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Good fucking God, what a shit show. What a nightmare. Dante thinks this is something akin to the world’s worst drug trip, but he’s completely sober, painfully so. As he watches his twin quake, Yamato coated in his blood, he’s pretty convinced this is it. This time, here in a field in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Hell, is going to be the time Vergil finally fucking offs him. He’s already been eviscerated, he’s already very acquainted with the look and feel of his own intestines, so what else could this be? He can’t say he isn’t disappointed. They’d been making some real progress, and he was starting to feel less like begrudging allies and more like... more like brothers, like they were supposed to be. They had a real relationship, somehow. Maybe he’d been imagining things. Vergil hesitates above him, seems to stall out for a moment. He quips, spitting blood, but it falls on deaf ears.
“What-”
The elder twin tumbles to the side, Yamato clattering to the ground. He watches Vergil look between it and him, a growing sense of horror on his face, and…
“What? Getting cold feet? Can’t-” he coughs, “Can’t get it up? Where’s the-”
“Gods, preserve me. What have I done.” Sword forgotten, he watches his brother scramble over, and… help? He fusses- Dante’s… startled.
“Okay-” another cough, a groan, “You got me, man. I’m confused.”
“Would you- would you please shut up long enough for me to make sure you don’t bleed out? You can quiz me all you like after, let me- let me fix this. Please.”
The next… oh, few hours, at least, are a blur. Vergil fusses, Dante ceases putting up a fight long enough to let himself heal, manages to sleep a bit, eats, rests, and eventually, they’ve returned to their little cave. Vergil is pacing, and Dante sits on the floor, resting against the wall. He’s still in pain, but at least there isn’t a gaping hole in his abdomen anymore. He’ll be good as new in a few more hours, he’s sure.
“Look, I’m not dying now. You wanna explain what the fuck that was?”
Vergil starts. He looks a bit like a deer caught in headlights before he starts up his pacing again.
“My other thought you were a threat.”
“Your… other.”
“The angel.”
“The… angel?”
Vergil huffs. “The one Mundus created.”
Dante stares blankly.
“He split from me when I was being tortured. Nelo Angelo. The angel.”
“You’re-” okay, what the fuck. “ Alright. Let me get this straight. You’re trying to tell me that’s a whole other guy.”
“Yes,” Vergil replies, sounding more than a little exasperated. “No, it- yes- okay. Yes and no.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“You’re remarkably dense. That isn’t hard.”
“Oh, you fucking wound me, brother.”
Vergil groans. He’s anxious, this much is clear. “Gods, grant me patience-” a sigh, “Okay. How do I explain this in a way that you’ll understand.”
Dante lets him collect his thoughts, this time. If he wants answers, he's going to have to keep his mouth shut long enough for his twin to figure out what he wants to say. He watches, curious and mildly concerned, as Vergil seems intent on burn a hole in the ground with his feet.
“‘I’ am not just ‘me’. We’re- I’m-” a huff. Vergil doesn’t usually talk with his hands this much. “We don’t always share memories. I am not the one who tried to kill you. He is the angel. I’m- I am someone else.”
...Huh.
“Alright, who are you, then? And do you know why you- okay, he tried to make mincemeat out of my organs?”
“We met when I had my own body, I’m sure you remember.” He sounds somewhat hysterical. Dante stares blankly, for a moment, before the dots connect.
“...V.”
A laugh, wry, humourless. “Yes. V.”
“...Alright, then why’d the angel try to kill me?”
“You’d have to ask him yourself! I could make a guess, but I’m not familiar with what happened to him, nor do I know particularly how he thinks. I know he’s terrified of you.”
“I got that, yeah. I’ll be sure to ask him next time he’s got his sword in my chest cavity.”
Vergil- no, V, snorts.
“...Have you always been- has there always been more than one guy rattling around in your head, or is that a new thing?”
“The initial split occurred when Mother died, as far as any of us can tell.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, believing your whole family has been murdered, nearly being killed yourself, and being dragged to the underworld is… traumatic.” There’s that laugh again. It’s cold, dry, empty. Something about it makes Dante’s stomach turn.
“I guess, yeah. Is it just you and him, then?”
“No, no, it- there’s six of us.”
“Six.”
“Yes, at the moment. As near as anyone can tell.”
“Huh… Oh- oh, the-”
“The demons who were with me, yes.”
“Shit, was that them on Mallet Island, too?”
“Most likely.”
“God, what the fuck.” He’s quiet for a moment, processing while V continues to pace. “Okay, so that’s five. Who’s the sixth?”
“The host.”
“The host. Okay. He got a name?”
“Vergil.”
“Oh, okay. I guess that makes sense.”
That laugh again.
“Divines, grant me patience. You’re so- you’re so stupid.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Finally, finally, V stops pacing. He runs a hand through his hair, scrubs his face, and takes a seat on the ground. He looks… exhausted. Dante can’t say he blames him.
“We were content not having you find out, it wasn’t particularly important- you wouldn’t notice most- most times we changed, we’re fairly seamless normally, but things between us generally had been improving, and-”
“And this guy took over and tried to kill me.”
“Yes. I felt it necessary to explain myself.”
“Appreciate it.”
At some point in the silence that follows, Dante drifts off. He’s skeptical, he can’t lie, but he also can’t think of any reason Vergil would have to tell him this if it weren’t true. What would he possibly get out of lying about it? Maybe it’s another mind game, but the guy seemed heartbreakingly sincere, and it seemed very personal- it wasn’t… overly normal for Vergil to behave that way, and he knows his brother isn’t a great actor. If he thinks on it, there are enough… inconsistencies in how Vergil acts that it… it makes sense. He can start to piece together what he’s getting at. Still, it’s a lot to take in.
When he wakes, it’s to his brother curled up in the corner. It takes a moment of observation to realize that he’s dead asleep, and a moment further for Dante to realize that it’s cold in their little cave. Without really thinking about it, he hauls himself to his feet and shrugs off his coat. It makes a half-way decent blanket, he knows from experience, so he drapes it carefully over his brother’s sleeping form. Vergil shifts, curls up a little tighter, but doesn’t wake.
Good God, what a mess. What a fucking trip. This is just another thing they’ll have to work through, isn’t it? Just another thing they’ll have to hammer out together, as though life had ever given them any other choice.
Sighing, Dante stretches, manifests his sword, and heads out. He's got work to do, that's the whole reason they'd been out and about in the first place. It’s not like Hell has any grocery stores, and he is hungry.