Tension, Terror and Tedium (multi-fandom, PG13)

[emerald_embers]

Title: Tension, Terror and Tedium
Fandoms: Lost Souls, Yami no Matsuei, 28 Days Later, Good Omens, Doctor Who, Devil May Cry
Pairings: Ghost/Steve (Lost Souls), Hisoka/Tsuzuki (Yami no Matsuei), Tatsumi/Watari (Yami no Matsuei), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Pollution (Good Omens), Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 5059
Summary: It's the end of the world as we know it, and some of us feel fine.
Author's Notes: Six little apocalyptic ficlets to celebrate 06/06/06 in a morbid fashion. This particular apocalypse's features were blatantly stolen from Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne, but you don't need to know the game to keep up with the stories here.



Ghost was painfully used to waking up in the middle of the night with the sense something important was about to happen, more used to the sense always being right. He had not expected a visitor confirming what he sensed.

The creature outside his window shared his appearance to an unearthly degree, but Ghost knew it would never have spots or chicken pox scars, same as he had known when they first met a year ago. Had anyone else seen the creature walking through the forest they would have assumed it to be a normal human, lost amongst or perhaps exploring the trees. Ghost had known different, knew why the trees around the creature had pained auras, why his window now seemed grimy all of a sudden.

"It is time," Said the creature, and Ghost sat up, adjusted his nightshirt.

"For the forest?" Ghost's voice sounded small and utterly human to his own ears after the haunting, echoless, utterly accent-free speech of the creature.

"For all. This afternoon." The creature offered no further explanation, glanced briefly at Ghost's bed, then left without another word. The silence only available to one not entirely of this world.



Steve stirred as if on cue, shoved a hand up Ghost's shirt to rub his spine. "You okay?"

Ghost didn't answer but turned around and lay back down, curling up against Steve.

"Hey," soothed the dark haired boy, and only then did Ghost realise he had been shaking. "Nightmare? Creepy-ass vision?" Eyes narrowed then, anger radiating from Steve as he contemplated the other possibility. "Has someone fucking hurt you?"

"No," Ghost replied firmly but gently, trailing fingers down Steve's chest then back up to feel his heartbeat. Angry still, but steady. Protective. "I have a bad feeling about tomorrow night."

"How bad? Catching a cold bad or end of the world bad?"

Ghost bit back the simplest answer - 'yes' - and curled up tighter. "I have a feeling no one will live to see it."

"Shit." Steve slid his free hand into Ghost's hair, stroking it. "Didn't Copernicus think the same thing and get it wrong?"

"Nostradamus, yes." Ghost trailed his hand back down to Steve's stomach before leaning over and kissing it. "I don't want to die when I'm awake. I'm scared I'll see death coming."

Steve nodded before smiling and rolling on top of Ghost, pushing the smaller boy into the bed with his weight. "There's a solution to that, if you're worried about dying before evening. We'll just have to make sure we're so tired we lie in."

Ghost blinked slowly in confusion Steve found delicious. "But how - oh," Gentle rubbing pressure of thigh to crotch could be more eloquent than words at times, and Ghost took a long, shuddering breath. "Oh."

"You're too fucking fine Ghost," Steve muttered, pulling Ghost’s nightshirt up and dipping his head underneath it, his next words muffled by a mixture of the shirt and the fact his lips were pressed against the pale-haired boy’s stomach. "Can tell you one thing though."

"Mm?" Ghost replied vaguely, shivering from the kisses.

"What a way to go this would be."

*~*~*

"You're really pretty when you sleep." The words were rushed and nervous, likely reflecting the fact that Tsuzuki felt rushed and nervous. It wasn't an entirely inappropriate response to the impending end of the world.

"This isn't the time or place," Hisoka replied snappily, wired off the tension everyone around him was exuding.

"Well when else am I going to say it?" Tsuzuki whispered back. "Before the next apocalypse? There isn't a well-known plural for the end of the world!"

"Don't get huffy with me." Hisoka folded his arms before blinking so wide-eyed that the other shinigami was almost surprised it wasn't audible. "Watari?"

Tsuzuki looked around for the blond scientist, frowned when he could not spot him, then realised someone else was very conspicuously absent from the line up in front of Hades' gates. "He and Tatsumi?"

"Oh yes." Hisoka shook his head, a little frown of concentration set firmly in place. "Watari needs a warning label. Anyone could read him from a mile away."

"I couldn't."

"You don't count."

"Meanie." Tsuzuki twiddled with the blank papers in his pockets before returning to his earlier mission. "I still can't believe you risked your life for me."

"I didn't risk my life," Hisoka replied, tone of voice not matching his expression. "I'm already dead."

"You did. You risked dying again in flamey goodness."

"Maybe I just didn't want to be alone."

Tsuzuki smiled and looked down at his shoes, shoving his hands deep in his pockets before replying. "It's still appreciated." He tapped one foot, then the other. "I really like the way you sit."

"Take your hands out of your pockets and tell me what that's supposed to mean."

Tsuzuki raised an eyebrow before obeying. "You can cross your legs without looking gay. That's weird and awesome."

Hisoka snorted and opened his mouth to reply before being cut off by a loud yell from the gates. Neither shinigami could place the demon in question but it was huge and bulky, and pointing fingers from several arms at those behind the gates. "See you soon, bitches!"

"Are they all like that?" Hisoka whispered, earning a smirk from his partner.

"The young low levels, yes. Older demons tend to be a bit more eloquent."

"Damn." Hisoka wiped his hands down his trousers. "Hey, Tsuzuki?"

"Yeah?"

A second wipe, scrunching creases into the fabric. "I'm glad I... I'm glad we won't die alone."

"We might not die at all. Nothing is written."

"Lawrence of Arabia said that."

"And sometimes he was right," Tsuzuki replied, sticking out his tongue briefly. "Nothing important, anyway."

Hisoka's expression was distinctly unconvinced by Tsuzuki's theory, but he sighed and accepted it anyway. "I'm glad that if we do die, we won't die alone."

The older shinigami nodded, relaxing a little at last. It had been a long time coming, but the apocalypse really wasn't that bad with someone at your side, especially if said someone was taking your hand in theirs. Tsuzuki glanced down briefly to check what he thought he felt, smiled brightly at being right.

"That's so gay."

"Good," Hisoka replied, gripping Tsuzuki's hand tighter. "You big homo."

The older shinigami would have continued if they had not been joined by the belated Tatsumi and Watari, both disappointingly immaculate (at least, immaculate by Watari's standards) in appearance. The mood settled as the sky darkened, night coming early in preparation, and Watari turned around with a solemn expression to catch Tsuzuki's eye, extending both hands towards the dark-haired man and mouthing, "He's this big."

Tsuzuki almost held back the urge to laugh. Almost. It really wasn't fair that Tatsumi raised one hand to make a second, less generous gesture. And it was less fair when Hisoka, unfortunate empath that he was, felt Tsuzuki's own amusement tenfold and howled laughing. "Come here," Tsuzuki laughed at Watari, "You made Hisoka embarrass himself, least you can do is introduce him to the joys of feeling shagged out."

"Something tells me that's your job," Watari said with a wink before turning back to the gates.

"Well?" Tsuzuki asked his young partner. "Fancy a go of it?"

"Maybe after the world ends," Hisoka replied, squeezing Tsuzuki's hand for shared comfort and letting his eyes meet the older man's. "It was worth meeting you on this one." Tsuzuki didn't reply this time.

The gates opened, and all Hell flooded out.

*~*~*

Jim looked out of the window in wide-eyed disbelief. "You have got to be shitting me."

Selena put down her mug of appalling sugar-free orange juice and turned to check the view. "Shit." A moment's hesitation later she picked the mug back up and threw out the juice before and opening the top kitchen cupboard and reaching behind dust-covered rice crispies, groping about for the bottle of bloody good single malt whisky that had miraculously survived their travels from England. The plan had been to save it for a wedding or something else important, and the actual bona fide end of the world seemed pretty damn worthy of the 'important' title.

"Selena, what are you doing?"

"I am getting drunk," She replied with some confidence, fetching two decidedly less dusty shot glasses from the kitchen sink and rinsing them.

"Why?"

"There are many good reasons for drinking, another just entered my head. If a man doesn't drink when he's living-"

"How the hell can he drink when he's dead," Jim finished, half groaning the response. "So we go to meet the maker pissed out of our skulls?"

"It's that or pissing our pants. Revelations always creeped me out." She smirked and poured the shots.

"And Hannah?"

"Hannah will be sleeping off crazy sex with that butch lesbian boyfriend of hers."

"Just 'cause he's a pretty boy doesn't give you the right to make fun of him."

"I don't like his accent."

"You're one to talk about pretty-boys with accents anyway," he teased before raising his glass. "Skol?"

"Skol!" Selena cheered, clinking glasses before downing hers and coughing. "Christ, smooth. Really was worth saving," she gasped. "My turn. To the end of the world?"

"Seconded," Jim grinned. "See you in heaven, sweet cheeks."

*~*~*

Crowley, being a demon, was an expert at portraying every negative and questionable expression known to man. 'Smug' was an expression he nailed even before he acquired the variety of facial muscles known to a human. It also happened to be the expression he wore as the world ended.

Thus smug and content that the world was, in fact, going to Hell, Crowley took advantage of his flexible spine and practised slouching on an Olympic level, much to Aziraphale's displeasure. "So."

"So?" Aziraphale prompted, remembering about two milliseconds after doing so that prompting a demon wasn't the best idea, then deciding he didn't care anyway. An afternoon with fly-by visits from various harbingers of doom was a draining experience, especially after a theological discussion with Crowley as to whether all the drama would have come about without John's cave fungus induced ramblings centuries ago. Lunch at the Ritz had seemed a good idea earlier that day but the horsemen - now riding actual horses, thank goodness - were unsavoury characters at best, and any mild inklings towards eating food Pollution had been in a half-mile radius of went out the window when Babylon popped in. Crowley might well find the harlot entertaining company, but how in His name was one expected to keep their appetite knowing (or at least, suspecting, though he had yet to see purple fumes rising from said substance in day to day life) what filled her goblet? And she kept drinking it.

"So now what?"

"I suppose He will sort them out."

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, a futile but mysteriously cool gesture. "So now what will happen to us?"

"I suppose..." Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs, "I suppose He'll sort us out too."

"Sounds like fun. Remember how well that went last time?" Crowley replied with a small sneer, sitting up straight in his chair when Yaksini passed by the window. "She is looking hot."

"Famine's propaganda must be infectious," Aziraphale remarked in a tone that almost - but didn't quite, given the selfish issues implied - sounded sulky. "Not very intimidating without the bulk, is she?"

"That's bitchy for you," Crowley noted, looking at his nails before folding his arms. "Haven't seen her in years. Or in Europe, for that matter. Think we're winning?"

Aziraphale shrugged and rested his head in his hands. "The world isn't completely gone yet, I'm certain He must have something up His sleeve."

"No more thwarting for you either way." Crowley leant back in his seat, paused, then kicked his feet up onto the table. "Hey. It being the end of the world and all, can I ask you something?"

Aziraphale didn't think to be cautious. "Certainly."

"After the interbreeding issue, you lot had to stop making an effort, right?"

It was a lack of thinking he quickly regretted. "Yes."

"But you were quite fond of the effort, so what did you do to make up for it?"

Aziraphale went very still. "My wings. The, er, shafts."

"So if someone stroked them, you'd..?"

A blush now. "Yes."

Crowley folded his arms and smiled, satisfied. "That's good to know. Your turn."

"Do you have a tail?"

The demon fidgeted slightly, but given the way the horizon was starting to go vertical, there wasn't enough time to lie. Thankful for the absence of humans and the popularity of low slung jeans, Crowley let the appendage form and show.

"Ooh," said Aziraphale.

Crowley's wings were white and well groomed, but there was nothing angelic about the tail. Where it connected to his body it was the same colour as Crowley's skin, but towards the end it darkened to a livid purple. Scales covered everywhere, making it look a little like the back end of a snake, though in serpent form Crowley was a much more appealing colour. It also kept twitching.

"Lively, isn't it?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the tail. "Sodding thing has a life of its own, and it's not practical for trousers."

Aziraphale reached out and touched it, received a firm slap to the wrist for his efforts, although the tail apparently had different ideas to Crowley's hand because it wrapped around the angel's arm with some force, squeezing possessively. "Oh my. Either it's hungry or it likes me."

"I'm a demon, it could bloody well be both." Crowley's expression was sullen as he looked out of the window, resting his not quite as drunk as he'd like head in his hands. "Do me a favour."

"Hm?" Aziraphale seemed to be distracted by the sinuous movements of the tail around his arm. By Him above it was an ugly thing, though there was something quite flattering about its attentions.

"If They're planning another war, stay out of my way," Crowley's gaze returned to the angel, disturbingly honest. "I don't much fancy killing you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Aziraphale replied, carefully avoiding the demon's eyes as he took a turn to stare out the window, feeling the tail wind back down to his wrist. "I can't imagine them planning anything for a while. They'll have a lot of soul traffic to sort through first." His eyes widened with a sudden wince. "Oh, I do hope I won't have office duty when I return. I hate paperwork."

"I'm hoping for research and development," Crowley replied. "Picked up enough tips up here to last me... well, not eternity, but at least I'll be busy. Nothing worse than being stuck for things to do."

"Boredom is so tedious," Aziraphale concurred redundantly, retrieving his arm from Crowley's tail and petting it quickly when it seemed to go a tad limp and forlorn. "Sorry, I shouldn't be fraternising with the enemy."

"I'm up here," Muttered the demon, irritated by the fact his appendage was receiving more attention than him, before stopping still and blessing under his breath. "Hold that thought. I told Pollution I'd give him a call."

"Certainly, dear." The angel watched Crowley walk out onto the eerily empty street and take out a cell phone, decided against asking when, where, or why Pollution had acquired a mobile, and watched the demon pace away out of sight. Aziraphale didn't know the full details of Crowley's relationship with the abstract, but was quite content in his relatively ignorant bliss. Anyone else would have put together all the pieces - Crowley's ever filthy front path, the plastic bedding he kept aside for 'special visitors', the fact he'd actually turned down dinner at the Ritz on occasion - but being an angel, and absolutely not interested in the demon at all, Aziraphale tended towards ignoring the larger picture. Part of him questioned why Crowley would need to phone someone he'd spoken to less than an hour before, but the end of the world demanded leniency towards strange behaviour.

Moments later Crowley returned, leaning against the open door and frowning. "I think I'll miss that bastard."

"He's not going to Hell afterwards?" Aziraphale asked, biting back a 'language, dear'.

"No." The demon's tail twitched, as did his hands, fidgeting with discomfort. "He was made here, and it's where he's staying."

"Wouldn't that mean dying?"

"Technically he was never alive," Crowley replied before walking back to the table and sitting down, careful not to crush his tail beneath him. "Still, he ought to care more."

Aziraphale looked over his demonic companion, unable to repress the urge to comfort him, especially given there were no humans left to extend that favour to. "My dear, if he didn't care, he would not have asked you to phone him."

Crowley nodded and folded his arms on the table, rested his head on them. Despite all angels technically having the same birthdate, something about the extra worries and troubles demons carried gave them an edge of vulnerability that made them seem that little bit younger on an eternal scale. Perhaps eternity passed slower in Hell. "Mm. I know I'll miss your bullshit."

"Er." Aziraphale hesitated and decided against patting Crowley on the shoulder. "Thank you."

"Tell me something ineffable."

There was a long silence and Aziraphale found himself looking out of the window again, the sky darkened to near black as the world folded in on itself, before a small smile quirked his lips. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was a formless void, there was darkness -"

"Cheating bastard," Crowley interrupted with affectionate distaste.

"It passes the time. There was darkness over the deep, and God's spirit hovered over the water. God said, 'Let there be light', and there was light..."

Crowley closed his eyes against the familiar text, wondered why religious artifacts could hurt him but the word itself didn't, then figured it was too late to wonder. If the world was ending, he could think of a thousand questions, a thousand regrets, but he knew some things for certain.

God had been right when He saw that the earth was good. And as much as the creature sitting next to him was a frustration and a fool, no one came to mind - not even Pollution, as good a shag as the abstract was - who he would rather have shared it with.

*~*~*

"Oh sodding hell, not again!" Huffed the Doctor, looking out at the telling signs - horsemen, whores on dragons (well... one questionably dressed woman on what should technically be called a hydra), boiling skies...

He shut the Tardis' door and made his way back over to the controls.

"What was all that about?" Mickey whispered.

"Another apocalypse," Rose whispered back.

"Another?"

"Yeah, he -"

"Must be getting a knack for finding these," The Doctor grumbled, changing the settings. "Sorry for the speed guys, you'll just have to hold on again."

Somewhere high above, He shrugged and began turning the waters to wormwood.

*~*~*

Dante had always figured he'd be there at the end of the world. It wasn't some cocky assumption, it just happened that he seemed to be enjoying a demon's lifespan and damn near every human theory about the end of the world had it pinned somewhere between the twentieth and twenty-sixth centuries. Admittedly the apocalypse had taken place earlier than he’d expected, but when his usual custom dried up and he’d been forced to seek employment abroad, he’d had the sense to realise something major was coming.

It had been painfully dull next to what he’d expected, no hellfire and brimstone, but somehow that had made it all the eerier. The world hadn’t ended with a bang – not even a whimper. The heralds had all been clear and noisy enough – trumpeters, horsemen, harlots, but the actual end had been silent.

He hadn’t told anyone – had no one to tell it to – but that had scared the shit out of him. If there had been roaring, screaming, at least you could rest pretty assured as to what was going on – but it was quiet, as though the planet had literally been sucked clean of life. Hell, even the higher demons – the bastards who’d talk just to hear their own voices – couldn’t be heard until you made yourself known to them.

Now they’d all found leaders and made plans with a lack of organisation that Dante was torn between being pleased by, and being bothered by the fact he was technically related to such brainless creatures. Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule, same as there had been on Mallet Island – for every army of Phantoms you came across, there would invariably be a Griffon somewhere. His father would never have questioned cruelty against humans were it not for the intelligence he’d had, and Dante sure as hell wouldn’t be entering a demon-run bar if he thought there was no one worth talking to.

"Hey babe," Dante greeted with a wink, keeping a happy eye on Lady Nyx’s backside as she finished kneeling to replace a barrel. How she managed to carry out the whole process with elegance was beyond him, but he had long since given up making sense of the demons who frequented this particular bar.

"Hello my dear. Same as usual?" Nyx’s voice had the strange but soothing habit of rising and falling across any sentence, probably force of habit from all the singing.

"As ever." Dante pulled up a seat, studiously ignoring Loki who’d held a grudge ever since the demon hunter pistol-whipped him for declaring amorous intentions in the middle of a sparring session.

"And what has my favourite demon hunter been up to?"

He shrugged, taking the glass as soon as it hit the bar top and looking into it as if it could offer inspiration. "Being bored. Tokyo blows." Putting the glass down after swallowing the contents revealed Nyx’s less than impressed eyes, but he shrugged it off. "Sorry if you’re attached to the place but you’ve got to admit, humans are more fun to mess with."

"I’m sure I wouldn’t know," Nyx replied, refilling the glass swiftly. "I’m glad you called in, actually, I might have a little mission for you."

"Thank God." Dante decided the second glass could wait until his throat had fought off the burn from the first glass. "What’s the pay?"

"Don’t be silly. I only mention it because it might interest you, unless you have a cousin or little brother locally."

He stiffened, unable to help the instinctive reaction even after... what was it now, ten years? "No. Why?"

Nyx’s suspicion was evident in her eyes, but she opted against pressing for answers. "Because someone came in to ask about lodgings who looked just like you. Add on a decade and he could be your twin." There was an embarrassing moment wherein Dante’s mouth was open but words were refusing to come out, so the demoness continued with a small smirk, "I thought a rogue doppelganger might intrigue you, especially one attempting your likeness."

Dante swallowed the contents of the second glass, stilled Nyx when she went to refill it for a third time before asking, "Where did you send him?"

"The same place I send any stragglers who aren’t full demons. Shibuya."

The demon hunter stood up and adjusted his coat. "How many days ahead is he?"

"Hours, actually." Nyx glanced at the cash register to check. "A little under..." Finishing the sentence seemed pointless when she returned her gaze to Dante’s former seat. It seemed the demon hunter had already left.



Even amongst demons silver hair did not go unnoticed, and as they apparently had a living photo to make comparisons to it did not take long to track down his target’s new home. Dante’s legs ached from running and the fact that suddenly everything felt so damned weighty, as if his bones had turned to lead, and for the first time in his life breathing seemed an effort despite a complete lack of injury.

Opening the front door was easy given its owner had apparently decided against locking it, though entering the room immediately made obvious the reason for the slip in security. The room was empty, nothing present except a seriously ugly carpet and a shoddy attempt at a table up against the wall. Areas of the room had vague rectangular shapes where the paint did not match the overall shade of the walls, suggesting that either someone had moved out recently or the room already had been looted. It had to be a doppelganger. Doppelgangers weren’t the classiest of demons, known for scavenging and squatting whenever they had yet to find a gullible host.

Definitely a doppelganger, he told his heart, trying to get the damned thing to quit its attempts to escape his chest cavity.

The living room had three doors left, one closed and two open, so after a cursory glance into the two open rooms he walked over to the closed door and took hold of the doorknob, breathing out again carefully.

He slid the door open and heard a dull metallic thud, turned to face it, dropped Ebony and Ivory. "You."

"You," Vergil replied.



Dante had been unable to react when Vergil walked over and dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around Dante’s waist and holding tight. "You," Vergil repeated, his grip intensifying until it was utterly bruising.

"Yeah," Dante managed at last, knowing his voice would break if he said another word but not caring, seeing as his breathing had long since decided regularity could be damned. "It’s me." Vergil shook with choked sobs and the demon hunter slid a hand into his twin’s hair, sliding an arm around his neck to hold him close. "How... how did you..." Words seemed wholly useless and he took Vergil’s hands, pulled them away long enough for him to kneel too and be level with his brother. "How?"

Vergil seemed to be having trouble breathing, nevermind speaking, looking pale and painfully young in comparison to Dante, eyes wild and old. It was wholly alien to see him like this, to see him at all. "I survived." His hands moved up, gripping Dante’s face so he could trace the changes time had wrought with his thumbs.

"Mallet Island," Dante reminded, shaking, finding that he was gripping his twin back just as tightly. "Nelo Angelo. I killed..."

"We can’t die." Too young and too old all at once, and Dante remembered his father’s stories, that in Hell you were immortal and so was time. Eternity could be captured in every second. Accounting for both sides of the dimension gap, Vergil had been undergoing torture longer than Dante had been alive. "It wasn’t me."

"He kicked my ass," Dante replied, found laughter rising to try and ease the tension that meant both of them were quite ready to break the other’s bones by holding on too tight. "I thought Hell might change you."

Vergil did laugh, but it wasn’t a humorous sound, not even a bitter sound, it was broken. "Fuck, Dante." He pressed his cheek up against the demon hunter’s, eyes wide and unfocused, talking straight into his twin’s ear. "Dante, you have no idea."

Dante winced and looked around for a moment, wishing there was something, a decoration, an eyesore, anything, to focus on. "I’m so fucking sorry."

"Don’t," Vergil muttered, "Don’t be. I’ve learnt my lesson. I don’t want to be like them."

Dante shook his head fiercely, pulling back and holding Vergil by the shoulders. "Bullshit. Bullshit. You can’t change because some bastards hurt you, not again. You’re meant to get stronger, you’re meant to hurt them back!"

"Why?"

"Without strength you can’t protect anything, remember?"

"I was a fool to believe it. Strength isn’t everything."

"But you need it," Dante insisted. "You were right."

"I was your enemy."

"You were perfect." Dante hated this feeling, the utter elation of finding Vergil alive tossed aside because his twin had apparently collapsed internally while they had been separated. "I wanted to be like you, strong and calm and determined. You were perfect."

"You wanted humans," Vergil replied, not taking his eyes off Dante’s. "Not me."

"Idiot," Replied the demon hunter. "I liked both, I wanted you. And it’s not as if I can protect them now."

Vergil bowed his head and let out a long, shaky sigh, his body loosening with it for a moment. "Stay with me."

"Like you had a choice," Dante replied, watching Vergil move to lie down before joining him in stretching out on the floor. "You have really, really shitty taste in carpets."

"There are worse things to have on your skin." The words were horribly significant but Dante refused to think on them, flattened a hand against his twin’s chest to feel the heartbeat.

"You’re alive. I should have figured I’d see you at the end of the world."

"You’re not that smart," Vergil replied with quiet affection, staring at Dante as if there were something extraordinary about his brother’s face. It was an expression the demon hunter returned.

"You’re alive," Dante stated blankly after a moment’s silence, finding it the only thought his brain would hold onto for any length of time.

"Yes." The younger looking twin returned the heartbeat gesture, closed his eyes slowly after a moment before reopening them. "And you’re still you."

"You’re the only person I’ll ever change for." Dante concentrated on the feeling beneath his hand before closing his own eyes.



Elsewhere, Lady Nyx reopened her eyes and smiled at the purple-skinned demon still sat in her bar despite the other customers having long left. "I didn’t think a god of mischief like yourself would be so helpful."

"You think the great will appreciates twins fucking?" Loki replied with a lazy wink, before stretching in his chair. "Speaking of fucking, my bed’s open for the night."

"One day you’ll be so lucky," Nyx replied, but trailed a hand playfully across his chest before locking up the bar, content in having done her duty as a Lady and a barkeep.



The End