. He nuzzles against Dante with a low hum, sounding content. Dante gently caresses his hair, waiting to see how he's going to react once he's actually awake.
It takes a few minutes. Then Vergilius freezes. He pushes himself up on his hands and knees, staring at Dante who's lying down under him, where they've been pinned by Vergilius full body for most of the night.
"You... ah... you shouldn't have let me..." Vergilius says, voice still rough from sleep.
He trails off, and Dante just pulls him back down on the mattress next to them, their clock on his shoulder and an arm around his waist.
"I... will suppose that means you didn't mind."
Dante nods. Vergilius sighs, but relaxes.
"I'll still need to get up," he points out without moving.
Dante reluctantly sits up before stretching. Vergilius slowly sits, then rubs at his eyes. Dante grabs their PDA.
[How do you feel?]
Vergilius blinks at the message.
"Actually... rested," he says like it's a shock. Which it might be, given how increasingly tired he's been looking for the past few weeks.
[Good. I'll fetch you breakfast.]
"... Dante. I can feed myself."
[I don't know in which state the kitchen is, and I'd rather you stay "rested" long enough to enjoy it.]
Vergilius winces.
"You have a point. Though I hope it's not too much of a mess..."
Dante shrugs. They're used to dealing with messes.
"I'll join you in the bus then?"
Dante gives him a thumbs up, and Vergilius rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile curling his lips.
When Dante finally enters the bus itself, it's empty save for, for unfathomable reasons, Don Quixote snoring softly on the row of three seats, a hand brushing against the ground. Vergilius is quick to enter though, even if Dante can see that the tips of his hair are still damp from a shower. They offer him the coffee and toast they usually see him with at breakfast, and he takes them while pointing at Don Quixote with his chin and a questioning look. Dante can only shrug, arms open in genuine confusion.
This time, though, Vergilius notices them flinching at the movement. He frowns, then points at Dante's shoulder with his coffee mug. Dante attempts a thumbs up, but it only gains them a more pointed look. They grab their PDA.
[I'm fine, really!]
Vergilius puts his breakfast down and steals the PDA from Dante.
[It is visibly hurting you. How bad is it?]
[It's not that bad.] Dante types in answer. [Uncomfortable but not restricting my moves. I'll cope.]
[And your hand?]
Dante slowly closes it and opens it.
[A bit more restricting.] they admit. [I'll have to be careful about what I grab because I'm not confident I won't drop anything. Still not that bad.]
Vergilius sighs, but seems to accept their position.
[And how much of a mess was the kitchen?] he asks, taking a sip of coffee while Dante is the one holding the PDA to answer.
[Surprisingly, not a mess at all. There are still decorations around, though. Including Faust's sword.]
Vergilius blinks, toast forgotten halfway to his mouth.
[I'm sorry?]
[Well, the others got cross with her for not telling them about your potential reaction, and someone managed to get a hold of her sword to turn it into a decoration.] they explain. [I need to find who's behind that and congratulate them.]
Vergilius looks like he can't decide between getting annoyed or amused. Eventually he settles on eating his toast.
[And Don Quixote?] he asks when his hands are free.
[Absolutely no clue.]
Dante has the time to bring Vergilius' empty mug back to the kitchen before everyone else begins to trickle into the bus. The first Sinners stay in the back, but Charon makes her way to her seat like nothing is out of the ordinary. Vergilius glances at the Sinners, then at Dante, before he approaches her.
"Charon, I apologize for yesterday."
Charon turns to him.
"Verg did nothing wrong," she says. "Charon understands."
Vergilius looks a bit like he's been punched, but he's fast to compose himself back.
"Thank you."
It's not long before the rest of the Sinners come in, and Vergilius gets to be absolutely floored by a group of them offering apologies to him. Which is when they learn that Don Quixote was actually the first one to mention the idea of having a party, and her sleeping in the bus was her way to self-punish for the harm she's done to Vergilius.
(Dante doesn't know if they should blame the form this took on alcohol or just on Don Quixote being herself, but they have to admit that the intent behind it is quite touching.)
Vergilius tries to be dismissive. The Sinners play along with smiles that clearly spell how they're not buying it.
When everyone is finally in their seat and the bus on the road, Dante slips in the seat next to Vergilius.
[Your reaction to the Sinners was pretty cute =) ]
Vergilius frowns, starts glaring at them like he usually does, then deflates and pulls the PDA from their hands.
[Oh, shut up.]
Dante laughs, and the sound of ringing bells brings a tiny smile to Vergilius' lips.