Log in

No account? Create an account
01 August 2009 @ 03:46 am
Oedipus on Rewind [Dante x Trish]  
Title: Oedipus on Rewind
Pairing: Dante x Trish
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Romance
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 770

Oedipus on Rewind

He saved her once, right after she tried to kill him.

Ungrateful bitch.

He denounced it as an arbitrary, momentary decision (something akin to an experiment gone horribly wrong). Subconscious and therefore guiltless. He wasn’t thinking straight, didn’t think at all (that’s what she thought), and plunged right in. Like he did with everything.

She knew him so well. After all, Trish was here as his surrogate mother (the one who usurped the queen).

“Why didn’t you leave me to die?” she asked him one night, sick with the lonely and angry with a millennium’s worth of resentful resonances.

Dante didn’t respond, continued polishing Ebony (Ivory was already pristine and clean, resting in her monogrammed upholster).

“I said—”

And then he did something he really shouldn’t have: kissed her briefly on the lips. Trish gasped in surprise before withdrawing abruptly from him. His brimstone cologne lingered in the air, trapping them both inside an oxygen bubble-capsule.

Her head spun around, barely escaping the dissolution of vertigo.


Trish never expected it, that he would offer her a partnership in (this devil-slaying, hell-bringing) his “business”. She never dared to investigate the specifics but had an awful, nasty sensation prickling her skin. That it was something like suicide.

But she agreed to stay (for now) because the look on his face—when he asked, subtly brimming with child-hope and infantile dreams—just damn near tore her heart apart. If she had a heart.

Remember: devils didn’t cry, and devils didn’t feel.


She was the one who found the dilapidated dump (called “office”—she began to learn human colloquialism) and converted it into an adequate, semi-habitable environment.

“This is your room, and that is…”

That was the black pit she could never fill no matter how much he believed in her…because she and I are not the same.

And Trish would have reiterated it aloud except deep down, she knew that he knew that his mother was still ghoulish gray and dead.


“Hey, can you cook?”

“My name is not ‘Hey.’ It’s Trish. And no, I thought you did.”

“I’ll call for a pizza.”


The assignments flooded in, trekked in mud, and unburdened impractical and absurd demands into their tiny shop. He joked that it was good fortune and better humor. (Outside, the fluorescent lights blinked, glass shook frenetically, and curved words advertising their business died.) Trish noticed a sudden rain settling in and sighed.

Tonight was going to be long and painful. She had better prepare for misery’s onslaught and—

“There’s been a mysterious slaughter.”

And that was all that needed to be said. Trish had her guns already in place before he finished with the briefing.


At dawn—if not daily then at least weekly, it had become an ossified ceremony—she wiped the grime and blood away from his face. Dante winced as she doused his cuts in demonic ointments, promised they worked far better than any secular unguent.

Faithfully, he believed her, not stopping to think that she was a devil through and through.

Because in his eyes, a little boy remained, lost and sad…

Trish stiffened automatically. (Somehow, his hand had traveled to her lower back, tugging down her pants teasingly, impishly, brazenly.)

“Quit it.”

Not that.

“Dante, I said quit it.”

And he did, not wanting to lose her (a second time).


Months passed, and she grew bored. With the mundane habitual rituals with the now-banal darkly exorcisms.

Trish wanted to move out, and like all understanding, filial partners—friends (Romans) and lovers—Dante understood perfectly. He tossed her Today’s Papers and told her about apartments and flats (and flat rates).

It was a very satisfying and interesting lesson.


He didn’t know if devils could get drunk, but she was acting uncharacteristically unreserved and free. She even laughed openly, no witty insults or castrating glares.

Like fluid or sound, she didn’t halt to ponder the right of course, but traveled buoyantly towards wherever the road took her. And (to put it simply) she led him back to her new abode, the reinvented home.

Swift and graceful, Trish unbuckled his belt, lifted his shirt, and away went his pants. Success. She smiled, heavy-lidded, as if caught in a stupor (probably was) and kissed him raw and beautiful.

He reciprocated. It was the chivalrous thing to do.

Because they both knew: in the morning, she won’t remember any of this, will wake up spry and springy (full of cheer and infernal grandeur). And their established roles would be replayed. As if this night never happened.

It was always so.

Salavin: [DMC] Dante hearts kusalavin on August 1st, 2009 12:46 pm (UTC)
oh I loved that, well done <3
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on August 2nd, 2009 02:58 am (UTC)
Thank you. I just love this pairing so much. :D
Between the Mountains and the Sea: Danteroseanat_astarte on August 2nd, 2009 03:21 am (UTC)
Lovely fic <3
insert remote control to get butt stars: ; until we meet again ;hot_jupiters on August 5th, 2009 09:38 pm (UTC)
Absolutely fantastic. I really enjoyed this! I'm admittedly very fond of all possible permutations where pairings are concerned in the DMC verse (I'm GREEDY) and you really nailed the Dante/Trish dynamic here, mommy issues and all. ♥ *tucks into memories*
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on August 5th, 2009 11:18 pm (UTC)
Thanks a lot. :)

I know what you mean. It seems like everyone can be paired together. Hee hee.