Carnal Spark
Take me under
I'm giving into you
I'm dying tonight
I'm giving into you
Watch me crumble
I'm giving into you
I'm crying tonight
I'm giving into you
--Adema "Giving in"
+Sixth Spark: Brother+
The quiet that enveloped Devil May Cry that coming morning could even have made the Grim Reaper turn away in fear. To the casual obeserver, it seemed nothing more than calm. Only the two demonic residents had any tip off to what emotions were brewing so silently within its walls.
Dante had once again been up all night. Alastor had not slept either. Not because he was feeling guilty, or worried (No, not Alastor. Worried? It barely crossed his mind), but simply because of the fact that full-fledged demons did not require rest. Alastor just enjoyed the luxury of being able to close his eyes once in a while. Hell, he had slept a couple hundred years while stuck on Mallet Island. Of course, he did wake once to kill an annoying Blade who kept poking him.
Dante Sparda's case was a little different, although the same in some points. Insomniacs didn't require sleep either. They, too, enjoyed the luxury of closing their eyes, albeit it didn't come easily. The reason he had been up, though, was not credited towards the fact that he had insomnia. No. It had been because he had been mulling over his once-sidekick's argument last night. If the words had been a meal in his mouth, they would probably be putty by now. As the sun rose over the wet horizon (from the rain last night that had gone unnoticed. This was due to the fact that either occupant had been passed out or screaming at each other), the young Sparda realized that he now had something even more important to think about: Did he really believe in the electrical spirit's words? Could he throw Vergil away so easily? No, of course he couldn't. He was Dante Sparda, and Dante had always been a stubborn person.
The white-haired half-demon sat with his knees pulled close to his body, his grey blanket wrapped around him. The ever-happy-sun mocked him. Usually angsting didn't happen in the early hours of the morning. The sun just makes most people feel a little happier, cause it meant you were still alive to see the sunrise (although most people hate this fact).
A sigh.
The Dark Knight knew he would not be moving from his bed anytime soon...
-vvvv-
Meanwhile, ten feet away from the emo-ness of the white-haired Sparda who happened to be in the only warm room in the building, Alastor sat on the couch in the main area with a blanket wrapped tightly around him. While Dante hadn't noticed the thunderstorm at all last night in the wee hours of the morning, Alastor had gotten rather well aquianted with it. Well, actually, he had only met the torrential rain's offsrping, Mr. Drippy and Mr. Drop. Why these rain drops that had invaded the demon slayer's poorly kept roof were all males was beyond Alastor's knowlegde. The point is, he didn't have the pleasure of coming head-to-head with Mr. Fucking-loud-ass-thunder and Mrs. Brighter-than-shit-lightning-bolt.
Again, the genders of these elemental happenings is a mystery.
The electrical demon (who, although could produce his lightning, didn't like thunderstorms all) looked at the wet spot on the black, leather sofa that he had been sitting in. 'Had' being the key word. Mr. Drippy and Mr. Drop had fell into his hair ten times before Alastor had worked up the will power to move.
And now, because of the rains and the climate of this region, it was cold outside. So, since poor-insulated walls, wood, and stone don't keep heat in very well, it was really fucking cold inside the office area of the Devil May Cry. Luckily, Dante kept an extra blanket near the couch in case he ever felt the need to pass out on it.
The demonic spirit sighed, thinking back to the recent screaming match he and his master had shared. He frowned, Dante's final words making all kinds of sirens go off in his head. What if Alastor had only succeded in depressing him further? Dante would never get better at this rate. He needed to do something...something that would rid his poor master of all his depressing thoughts. Not now though. He would leave him alone until Dante felt like walking around again.
It was then a lightbulb turned on above the demon's head.
But, it flickered.
Then it died.
The hellspawn frowned. This was enough to make the bulb come to life again. Afterall, Alastor's specialty was electricity.
-vvvv-
Dante was in the early stages of moping, still cursing Alastor for saying those awful things about his brother. It had reminded him of what Trish had almost cried about before she left. Now, Dante wasn't in love or anything with Trish (contrary to popular belief). In fact, the only reason she was--had been--around was that 1) she looked like his mother, and 2) she was a great partner to have around when in battle. In fact, he remembered the day all too well...
(oOoOoOoOFlashbackoOoOoOoO)
It was raining that day.
No, not a pounding rain that those black and white films' main heroine has to stroll through, with all of her makeup still in perfect condition.
It was just a light drizzle. In fact, you had to look on the ground outside to see the raindrops hit the puddles to know it was raining. Trish, in all her blond demonic glory, was sitting at the desk in the office area. Her feet were propped up on it comfortably. She was reading a magazine, trying to pass time while she waited for a client to call. For some reason, Devil May Cry didn't get much business when it rained. It was as if demons didn't like water, or something. Which was contradicting in itself, since there were many demons who were somewhat aquatic.
Trish was also waiting for Dante to come back from the bathroom. He had been gone for a little more than ten minutes...which seemed odd to her. Although a demon, Trish knew that males didn't have to use the bathroom for very long. Although, there were some cases in which they could be gone for an eternity... But that story is for another time.
The female demon thought back to the past couple of weeks. She had lived with Dante for a little over a year now--almost two--and yet he had seemed to change a little day by day... As much as she thought about it, she had no idea why. Dante had started losing the confidence in his stride. He was...quieter now. Which was totally unsual for someone who's favorite passtime was throwing back sarcastic remarks in demons' faces. His smile was not that of the cocky demon slayer she had first met that fateful night when she had wrecked his precious building. He seemed angrier, if that was the word for it. Something about this whole week hadn't been right.
Trish threw aside the magazine on motorcycles she had been reading. Fifteen minutes was way too long for anyone to be in the bathroom. She hurriedly got up and marched to the not-very-far-away bathroom. Trish stood, letting her sensitive ears go to work. She couldn't hear much of anything happening in the bathroom. The loud rock music in the other room was distracting her somewhat, she guessed. She could hear breathing inside (almost silent breathing, though), which was somewhat of a relief. Trish knocked loudly on the wooden door.
"Hey, Sparda, what're you doing in there?" She added in his last name so that maybe he would answer quicker. This didn't happen. No sound was made. The blond knocked again. "Hello?" No answer. Trish jiggled the door knob worriedly. "Dante?" Yet again, no answer. "Dante, let me in!" Why wasn't he answering? Was he not in there anymore? No. He was in there. The door was locked. "Dante!" She figured she had no choice. Trish, after placing her delicate fingers on the door knob again, melted the bronze metal away. It dripped down the side of the door, until Trish could finally get inside. She threw open the door, already holding her breath. Trish was still. Dante had indeed been in there. He was standing in front of the sink, the medicine cabinet mirror was smashed. The few remaining broken shards left in the corners of the mirror only reflected the white hair that now covered his eyes. Slowly, the demon slayer looked over his shoulder at Trish. She was very still and quiet.
"...What're you doing here? You shouldn't be in here." Trish took an experimental step forward. "Don't come near me." The blond demon was struck by the cold words hard. The two slayers had become good friends. Why was he suddenly shutting her out now?
"...Dante, what happened?" She asked timidly. This was an acomplishment, since Trish was anything but timid.
"Get out." Trish stomped forward, Dante watching her with a predatory look. The once-clean, white sink was now stained messily with his blood. She knew it was his blood, because it was dripping steadily out of his wrists. She roughly grabbed the demon slayer's cut wrists, looking them over. Dante immediatley pushed her away. After she recovered, she frowned at him with a worried look.
"Dante, what the hell?" she almost yelled. "What did you do!"
"Just go away."
"Fuck that! I want answers, Sparda!"
"I just want to be alone."
"Why did you cut yourself?"
"It's the only way...to release this pain." Now, Trish had always believed Dante was a stable-headed person (well, most of the time), but this had totally thrown that idea out the window. What pain could he possibly be talking about?
"What're you talking about?" Dante's shoulder's shook. Abruptly he sunk to the floor, hands over his eyes.
"Trish, I-I killed him. It's all my fault." The once-exubrant half-demon sobbed. "I didn't help him. I killed him. It's my fault he's gone... He's never coming back!" Trish kneeled next to him, not sure what to do. She had never comforted anyone, let anyone a crying half-demon.
"...Him, who?"
"Vergil! I killed Vergil!" Trish's forhead wrinkled in concern. Vergil? His brother? He had killed Vergil a year ago. Why was he suddenly be so upset about it?
"But, Dante...your brother has been dead for awhile... Why does it upset you now?"
"I can't bear the pain anymore! I had to...do something... I had to. It was unbearable. I wanted to die!" Trish thought about this. She knew it probably meant that Dante had been upset about it since the get-go, but he had stored up all the pain inside. Which would explain the day-by-day disinegration of his personality. "W-what do I do? I killed him...I killed him..."
The night went on like that.
-vvvv-
It had been a week. Dante had finally stopped crying just yesterday and Trish was at her wit's end. She didn't know what to do about him anymore. She had tried to comfort him about the situation, she really had, but nothing was getting through. He was like a scared child. He kept muttering that it was 'his fault' and that 'Vergil was angry with him'. Trish knew the truth. The blond demon knew Vergil hated his brother. She had even tried to tell Dante that, to make him feel foolish for ever shedding tears over the monster. This only resulted in Dante roaring at her, saying horrible things that didn't need to be repeated.
Trish sat now on the black sofa in the main area (which also the office area). She was at the moment, resting her eyes, her sharp ears suddenly picking up the beginings of a whimper in the room over. He was crying. Again. She put her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the sound. Dante's depression seemed to rubbing off on her. It also angered her that she could nothing for her friend. It angered her even more that he was letting himself be controlled by that bastard that he called family. Sure, he should care. It was his only living family. But, CRYING? It was too much and Trish found herself losing respect for the once-happy Dante Sparda.
Trish lept to her feet, finally knowing she couldn't be around him anymore. Well, at least until he got better. She went to Dante's door, seeing if she could persuade him one more time to stop this embarassment he was making himself into. Trish knocked.
"Dante?" The only answer was a sniffle. "Dante, you can't do this anymore. You need to forget about your brother, put it behind you! I-I've never seen you like this... I know it's probably really hard for you, losing your twin...but you can't just sit in your room and cry all day! What about your health? Your job! What about me?" It was still quiet. Trish was almost in tears. "Dammit, Dante, answer me! I'm your friend! Don't I matter? Doesn't your own life matter?"
"...Nothing matters anymore. Nothing! Just leave me alone!" Trish opened her mouth again, but no words came. There was nothing more to be said and she knew this. She sighed, her voice shaky. It was clear what Dante wanted.
"Fine. You want to be alone so bad, then I'll leave! I can't stand being around you anymore! You're nothing more than a wimp!"
"Shut up!"
"I'm leaving, Dante! I don't ever want to see your face again!" Trish stomped off, grabbing the Sparda sword on her way out. As she closed the wooden doors behind her, forever walking out of Devil May Cry, she wiped away the tears the threatened to stream down her face. She wouldn't cry for him...
(oOoOoOoOEnd FlashbackoOoOoOoO)
Dante refused to cry. It was the reason Trish had left him. The memory was all too painful, though. He hadn't meant to push her away like that, he had been so selfish. Maybe Vergil wasn't worth all the trouble. It had made Trish run away, and now it was forcing Alastor away. Alastor may be a demon, but he was loyal to Dante and the demon slayer knew this.
Maybe they had both been right. Maybe he was crying over nothing, and maybe Vergil really was a bastard...
But when Vergil gave his last breath, Dante felt as though something had been ripped right out of him. He knew it was not because they were brothers, or even twins. That had felt like a job more than anything. They had only been around each other for ten years of their lives. It was on that day, when he had first slit his wrists, that he had found the real reason why he had become so abruptly depressed.
He was in love with his brother.
Ever since he had watched Vergil fall into that bottomless pit inside Temi-Ni-Gru, he knew that he had fallen hard for his only living family. But, now Dante questioned his love. It had been two months since he had first begun his self-destructive habits. None of it had made him feel any better about anything. Could the love he once had for Vergil be slowly ebbing away? Did that mean Alastor and Trish had been right...about everything?
But, as mentioned before, Dante is a very stubborn man. He would not let his futile crying go unjustified. Therfore, he defied the fact that Trish and Alastor had both been right, and that he had driven a good friend away. He denied the fact that all of this suffering had been his fault and that, the fact was, Vergil hadn't been haunting him at all. The fact of the matter was that, Dante's own unrequinted love and guilt had been the only thing haunting him for the last few months.
It was this conclusion that made Dante cry the hardest.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOo
A word from the crazy side: OMGWTFCRY! ;-;
A word from the sensible side: Wow, that was probably one of the most depressing things I've written. Maybe it's just because I'm kind of depressed right now. x.X Be kind and review! Make my day! -.O
Oh, and you'll all be surprised that I'm posting two chapters instead of one. Since tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I thought I'd express my thanks to the fans by giving them another chapter.
And now...Koneko's Notes to teh Fans!
Kittyka666: Well, all I can say is that there will probably be less angst from here on out. Of course, the story will still be 'sad' at times. Dante isn't about to say 'I'm over everything now and I feel great! Let's bake some cookies! " Of course, that was an exaggeration, but you get my point.
KarasuKuro: Yeah, that last chapter was kinda wild. o.O
SaiyAsianMaki: Yay! Another artist!
Happy Thanksgiving!