Chapter Text
Nero is sulking his fluffy little head off, a veritable dark cloud of gloom hanging over him. The seat beside him is conspicuously empty and this seems to be a great big tragedy to the poor kid. Dante swallows a snort. He kinda forgot how terrifyingly cute his nephew was at this age, all overcompensating teenage ball of rage and hormones. He wants to coo at him and pat his head and manhandle him into a blanket burrito and sit on him while all the kid can do is ineffectually struggle and be shouty about it. Just the thought of it has him chuckling merrily under his breath. Vergil looks at him from the corner of his eye, amusement visible even through the severe frown. Dante just grins back brightly. What can he say. His twin is totally right when he complains about Dante's love for unleashing untold chaos on people around him. Sue him. It's funny.
Vergil himself is, of course, an unmitigated prick of the highest degree, and therefore not so secretly vastly entertained by all the antics. Even more so than their mother, who has the same garbage humour as Dante. He slouches even more into Vergil's side and rubs his cheek contentedly against the leather clad shoulder he is leaning against. Vergil sneaks an arm around his waist to tug him closer in turn, earning them some disapproving looks for the pda. Poor prude people and their poor prude sensibilities. Dante is tempted to really give them something to frown about, but restrains himself. He isn't actually an annoying teenager, after all, no matter how he looks. Even if he just itches to desecrate this here church. Would be thematically appropriate, probably.
They are currently sitting in the very back of the most holy church of Sparda, listening to Kyrie sing a hymn to their father, which is just all kinds of weird. But her voice is lovely, so Dante can deal for now. At least her song makes the waiting more bearable than the droning preaching of before. Dante nearly fell asleep to that and is absolutely certain that Nero actually did and is just very good at pretending to be attentive while off in snooze land. Boy clearly got more than enough practice in, if he has to sit through this garbage every other day here. Dante would be jealous of the skill, but he generally refuses to do boring stuff like this, so it's not an issue he needs solving. Sadly, this time Vergil dragged him along over all his loud and numerous and very logical protests. Because his brother is, as previously stated, a ruthless asshole and therefore did not deign to do the right thing and take this blow for Dante. Absolutely mean, that. He could be eating excellent pizza right now, instead of suffering this farce of a religion. But no. Here he is. Sitting through this excruciatingly long and boring service, cursing himself for taking so long to get on with it the first time around.
If he remembers correctly, he actually planned to attack the wanna be pope earlier, before all the witnesses showed up. But he lost all motivation on the way over, when he saw a blue coat in a shop window. After which he had to go psych himself up with some comfort pizza before he managed to find any will to go deal with this whole mess. It was all very sad, so Dante doesn't think any more about it. Hopefully his other self will be done soon and come end his current suffering by crashing through the window and making a bit of a spectacle out of himself shooting a religious leader in the face in front of a church full of devout followers.
It is, admittedly, not one of his best moments.
Still, it got the job done and all the crazies out in the open, so Dante is going to count it as a win anyway. And after his other self ends this insufferable service, Dante can kidnap him to go grab the other Vergil, who is currently very busy roaming hell like a lost kid in a supermarket. Hopefully before brother dear does any regrettable things, like, for example, ripping his son's arm off because he sulked too long and got too sick to think clearly. Similarly not one of Vergil's best moments. They complement each other so well, don't they. His own Vergil has the task of Nero wrangling during all this. Dante wishes him all the luck with that one.
Kyrie finishes her song, people politely clap, Nero sulks marginally less with her back at his side. Sadly, he is now grasped in the throws of an awkward puppy crush that he is too hormonal and edgy to properly express, which is results in even mroe awkwardness. Dante feels the intense urge to squeeze him until he squeaks again, but manfully restrains himself. Ugly old pope guy steps up to do more ugly old pope guy things. All is calm and lulling Dante directly to sleep when the stained glass window above the pseudo pope breaks into a thousand pieces as a certain someone jumps in feet first.
It's not too big a loss. The window was ugly as sin. There is a reason he choose that one specifically and it was not only for the strategic entrance directly over the podium. He remembers Nero coming up to him and thanking him for destroying the ugliest window in the whole church, the last time. It is definitely worth it and definitely a win all around. No, he does not take criticism. Especially not form Vergil, who is complaining about subtlety. As if he has any clue what that is, mister I tried solving all my issues with huge towering hell structures until mam finally pounded some sense into my thick skull.
The loud bang of a gunshot rings through the shocked hall, deafeningly amplified by the excellent acoustics. They're really quite noteworthy, these acoustics. Playing Nevan in here would be both awesome and lead to ear damage and hearing loss.
The decrepit pope falls in a glorious spray of blood, his attacker gets splashed across the face in a magnificently dramatic fashion, the people are all very shocked. Dante squints. Hm. Looking from this angle, he actually does kind of look a teeny tiny little bit like a psychopathic mass murderer come to rain unholy hell onto the congregation, doesn't he. Dante feels a bit bad for arguing with Nero all those times his dear sweet nephew ranted about his bad first impression. The boy may have had a point or two.
Well. One learns new things about oneself every day and all that.
Loud pandemonium breaks out when the events finally register to the worshippers and the people descend into blind panic. Dante's eyes catch on the knights springing into action. Some try to fight against the intruder, and loose pretty badly, and a few others spirit the supposedly dead pope away. Gotta remember to deal with that. Maybe leave it to Vergil? Could make Nero babysitting easier, if the nephew has something to pummel. Or make it harder, now that Dante remembers how outraged Nero was back then, before he got the memo that the order is corrupt and all around a bad idea, actually.
Nero springs into action, one of the first to react but also clearly blindsided by his demonic instincts suddenly going highwire. He immediately starts ushering Kyrie out, all the while glaring daggers at the intruder. Said intruder is sadly ignoring him this time around, as his eyes are very firmly locked on Vergil and Dante. Some of the knights try to stab him in the back and he shoots them without even bothering to look. Dante swears he can actually hear the 'huh, that's not right' going through his younger self's head. He grins merrily, while groups of nuns run screaming about. A shouty Nero is not far behind, dragging Kyrie along with him.
For long moments the three most powerful beings in the room remain in a comfortably frozen tableau, unmoved by the chaos while the church empties out.
The tension is spiritedly broken by Nero drop-kicking his dearly distracted uncle in the face. Youch. Just ungrateful. His dear old very distracted uncle is really only saving him from the horrific fate of being stuffed into an ugly statue of his grandfather. He is such a rude little hormonal shit. Dante is very disappointed in his nephew.
And also kind of hungry. Curse Vergil's ongoing and successful efforts into gaslighting his body into thinking it needs two full meals a day. His twin is such a gluttonous ass. Now here Dante is, without breakfast and actually cranky about it. Sadly, before he can shove this indignation down his twin's throat, Vergil is out of his seat, once again demonstrating his superb demonic instincts. It's incredibly attractive. Curse him. Dante catches himself on his hand when his support disappears on him and swears sweet revenge on Sparda's holy monocle or whatever they do in this here cult.
At least his brother goes to dutifully wrangle the hormonal little shit. Which does not quell Dante's need to stick his spit wet finger in his twin's ear, but at least it takes care of the shouty teenager trying to pummel everyone. Of course, his twin does this by pulling his very angry son into a demonic headlock and dragging the kicking and screaming kid off to parts unknown, which is not at all suspicious.
Dante and his past self watch the proceedings with equal mild interest, content to see the duo off to their bonding time. He is admittedly a bit surprised at the placid attitude of his double, considering a very alive but far too young Vergil is up and about and kidnapping random but suspiciously familiar teenage boys. He chalks it up to other Dante being too bemused by what's happening to take it seriously. Probably thinks this is a very vivid hallucination while on a bleach high. As if in confirmation his double blinks rapidly, shakes his head once, and then very obviously decides to put it all out of his mind and deal with the consequences never. Watching from the outside, Dante can admit this particular trauma response of his is indeed kind of weird and a little bit unhealthy.
Well. Time for a distraction!
And some food, curse his brother.
After, they can go find the wayward Vergil and drag the shambling idiot out of the underworld, no doubt with as much kicking and screaming as what Nero just displayed. Like son, like father and all that. Well, at least the resulting explosions and property damage won't be a problem while they are down in hell.
Fun fun fun.
Dante finally stands up, stretches, steps up onto the back of the seat before him and then abruptly lunges over the many rows of pews. He and his double are going to have some me time now. With pancakes. Triple curse Vergil and his success in getting Dante to admit, if only ever to himself, that maybe, just maybe, pizza may not be the best breakfast food some of the time. Most of the time.
Ugh.
----
Dante is currently sitting in a restaurant eating pancakes. He is not entirely sure how he got here or why he is actually even eating the pancakes. The pizza from this morning already lays heavy in his gut and he really feels uncomfortably overstuffed now, but whatever. It's fine.
He is admittedly too busy doubting his perception of reality to care about anything else right now. Which may be a bit of a problem that he really doesn't want to have to deal with. If he finally lost it and is hallucinating this whole thing, then he really should not be allowed to go around unchecked. Way too dangerous. But well, not like he can do anything about it. Hopefully Trish, who is around on this island somewhere with him, will keep him contained and away from breakable things, like the good china or fragile people.
God, please don't let him go for humans just because his brain has finally given out. Please. Trish better be there to stop him, permanently if necessary.
If she is actually here with him.
If he is actually on an island.
Hallucinations suck.
He knows that already, but until now it was mostly contained to having the his brother prowl through his life, sneering at all his poor habits and decision making skills until Dante is a miserable mess. Now it seems to include terrifyingly powerful other versions of himself and a young boy that feels distressingly familiar and a teenage Vergil he is just categorically not thinking about. And the weird Sparda worshipping cult on the sad forsaken little island in rural Italy, but Dante really has no energy to spare to worry about that right now. The other things are much more pressing.
If ever he needed a reminder that having demon blood sucks, this is the most clear one yet.
It's kind of weird that this is what his brain cooks up after he finally looses the tracks, though. He expected better. Less breakfast foods, more spectres of all his many, many mistakes to haunt him, really. His brain is normally an unmitigated dumpster fire and far less nice to him, after all. But right now there is a distinct lack of Nelo Angelo haunting his every step, for example. He isn't going to complain about the absence - much -, but it's noteworthy.
He pushes his fork through a sea of syrup, listlessly moving pieces of pancake around. The little he has eaten tastes like ash in his mouth, no matter how much sugar it's drenched in.
It's probably saying something bad about him, that his brain has decided to make his strange hallucination of himself this absurdly powerful, right? Especially with his prodigious talent for self sabotage. Even as tightly controlled as the man's presence is, it still ripples across Dante's senses like a devastating storm just waiting to be unleashed. Is it self sabotage to hallucinate himself so overpowered? Is other Dante going to go off and use all that incredible power to obliterate this town, while Dante actually does it himself under all the hallucinations?
Is it some weird fusion with Vergil's own obsession with power? Ugh no, never mind. Let's just not think about the brother right now, actually. He can't handle that on top of everything else, now or ever. Abort, abort, abort.
"Hmm, that was good," his hallucination says, leaning back and patting his belly. "Lets go find your Verge now. Mine can deal with the whole murdered pope and cult thing."
Dante blinks placidly. So much for not thinking about his twin. Wow. Thanks, brain. So nice of you to do exactly what you should not be doing. He is starting to see where the torturing himself with these visions is coming in.
Other him leans forward, pointing a finger at Dante's face, suddenly looking strangely intent. It's weird. He goes to great lengths to never ever look that invested in anything. That is just way too much caring and effort to expend on anything ever.
"Don't let Vergil gaslight you into thinking you need to eat more than, like, four times a week. It's so inconvenient to always be hungry. He got it into his fool head that we need to eat twice daily and I feel like a pig getting stuffed for slaughter."
Dante blinks again, thrown completely off guard. Why would he need more than one or two meals a week, if he isn't splurging for comfort? Like, he already ate pizza today because he kind of needed the pick me up this morning, so these pancakes are far too much food already and he feels vaguely sick with it. Doing this every day? What? No, that's too excessive. What's his brain even on right now.
Other, probably imaginary, Dante nods sagely, like he knows exactly what Dante is thinking. Does know exactly what he is thinking, seeing as he is in Dante's head... would he know what he is thinking? Ugh. This is going to give him an identity crisis on top of everything else.
"Yup, exactly. It's already too late for me, but there is still hope for you. Don't listen to him and don't take the food he will insist on shoving at you. Just tell him to eat it himself, instead. He loves eating." With that the other Dante stands up, tosses some money onto the table, and ambles out of the restaurant like he has not a care in the world.
Dante very seriously contemplates the miserable state of his brain for coming up with this kind of ridiculousness. Then he contemplates the question of if he wants to indulge this insane fantasy of his or not.
Eh. Whatever.
It's not like he looses anything by going along with it. At best he just wanders around talking to himself until someone catches him. At worst. Well. May as well be entertained while he goes bonkers.
He stands up and follows the other Dante out.
----
Vergil sneers when a distant skittering comes too close to his resting place. The scurrying vermin flees his presence after he snarls loudly, flaring his meagre energy reserves in aggression. He is still stronger than the pathetic demons weaseling about, even if he is suffering from Mundus' poison. Still, he can feel the demons lurking closer, just waiting for an opportunity, an opening. Weakness. Detestable. It forced him to find shelter in this damnable cave, instead of pushing on. It is shameful, how weak his body has grown. He should have been able to go far longer, easily outstripping anyone else down here. But with Mundus' corruption still searing through him, he is unforgivably frail and requires far more breaks than he is willing to tolerate.
A shiver wracks him that he forces down immediately, shaking himself when he nearly nods off again. It is far too dangerous to sleep, with the vultures circling ever closer. Still, his strength is running out, atrophying ever more rapidly and these forced breaks only prolong the problem. No matter if he hides from any bigger threats like a snivelling dog or not, he won't survive hell much longer.
With a groan he stretches stiff legs, cursing under his breath as the left one cramps. Some days, weeks? Some time ago he caught a faint familiar scent. A scent he refuses to admit to find comfort in.
He will not admit it, even to himself, but it is a much needed familiarity and it nearly brought him to his knees in relief the first time he caught it. He follows it without second thought, but tracking it through the underworld is a study in frustration. It is old and buried under territory markings of other demons, often barely noticeable. Many times now Vergil has lost its trail and has had to double back to find it again. With every forced detour the demons yapping at his heels draw closer. Still, no matter how hard it gets, he does not give up. Even as he tells himself that he is following it because it must come from a rift to the human world, he persists with single minded focus. There will be passage to a place safer for him and he will finally find shelter from the demons. His desperate hunt along its path has nothing to do with the source. Vergil grits his teeth against even the thought. No. He does not want to go to the one that carries that scent at all. The human world holds information and means of obtaining power to protect himself. There is nothing more to it.
Curling his claws into the soft flesh of his arms to stop the feeling welling up in his gut, he does his best to bury anything under simple anger and determination. He will make it out. He will survive and thrive and grow stronger still and finally he will be able to best all that comes before him. Including that last obstacle.
Exhaustion takes him when he can fight it no longer and in the moment when he succumbs to sleep, he yearns for a presence beside his own, identical to him in every way that matters.