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Vergil rouses with a soft breath of irritation. According to the dim glow of his clock, it's only two in the morning. Sleep has been something of a curse lately, although the fact that he can't remember what woke him this time speaks to his improvement. Vergil sighs. He'll have no more rest tonight.
Sitting up, Vergil touches his pillowcase and sheets, deeming them safe enough not to need a wash. The last few covers weren't so lucky.
He dresses silently, making the bed and trailing downstairs in light clothing. Vergil avoids the obnoxious creak in the fifth step, even knowing Dante usually sleeps right through it. Along the way to the kitchen, he circles the lobby, checking the window locks and making sure the door is shut tight. Dante didn't used to lock to door at night, as though he didn't care if something snuck in and tried to kill him. As a place that takes walk-ins, Vergil supposes it makes sense to be ready at all hours.
With Vergil in the shop, it seems some things do change, though.
Slowly, so as not to make to make the threshold squeak, Vergil enters the kitchen. He does not expect to see his brother hunched over the island, arms folded over his head as his shoulders shake with quiet sobs. Sweat mats his white hair, glistening on his neck just above the drenched collar of his ratty band t-shirt.
It says something that Dante hasn't noticed him yet.
Vergil observes his brother for a long time, a slight crease in his brow and the corner of his lip turning down. All these months since they returned from the underworld, and Dante rarely showed any sign of discomfort. As a master of deflection, he consistently hides behind fake smiles and self-deprecating comments. His pain, ever-pushed to the wayside, festers deeper within him every day.
How easy it was to simply avoid the issue, to pretend things were fine so he wouldn't have to face his trauma. Vergil would know.
He pushed Dante away several times after waking from his own nightmares, bristling at the very idea of his sibling seeing him so weak. But Dante always comes back. Always. No matter how much Vergil pretends to despise it, Dante remains his one constant.
In that moment, the older twin makes a decision. This cannot continue one-sided.
Slipping into the lobby again, Vergil picks the blanket off the back of the couch and returns to his brother. Dante flinches bodily when Vergil drapes it over his shoulders. He puts up a meager fight as his older brother tugs his arms. It would be so easy to get frustrated with his brother, like always, but right now, Dante needs him. He needs Vergil to be understanding, difficult as it is.
"Don't," Dante whimpers.
"You don't need to hide, Dante." Vergil ceases his prying, instead laying his ungloved sword hand on the crown of his brother's head—protective, as he should've been from the beginning. "Let it hurt."
Dante bows his head even further, hot tears falling silently onto his sweatpants. "I don't want to."
"I know."
A keening noise crawls from Dante's lips. Even now, he fights to keep his emotions in check. Failing leads Dante to fight harder until the trembling extends to his entire body. Vergil waits for him at his wits end. His brother can only hold on to the crumbling edges of his control for so long.
"Look at me, Dante."
"Verge-" the red twin gasps. He tries to shrink away from his brother's touch, but Vergil persists. "Please, just go. I don't want to hurt you anymore."
Foolish, foolish, Dante. "You won't."
"You don't know that."
Vergil strokes his twin's hair, quieting him. The action provokes another strangled sob. "I do." He tugs Dante's arm again, this time meeting no resistance, and tips his twin's head up by his chin. Tears fall from red eyes down Dante's face. "Let it hurt, but then you must let it go."
Dante sniffles. "Have you.... Have you let it go? Forgiven me?"
"You would never have hurt me had you known," the older twin murmurs, swiping a calloused thumb under Dante's eyes and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss onto his forehead. "There is nothing to forgive."
Finally, inch by heartbreaking inch, Dante allows his anguish to consume him. Vergil doesn't resist when his little brother pulls him in close, taking deliberately slow, deep breaths when Dante's ear meets his chest. The pressure of the red twin's grip around his back is crushing. Vergil cradles his brother's head, hushing him yet again when he starts in on another litany of apologies. They only truly taper off when the older twin presses another kiss on top of his hair.
"Steady, Dante," Vergil says softly.
He and Dante stay that way for a long while, enough time for the younger twin to thoroughly dehydrate himself and soak his brother's shirt in tears and snot. Vergil doesn't dare try to pull away, no matter how stiff his knees are from staying locked in the same position so long. Instead, he opts to rock his brother, loosening his stiff muscles while providing his exhausted twin a small comfort.
"It would be wise to hydrate, if you think you're up to it."
Dante's fingers wind tighter into Vergil's shirt.
"I'll take that as a no."
The younger twin says nothing, but his shoulders lose some of their tension. He doesn't want Vergil to go—never did. How naïve Vergil was to have thought ever-sentimental Dante wouldn't want him around. He still keeps the twin to the glove Vergil sliced all those years ago on his person. Because Dante still wanted Vergil, even if he, himself, was damaged beyond repair.
"I'm here, Dante," Vergil murmurs, noting the soft puffs of his brother's breathing. His foolish twin certainly had expended all his energy in letting loose his pain. "I'm not going anywhere."
With that, Vergil carries his sleeping twin back up the stairs to his bed. Maneuvering through the minefield that is the floor takes some careful footwork, and even then, he nearly stumbles over the corner of a random devil arm peeking out from under the bed. Dante causes him no grief when being placed on the mattress, and for this small blessing, Vergil decides to stay with him. If Dante can stand beside him, a person arguably more monster than man, then the least Vergil can do is watch over him.
"I have you, little brother," Vergil says, settling on the corner of the bed and touching a featherlight hand to his brother's face. "Sweet dreams."