fanfic100 - 027. Parents
Title: Morning's Blue
Fandom: Devil May Cry 3
Characters: Dante
Prompt: 027. Parents
Word Count: 1098
Rating: PG
Summary: Just a bit of introspection with how Dante views family, and playing on the theory that he has a deathwish, to a degree.
Author's Notes: Eh, this didn't turn out the way I wanted. I might rewrite it at some point. Regardless, this is set pre-manga, where Dante still thinks Vergil is dead. Got kind of angsty, which was not my intention, but then, I imagine even Dante angsts privately over the loss of his family.
Dante, typically, made no efforts in feeding himself. Well, in as such as he knew the basics of his way around the kitchen, but he never put them to use, and thus preferred to eat elsewhere, since that, typically, was some of the only normal human interaction he had, outside of the occasional stop at the Bull's Eye. And, usually, weekend mornings found him haunting a diner about a mile from his shop, where it was always busy, and few people ever took notice of one messy-looking teenager by himself. He figured they thought he was one of those types that had to 'rebel' against parental authority.
If only they knew. Which was a sentiment that both amused him, and made him a little sad.
Especially when families came in while he was there. His memories were so fuzzy from the time he'd had his own, that he couldn't begin to relate. He remembered his mother reasonably well, he supposed, and how he'd literally thought she was the world. And of course he remembered his brother. It was funny, in a sad and bitter kind of way, because once upon a time, though they'd fought like any siblings would with being in such forced proximity with one another, they'd been close. Of course they had, they were twins. A person simply couldn't get closer to someone than that.
But yet he sat there, curious about how it worked, really, as he played with his cup of coffee more than drank it, straining for his own memories of when he'd been that small, as the children down the counter and a booth away were. No older than six at the most, he guessed. Their father had still been there, then. Dante didn't know why he'd left, so suddenly and without a trace, all those years ago. He didn't know if the old man was alive or dead, at that point. He didn't, he'd come to realize, even know who his father even really was. Oh, he'd heard the rumors. Of course he had. He'd had people flat out tell him he was the spitting image of him. He'd heard it all, as both praise and a curse, and in truth, he took it, no matter what the truth of the matter was, as a cross to bear. One of many, at that point, and they all weighed heavier on him as the days went on.
Sparda, they'd said his father was. The Dark Knight that had sealed Hell two millenia ago. That wasn't the name Dante remembered him by, by any means. And it wasn't like he had been close to the man like he had his mother. He and Vergil had still been so young, when he'd left, that, when he thought about it, there hadn't been time to even try, and they'd only had their mother. And as far as Dante could remember, that had been alright. He couldn't remember ever wanting for anything, and up until...The night she'd died, he'd been warm, and safe, and cared for.
Though, he would fully admit his memory was more than splotchy in parts.
But what he could remember of it, it hadn't been a bad childhood, until she and Vergil had died. He supposed, though, even if that still haunted him every minute of every day, he'd turned out alright. Maybe he drank too much, and maybe he was a bit too reckless when it came to his own personal safety, but for the most part, he'd arrived at adulthood in one piece. He had to wonder if his mother would be proud of the man he'd become, regardless of his flaws. He hoped so. He'd tried hard to stick to what she'd taught him. He'd kept family first and foremost, even if it didn't look like it. Someone had to track down the demons that had killed them, and if not Dante, then who?
He shook himself from that, realizing, somewhere along the line, he'd gotten a refill, and when he glanced up, he realized Sarah, who was the new (admittedly cute) waitress, was watching him again. He worked up a small smile for her from somewhere, before withdrawing into himself again, idly stirring the coffee, though to be honest, it was the last thing on his mind. Had it been a better day, and he in a better mood, he might have gone out of his way to flirt a little with her, but as it was, he didn't feel like talking to anybody at all.
All in all, as he glanced toward the family in the booth a ways down again, he supposed there were a lot of questions about all of that that he'd never have an answer for. And really, in the end it didn't matter. He didn't have to remember it perfectly to have fond thoughts about it. Or to avenge it. He'd gotten into the business because he'd had to, and now, he'd just make it work for his own ends. It was the least he could do. She'd died for him, after all. She was the one who'd told him to hide and not come out, no matter what he heard or saw.
Pity that he'd listened. He wouldn't have ended up alone that way.
It was time to go. The kids were getting to him in ways he hadn't expected, and he still had things to do in town, and it would do him no good to sit there and dwell on the past. Brooding just wasn't his style, really. He dug his wallet out of the back pocket of his baggy jeans and stuck the money (plus a more than gracious tip for Sarah, because cute though she was, God only knew the girl could stand to put a little meat on her bones) under the bottom of the cup, before pulling his jacket around himself and starting for the door. The past was past, and there wasn't anything he could do to change it. The only thing, really, that he could do, was speed the process up a little more of doing what he could to fix it, so he'd be that much closer to knowing what having family was like again.
No matter what they said he was, he still believed in a Heaven, after all.