Work Text:
The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the display cases, the echo hanging in the quiet long after Dante walked out into the rain. Upstairs, the noise did exactly what you knew it would. Eva started crying. A loud, exhausted scream that cut straight through the ceiling.
You stood at the bottom of the stairs, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars. The fight had been incredibly stupid, something about a misplaced receipt and a late electric bill, but when you're running on two hours of sleep, everything feels like a crisis.
"I'm coming, baby," you muttered to the empty room, forcing your feet up the steps to get the bottle ready.
Around the corner, your sister, Danny leaned back against the desk, flicking her Zippo open and shut. Click. Snap. Clack. She watched you until the upstairs door closed, cutting off the worst of the noise.
She snapped the lighter shut for good. "Unbelievable," she said, shaking her head. "Those two would throw punches over a dog turd if it was in the middle of the room. They're both losing their minds."
From the dark corner by the pool table, a page turned with a dry scrape.
Vergil sat perfectly straight in the leather armchair, completely ignoring the mess of baby blankets and plastic toys scattered around his feet. He hadn't looked up once while you two were screaming at each other, his eyes glued to the book in his lap.
"My brother is an idiot," Vergil’s voice was level.
Danny rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, he's a Neanderthal. That's his default setting."
"You misunderstand." Vergil closed the book, setting it on the side table with deliberate care. He finally looked up, his cold blue eyes fixed on the empty stairs. "I am not referring to his intellect. I am referring to his blindness."
Danny stopped messing with her lighter. "Meaning what?"
"Meaning she is breaking," Vergil’s words cut through the room like wire. "She has spent six months keeping this shop running, raising a child, and absorbing the constant wreckage of his life without a single complaint. She is entirely spent, and his immediate response to her distress is to throw a tantrum and run out into the street."
He stood up, pulling his cuffs down with a sharp, aggressive jerk.
"He treats her like a piece of furniture," Vergil murmured, his jaw locking with a quiet, lethal anger. "He fails to see the weight she carries. If she belonged to anyone else—if she were cared for by a man with an ounce of respect—she would not be standing on those stairs trembling because she is too tired to breathe."
The room went dead silent.
Danny’s sarcastic look vanished. She froze, her eyes dropping from his face to the back of the chair, where his hands were completely white against the leather.
Danny stared at him. The playfulness completely left her face as she put the pieces together.
"Holy shit," she muttered, sitting up straight on the edge of the desk. "Oh... holy shit."
Vergil didn't move, but he stopped breathing for a second. His face went completely blank, the realization of what he’d just let slip visible only in the sudden, rigid set of his shoulders.
"I am leaving," Vergil said, his voice dropping into the stiff, formal tone he used when he was completely done with people. "The air in this room has become tedious."
He turned on his heel toward the coat rack by the front door.
Smack.
Vergil’s left hand shot out behind his head without him even turning around, his fingers snapping shut around a flying object an inch before it hit his skull. He brought his hand forward, looking down at what he’d caught.
It was a cheap, worn-out flip-flop.
He stood completely still, holding the rubber shoe by the strap between two fingers like it was covered in garbage. He turned around slowly.
Danny was balancing on one foot, pointing right at his nose. "Don't you dare walk out that door. Look at me, Dracula. I'm talking to you."
Vergil’s chin ticked, a muscle jumping beneath his ear. "You have exactly three seconds to explain this utter lack of civility before I—"
"Oh, save the speech, Your Highness," Danny cut him off, leaning back against the desk to stay upright. "You don't get to say something like that and then brood your way into the night like a teenager. Look at me."
Vergil didn't drop the shoe. He just stared at her, his eyes dead and unblinking.
"You're in love with her," Danny stated. She didn't drop her voice or whisper it. She just laid it out flat, right to his face. "That wasn't a rant about Dante being a bad roommate. You're losing your mind because you want his life."
Vergil didn't deny it. He didn't blink either. His expression just flattened into a hard, unreadable wall.
"She is my brother's wife," Vergil’s voice dropped to a low, cold warning. "And the mother of his child. My observations change nothing. You will speak of this to no one."
"Obviously I'm not going to tell anyone," Danny shouted, dropping her arms. "What, you think I want Dante to find out? He’d either laugh himself into a coma or try to punch you through the wall, and the baby just fell asleep upstairs. I'm asking why the hell you're staying here if it's killing you to watch them every day."
Vergil walked back to the desk and set her flip-flop down on the wood. He pulled at the bottom of his vest, his movements smooth.
"My intention," Vergil said, "is to continue living in this shop, assisting where I am permitted, and ensuring my niece does not inherit her father's complete lack of sense. I require nothing else."
Danny watched him. The annoyance left her, replaced by heavy realization. Vergil was terrifying, but standing there under the single lamp, he just looked completely alone.
"You're a real glutton for punishment, you know that?" Danny’s tone lost its edge. "That's a hell of a life sentence."
Vergil walked back to his chair, picked up his book, and turned to his page. "I have survived decades in worse places than this. I can survive a quiet house."
Danny didn't drop it. She hopped over, slipped her foot back into the shoe, and walked right up to his chair, crossing her arms.
"Yeah, okay, a quiet house. Very poetic, Lord Byron," Danny scoffed, completely ignoring the chill he was radiating. "But in the real world, you sitting in this corner acting like you’re starring in a tragic play makes the vibe in this shop miserable. You're stressing everyone out."
The book closed with a snap.
Vergil stood up, drawing himself to his full height. He looked down his nose at her, his voice absolute ice.
"You are arrogant, undisciplined, and scarcely older than my own son," each word precise and cutting. "You possess no wisdom, no standing, and absolutely no understanding of how I operate. You will cease this insolence at once, Danielle."
Danny didn't flinch. Hearing her full legal name come out of his mouth in that ridiculous, high-brow accent just made her grin. She tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes.
"Buddy," Danny laughed, completely unfazed. "You have no idea."
Vergil’s brows drew together, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face. "I assure you, I have every idea."
"Nope," she reached past him, snatched his coat, and shoved it into his chest. "You think you're this untouchable, tragic figure who gets to suffer in silence. But you're just boring, and you're clearly stressed. Nero took my car, Dante forgot the backup formula, and I need someone to drive me to the twenty-four-hour pharmacy across town. You're driving."
Vergil stared down at the wool coat, then up at her. "I am not a chauffeur."
"You are tonight," Danny was already heading for the front door and grabbing keys off the counter. "Come on, Mr. Darcy. Let's go look at neon lights and buy baby supplies. It'll build character."
The door chimed and clicked shut behind them, leaving the downstairs dark.
Upstairs, the flat was quiet. Eva had finally gone down, her small fingers curled into the edge of her blanket. You stood by the kitchen window, your forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the rain blur the streetlamps. Your eyes burned from the lack of sleep.
The front door downstairs clicked open again.
You didn't turn around. You just listened to the slow drop of his boots on the stairs, the rustle of a wet leather coat being thrown over a kitchen chair, and the steady drip of rainwater hitting the linoleum.
Dante was back.
He didn't say anything right away. He just walked up behind you, the heat from his damp clothes cutting through the chill of the kitchen. He smelled like tobacco and the storm outside.
"Danny and Vergil took the car," you told the window. "They went to find formula."
"Yeah. Passed 'em on the avenue," Dante sighed. His voice was rough, completely lacking the defensive volume he’d used during the fight.
You finally turned around, leaning back against the counter.
Dante looked completely spent. His hair was soaked, sticking to his forehead and dripping onto the shoulders of his shirt. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the floor between your feet. The confidence was gone. He just looked like a man who knew he’d left you to handle the mess alone.
"I messed up," he said bluntly. He didn't look up. His mouth was tight. "I get wrapped up in the debt, the jobs, the—whatever. Then I take it out on the wrong things. I walked out because I didn't want to hear it. I left you alone with her, and I'm sorry."
You watched him, the anger in your chest deflating into a tired sigh. "We're both exhausted, Dante. But you can't just bolt when the walls start closing in. I can't run this place by myself."
"I know," he said softly. He finally looked up, his blue eyes dark and completely honest. He took a step forward, pulling a warm hand out of his pocket to gently cup the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his skin rough but careful. "I know you can't. I don't want you to."
He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. His breath was warm.
"Don't give up on me yet," Dante whispered, his grip on your neck anchoring you. "I'm clumsy with this stuff. I get it wrong. But I'm right here. I'm staying."
You let out a shaky breath, your hands reaching out to grip the damp fabric of his shirt, pulling him in until your face was buried in his shoulder. The rain kept hitting the glass, but the kitchen floor finally felt steady again.
You stayed like that for a long time, just listening to the steady beat of his chest until the exhaustion turned heavy and numb. Down on the street, a car door slammed shut. A few seconds later, the downstairs bell jingled, followed by the rustle of grocery bags and footsteps climbing the stairs.
Danny pushed the door open with her elbow, clutching a plastic pharmacy bag. Vergil walked in behind her, carrying a heavy cardboard crate of liquid formula under one arm. His coat looked completely dry, his face a perfectly blank wall.
Danny stopped just inside the room, her eyes darting between you and Dante. She let out a loud, dramatic sigh, her shoulders dropping.
"Oh, thank God," she muttered, tossing the pharmacy bag onto the table. "The air in here is actually breathable again. I was about to check us all into a motel." She pulled at the handles of the bag. "We got the iron-fortified stuff. Dracula here almost took a stock boy's hand off because he wasn't moving fast enough, but we survived."
Dante didn't let go of you, but he shifted his weight, resting his hand on your lower back as he looked over his shoulder. He gave a tired, faint laugh. "Appreciate it, Dan."
Vergil walked past the table, his steps completely silent. He set the hefty crate on the counter without a sound. He didn't look at Dante, and he didn't mention the fight. He just turned around, his eyes sweeping the kitchen before stopping on you for only a moment.
You were still tucked against Dante’s side, your hand flat against his chest. Vergil didn't flinch. His jaw stayed set, but his entire posture went completely rigid, his hands sliding to his side. He stared at the easy, quiet way Dante held you, like it didn't cost him a thing.
Danny caught it. She was halfway through pulling a canister out of the bag, but she froze, looking at Vergil. The manic energy she brought everywhere left her completely. She stood there with the tin can in her hand, watching him with a pitiful, quiet look. She knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to go back downstairs, open his book, and sit in that dark corner until the secret turned to stone.
Vergil saw her looking. The coldness in his eyes hardened, cutting off any room for a word.
"The formula is secure," his voice was flat and hiding whatever had happened in that car ride. "I am returning to my studies."
He turned on his heel, his coat snapping as he walked out of the flat and down the stairs.
Danny watched the empty doorway for a second, then let out a breath. She looked back at you and Dante, forcing her usual sharp tone back into gear as she popped the lid off the formula.
"Alright, love birds," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet kitchen. "Dante, go wash your face, you look like a drowned rat. I'll handle the night feed."
Dante didn't move immediately. He waited until the sound of Danny rustling with the plastic bags filled the room, then he leaned down and pressed a slow lingering kiss to the top of your head. His hand squeezed your waist, a silent promise that he was staying grounded right beside you. You let out a quiet breath against his chest, the last of the day's tension finally fading as he guided you down the hall toward the bedroom.