Chapter Text
"Verge?" Dante's grinning face hovers over the cover of the book Vergil is reading.
He blinks out of his focus on the poetry of T.S. Eliot and looks up at his brother, eyebrow raised expectantly.
"Verge, I just had the best idea."
"Did you?" he asks, interested now.
Dante does generally have very good ideas. At least if he isn't trying to get a raise out of Vergil, that is. He can't say he appreciates the inevitable chaos nearly as much when it's directed at him.
"Yep." Dante nods faux earnestly, but does not elaborate.
There is a half mischievous, half challenging glint in his eyes that Vergil is all too familiar with.
Well. Vergil is perfectly willing to play that game.
"And I suppose I should be guessing what... interesting thought you have come up with."
Dante's grin grows. He looks dangerously exited. Vergil remains firmly unmoved in self defence, far too used to his twin to give ground even in the face of so much glee. Sadly, this is true for both of them, as Dante is similarly unaffected by the quelling glower Vergil sends him. A lamentable state of affairs. Life would be much calmer, were Dante's need for poking all the physical and metaphorical beehives around them contained by a mere scolding look.
Also much less enjoyable, admittedly.
"Hm."
He pretends to ponder for an answer, eyeing the gleam in those pale eyes. His twin looks really eager to do whatever idea has popped into his head. So much so that Vergil may be able to just wait him out, actually. While Dante is normally the more patient one between them, right now he looks ready to vibrate out of his skin, if Vergil doesn't answer soon enough. It's mildly concerning, actually. Not many things can get his brother this animated. He closes his book with a low thump, leans back into the couch cushions and looks up at his brother with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, remaining demonstrably silent. The flash of exasperation is satisfying, even if it's gone in a heartbeat, buried back under excitement.
"Okay, fine, be a spoilsport," Dante waves a hand negligently and Vergil grins in victory.
Score for him.
His twin points grandly at him and declares, "Roadtrip!"
"Roadtrip?"
"Raodtrip."
"And why, pray tell, are we going on a roadtrip?"
Dante's grin stretches beyond a human's, showing far too many teeth. "To fuck up all of Mundus' shit."
----
The theory is simple. If they both handle the Yamato at the same time and cut a pathway using both their powers, they will be able to cut much farther than on their own. Far enough to cut time and not only space. They already time-travelled back to their childhood after the Qlipoth, so obviously it is possible to build pathways across the time stream.
Or something.
It's a working theory.
That neither of them has much of an idea how they landed back in their childhood in the first place, is neither here nor there. Also, not relevant. They have travelled to other dimensions, this should be easy enough. The theory is sound enough to test it out.
So they cut.
"Huh," says Vergil, tilting his head to the right.
"Huh," agrees Dante, tilting his head to the left.
Good job breaking it, implies the widely sparking, undulating, very unstable cut across dimensions, time and the universe, where it's hovering in front of the garden shed. It's accompanied by a sudden inescapable suction, like a black hole consuming everything in its path. Neither Dante nor Vergil are prepared for it and both of them go tumbling head over heels into its unstable depths.
The portal, evidently satisfied with its prey, closes with a small little pop, leaving no indication of its presence behind. Only the fluttering blades of grass falling gently to the ground mark their rather abrupt departure from this reality.
At least this time they have their swords with them.
A little bit to the left in a beautiful old house, Sparda sits on the couch in the living room, an exquisitely embroidered purple throw pillow clutched to his chest. He is intently watching the TV as Esperanza cries loudly to her mother about how Alessandro so cruelly abandoned her and their unborn baby. Sparda blinks back tears of his own, fully invested. He does not notice the sudden absence of his sons, much too focused on seeing Alessandro brought to justice by the enraged mother. A drink is thrown into his face and Sparda gasps loudly at the drama of it all.
He will continue to not notice the absence until after the end of the episode at least. On second thought, maybe make that after the next episode. It's the season finale after all, and Sparda intents to use the empty house to his full advantage, before his wife and sons come back to tease him mercilessly about his obsession with italian soap operas.