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Eva is well aware of the true nature of the man she fell in love with. Of the man behind the monocle, so to speak.
She knows the form he prefers to wear here in the human world isn't his natural form, per se, rather being one that he specifically developed to better fit in with the people he chose to protect, notable in height and coloring as it is. She's intimately familiar with the carapace, horns, and wings that adorn his true form, and the comfort he finds in occasionally slipping back into the form he’d, for the most part, left behind nearly two millennia past. She finds the way he relaxes into it charming. Cute, even. He makes the most adorable expression when he unfurls his wings after a long spell in human form and stands at his full height, brushing up against the ceiling and occasionally jumping when some extremity or another inevitably brushes up against something and nearly knocks it over. He gives the most wonderful hugs when he wraps arms and wings around her both. He’s a demonic space heater when he forgets to refill the logs for the fireplace, and a great help at cleaning in high places when Eva doesn’t want to test her balance on a ladder. In both of his forms, Sparda’s a joy to have in her life, and she's well aware of what she signed up for when she decided to spend the rest of her life with them. She was also very well aware of the potential outcomes when they made love with certain…boosters meant to support pregnancy.
She was just…mildly surprised by how exactly things turned out. Not exactly shocked or anything so severe. Certainly not upset. Just…faced with something she hadn’t quite expected. Something she was going to take in stride as she did all aspects of her life.
From the moment Eva realized she'd gotten pregnant, she'd been elated. When she and Sparda realized she had not one but two children growing in her womb, she was over the moon.
And now, as she sits in the rocking chair holding the two children who'd spent seven and a half- and only seven and a half, which had terrified her when her water broke despite Sparda’s reassurances that all would be fine- months in her womb…
She loves them, of course. Vergil and Dante. The elder and the younger. The children she’d dreamed of having since the moment Sparda’s eyes had widened at her half-joking mention of wanting children of her own, leading to a much more serious conversation and some very serious (and, admittedly, very enjoyable) attempts thereafter. They’re her wonderful, darling baby boys.
Or so Sparda says.
The boy part, she means. The other part she knows herself. But the boy part? Well.
The boys are hers, certainly. She birthed them. Unless Sparda’s demonic heritage means he was somehow able to deposit children made solely from his own genetic material into her womb- which, now that she thinks about it, is perfectly in line with the peculiarities of demon biology, but he’d assured her they were hers as well and he’s never been one to lie- then they’re half him, half her, and there’s no question about it. If anything was to be uncertain, it would be their sex, not parentage. Typically it’s the former which is the easier of the two to determine. In humans, at least, though there’s certainly room for complexity beyond the so-called ‘traditional’ two biological sexes there as well. With demons it’s much more complex even on the so-called 'traditional' level, Sparda’s explanation of demonic sex having gone on far, far longer than anything Eva had ever learned about the matter in school, and neither she nor he were entirely certain of where on the spectrum their own children would turn out; whether they would align with something along the lines of ‘traditional’ human sex, with something across the demon multitude, or just be their own special thing.
And of course this meeting of human and demon did lead to something special, at least as far as Eva can tell, though not necessarily in the way she’d anticipated.
Eva never did go to any clinics during her pregnancy, unwilling to risk exposing her husband's nature and identity, so she never had an ultrasound or any other analysis of the twins’ sex performed. She was content to find out at birth. Had four names picked out- two traditionally male, two traditionally female- and was fine with not choosing the final names until they were born. If her children really wanted to, they could change them when they were older. She wouldn’t mind.
But then they were born.
And Eva does love them. She wants to make that clear. She loves them very, very much. She’s never loved anyone so much, besides their very, very loving and very, very apologetic father.
But after they were born and the haze of labor pains wore off, allowing Eva to look at her darling children with a clear head and clear eyes…
Well.
Sparda had to be the one to tell her they were boys for a reason.
“I'm certain they will return to human form eventually, dear!” Sparda assures Eva as she looks into the eyes of their very much not human looking sons, thinking of all the baby clothes she bought and even made for them that will absolutely not fit because her darling baby boys did not, in fact, come out looking like the humanly-chubby little infants she’d dreamed of, but instead look like very, very large grubs which, not possessing the typical two arms and two legs positioned at the upper and lower halves of the body, can't be dressed in much more than swaddling blankets at the moment.
“Mhm.”
She loves them. She really does. She couldn’t be more proud. They’re her boys, after all, and nothing about their appearance could ever sway that love, no matter how unexpected.
But what happened to her dreams of having a baby’s small hands wrapped around her finger? Of brushing aside her children’s hair as soft mouths fed on her currently sore and underutilized breasts? Grubs aren’t mammals. They don’t drink milk and they’re not meant to latch onto a mother’s teat. Their mouths aren’t the right shape or size for that. Not even the demonic ones. And the little grub limbs they have don’t seem to have the proper bend or precision necessary for grabbing onto one of her fingers either, so that dream seems to be out the window too.
They are soft, at the very least, so she can still squish and pinch her darling boys as she might a human child. Sparda assured her it would be a while yet before they begin to harden.
Speaking of her husband, he continues to babble desperately, kneeling beside Eva’s rocking chair with one hand on his chest and the other on her lap as if begging forgiveness. His voice has been growing increasingly frantic over the last half hour or so as he tries to convince Eva all is well despite the fact that the tremble that lines his words makes it sound as though he himself isn’t very convinced in the first place. It’s a bit silly. But she doesn’t dare interrupt him, because she thinks being allowed to ramble is at least making him feel better, and she gets a kick out of watching the Legendary Dark Knight stumble over his words for her sake. Experienced in battle he may be, this is his first time as a father, and he’s put a mountain of expectations on himself that Eva had only been able to knock down a few pegs at most.
“You said it yourself, dearest- you felt their hands press up against you, did you not? Ones with fingers?” Eva nods. Sparda continues. “I felt their hands and feet kick against your stomach as well. I'm certain it wasn't merely a short stop in their development. Give them a little time and they will surely learn to look as you and I do.”
Eva rolls her eyes, adjusting the boys to press against her more comfortably. Dante has started to squirm. Vergil seems content enough, so she shifts her hold on Dante to mirror the hold she has on his brother to see if he’ll stop fussing if he’s held in the same way. A few moments later she’s left with two still, content children and lets out a sigh of relief. Or at least, she thinks they’re content. The emotions behind those piercing red and blue stares are a bit difficult for her to parse. The noises they made sound happy enough though. She hadn’t needed Sparda to confirm that the first time she’d heard them; she simply knew.
Sparda suddenly gasps, caught in the midst of some sort of revelation. Eva grips the boys closer as Sparda nearly knocks them away in the process of jumping to his feet. Sometimes she thinks he forgets just how large he is, even in human form. They’ve plenty of broken odds and ends to prove it.
In this moment, Sparda sounds so proud when he speaks. “Darling, what if I demonstrate? Perhaps if they see me transform, they will be inspired to do so themselves!”
Eva opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get a word in, the room is engulfed in what Eva can only describe as a violently purple flashbang. When her vision finally clears, it’s to find yet another giant bug in her household.
“...Sparda, dear, they can’t even see you,” Eva breathes, doing her best not to burst out laughing at her husband’s antics. His enthusiasm, born from excitement and concern both, is endearing. And hilarious. He’s such a genuine person; it’s one of the things that drew her to him in the first place. “They’re pressed up against me. If you want them to watch, we’ll need to turn them the other way.”
Sparda, in all his insectoid glory, immediately perks up. “Ah! You’re right as always!” His wings flutter in time with his exclamation, and Eva can’t stop the first giggle from slipping past her lips. Thankfully Sparda appears to be focused hard enough on their children that he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
He goes to spin Dante as she adjusts Vergil, the twins quickly repositioned as to better face their father. It’s…a little difficult, given the position of their eyes on their heads, but she thinks it’ll work.
Then a thought occurs to her. “Actually, I have a question. How far can baby demon-grubs normally see?”
Sparda blinks.
“I…believe they might be blind? Maybe? It’s been so long, I have to admit my memory is a little fuzzy…”
“I’m pretty sure human babies can’t see very far either. You’re supposed to stay close to them for them to be able to focus on you, at least for the first few months.”
“Ah. Then my demonstration may have been for naught?”
Eva snorts. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“You do think it helped them, then?”
“Well it certainly improved my mood.”
“Then I would say it was a worthwhile endeavor indeed!”
Sparda, excited as he is, forgets that babies generally don’t like extremely loud noises, and moments after his exclamation the boys begin to cry.
Or so Eva assumes. The noises they’re making are hard to describe, more like grumbling squelches than anything, but her motherly instincts are telling her they’re crying and when Sparda’s expression falls a moment later, she knows that like with the happy noises, her instincts were right.
“Little ones, don’t cry,” Sparda whispers, moving to stand behind Eva and look at the boys over her shoulder. He reaches for Vergil, placing his hand at the edge of the swaddling blanket where it is soon grabbed by a fuzzy little leg. Huh, maybe Eva was wrong about missing out on that part of the baby experience after all. The gasp Sparda lets out at their son’s touch warms Eva’s heart. Though he may have a hard shell, he’s just as soft as any loving father on the inside, and he’s never been afraid to show it. When he offers a finger to Dante, said finger is also claimed by a fuzzy little leg moments after. It leaves Sparda standing behind Eva with both hands draped over her shoulders, hands held by their children, and Eva almost wishes they had someone there to take a picture to preserve the moment of this family hug. Explaining the whole grub thing would be an…experience, but she’s sure she’d look back on the photograph fondly years later, long after that person had either been sworn to silence or taken care of in…another way.
In this moment, she feels loved. She loves her family very dearly as well, no matter what they look like.
And to be honest? While she’s never been the biggest fan of finding them in her garden, she has to admit these baby-sized grubs are actually quite cute.
After three weeks of trying to creatively tie swaddling cloths and adventures in drip-feeding the children Eva’s milk, Sparda’s blood, and the winning meal that was a combination of both, Eva decides it’s time to make her boys proper clothing. Though Sparda insists they’ll one day turn into more normal looking human children who can wear the clothes she’s prepared for them, she’s had enough of staring forlornly at the custom made clothing they’ll likely have grown out of by the time they assume their human forms. They deserve something that fits. Something just for them, as they are now.
The first few days she spends planning and delegating, assigning Sparda a few errands around town to gather some materials for the boys’ new outfits. When the first fabric trip reminds her that he’s either colorblind, sees in a different color spectrum than humans do, or just has horrid taste in color and fashion combinations, she gives him his first day alone with the boys as she goes out to buy new fabrics herself. She’s surprised by how much she misses the boys even when only away for a few hours, and spends a long time with them resting against her in the evening to make up for the hours lost. Sparda, two thousand years of life having built his patience, is a remarkably good sport about sitting there and simply watching them be.
It takes nearly three more weeks for Eva to finish designing and assembling the first in a line of grub-shaped outfits that the boys can actually wear. The boys are growing remarkably fast, and without any sort of parenting guide for the typical growth of cambion babies, the true first outfits she make are too small while the second set ends up too large, so it takes three tried for Eva to come up with something she thinks will be the right size for her darling baby boys whose fuzzy little legs have grown on her to the point she almost didn’t want to cover them up with the leg warmers slash mittens she’d designed for them. Almost. Cute as they are, she’s not risking her children getting frostbite.
It’s as she’s holding up the completed outfits to admire them beneath the lamplight that shouting from Sparda nearly startles her out of her chair.
“Eva!” he cries, so loud she thinks he had to have put some degree of demonic power behind it, which hopefully won’t damage their childrens’ ears, lest he face his wife’s wrath, “Darling! Come, quickly! You must see this!”
Eva runs downstairs as quickly as she can manage, nearly tripping over her skirt but catching herself on the bannister at the last moment.
As she rounds the corner of the living room where she’d left Sparda and the boys, she finds him standing there with tears in his eyes and their sons in his arms.
Their very human shaped sons.
Eva freezes in the doorway.
Sparda, meanwhile, who’s wearing this big, bright smile when he first sees her, blinks in confusion. “Eva?” He asks, smile quickly replaced by concern. “Eva, is something wrong? Are you not happy? I know it may be a slight disappointment to see they have my hair color instead of yours, but-”
Eva speaks in monotone. “No, they’re beautiful. Everything is fine.”
It is. She means it.
Her boys look healthy. They look happy. They look like little, perfectly normal albeit-white haired babies.
And yet.
All those hours of work.
The designing. The planning. The fabric choices. The sewing.
Everything down the drain before she could use a single bit of it.
She thinks she might be cursed.
Now, she loves her boys. She loves them dearly. When she says they’re beautiful, she means it. They certainly do take after their father, though she’d like to say she sees a bit of her nose and mouth in them too. Their rosy cheeks and puffy lips and stubby fingers are adorable.
But she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little irritated that this happened at the perfect moment to make all of her efforts fruitless.
Had it been five minutes earlier, she wouldn’t have been finished with the outfits, and she could’ve said the sudden transformation saved her time. Had it been five minutes later, then she might’ve gone down the stairs and at least gotten to see her darling baby boys wearing the cute outfits she’d painstakingly made them by hand for a few seconds before they were made moot.
But it wasn’t five minutes earlier or later. It was when it was. And now-
And now one of them- and oh, oh their eyes are the same color now, a silvery-blue that, upon coming closer, holds the faintest bit of her green, which fills her with pride and joy, seeing these two little children who really have come from her, were shaped by her- lets out an adorable little coo they’d never made as little grub babies, and her frustration melts away.
“Give them here,” she orders her husband. He practically teleports to her and hands them over without a second thought.
Sparda sighs, content. “They really are beautiful, aren’t they?”
“I did say that,” Eva teases.
“Mm, you did,” Sparda admits, standing behind her and wiggling his fingers at their sons. It’s a precious sight. “But it was inevitable when they had you for a mother. Look, this one has your smile.”
Eva’s not quite sure if she’d call the face the baby on her left side is making a smile, more like he’s just scrunching his face, but it’s certainly cute. For all the years he’s spent in the human world, at times Sparda still struggles a bit with human expressions. She’s always found it charming.
But something about what he just said sticks out to her.
“This one?” Sparda’s smile freezes. “What do you mean ‘ this one’ ? ”
Sparda doesn’t respond.
Eva takes a breath. “Sparda. Did you forget your own son’s name?”
“Of course I didn’t!” Sparda counters, voice growing loud in his offense. “They are Dante and Vergil. Named after the poets and characters both.”
Her eyes narrow. “And which one is ‘this one?’” She lifts the one Sparda had referred to just the slightest bit.
Sparda does not respond.
Eva looks down at the babies. Unlike in their grub forms, where one child had vibrant scarlet eyes and the other’s were a deep cerulean, the eyes of their human forms are identical.
“...Sparda, which one is this one?”
Sparda bites his lip.
“Sparda which child is Dante and which child is Vergil.”
“...You’re their mother. Are you not able to…sense these things?”
“Humans can’t just sense the identities of their children!”
“Ah.” Sparda clears his throat. “Well. We could always just guess?”
Were Eva’s hands not full of baby, she would have her head in her hands. “I can’t believe you mixed up our children! What if we start calling Dante Vergil and Vergil Dante? What if they go their whole lives thinking they’re the wrong person? How will this impact them psychologically?! Developmentally!?!”
“They’re babies, Eva. They’ll never know. If we never tell them about this-”
“I am not doing that. You’re the demon, Sparda. You figure it out! Use your demon senses!”
“They feel like babies! Their demonic signatures are identical! I don’t know which is which!”
“Oh but I’m supposed to be able to tell? Sparda you must’ve been with them when they changed; think back five minutes to who was on which side, and who you handed me!”
“I was- Look, my dearest, my sweet, my love and light, I was simply so overjoyed at seeing they’d finally assumed a form befitting their mother that I may have put one down to spin around the other and vice versa, and by the time I was done I may have forgotten which was which because I was more focused on the moment!”
Eva opens her mouth for her next counter, but before she can, Sparda continues, waving his baby-free hands to calm her.
“But worry not, dear, I’m certain that they will transform back at some point, and when they do, we’ll figure out which is which and give them their correct names. For now we can just pick a name for each and, if necessary, fix it later. What do you say?”
Eva sighs, looking down at her children.
She loves them. She really does. No matter their form.
She loves her husband too. She really does. No matter the fact that he’s apparently mixed up their children.
“Well,” Eva says, thinking of the outfits she’d written off that will in fact get to see the light of day after all. “Here’s hoping they go back soon. At least I still remember that the blue one’s Dante and the red one’s Vergil. We’ll just have to make sure to keep track next time they transform there and back and swap the names then if necessary.”
Sparda nods.
They’ve got a fifty-fifty shot at this. Surely it will work out. Surely.