Chapter Text
Dante missed his brother.
The raw, burning feeling of loss tore through him as he stared at the man sitting in his bath, white hair pulled partly down to hide the blue scars running along his face, silent and hunched over. A dark armour covered his chest and legs, pulsing with corrosive power and entrapping the human inside, stealing his words and memories, locking away what had been left of Vergil. Some days the silent hunk of armour pretending to be his snippy, arrogant ass of a twin angered Dante more than he could explain.
It wasn’t fair of him, to think that. Vergil was in there fighting to stay at the surface, to be himself as much as he could, but in many ways that only made it harder for Dante. He wanted the full thing, wanted to go back to the before, to their fragile and loving brotherhood with all its spiky moments. Not that he had any illusion of that happening. Every time he removed a chunk of Vergil’s armour, his brother regained whole ass swaths of memory—and they haunted him, carving deep scars into his personality as surely as any piece of armoured crap.
Licks of power danced at Dante’s fingertips, his inner devil responding to his growing fury and producing tiny flames. It’d been happening more and more often, these days. When life’s bullshit had been directed at him, he’d let it slide over his shoulders, crammed more pizza into his mouth, and willed the shitty days away with long naps. Until Vergil and Nero had made it back into his life, it hadn’t seemed worth getting angry at the universe. He’d gone about dragging what fun he could out of this crappy existence while it lasted, sticking it up to demons more out of casual spite than anything else. Now, though… Now his anger simmered all the time, and it boiled up in little snaps of power he didn’t quite control. They had been happy, their little bizarro family, truly happy, and he would never forgive Mundus for shattering that. Except the dude was long dead now, and devoid of a target, Dante’s bottled up ire resurfaced through his own demon.
He clenched his fist, snuffing out the little flame. No point getting pissed off around Vergil. His bro needed happy, messy Dante to anchor himself, so he stapled a shit-eating grin on his lips and strode closer to the bath.
“Yo Vergil, ready for your big return into the world of pants?” He gave a shake to the loose black cotton pair he’d brought from home. “I even cleaned ‘em up, just for ya.”
Vergil’s head turned deliberately in his direction. He grimaced, and the mock disgust cleansed much of Dante’s bitterness.
“No amount of cleaning… your filth,” he croaked, adding a dismissive wave of his hand to his words.
Dante laughed, thrilled by how Vergil this answer was. When his brother shone through the stoic mask of pain, spending what little energy he had on being a prim asshole, it reminded Dante of what they were fighting for, of things lost that could be regained. Vergil might never be the same, but he wasn’t gone, either.
He hopped into the bathtub, leaned over Vergil’s knees, and promptly shoved the pants right into his face. A strangled cry of surprise and frustration reached him through the fabric, then Vergil batted his arm away, growling. His jaw worked, and although no words followed, Dante’s mind filled the silence with memories of countless utterings of his name, his brother’s nasal voice filled with equal parts anger, warning, and love. He pulled the pants back and dropped them over the side.
“Sorry ‘bout all the filth over your face.”
Vergil rewarded him with the perfect glare, and Dante basked in it for precious seconds. It’d be gone all too soon—once Dante ripped these pieces of armour off, his brother’s world would transform into one of pain both real and remembered, and it’d be a long time before he returned to himself enough for these casual glares. Then he handed out the piece of wood that had become Vergil’s biter to stifle any scream, disrupting their brief bubble of shared peace. Vergil clasped thin fingers over it, a dark curtain falling over his gaze.
“Be… quick.”
“Always.”
As much for his sake as Vergil’s. If there had been any other way…
He glanced at his brother’s face again, cold determination shining in now-mismatched eyes lined with bruises from sleepless nights as Vergil placed the tiny piece of wood between his teeth and inhaled deeply, steeling himself.
There wasn’t another way. Dante had known that the moment he’d first offered, standing with his silent brother by the cliffside, the armour radiated cold, evil energy. They needed to strip Mundus’ hold on Vergil piece by piece until all that was left was a memory to spit upon, and the certainty they would always be safe, and together.
He clasped his fingers over the curved extension of Vergil’s armour, protecting his knee, and held the leg down with his other hand. Vergil did not look away, or close his eyes. He never did, and Dante could never bear to meet his gaze before he set to work. Too much guilt and anger; he didn’t want them eating away his smiles.
Without another moment’s delay, Dante pulled hard and fast on the armour.
He hated this instant most of all—Vergil’s sharp gasp as pain flared through him, the armour digging in Dante’s fingers, the sickening resistance of the black sludge clinging to his brother’s skin and the even worse ripping sound as it tore chunks of it. Malevolent demonic energy pulsed out of the armour, and it dug deeper in. Dante’s power responded in kind, energy flowing through him. His nails turned to claws under the nascent trigger, and he tore the leg guard fully off.
Blood sprayed Dante’s face and arm and the bathtub, and Vergil bent forward. The biter muffled his scream, but it did nothing to hide how his body clenched with pain, its agony contained to a deep shudder only through sheer willpower. Vergil stared ahead, his mind elsewhere, where he did not have to feel every inch of his shin burning, flayed by the armour’s removal. And of all the fucked up bits around the Nelo Angelo armour’s removal, Vergil’s singular ability to suffer unbearable agony in near silence, shattered dignity gathered around him like a shield, was perhaps the worst of it. It was all too easy to imagine when he’d honed that skill.
Blood dripping from his claws and scales running up his arm, Dante flung the armour away and moved to the upper half of the leg. Best get this done nice and quick (best get Vergil out of that headspace as fast as he could). He pulled, his stomach flip-flopping as he felt the spikes hooking the armour in tear their way out, destroying part of Vergil’s unhealthy composure in the process. Frail hands clenched Dante’s forearm, even though Vergil had not stopped staring ahead.
“We’re gettin’ there, bro.”
Power pulsed through Dante, fuelled by the bitter sense of injustice flooding him. It was bullshit, all bullshit—so much of their lives had been—and what did they get in exchange? Fucking demon forms? Pain and pain and pain, and a bunch of humans relying on them like they didn’t have their own shit to work through, and fuck but he wished he could go back to not caring, not really, but that just wasn’t an option, so he went on, grabbing Vergil’s second knee brace and tearing it off in a single, brutal yank. Vergil crumpled against him, the biter rolling to the bottom of the pool, his low moan the only proof he was anywhere close to consciousness.
He bled so much, even with the thin sheen of blue light from his returning healing, but Dante couldn’t stop, not anymore. Wings had sprouted off his back, energy flowed through him, and the pissed off demon inside of him demanded he kept going. He pulled off both boots, flinging them away and pointedly ignoring the clean hole left in Vergil’s heel, under disgusting sticky sludge, where the piece had been anchored to his body. (He hated it, hated all of this so much). Dante wrapped his wings around Vergil, steadying him as he clasped claws on the last piece of armour (heart sinking as Vergil’s power flickered, already struggling), and he ripped it off.
One last piece while Vergil jerked against him, his blood staining Dante’s scales, pooling in the bath beneath, slinking towards the drain.
Dante held him, eyes closed as he gave time for Vergil’s meagre healing to work and let his own whirlwind of power diminish. His form reverted to human as the last of his brother’s cold blue light vanished. They stayed immobile, silence once more claiming its due over the bathroom.
This was the most shit Dante had ever removed all at once—everything under Vergil’s hips was gone now, leaving spindly raw legs with more scars and blood than hair. Dante flicked the bathwater open, grabbed a towel, and started the second phase of these messed up evenings.
He wasn’t meant to be a caretaker—little Nero hadn’t even lived through six full years and already had more foresight than his sorry ass—yet every time Dante started washing away the blood and black ooze from Vergil’s freed body, he found a strange kind of comfort to the act. The world was quiet around them as he worked, starting with each toe (and he couldn’t help but play with the half-torn nails, making ‘em talk to one another) then moving up the feet and towards the ankle.
Every now and then, Vergil whimpered or gasped, and his body flinched as if he’d been hit. A lump tightened Dante’s throat, and he fought it the only way he knew how: he let the first notes of Vivo per lei flow out of him, forcing them through the opening. His voice stayed low, a simple hum that served more for his comfort than anything, but as he hit the chorus and sang louder, Vergil relaxed in the bath. His breathing steadied, his forehead smoothed out, and his hands flattened on the bottom of the bath, in the pool of blood. Dante smiled. Good thing his obsessed nephew loved Andrea Bocelli and had made them listen to it without pause for months, huh? Now Dante knew the entire album by heart, and he was not afraid to go through every single song for Vergil’s comfort.
He had gone through most of the album and almost finished cleaning Vergil when a paper-thin, nasal voice asked “Is it… Christmas?”
Dante startled. With all the blood loss, he hadn’t expected Vergil to wake up at all, let alone to remember Christmas. His bro’s memories played hide and seek even at the best of times, so with his brain fucked from the armour removal… Dante grinned. All this bullshit was working, it had to be!
“It’s always Christmas in my heart,” he declared. “Pizza Christmas.”
Vergil groaned. He hadn’t moved from his position propped against the back of the bath, his legs stretched out in a thick puddle. Long seconds passed, and Dante was starting to think his twin had checked out again when he reopened his eyes. Bangs hid both of them almost completely, but Dante would swear the red in his right eye had lessened.
“You… take care of Nero?”
Dante’s stomach dropped and he pointed his clean-up sponge at Vergil. “Why the dramatics? You’re not dying.”
He failed to put all the levity needed in that last sentence (or maybe Vergil saw right through it) and his brother’s expression softened.
“No,” he said. “But I’m…” He frowned, his shoulders hunched, and he pressed his lips together for several long seconds. “The blood… I’m…”
Vergil trailed off again and his gaze unfocused. The glaze in his eyes told Dante all he needed to know. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be out like a light, and with his healing all burned out and the ridiculous amount of armour he’d torn away, who knew how long he’d stay like that? Dante squeezed Vergil’s knee, ignoring the bloodied and raw skin underneath his large palm.
“I’ll get Lady and Trish to help. You rest easy. Think of Christmas!”
The hint of smile curved Vergil’s lips. He gathered his energy and looked at Dante again, his usual sharp lucidity shining in his eyes once again, however briefly.
“Thank you, Dante.”
Words had become a rare currency for Vergil, even when he was rested. Every piece of armour removed helped get his cutting snark back, but for the most part his brother saved his energy for what mattered. The thanks… Dante knew it wasn’t just Nero. They never spoke at length of the time Dante put in cleaning his brother and the bath, of how impossible such a situation would have seemed to both of them, years ago when they stood in the stormy night atop the Temen-ni-gru. Mostly, this shit left Dante completed emptied out, like some weirdo demon had siphoned his emotions and left an empty husk behind. Too bad he wouldn’t get to nap all day to make up for it this time. Vergil was gone again, and Dante would have to be on his best behaviour to babysit Nero until his da’ was back in action. Good thing he knew just what the kid oughta do.
Dante rinsed the sponge off again and leaned harder on his brother’s knee, smiling. “By the time you’re back, Nero will talk your ear off about his adventures, just you see.”
Vergil offered no response, so Dante set to work once more, humming Andrea Bocelli while he planned for the next day.
###
Nero clambered into his father’s bed the moment Lady brought him back home, shoes and all (not that anyone would snitch to Vergil) and his hands fluttered above the chest’s armour plate. Dante watched his grin fade into a frown as the boy noticed Vergil was far from awake. He’d only gotten paler overnight, and his nightmares had returned in full force a few hours after Dante had dumped him back in his bed. Most of the time he only grunted, jerked, or whimpered, but he’d whispered Nero’s name once, around dawn—it’d escaped him like a plea, broken and miserable, and Dante did his best not to imagine the awful shit his bro was remembering. One thing was sure: he didn’t want Nero around while Vergil went through the worst of it. Poor kid endured enough fucked up shit already, he didn’t need to hear his father beg for him like that.
“I don’t think he’ll come around any time soon, kiddo,” Dante said, “but look, we got a lot of the armour off!”
With forced cheer, he picked Nero up and moved him to the legs, now completely free of any piece of armour. Nero gasped (maybe from joy, maybe from the reddish patches of stripped skin, barely healed), then he slapped his tiny palm on Vergil’s pink calf.
“Da’ has legs again!” he said, and he grinned at Dante.
“His own legs, yeah! I had to pop out the armour and plug these back in, like a doll.”
Nero’s eyes widened in horror and his mouth made the most adorable little ‘o’, and Dante couldn’t hold down his laugh. His nephew’s revolted incredulity melted away, replaced by a scowl.
“Zio!” He served Dante a deadly glare as he scolded him, the expression almost as chilling as his father’s. If it hadn’t been for his childish pout, Dante might have taken it seriously, but as it was, he only laughed harder, letting himself flop on the bed.
“Sorry Nero, I couldn’t help it.”
Nero climbed on Dante’s now bare chest (he’d thrown his bloodied shirt in the bath, which he hadn’t bothered to clean yet), spreading his palms on his pecs to hold himself steady as he stared his zio down. It’d been a while since Nero had done that, and damn the kid had grown a few size biggers since. His legs had barely encircled his abs when he’d been a toddler trying to strike Dante’s forehead with his trusted black marker while avoiding his uncle’s tickling fingers, and now he firmly straddled him, all grown up.
“I will tell the Lady you lied to me.”
“No need, Nero,” Lady said. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “I heard every moment of it.”
Dante raised his hands in surrender, palms out. “Please don’t punish me! I’ll make up for it, I will!” He let his tone slide into a dramatic plea and grabbed Nero’s forearms as if in supplication. “O lord of fishes, please, forgive me. As penance, I will bring you… to the aquarium.”
Nero frowned. “Zio, was is ‘penan—’” He cut himself short with a gasp, big blue eyes widening as he screeched. “The aquarium?!”
Nero scrambled off Dante, digging a knee deep in his stomach on his way out. He jumped on the bed repeatedly, screaming “Fishies!” at the top of his lungs, and between the rocking mattress and the noise, it was a miracle Vergil didn’t wake up. If Dante ever needed proof he was out for good… Dante sat up and caught his nephew mid-jump, at which point Nero just flung his arms around his neck.
“We’re going to see the fishies!”
He started kicking his feet (which meant he was kicking Dante, and dangerously close to his groin at that). If this level of energy hinted at his state all day… Dante needed help, and fast. He met Lady’s gaze and she shook her head at him.
“It’s your penance.”
Nero squirmed in his grasp, eager to get back to the floor and start jumping, which made Dante’s attempts at a casual shrug much more difficult. “Bath’s not clean yet, if ya don’t wanna come.”
Lady scowled at him. “You’re the worst.”
“I’d stay and help, but...” Dante grabbed Nero and lifted him up on his shoulders. “Try and tell Nero he’s gotta wait two hours before the fishes.”
“The worst,” she repeated.
He grinned and walked past her, Nero riding on his shoulders, clapping his hands as he blabbered on about his favourite types of fish and all the cool stuff he’d seen when he’d first visited with Vergil. It’d been over a year now, but that seemed forever ago to Dante.
“Hey Nero, ya think Trish wants to see the fishes? She’s never been to an aquarium.”
Nero gasped. “Never?”
“Unless she went and never told you. But she wouldn’t do that.”
She totally would. He had no idea what Trish did with most of her time, besides hit the clubs with Lady or join their demon hunts. He’d asked, only to get an evasive “everything humans do”. As far as he knew, she still hadn’t found a pizza type tasting the way the word did to her, though, so clearly she hadn’t experienced the full breadth of humanity.
“Zio, we must bring her.”
Excellent. Now he had backup to help with Nero, too! The kid would want to show Trish all of his favourite fishes, and they could split the time being dragged from one fish tank to another by this forceful little human between them. Dante grinned as he promised to call her, and that only widened as he caught Lady’s exasperated and impressed glare, proof she saw through his maneuver clearly. He’d pay for that, sooner or later—stray bullets on a hunt, interrupted naps, boring jobs “meant for him”... Lady had her ways.
For now, however, he had a beautiful day ahead of him and by the time they’d be back, Nero would have his head full of fish facts to share with his Da’ and probably talk his ear off until they both fell asleep again.