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Vergil approaches the last of the Qliphoth roots with the Yamato raised and heavy breaths in his chest. He and his brother fought two days to get this far. Dante moves behind him, sluggishly slaying the demons in their way. His strength is waning, much like Vergil's own. The stalks recoil when Vergil's sword slices cleanly through them.
A howl bellows from the depths of the tree.
The hair on the back of Vergil's neck stands up, energy in the air sharp and tangy. As a demonic tree, he supposes he should've expected some kind of response to having its roots cut. Nothing in the underworld is meant to be friendly.
Ground cracks, heaving the blood-soaked ground beneath them. Dante and Vergil stumble. Air blows past them towards the tree, as though a great beast is sucking in its last vestiges of breath. Dante says something, but the words are lost to the baleful shriek of the Qliphoth. The stone gives way to its weight and the tree begins to fall into the depths of the underworld.
Tendrils and roots wave in the air, trying to latch onto the crumbling ground.
Vergil takes a few staggering steps away when the ground beneath his feet pulsates with blood. It tears, scarlet puffing into the air.
"Vergil, look out!"
A flash of red and Dante is in front of him, Qliphoth vines lanced through his chest. Blood spatters onto the ground, a choked noise leaving his little brother's mouth. The vines jerk, dragging Dante towards the growing hole in the ground.
Vergil gives chase, hand outstretched to his brother. "Dante!"
Demons block his path, crowding him until his only option is to slay them. His chest heaves with exhaustion, but he can't afford to stop. The tree trunk descends, shaking the underworld as it crashes lower and lower. Vergil hisses in pain as claws score across his side, blue flickers of magic faintly mending his skin.
Vergil looses his Devil Trigger, cutting through the demons swiftly as his body will allow. The burst of strength is temporary, he knows, and will only leave him more vulnerable in human form, but the priority is getting space to move. His heartbeat hammers, sending tremors up and down his body.
Branches of the Qliphoth swing and crack against the ground, crunching into the living earth of the underworld. Blood sprays and another wail echoes from the depths.
Vergil pants. Even as he fights, Dante is being buried farther and farther beneath the tree. He has no idea how far there is to fall, but judging from the fact that the main trunk hasn't buckled, it's a long way. Empusas and furies surround Vergil, acting on the last cries of the Qliphoth. Retaliation was to be expected. Vergil slices through the demons, stumbling as the last of the tree passes into the underworld. He swings the Yamato, brilliant flares of blue energy singing as they seal the two worlds apart.
A set of ghostly blades form around Vergil and he cuts his way towards the hole where his brother fell. He spares little attention to the blood raining down on him. He shields his face as a pair of vines lash out, breathing deep and drawing on his depleted stores of magic.
The fall of the tree halts abruptly, limbs snapping and trunk cracking. Scales of white form across its sickly skin, an attempt to heal irreparable damage.
It must've reached the bottom, then.
Vergil shifts into Devil Trigger, leaping over the edge as dark spots dance in his eyes. Rocks and debris rain down on his wings. Dante's blood calls to Vergil like a beacon. Qliphoth branches creak and groan, breaking away from one another and springing apart from the broken tension.
One impacts with Vergil's chest. He slams into something hard.
His world goes dark.
When next he wakes, it's with an agonized groan in his throat and warm liquid pooled beneath him. Vergil doesn't dare move. Pain spiderwebs through his chest with every breath. What happened to him?
Dante. He has to find Dante.
Vergil shifts without thinking, a broken cry leaving his mouth. Forced into stillness, he takes account of himself.
Something heavy pins his hips and sharp pain radiates from the area. Something is shattered. He'll have to get whatever is on top of him off before it can heal. Vergil feels heat around his midsection, a sensation he's come to associate with extremely slow healing—extensive internal damage. That explains the blood in his mouth and dripping from his chin.
His ribs are broken. There's really no other way to put it. Every breath sends a wave of agony through him. Turning his attention to his arms, Vergil notes with satisfaction his sword hand is relatively unharmed. His left, which is awkwardly positioned underneath him, was not so lucky. Yamato's hilt digs into his side.
Vergil chokes on his laugh. He's had worse.
Dante.
Flickering faintly on the edge of his senses, he feels his brother somewhere below. Relief pours through Vergil, heavy in a way he hadn't expected. He just got his brother back.
Raising the Qliphoth was a step too far. His humanity, weak as it was, knew that. V helped Dante. In a strange way, Vergil is jealous. He and his little brother have been at odds since they were able to stand. Dante, no matter what happened, was always glad to see him. He'd make some joke or another, trying to get Vergil to smile before they'd battle.
Vergil swallows down a whimper when the weight over his hips shifts.
How foolish he'd been. Vergil ate the Qliphoth fruit, and here he is, too weak to move. Hell, eating it hadn't even enabled him to defeat Dante. His brother still matched him blow for blow. He's starting to see why. V, his own humanity, held himself together through sheer force of will and dwindling magic. With hardly any strength, he protected Nero and found Dante.
Nero.
What a strange thought.
Vergil hadn't considered the idea of being a father, but he had, in a way, promised Nero he would return. They were blood. He supposes it should've been obvious, but the boy acted so much like Dante. He was so very human.
Odd how, after everything, he hadn't been afraid to claim Vergil as his father.
Another shift forces a sharp yelp from Vergil's mouth. Pain spikes up his back and the blood drizzling from his throat makes him cough. Coughing is... not ideal.
Finally, Vergil chances opening his eyes. It's dark, but not so dark he can't see. His eyes adjust slowly, taking in the concerning amount of blood beneath his body and the edge of the outcropping he landed on a scant few inches away. It seems he's still bleeding from somewhere, but the outermost edge of the puddle has long since dried. It's slowing down. The weight over his hips is a rather large chunk of the Qliphoth, shriveled and dead but still extremely heavy.
Far above him, he senses a few minor demons milling around, but none so many as when the Qliphoth was coming down. How long has it been since then?
Vergil grits his teeth. He needs to get out of this and find Dante. The problem is his broken body protesting each and every tiny movement. Unless he wants to black out from pain, he's not going anywhere until the majority of the damage has healed. Even then, twisting around with his back in its sorry condition may well be a lost cause. Turning over enough to push the tree off him would be a miracle.
This far down, at least the demons won't hear him call for Dante once he can get a big enough breath to shout.
Vergil lays as still as possible, eyes drifting closed. He wouldn't have fallen asleep, but the time to simply exist while his body mends itself drew onward for far too long. Hours or days, it makes no difference. While he rests, the trickle of magic within him replenishes. He feels it shifting around near his hips like a mother hovers over its nestling, unable to do anything, but waiting all the same.
Cracking above him coils dread in his stomach. "Dante!"
Dust rains down on Vergil, a few thin branches falling past him to the depths below. Just sticks. He got panicky over sticks. A bubble of hysterical laughter makes its way out of his chest, easier now with his ribcage mostly healed.
With a little work, Vergil manages to wrestle his left arm free. The bones in his wrist grind against one another, broken in more than one place. Vergil winces when something in his shoulder gives way, popping. Compared to his situation when he woke the first time, the pain is easily dealt with.
Fingers trembling, he drags Yamato out from underneath him. The action shifts the weight over his body. Vergil chokes out a strangled whine, pulling Yamato a few inches out of her sheath.
Vergil frowns at what he sees in the blade's reflection. He is quite literally drenched in blood. Not all of it belongs to him according to the scent but the great majority of it does. His hair is matted down, slicked spikes soaked to the point he resembles Dante. Vergil doesn't hate the idea as much as he might've once.
He passes another hour in silence, waiting until he's certain he has enough magic to form his doppelganger. It frees him easily, cradling Vergil's battered body close before dispersing in a shower of mist.
Healing starts immediately, his demon blood smoothing the breaks over in a matter of a few minutes. Vergil sighs in relief and climbs to his feet with uncharacteristic slowness. Unsteady but mostly in one piece, he peers down into the depths. The Yamato hums, encouraging him to proceed. Vergil swings twice, stepping through the portal and immediately stumbling over broken pieces of the Qliphoth on the other side. He lands on his knees, scraping his palms on stone. He hadn't realized his gloves were so thoroughly destroyed.
Vergil is reminded starkly of a memory from when he and Dante were children. They'd been playing, of course, but it was Dante who scraped his hands. Vergil had been the one to clean them before they closed over.
I'll find you, little brother.
Would Dante do the same? He hadn't when they were eight. His own mother....
Vergil steels himself against the sting of betrayal. He still misses her, no matter how much he hates that they left him. He would not do the same.
Pushing himself up, Vergil follows the tug of Dante's soul. With debris everywhere, he picks his steps carefully. V's memories of every struggling footstep forward drive him. While he still has life and strength to give, he won't be the first to give up on his brother. If thought is life, and strength and breath....
Staggering to a stop, the exhausted half-demon stares down into the mangled mess of the Qliphoth, Dante lying motionless among the roots. The tendrils that dragged him away still reside in his chest.
"Dante."
His brother doesn't move.
Vergil slices a path forward, halfway falling into the tangle and landing next to his brother. He's barely breathing. "Dante, you fool. What did you think you were doing jumping in front of me?"
Dante's eyes crack open when Vergil touches him, fever-bright. The glazed light in them isn't reassuring. "Verg? You came back." His voice is soft, barely a croak. "Mom went looking. She.... M' sorry we fought. M' sorry."
"Dante." Vergil breathes.
Unfortunately, his waking state doesn't last. Vergil pulls the tendrils from Dante's chest, watching the wounds seal almost immediately. Even so, he lost quite a bit of blood. Vergil sits beside his brother, cold shock pooled in his stomach.
Mom went looking. That's what Dante said. You came back.
Vergil stares at his hands. Dante was still in the house while the fire burned. If Eva went looking, then.... She never would've stood a chance against the demons. That was if she'd even made it out of the house in the first place. If Dante was still inside, she must have hidden him. Had Dante seen her die?
If she'd lived, would she have left them both? Believing they left him was easier than thinking his only family was dead, but for their mother to abandon both of them? The thought is impossible.
Vergil rests his arms over his knees, hair hanging down in front of his eyes. Eva died, and Vergil abandoned his little brother.
All this time, it was him who left them.
Did Dante think he was dead? With all the demons around and the blood in the air, Vergil hadn't been able to sense his sibling's presence. He assumed Eva took him and ran.
In sleep, Dante curls closer to the warmth of his brother.
Vergil grits his teeth, dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling hard. Why the hell does Dante still love him? Vergil pushed him away every time they met. He foolishly tried to take Mundus on his own and then Dante was forced to fight him as Nelo Angelo.
Did Dante know about that? It would certainly explain why he was living in a tower of pizza boxes and beer cans. He lived with the guilt of killing his brother for twenty years.
All this for power and it was useless.
Dante murmurs feverishly beside Vergil, fingers closing around one of his coattails. Vergil huffs out a noise closer to a sob than a laugh. After everything, Dante still wants him. What a cruel twist of fate. It would be easier if Dante hated him.
When has anything in Vergil's life ever been easy?
"Vergil. "
Vergil slides his right hand into Dante's left, twining their fingers together. "Right here, little brother. I won't leave you again." He shifts, pressing their joined hands to his forehead. He squeezes his eyes shut as tears slide down his cheeks. "Forgive me, Dante."
Almost forty years wandering between hell and earth and he's never felt more like a child.
He loses track of how long he stays with Dante, their sword-calloused hands bound together as they should've been from the beginning.
"Vergil?"
"Dante." Vergil answers, the solitary word leaving him in a relieved breath.
His twin senses something is wrong immediately, sitting up. His expression twists with dizziness, but he fights past it to frown at their twined hands. Dante doesn't pull away. "Vergil? What happened?"
"You nearly died."
Dante hesitates, the silence stretching between them until he gently brushes Vergil's hair away from his face. "Wouldn't be the first time. What would be the first time is you being so concerned about it. Thought you'd be thrilled that I wouldn't be able to annoy you for the rest of your life."
Vergil manages something akin to a smile, but it's both pained and fleeting.
"Something else happened, didn't it?"
The older twin nods, but he's unable to find the words. Where does he begin? What could he possibly say to let his twin know he accidentally shifted Vergil's world on its axis? V told Nero he wanted to be protected and safe, something Vergil himself had never been able to explain to Dante. Was it so simple? All these years, his brother just wanted him to come home, not understanding why it was Vergil wouldn't trust him to stand at his side.
"If I hadn't been so foolish, we could've been together all these years, Dante."
Dante makes a face. "Yeah.... And?"
Vergil grips his brother's hand perhaps too tight, but no comment is made upon it. "When we were eight, I thought you and mother left me behind."
His brother stares at him for a few long moments before smiling that crooked smile of his. He uses his free hand to smooth Vergil's hair back into its usual spikes. It doesn't work so well with all the blood congealed in it, but at least it's out of his eyes. "Yeah, well, you've always been a bit of a dumbass. Not sure where the hell you'd get the idea we'd leave."
"I.... I couldn't feel you, Dante."
Dante nods. "Me neither. After it was over, all I found was a puddle of your blood, so I thought the worst." He squeezes Vergil's hand in return. "I know you probably don't think so, but I'm glad you're not dead, Verg."
"You were ready to fight me to the death."
A sigh slips from Dante's mouth and he stares down at his boots. "I, uh.... I wasn't planning to come back. Gave Morrison the deed to Devil May Cry to give to Nero if I didn't."
Vergil's mouth falls open.
"The Qliphoth fruit wasn't a fucking joke, Vergil. I meant it when I told Nero I wouldn't let him kill you. If it had to be me, then it had to be me, but I never wanted to do it." His breath catches and Vergil lifts his head when Dante looks away from him. "Not again. I don't think I could've handled it."
"You knew I was Nelo Angelo?"
Dante shakes his head. "Not until after. Your half of mom's pendant fell when you disappeared."
Vergil's lips press into a thin line. He's not sure thanking Dante will go over well, even if the reality was that his sibling saved him from an eternity of torment. Apologizing doesn't seem like the right option either, but there are plenty of things to apologize for otherwise. It would be well within Dante's rights to refuse.
"I'm sorry."
"For which part?" Dante says, a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. "You've done some pretty stupid shit. I mean, I've done some pretty stupid shit, too, but the point stands."
Well, he's not wrong.
Vergil manages a weak laugh at his own expense. "Where do I begin? I suppose the proper place to start would be with the times I left you. Before Temen-ni-gru and after. The Qliphoth. All of it was pointless in the end. A fool's errand."
"I wouldn't say that."
"How so? I blinded myself to the truth, Dante."
The younger twin scrubs a hand through his hair. "After meeting V, you make a lot more sense. He was small, scared, and he needed help. Easy to see why you'd reach for power if you thought you were alone. And, while it's not okay, I can understand why you wanted the Yamato back so badly." Dante huffs. "You know, you're gonna have to apologize to Nero for ripping off his arm, especially when you could've just asked for her."
"Ah, yes, that conversation would've gone so well."
"Well.... That's fair. I don't think Nero would've been too agreeable to a stranger showing up and asking for her. Not after I kinda told him it was a family heirloom and left it with him without telling him we were related."
Vergil frowns. "Why wouldn't you tell him that?"
"I don't know. A lot of reasons, I guess."
"Like?"
Dante lifts his free hand in defense. "Before you ask if I left him completely alone, the answer is no. He had Kyrie and his own life. I didn't want to mess it up for him. Other than that, I was constantly in debt. What was I gonna do. Offer him a job with a rather high mortality rate? I mean, he wanted to, so I kinda did anyway. He and Nico make a good team."
"But you stayed away."
For the first time since waking, Dante's expression hardens. His grip on Vergil's hand grows tight. "Of course, I did. How was I going to tell him you were his old man and explain to him that the reason you weren't around is because I killed you?"
It probably says something about their family dynamics that Vergil can understand how that would be a problem. "Ah."
"So, yeah. I kept my distance."
"He seemed upset with you at the Qliphoth."
Dante huffs, rubbing his jaw at the memory. "Yeah, he did. Can't say I blame him. Said something I shouldn't have trying to stop him from attacking Urizen head-on like an idiot. You won't be the only one apologizing to him."
Urizen's memories are a haze of heat and primal drive, nowhere near as clear as V's.
"You'll claim him, won't you?"
"Of course. He's our blood, and were he unworthy of it, the Yamato would never have come to him." Vergil answers, words firm and unyielding. He smirks at his brother. "When we met, I thought he was yours. His attitude certainly reflects your influence."
"Oh, like you're not an asshole on a good day?"
Vergil scowls, but the way his expression softens on their joined hands undermines his irritation. Dante shoves his shoulder and grins, getting to his feet with a stiff grunt. His grip on Vergil's hand shifts, pulling him up and catching him when he stumbles.
"Vergil?"
A grimace flickers across the older twin's face. "I'm fine."
"Fine, my ass. If you were fine, you wouldn't still be leaning on me." Dante glances up at the tear in the cocoon of roots and vines. "I'll have to toss you up if you can't jump. I'd say fly, but you look about ready to fall over without expending any magic."
"Don't you dare."
Dante rolls his eyes. "Whatever."
Without warning, he jumps, taking Vergil with him. Their landing isn't graceful. Vergil grits his teeth when he skins his free hand on a ragged branch. Qliphoth spines crack and break under his feet.
"I've got you. Come on."
Vergil stands, taking a careful step onto stable ground. He holds the Yamato under one arm so he can straighten his coat. Unfortunately, until he has a chance to wash his hair, it's a lost cause. "I told you I'm fine."
"A guy can't help his brother out?" Dante chuckles, lifting their joined hands. "Besides, you don't seem to want to let go."
"Dante, I will stab you."
"What's your point?"
"Dante."
The younger twin lifts his free hand in surrender. "All right, all right. Just.... I've got you if you need to lean, okay? We'll find a clearer spot to rest down here, since there's no way I want to fight an endless horde of demons with the way I'm feeling right now."
Vergil regards his brother quietly, following when Dante tugs him along. Unusual warmth flows through his body. He tries to ignore the way Dante looks back at him every few minutes like he's afraid he'll break at the smallest trip.
He's exhausted, not fragile.
"Been thinkin'. If I were smarter, I'd have snagged the amulet from Trish. Then we could've opened a portal out of here without ripping a hole in our seal."
Vergil hums.
Dante pauses, frowning at him. At Vergil's threatening glare, he keeps moving, picking his way across the Qliphoth debris. Vergil grips the Yamato's sheath. She's been by his side for the majority of his life, his only companion since he was eight. Having her now is a comfort he hadn't been afforded while wandering through the underworld last time. Last time....
"Dante."
His little brother stops. "What?"
"There may be another way out. My memory of it is... blurry, but it does exist. It enabled me to cross between worlds as Nelo." Vergil pauses at the pain the flashes across Dante's face. "I have no guarantee it's still open, but it would be better than staying here."
"Sure would, but we're resting first. I'm serious. You look like you're about to fall over."
Vergil glances up toward the surface, brow furrowing when he sees the broken trunk of the Qliphoth extending far as the eye can see. "Somewhere with cover. If that breaks apart more than it already has, I'd rather not get caught underneath it."
Dante nods, leading him a short distance and clearing out a small area to bed down. "Here. I'll take first watch, just in case something finds its way down here."
With minimal grumbling, Vergil lays down on his side. The ground is cold, drawing his aches to the forefront of his mind. The fatigue will likely hamper him for days until he gets decent rest, food, and water back into his system. Vergil isn't certain he'll be able to tolerate the strangely overbearing version of his sibling sitting next to him for that long.
A hand touches his head.
"Dante."
"You can stab me later. Go to sleep." Dante says, carding surprisingly gentle fingers through Vergil's hair.
Vergil fades with the far away memory of his mother stroking his hair back as a child. His brother's warmth envelops him, a comfort he'd never have allowed himself to bask in before today. Even half-aware of what's going on, Vergil can't help thinking his little brother is far too forgiving.
The next Vergil comes anywhere close to consciousness, he's swaying. He cracks open one eye, a low groan leaving his mouth when the light sends splitting pain through his skull.
Dante's chest rumbles near Vergil's ear. Is he being carried? Why?
Irritation wells in his chest, but finding the energy to act on said irritation requires more effort than Vergil can summon. The world sounds far away, Dante's voice clouded by Vergil's swimmy thoughts. What's he saying?
Probably not life or death, but Vergil could swear the muffled noise somewhere above his head is the blaze of Dante's royal guard.
Which begs the question of where they're going.
Vergil slips into the realm of unconsciousness before he has the chance to ask. Glimpses of the world slide by, stark reds and whites surrounding him. His brother stays beside him, a deep and constant heat. Wind buffets against his face, the rev of a motor strange and foreign to his foggy mind. V's memories.... Dante had a motorcycle?
"Come on, brother. Wake up for me."
That sounds distinctly like work. Vergil makes a questioning noise, dragging his eyes open as Dante tilts his head back for him. Dante looks tired. According to V's memories, he looked like that a lot. What he didn't look was worried, like now.
"There you are. Thank fuck." Dante says. Why does he sound breathless? "Found some water. Here."
Normally, Vergil would vehemently protest his brother helping him drink, but he's not particularly certain of his control at the moment. His body is slumped against something solid. When had Dante put him down?
"Talk to me, Verg. Come on."
Vergil frowns.
"You know what? Good enough." Dante says, stroking his hair back. His hair feels heavy with liquid. Did he get covered in blood again? "Damn, that fever's still got ahold of you."
A shiver sweeps over Vergil's body, uncomfortable enough to draw a moan from his lips. Dante hushes him, but he doesn't do so mockingly. Vergil narrows his eyes at his brother, confused more than anything else. His bones ache, but he isn't injured that he knows of.
"You want another drink?"
Vergil manages a weak nod, vaguely recognizing he's drinking out of a completely artificial flask. It feels warm against Vergil's lips, glowing red-orange with Dante's magic. To be fair, they hadn't exactly brought provisions or thought ahead. Demon meat, while vile, is something they can consume as half-breeds.
It makes him glad they don't need to eat near as much as humans.
Another shiver wracks Vergil's frame. Before he knows it, Dante is curled around him from behind. Vergil squirms a little, an instinctual scowl etching his features when Dante tells him to stop.
"Just relax. You'll feel better."
Vergil grumbles under his breath, smirking despite himself when he feels Dante's laugh rumbling in response. He tips his head back against his brother's chest, closing his eyes against another shudder. Sleep claims him without his permission. Tiredness tugs at his mind and body, stealing his thoughts away before he can grasp them.
"There it is. Come on, big brother. Not much farther."
He's swaying again. Vergil groans, detached from his body in a way he hates. Copious effort rewards him with a good view of his own chest. Dante holds him close, his ragged breaths rather unnerving. Each step feels measured and careful.
"Dante?" Vergil's lips move around the word in a rather uncoordinated fashion.
"Vergil." Dante breathes, relief pouring over Vergil from that single word. "Hey. Just hang in there. We'll be home in no time."
Home? But home burned a long time ago.
A door slams open, a spike of pain stabbing behind Vergil's eyes. There aren't any doors in hell. Are there? Dante staggers, a grunt in his throat as he hefts Vergil up a set of stairs. Stairs?
"All right, here we go." Dante lowers him onto something soft, a trembling hand pressing against Vergil's forehead.
Rustling and thumping in the room put a confused crease in Vergil's brow. He stares at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes wondering just where the hell Dante brought him. The only buildings in the underworld are made of stone, and they certainly don't have paint.
Vergil can't help the whine that leaves his chest when something cold presses against his face. His skull buzzes unpleasantly.
"I know, it's cold, but it'll help the fever." Dante tips his head up. "Drink this. Whoa, hey, slow down. Slow down or you'll choke. I know you hate listening to me, but it's for your own good."
All too soon, the water is gone.
"All right, let's get you changed. Can't have you stewing in your own sweat now that we're home."
Home. So... they're safe for the time being. Vergil blinks, a poor attempt to get his surroundings to be something other than blurry. He moves to help Dante with his coat, but his brother merely grips his fingers and mutters for him to relax. Three layers later and Vergil finds out the air in the room is freezing. Dante, despite the shaking—why is he shaking? —clothes Vergil in warm, dry pants and a sweater.
Suitably fussed over, Vergil glowers at the fuzzy blob that is his younger brother.
"Quit being grumpy." Dante huffs.
Feverish as he is, Vergil could be imagining the blatant uncoordinated struggle of his sibling changing clothes, but he doubts it. Dante stumbles on unsteady feet, eventually plopping himself on the bed next to Vergil and curling around him.
"Jus' gonna... sleep. For a bit."
Vergil blinks again, eyes falling down to Dante's face where it's buried in his ribs. Even hardly more than an amorphous blob, the shadows under his eyes speak volumes. Lifting one hand that hardly feels attached to his body, Vergil places it protectively over his brother's head.
Darkness claims him, interrupted only by distant urgent voices and a rather rude light flashing in each of his eyes.
An untold number of hours later, Vergil wakes to someone cleaning his face with a washcloth. He feels... stable for the first time in a long time. Someone propped him up on pillows. The cloth rasps over his skin lightly, pausing only when Vergil cracks his eyes open.
"Um.... Hey. Old Man."
Vergil isn't certain what he expected, but it wasn't Nero.
"I was just, uh, cleaning you up a bit." The boy winces. "You and Dante were still covered in demon blood."
The older twin considers the information, glancing to his other side where Dante's weight has been almost constantly. Vergil opens his mouth to speak, coughing to get past the dryness of his throat. "Where is Dante?"
Nero snickers, managing a light smile, if not a little awkward. "Kyrie forced him into the bathtub after shaving his beard and cutting his hair. Never seen a grown man whine and grumble so much about someone taking care of his stubborn ass. In his defense, convincing him to quit clinging to you like a baby koala was a lot tougher."
That certainly sounds like Dante. "How did you find us?"
"Well, Dante didn't exactly make it hard. You're in his room above Devil May Cry. We just followed the bloody boot prints and the smell of demon guts. Took us awhile to get your fever down, and Dante was comatose for a little over two days. I've never seen him break a sweat, but whatever he did to get you here, it took a lot out of him. Been about two months since you guys took off. You've probably been here at the office about a week."
Time travels a little differently in the underworld, but not so differently that Vergil can account for a difference of over a month and a half. How long were he and Dante unconscious when the Qliphoth fell? His body seemed more than broken enough at the time, but perhaps it was worse.
Given how slowed his healing was upon waking, much worse. Dante slept for a month after his first failure in the Qliphoth.
"I know you're still recovering, but... we really should have a talk."
Vergil nods slowly, the faint vestiges of a headache thrumming through his skull. "I understand. Leaving you atop the Qliphoth wasn't ideal."
"You and Dante didn't kill each other." Nero shrugs, a grimace on his face. He hates to admit it stings a bit that they'd both rather jump into hell than face talking about their family situation. To be fair, Dante's been tiptoeing around the subject for five years already. Nero should've expected it. "Small favors, I guess."
Another awkward silence falls between them, tension hanging in the balance fragile as a snowflake. Just as chilly, too. Vergil's eyes flicker over Nero for a brief moment, cold and curious and calculating.
The curiosity sends a mild flutter of embarrassment and pride through Nero.
"I apologize. For taking your arm."
Nero works his mouth without noise for a second, brushing his nose nervously. He hadn't expected an apology right off the bat. "I, uh, thanks."
"You are welcome."
The blunt matter-of-factness shouldn't be surprising, but it is. Of course, he doesn't exactly know Vergil at all. Nero fights the urge to make a face when that familiar curl of abandonment reminds him his father left. Twice. Granted, the second time wasn't exactly optional if they wanted to stop the underworld from taking over.
Vergil's expression hardly changes, but he obviously noticed. "You're... upset with me."
"Not just you."
"Dante mentioned something to that effect." Vergil nods. "It was to be expected."
Did Dante, Mr. Aloof Devil Hunter himself, actually intend to apologize to him, too? Nero blinks.
Vergil nearly smiles then, his mouth twitching the slightest bit. "My brother is many things, Nero, but blind is not one of them. He is not the idiot he portrays himself to be. Surely, you didn't think he was unaware of the consequences he'd face for not telling you."
"I know he's not an idiot." Nero mutters.
"Do you really?"
Anger flares through Nero, but what can he say? He doesn't know why he hadn't heard a single word about Vergil until two months ago. Lady and Trish wouldn't tell him anything. He seriously thought Lady was going to deck him for bringing Vergil up in the first place. Clearly, Dante had been lying to him about a lot of things, so how much can he say he really knows?
"Why do you think my brother hid the truth from you?"
Nero grits his teeth. "Well, considering I figured I was his, I thought he just didn't want to take responsibility for me."
The look Vergil shoots him is cold.
"Hey, he's not exactly what you'd call transparent."
"Dante keeps his guilt and pain close." Vergil answers, nodding. He clears his throat, an uncomfortable scratch burring his words into a hoarse equivalent of his usual tone. "I am not surprised he would try to spare you of it. Whatever the case, he didn't lie out of shame for you. He believed I was dead until V returned to me at the Qliphoth."
Oh.
That makes far too much sense. It explains those bitter smiles Dante would wear when they were together in public and would get comments that they looked so much alike.
"He still could've told me we were family."
Defensiveness on his brother's behalf rises in Vergil. "His guilt would never allow it."
"Guilt? What the hell for?"
Vergil opens his mouth to issue a sharp reply but closes it abruptly when he sees his brother in the doorway. Even freshly shaved and cared for, he looks too tired. "Dante."
Dante's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's a close thing. "Hey, big brother."
"Hey, uncle Dante." While hard-fought, the battle to keep a bit of spite out of his tone is a lost cause.
"Hey, kid." The red-clad devil hunter huffs, stepping into the room slowly.
Vergil narrows his eyes when he catches how ginger Dante is being on his feet, as though any imbalance will tip him. His little brother crawls onto the bed on his opposite side where he'd been days ago. He's asleep almost instantly. Something purely instinctual has Vergil putting on hand on his hair again, a rumbling purr in the back of his throat.
"That's...."
The older twin flashes Nero a warning look.
"I was going to say cute, but I'm definitely not thinking that. Not anymore." Nero nearly shudders under the intensity of Vergil's crystalline eyes. Instead, he changes the subject. "He's been like that since waking up. Despite being so out of it, he's been in a really good mood. Happiest I've ever seen him anyway."
Vergil may be mostly oblivious in terms of reading between the lines, but even he can't miss the implication of him being the reason for Dante's cheer.
"So, about-"
"We will have this discussion another day." Vergil says, deliberately not reacting to the defiance blazing in his son's eyes. His eyes. "When Dante and I have recovered, and I've had a chance to clean the rest of this filth off. This is not a conversation to be held lightly, and I would like to have a clearer head when it happens."
Nero wants to argue, but Dante grabbing hold of Vergil and dragging him onto his side against his stomach ends the protest before it starts.
"Not a word."
"I was just going to say that it makes sense for you to be the little spoon after what V said. Protected and safe, you know?"
Vergil glares daggers at his son.
Nero gives in with a soft sigh, eyes warming on the two brothers. "It is... a little weird, though. Last time I saw you guys, he seemed ready to fight the moment he saw you. Now, he hardly wants to let go. Was it like this a lot when you were kids?"
An unexpected surge of fondness sparks in Vergil's chest. He speaks so quietly, Nero may not be able to hear. "Every day."
Of all the reactions Vergil thought those words might garner, wistfulness was not one. His son falls quiet. Seconds tick past. "Can.... Can I just ask one more question?"
"Ask and I'll decide."
"I-" Nero scratches at his nose, something Vergil begins to recognize as an anxious tic. "Did you know about me?"
"No."
Nero hums, pressing two fingers to Vergil's forehead before leaving the room.
Vergil stares at the door long after the boy is gone. His brother presses closer. Dante's weight at his back does indeed speak to his brother's protective nature, but like hell is Vergil ever going to admit to taking comfort in it. Of course, his desire to cling to Vergil after all he's done raises that all-important question again.
Why does Dante still want him around?
Vergil squirms a little, extricating himself from his brother's grip and standing at the edge of the bed. He sways, steadying himself against the nightstand. Dante whines in his sleep, inching towards the warm spot where Vergil had been laying.
"I will return, brother." Vergil murmurs, brushing a hand over Dante's stark white hair.
He steps out of the room quietly, opening doors until he finds the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror. Even with Nero's help, he still looks like someone dumped a load of demon guts on him. His hair is matted down with filth. Certain areas are stained on Dante's sweater. Vergil locks the door and strips out of his borrowed clothing. After shaving, he barely spares a glance at lower reaches of the mirror, knowing he'll see his too-skinny frame in it. Hunger is a later problem. Being absolutely and undeniably vile is a now problem.
Once in the shower, Vergil watches blood slither off his skin, the dried brown flaking away while he scrubs himself down. He takes special care with his hands, cleaning out his cuticles and underneath the nails themselves. The fact that having nothing under them feels strange speaks to the sheer amount of time he's spent wallowing in blood.
His hair gives him trouble, but with a little vigorous fighting, the solidified gore comes free.
Then, he just... stands there.
Vergil tips his head back, feeling the spray of hot water on his skin and ignoring the slight wooziness that follows. His delicate skin tone deepens into a light pink from the temperature.
Home. That's what Dante called this place of his. From what little conversation he and Dante held as they were cutting down the Qliphoth, it was a place his little brother carved out from nothing—a surprisingly large building at the end of a dead end kind of nothing, but still. After years spent not even scraping by, this was Dante's home. His little brother always spoke of it fondly, right down to the old pool table and devil arms stuck in the wall.
Vergil has yet to see those for himself, but he's sure they'll be just as gaudy and so very Dante as the man himself.
It will take a decent stretch of rest to fully recover from their near-defeat to the Qliphoth. Ironic how a dead demonic tree, not even a demon itself, was what almost took both of them out. Even when he is in peak condition again, Vergil has no idea what he's going to do.
The drive for power has faded to nothing now.
What purpose could possibly fill such a large piece of his life? He'd never given thought to having a normal anything. He and Dante can't truly have a completely normal life, after all. It's not who they are.
Making some kind of amends would probably be a start, but he'd sacrificed thousands and thousands of souls for the Qliphoth. "Amends" won't end anytime soon. Dante may have forgiven him easily, but they're brothers. Dante thought he'd lost Vergil by his own hand. It only made sense he'd want to hold fast if Vergil was willing to let him, irrational and irresponsible as that was. Dante was sure to be one of the steadiest anchors in the coming days, and that will be... an adjustment.
I've got you if you need to lean.
Like the feral demon half of him so very much desires, Vergil will fight fangs bared and claws out to keep that.
Odd to think his family obligation would fit so well with his brother's line of work. Devil hunting is Dante's business, and one he's likely very good at despite his seemingly outrageous pile of debt. Vergil figures he'll attempt to alleviate some of that stress. He's adaptable. It's part of surviving.
Vergil takes a deep breath, rinsing his hair. These are all things he can consider once his apparent illness has passed. He steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping into the hall with Dante's clothes.
"Oh. Dante. Nero said you just fell asleep...?"
The woman before him is short but graceful, voice melodic and gentle in a way none of Dante's female friends' are. She smiles at him, unknowing of his identity as he is of hers. Would she still smile when he told her the truth?
Vergil smooths his hair back, water running in rivulets down his spine. "I am not Dante."
The woman's face flickers with surprise and then, surprisingly, authority. "You shouldn't be out of bed, low-grade fever or not." She opens the door to the bedroom, tilting her eyes to his fearlessly. "After you."
Her tenacity is admirable, if not foolish. "Kyrie, I presume."
She visibly brightens, the smile returning to her face as though it never left. Although, there is something of a sparkle in her eyes that wasn't there before. "Nero told you about me?"
"Dante."
"Sweet of him. Now, come on. Inside."
Vergil quirks a brow, entering the bedroom not because it's what she wants but because it was where he was going anyway. He accidentally drops a sock, stooping to pick it up when a wave of dizziness rolls over him. The next he knows, he's sitting on the bed while Kyrie helps him into a long-sleeved shirt more appropriately sized for him.
"Nero mentioned you were borrowing your brother's clothing, so I took a couple measurements and got you something that'd fit better."
Blinking, Vergil frowns. "You have no reason to do anything of the sort."
"You're family. That's all the reason we need."
Vergil's response is lost in the towel when she starts drying his hair. It's likely a good thing he's sitting down, otherwise he might've blacked out from all the sudden movement. Kyrie is infinitely gentler than he deserves, slowing when she realizes his head is getting swimmy.
Kyrie taps a small stack of clothing beside him. "When you're dry enough, you can put those on. Nero is still working on your vest and coat, otherwise I'd give them to you, too."
"Thank you."
She nods once and leaves the room. "I'll wake you two for dinner."
Vergil stares at the door when she leaves. Is.... Is Kyrie a saint? He hadn't thought they existed, but she was certainly a creature of grace and easy care. Surely she didn't forgive him for what he'd done. Did she? To the best of his knowledge, all she'd know about him is that he raised the Qliphoth, was Nero's father and ripped off his arm, and was very, very ill.
He numbly changes into the undergarments she left for him, appreciating the soft sweatpants for their cool material as he slides them on. Vergil shoves his brother over in the bed. Dante's only response is a sleepy murmur, hands seeking after him when Vergil's leave.
Vergil resigns himself to having an octopus attachment that looks suspiciously like Dante with a heavy sigh. His head hurts too much to bother summoning the Yamato to stab him.
Dante drags him against his stomach, face squished against Vergil's shoulder. Sentimental fool.
Begrudgingly, Vergil drifts to near sleep within the absolutely dreadful and definitely not comforting embrace of his annoying, not endearing, little brother. The whiff of their parents' scent on Dante does not make him burrow closer.
"Stop movin' an' go t' sleep." Dante murmurs, his voice muffled.
"You're an oaf."
"Prissy."
"You stink."
"Not possible. Kyrie made sure."
"You're too warm."
"Nu-uh. I can feel your cold toes."
Vergil stews silently, and he absolutely does not, and will not ever, smile when he senses his brother smiling sleepily against his back. But... Dante protected him. He rescued Vergil when he was too weak to help himself. Vergil can admit to being grateful. His pride will allow for that one concession. "Dante?"
"Hm?"
Instead of the thanks he'd planned to voice, his mouth betrays him. "I am glad you're not dead, as well."
Dante sucks in a breath, arms tightening around Vergil's stomach. If Vergil slips one of his hands into Dante's, it's of no consequence. He ignores the sudden patch of liquid warmth on the collar of his shirt and the salt in the air. "I love you."
"I hate you."