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“If you think about it, it’s meaningless, right?”
Vergil was holding the biggest book in his possessions until now. Not in a matter of pages, his young-self was quite a voracious reader that consumed the equivalent of his years trapped in hell, but of size. It was a recipe book, full of cooking dishes and tips for beginners, gifted to him by his son’s mate. Food disgusted his palate, the texture usually made him nauseous even as when he used to be V, so it was odd to see him interested in learning that skill. Yet here he was, drinking the words as if it was a delicious cocktail, memorizing everything to try it someday. One had to occupy his mind after demons on earth were reduced. Using knives to cut meat had a similar feeling to slashing flesh with the Yamato.
He wouldn’t have taken his eyes out of it, the options for evening snacks were more interesting than that sudden and disconnected question, but Dante was brooding for two days. Vergil expected him to return refreshed after the first gig in weeks, not as if he came back from a funeral. With an annoyed frown, he closed it and placed it on the coach’s arm, taking a deep nasal breath. He turned, meeting Dante with his head collapsed over the work desk. Vergil scrunched. That hadn’t been cleaned in years, and he had his cheek right above a spot stained with something unknown. Living here did not mean getting used to his brother’s filthy lifestyle.
“Elaborate.” Vergil demanded, already tired of a conversation that hadn’t even started. That was the Dante effect, because every time he opened that mouth of his, was to say the most annoying thing known by mankind.
The clown didn’t answer at first. Stared at nothing with impartial, dead pale eyes. Vergil grunted, ready to continue his reading when Dante straightened up and slapped the desk. “It’s meaningless to think one of us is the oldest!” He concluded, panting, as if it physically cost him to say that.
Vergil’s interest was picked, but he also feared where that logic came from. Dante never brought this topic up, not even during their bickering, always comfortable with the settled positions of who was the oldest and who was the youngest. First times, especially coming from this fool, were terrorific. Masking his surprise, Vergil tapped the book’s cover, thinking if it would be worthy to indulge in one of Dante’s ‘Danting’ or not.
“I fail to see an issue here.” Vergil decided to keep going, even if he would probably regret it later. He cursed his shameful curious brain and its need to figure everything out. “Haven’t we been comfortable with our roles?”
“No, like––“ Dante stammered, rubbing the left side of his scalp, shrinking on the chair. Clearly not assured of his own claims. Vergil could sense bullshit from afar. He waited instead of questioning. Answers would come, he just had to be patient. “Yes, we have. But, come on, have you ever considered that it’s pointless? I mean, we’re twins! Born at the same time! Where’s the use of it, yeah?”
Dante was nervous. With anyone else, he could put on a poker face and hide his emotions. With Vergil, he could do nothing except hope he was hiding them. “Is there something I’m missing, dear brother? I have yet to understand what you’re trying to assert here. We weren’t born at the same time. You came five minutes after me. Mother had been splendid at bearing demon twins, but I doubt she would be able to birth us in a row.”
“Ewwww.” He made a disgusted face and a childish noise. Vergil did not want to know where his depraved mind had gone. Dante let go of his hair, leaving it messy and plumpy in one side. “I’m gonna pretend ya didn’t say that.” He waved his hand in an accusatory way. “Still, taking minutes into consideration is so petty. It shouldn’t count.”
Now Dante was spending all Vergil’s patience tickets in one sitting. That was a new record even for his twin’s standards. Next time, he wouldn’t be so accepting of his imbecility. He would use Yamato as a problem solver. Much better and quickly than wasting his neurons.
“I may be wrong,” Vergil started, lowering his chin to give him a judgmental stare. Dante huffed, shaking his head to the sides. He knew that every time the blue devil did that, it meant he would go straight to his jugular. “But those sound like someone else’s words. Has someone been bothering you? I thought you didn’t take crap?”
“I don’t! I never take shit from anyone!” Dante exclaimed, offended, taking a decorative winter globe to toss at Vergil. He regretted it as soon as he did that. “SHIT! PATTY GAVE ME THIS! WHY DIDN’T YOU GRAB IT?!”
Dante didn’t change, at least not at the times Vergil was around. It went unsaid that he spent most of his life in a depressed, drunk state, surviving rather than living. Jumping on gigs and gigs as a motivation drive. It was hard for Vergil to picture his brother like that, but the collection of bottles stored in a particular cabinet, and the fact that sometimes he witnessed a few episodes, made it believable. Dante was his own enemy, not the others. Whoever caused him to get anxious regarding a trivial, well-established matter, would feel his rage.
Vergil looked at the couch and subsequently at the hunter, inviting him to sit by his side. The red revil pursed his lips, getting up slowly, walking at his own pace. Posture down, as if he would be scolded. It was a scene impregnated on Vergil’s mind, their father calling his twin to give him a long lecture, and he reacting as meekly as possible. He used to be terrified of Sparda, even though he never raised a hand over them. Seeing Dante associating him with a figure of such power and influence was as flattering as it was wrong. He might have taken after their father the most, but he wasn’t Sparda.
Vergil had to remind him that he wasn’t dealing with their enraged father, but his brother, who although collided with him daily, never had the intention of imposing fear on him. Once Dante sat, he extended his hand and adjusted the mismatched brands, patting the scalp alongside it. A little groom, of some sorts. Dante melted under his touch, letting out little raspy rumbles to soothe both of them.
“What happened, Dante? What is truly bothering you?” Vergil asked again, releasing Dante. He pouted and tried to return his hand to his hair, wanting more of this rare physical contact. Vergil growled, showing the end of his fangs, forcing him to not insist. What he did was enough to calm him down. There was no need for more touches. He couldn’t spoil Dante.
He gave up begrudgingly, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees. “It 's stupid. Like, so stupid that I am surprised that I care.” Had Dante not added the last part, Vergil would have made a teasing remark about him being stupid in general. “But it’s happening a lot now that we’re living together and it’s… it’s…. Fuck!”
“Dante,” Vergil hissed, crossing his arms. “My patience is on the verge of running out. Explain yourself now.” His voice came out as imposing as a thunder, the trigger Dante needed to get to the point.
“Peoplekeepmistakingmefortheoldest.” Dante blurted so fast that Vergil only understood because he separated the words. “And–– and I know it’s dumb, Vergil. But then I realized…” He lowered his head. The streaks of snowy hair covered his eyes. “We aren’t identical anymore.”
Vergil hummed. He noticed that, too. Aside from their facial features, they didn’t look the same anymore. They resembled each other, of course, but if they said they were cousins, not siblings, it was still feasible.
“It hurts. It hurts to see that we changed so much that now I look like the oldest and you the youngest. Fuck, you barely aged at all!” Dante’s voice was oscillating. He was holding back to preserve his pride. “I don’t–– I don’t like to be called the oldest. I don’t want to be taken as the oldest because you’re that. You’re my big brother.” He breathed through his mouth, fidgeting with his gloves. “Isn’t this meaningless? We’re twins. This shouldn’t matter!”
“It shouldn’t.” Vergil agreed. A shock ran down Dante’s spine, because he was expecting reassurance from him, despite what he was saying, not an agreement. But it was true that it was pettiness to care about who was the oldest and who was the youngest twin. “But it matters to you.” He included, however, acknowledging the importance it had for his brother.
“Vergil.” Dante lifted his head, and by heavens he looked so exhausted. So, so old. But under Vergil’s lens, he would always be younger than him.
“Who’s the one that keeps track of your belongings when you forget about them?” Vergil started. Dante was taken back, but gestured at him. “Who’s the one that reminds you of your shores and compromises?” Again, he was pointed at. “Who’s the one that takes care of you when you don’t have the strength of doing so, and who provides you a shelter when your mind becomes your torment?”
“It 's you.” He spoke this time. “It’s all you.”
Vergil allowed a tiny smile to crept through his face. “There’s more on the list, but I think we reached an understanding.” He placed his hand on top of Dante’s upper back, helping him to straighten his posture. “Appearances do not interfere in how we are. It’s our actions, beliefs and wills. It’s our dynamic, not what others think.”
His smile faded, and his expression became wicked. His eyes were consumed by black and the iris shone in icy blue. Dante had a similar reaction, influenced by the change on the other demon. The air had become thick. Despite this, there were no fighting intentions coming from either of them.
“You’re my baby brother. Nothing will change that. Don’t get full of yourself just because you’ve grown a beard.” Vergil’s voice was deep, distorted by the demonic influence. Dante stared as if he was in trance.
His little brother, an annoying creature that woke the most angry state in Vergil. The boy that followed him around like a puppy, learning and mimicking his actions, taking him as a reference. The bastard that broke stuff around the manor and put the blame on Vergil. His most valuable and hard opponent, his rival, his partner in crime, the other half of his soul. A 44-year-old buffoon that got sad because some random passenger mistook him for the oldest. A baby in all senses. A crybaby who would always seek refuge in his big brother’s arms at every minimal inconvenience. Only a blind person would think someone like him was worthy of being the responsible, careful and independent firstborn.
But then again, most humans were blinded by their limited conception of reality. Vergil didn’t expect much from them.
“That’s the first time you called me that.” Dante said after minutes of just staring at his twin. Vergil blinked and his eyes returned to normal. He, as the good little brother he was, copied the exact movement.
“And it’ll be the last.” Vergil smoothly completed. Dante groaned, tangling himself around his arm. “Crybaby will always suit you better.”
“Boooo!” Dante blew the immature sound against Vergil’s ear. It ended his patience once and for all. He teleported out of that clingy jail. “Hey! Don’t run away from me after saying the sweetest thing ever – even if you included an insult!”
“See?” He walked towards the door, not fleeing from this, just taking his time out while Dante would act as an insufferable bastard for the next four days. “Acting as the youngest, throwing tantrums in an attempt to get my attention.”
“Well, yeah. And you’re acting like the big brother that want to keep a cool and edge impression by escaping my love~”
“Says the man that cries so much and for so little, that he had the necessity to give a peculiar name for his business as a compensation.”
“What the fuck does it has to do with this?!”
“Everything.”
Dante groaned, shaking his head to the side, chuckling at their childishness. Vergil opened the front door, taking the chance to actually get out. There were groceries he needed to buy. Stuff for the bathroom, mostly, since Dante was disgusting and washed his bottom instead of using the toilet paper. He, the civilized twin, could never.
In his mental list, he included strawberry ice cream. As calmed as Dante was, Vergil had the impression he might want to dig in a bowl of that iced thing.
“Verge,” Dante called his nickname in a honeyed tone, placing his arms behind his head. Vergil stopped, one step away from closing the door. “I’m glad I was born your little brother.”
It was a bold, bold admission. Disturbing, too, coming from the person Vergil hurt the most. He left Dante behind, in that burning house, taking him as dead as their mother. Vergil envied him during a good chunk of their lives and casted an emotional hell against Dante that lasted decades. He might not be the main cause of his issues, there were more things involved behind each bottle of whisky Dante drank, but he was the second.
Worse of all, he had no regrets about anything he had done, except for the impulsive act of confronting the Prince of Darkness when he wasn’t strong enough. Aside from that, he didn’t really feel guilty about the chaos he had done. It was, after all, a necessary evil. So, could Vergil say that he was glad to be born as his older brother? Was he happy that he had a twin and wasn’t an only child? Because he used to dream about the latter when they were kids. Just him and his parents, not another presence to share their attention with.
In truth, Vergil kind of lived most of his life without him. Ignoring their childhood, he and Dante had been together, with no real problems besides the usual, for 2 years only. Was it time enough to claim the same thing Dante did?
“I don’t need an answer.” Dante interrupted the spiral of thoughts Vergil was getting stuck too, keeping the sweetness over the words. “That’s the crazy thing about love: you don’t expect something in return. Having you here with me, of your own free will, has a lot more feelings than any of those poems you read.”
Vergil tapped the door, one finger at time, pensive. Dante deserved an answer. He was opening up more than he ever did. It was his duty to reward him for that. “I won’t deny that I’ve wondered how it would be if it was only me, or what would be the results if our positions were switched. But,” He adjusted his cravat, ready to mimic the same soft voice as Dante. “I enjoy the role you gave me. It sure is something to be your older brother, and I cannot fathom a reality where I am not.”
Dante snorted, flushed, foot hitting the floor non-stop, excited with an unpredictable action. If he was in his demonic form, his wings would be fluttering. “I said I didn’t need an answer, you asshole.”
At that, Vergil closed the door, leaving the shop. Yamato remained inside, an unspoken agreement between him and his twin so he would know he was going to come back. It was agonizing to wander without his main source of protection, his companion of an entire life, but that also was a win-win situation for Dante, because he wouldn’t stay outside for too long. Did it sound like he was a caged animal? Possibly. Did he feel insulted by the similarity? Not a bit. He was in need of a place to call his and Dante offered the Devil May Cry, his territory, his den. Vergil could never get offended when it benefited both.
He stopped at the nearest supermarket. It wasn’t full today. A relief, for he was tired of humans asking about his choices of clothes. In around 30 minutes, Vergil had picked the missing items and brought the cart towards the cashier. The attendant was trying to hide the fact that he was staring at him. It felt odd. Vergil hated to be stared at. Made his demon restless, since in a demonic setting that meant he was being challenged. Half of him wanted to slam the lad’s face on the ground. The other half, possessing a voice similar to V’s, was calming him down.
Dividing himself created a consequence he would never recognize. He would just live with it.
“Hey.” The young man called after scamming the last item. Vergil didn’t conceal his irritation, already taking the plastic bags to show he wasn’t interested in small-talks. He received more attention. It wasn’t everyday one would see a man carrying twelve bags at once. “You’re that guy’s brother, right? The one that loves pizza. I’ve seen you two a few times. Man, you should tell him to stop telling everyone he’s the youngest. I know aging sucks but that’s getting embarrassing for him.”
He was chuckling. Vergil was not.
Here was the answer for Dante’s behavior.
With calm, he put the bags on the balcony again. He kept a neutral, unreadable expression, and then opened his mouth to express the most raw, glacial and furious words he had ever spoken to a human being.
Vergil made him cry.
Dante said he couldn’t kill humans, but he said nothing about slicing them with words.