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Vergil always woke up early. In the past, particularly throughout his early teens, it had been out of habit, a conscious survival instinct to ensure he was always ready to move as soon as possible. Now, however, little less than three months after his and Dante’s triumphant return from hell (and subsequent ass-kicking from Nero), his tendency to rise with the sun came from the fact that he was still re-adjusting to the chirping of the birds outside his window.
“...” The stoic dark slayer laid there for only a minute or so, staring at the ceiling and letting his eyes adjust to the scarce light creeping between the blinds. He could feel his hair sticking out at odd angles between his head and the pillow below it, not needing a mirror to know how unkempt it must have looked. A byproduct of unsavory dreams, though he didn’t remember them anymore which was a marked improvement. Vergil silently pondered on the irony of his nightmares, in that no matter how much he might have tossed and turned, he always awoke in the same position he drifted to sleep in.
Once he was sure that only sustenance would awaken him further, Vergil slowly rose from his bed. To any observer, the motion of a pale man rising from off his back without so much as using his arms for support would be mildly haunting, but for Vergil it was as natural as breathing. A few of his untamed locks fell into sight as he sat upright, further confirming his suspicions as to the nature of his dreams.
Moving with necessity and no more, the half-demon discarded his nightclothes and threw on his trusty vest but left his coat hanging near the door. Said door opened with only the faintest creak, and Vergil made to step out just as his fingers wrapped around the sheath of Yamato. As he did, however, he caught himself and stopped. Internally he reminded himself there was no need for his trusted companion right now, and let his grip fall slack.
If he needed to stab someone (Dante), his spectral blade would suffice.
And so the dark slayer all but glided out of his room and into the bathroom. It wasn’t far, nor was anything in the Devil May Cry ‘office’ (Vergil never failed to scoff when his brother called it that; it was barely even a building, let alone a functioning place of business). From its place on the second floor, and even as Vergil shut the door behind him, he could hear someone rummaging around in the kitchen below. While the elder son of Sparda had a (mostly) consistent schedule, Dante’s was far more fluid, to the point that it was surprising to know he was awake at that hour.
Must be one of his good days. Vergil mused to himself. Perfect. Sparring will be all the better later.
He allowed himself a small smirk as he dipped a hand beneath the faucet. With a practiced flourish, Vergil ran his hand through his messy locks and slicked it back. Only then did he finally gaze upon his reflection in the mirror, correcting what few stray hairs he noticed with his comb. Now certain his twin would not make any snide remarks about his appearance, Vergil stepped out of the restroom and moved towards the first floor of the office.
Stepping into the kitchen, Vergil was not surprised to see Dante fiddling with the new coffee maker in nothing but a tank-top and his signature, garish red-heart boxers. The younger twin had given up alcohol recently, as caffeine was now his preferred vice. It had been hard on the legendary devil hunter, but with some encouragement from Nero (and Vergil, but more subtly), Dante had managed a whole two months sober now. He had a coffee maker before, but it was old, and so the new one was a gift from Lady of all people.
The elder twin had eyed the money-grubbing huntress suspiciously when she handed over the expensive-looking device, so certain it was a ploy to extort his brother’s cash further, but relented when he heard the sincerity of her voice later. In her own odd way, she cared about Dante, and was relieved to know that his worst days were behind him.
Of course, caffeine was also a rather addictive substance, and so it was up to Vergil to ensure he didn’t have more than two cups a day. Given Dante’s little fist pump as the machine finally began to dispense coffee, the elder hunter figured he was still on his first cup. Indeed, Vergil was not surprised to see his brother in his usual spot in the kitchen, right next to the sink and staring at the steaming mug of bitter black bean juice.
The dark slayer was surprised to see his own mug already on the table.
Vergil paused a moment. His mug. At his spot. He looked again at Dante, his twin still utterly enamored with the machine humming away on the countertop before him. He looked back at his mug, finally registering the familiar scent of his favorite blend of cinnamon tea. Faint wisps of steam rose from it, indicating it was prepared recently.
Three months ago, Vergil would have assumed Dante wanted something from him. Now? He merely took his seat at the small dining table and took a careful sip.
Vergil is pleasantly surprised to find the brew just how he likes it. Either Dante has been paying more attention than I give him credit for, or he got lucky. Another sip, just as satisfying as the first. Definitely lucky. He thinks these words, and yet he knows otherwise. He takes yet another sip. The taste is nostalgic, and Vergil suddenly remembers the first time his mother made him tea.
He and Dante had been brawling in the rain and the mud. Dante had started it because it was raining, and Vergil went along with it because he didn’t want Dante to win by forfeit. Naturally, the two boys weren’t in peak condition after the fact. Demon blood prevented them from falling entirely ill from the experience, but sniffles and chills came all the same. Eva had wisely predicted that very outcome, and so had mugs prepared for the moment they came in.
Dante had hot chocolate waiting for him, but Vergil? Eva had caught wind of how the elder twin wanted to seem more ‘mature,’ and her solution was tea.
The edges of Vergil’s lips curled upwards at that memory. Absent-mindedly he sipped again, letting his eyes wander to his brother’s back just in time to see him turning away from the coffee maker. The younger twin did not startle at his brother’s sudden appearance behind him; he’d been aware of Vergil’s presence ever since the man had left his room. Vergil moved his gaze away from the other man just as his easy-going grin appeared.
“So?” Dante asked expectantly. “Up to your refined standards?”
“It’s adequate.” Vergil responded with only a light huff. “You left it in a tad long.”
Dante said nothing else afterward, merely chuckling and taking a long draw from his own mug. Evidently he had forgotten how fresh his coffee was, and yelped quietly as his unsuspecting tongue was singed (not that it would to any lasting damage). It was Vergil’s turn to laugh, muttering a ‘foolishness’ under his breath as he nursed his tea.
Yet another wave of nostalgia washed over the elder son of Sparda, and with it came another memory. This one, however, was different. In it, his mother’s face was so clear. She was cleaning Dante’s shirt after he’d spilled his hot chocolate (he didn’t expect it to burn his tongue quite so easily). Vergil, always looking to one-up Dante, offered to help clean up. He didn’t like cleaning up after his brother, but it was something to hold over the younger twin later.
Eva was a smart woman, however, and she knew exactly what Vergil intentions were. In one move, she both dashed Vergil’s hopes and lightened Dante’s mood by tossing the still wet (though only with water) shirt onto the boy’s head. He lost his composure instantly, flailing about as he ran about like a headless chicken.
It was strange to remember that scene. No memories were quite as clear as that had been. While his mind was far better off than it had been since the days of Mallet Island and Nelo Angelo, the dark slayer could tell most of his memories carried fractures beneath their repaired facade. Moreover, any time he tried to remember his mother’s face, he could never recall the finer details. They were always blurred or covered in static. The only reason Vergil still knew what she looked like was thanks to Trish and the photo Dante kept on his desk, and even then he still had to regularly remind himself.
He had once believed that not a single modicum of his being had escaped the demon king untarnished. For once, Vergil was glad to have been proven wrong.
It was heartening to know. To know that he was not beyond repair, and to know that there were yet pieces of himself, however small, that had evaded Mundus. The demon king failed to defeat Sparda, he failed to defeat Dante, he had failed to smother Eva’s legacy, and he had failed to break Vergil completely. That last thought brought a genuine smile to his face, a detail too obvious for even Dante to miss.
The younger twin smiled himself, idly wondering exactly what must have gotten Vergil into such a good mood. One of his good days. Perfect. Maybe I’ll get him to call Nero later. Dante had to suppress a giggle when he remembered the vacant stare his brother had adopted when he received his first smartphone. The stoic half-demon did his best to hide his confusion, instead taking the device as a challenge.
After the third replacement phone, Dante decided to enlist Nico’s help, as Vergil was far more willing to listen to the advice of a friend over his brother.
They continued to sip at their drinks in relative silence, their peace disturbed only by the ding of the toaster. Vergil watched as his brother cut a small square of butter for each slice of bread before shoveling all four down in a single bite. Were he not so disgusted, he would honestly be impressed.
The elder twin scoffed as he finished his tea. Standing up with nary a word, he placed his mug near the sink and warped back into his room. Grabbing his coat and Yamato, he teleported back to the first floor mere moments before Dante followed suit, rematerializing in a fresh shirt, actual pants, and his signature red leather.
“One for me. I'm ahead.” Vergil was already keeping tally.
“Ah-ah! I made your leaf water. We’re one-one, even.” Dante crossed his arms with a smug smile.
Vergil reciprocated with an icy glare, locking eyes with his brother for only a moment. The next instant, both bolted out the door, bound for their favorite sparring spot.
In fact, both brothers had moved so quickly that neither noticed the blonde-haired teenager they’d whizzed by on their way out the door. Patty huffed, puffing her cheeks as she watched their silhouettes shrink into the distance. She acquiesced a moment later, sighing and shaking her head.
“Must be one of their good days.” The girl grinned. “Perfect. I’ll make them take me for ice cream when they get back.”