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The sky was cloudy and dark, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Nothing compared to how sunny it was outside the shop. The portal closed behind them as they walked out.
Dante whistled as he gazed upwards. “Crazy weather today, huh? Bit ironic since we’re seeing our old house. Hope we leave first before it starts raining."
Vergil simply grunted as he sheathed his sword.
They hadn't spoken much since leaving Devil May Cry. Dante had said he needed to look for something that their father might have had. He was going to use his motorcycle to head there but Vergil said he’d go with him, shocking Dante. He never expected Vergil to go anywhere near their old home after what had happened with splitting with V last year.
Their old house loomed ahead, the only proof of the horrors that occurred that day decades ago, when demons tore through the walls, claiming their mother and shattering their world. The estate still stood strong, even if it was collapsing slowly over the years. The roof sagged in places, windows shattered into jagged teeth, and the front gate barely hanging on rusted hinges.
“Home sweet home…” Dante was trying for sarcasm but it came out flat. He signed and said, “Let’s get this over with.” Dante avoided coming here unless he absolutely had to, which was rare. The last time was over fifteen years ago when he had thought he killed Vergil on Mallet Island. Dante had returned home to pay his mom and, recently deceased Vergil, respect.
Vergil didn't respond, just strode forward, boots crunching on gravel and concrete debris. Dante followed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets to hide the slight tremble. On the inside, many emotions raced through Dante: regret, loss, sorrow. A hollow ache that he always buried deep down was threatening to resurface.
But he couldn’t. Not in front of his brother.
Vergil hated displays, saw them as weakness. No point irritating him with Dante’s own mess.
The foyer greeted them with a broken door and wall that was falling apart—Dante was almost tempted to push it down. But there’s no point since the house was already falling apart. Half was completely burned down, with all the windows broken, and almost everything covered in soot. Dante ran his finger down on a broken glass table and looked at it. Thumb rubbing his index finger, getting it messy and black.
“Still a mess,” Dante said.
Vergil paused, eyes scanning the ruins, detached, but Dante knew better. He decided small talk was needed so Vergil wouldn’t be too upset.
“Man, remember how Mom used to yell at us for coming inside covered in mud?” Dante said, voice light as he stepped over a fallen beam. He wandered into what was left of the living room, kicking at a fragment of the old rug and then a chair. “She dragged us by the ear into the bathroom so we could be clean. Spared no mercy. No matter how much we whined to her.” He chuckled, though it came out hollow.
Vergil moved silently to the kitchen doorway, peering into the gutted space where cabinets hung like broken jaws, counters reduced to ash. No glance back. No acknowledgment.
Dante pressed on, rambling to fill the void. “This dining table takes me back. We'd have those fancy dinners. Dad trying to teach us manners with the utensils. Mom giggling because he was showing us wrong. Then, I think I spilled wine on the tablecloth once. Mom laughed it off, but you gave me that look like I had betrayed the family honor. Good times.”
He pushed through to the hallway, more memories flooding in his mind. The scent of Mom’s cooking, Dad's deep laughter, and him and Vergil arguing over swords. Dante’s lips trembled and his chest ached, but he shoved it down, cracking another joke instead.
“Remember when we would sneak out of our room at night, so we could play with our weapons? We sparred secretly outside, practicing. Rebellion was heavy for me! That’s why you’d win, cheater.”
He thought Vergil would for sure brag, but nothing.
Vergil trailed behind, his steps measured, as if he didn’t want to touch anything around him. They headed upstairs, careful not to step on any broken floorboard, the wood groaning under their weight. Dante gripped the railing, loose and splintered.
The upstairs hall was narrower, doors missing and clawed marks on the wooden floor. Their shared bedroom lay at the end, no ashes or soot in sight. The twin beds were reduced to pieces from the frames, the mattresses also ripped apart. There was a huge hole at the corner of the ceiling, like a demon entered through there.
Dante leaned against the doorframe. He traced a hand over a scorch mark that might have been from their childish scuffles. Swallowing, Dante continued talking.
“Damn, our bedrooms. Your side was always so neat, books stacked in order. Mine? Total disaster zone. Toys, swords, everywhere. Oh man, I hated that we got our own separate rooms for a while. I liked sharing and sleeping beside you. Dad said it was for independence. But I would get scared in the middle of the night and go to your room.”
Silence…
Damn, not even a ‘you were a crybaby’ from him, Dante thought.
“We'd stay up late, whispering about demons and adventures and what to explore next. Mom caught us and decided that we can continue sharing a room.” He laughed again, but it rang false even to him. It was becoming too much, but he couldn’t stop now.
Why did it have to end like this? Why couldn't they have fought harder, held on longer? Why couldn’t they all be together?
Vergil said nothing, his silence a wall.
They entered their parent’s room where it looked worse compared to their bedroom, and the fire did reach there, everything ruined.
“You gotta be kidding me! Dad’s stuff is gone!” Dante rushed towards the closet, seeing all the ashes from the items. “Fuck! I was hoping some stuff made it…” He kicked the doorframe in anger. “Looks like we came here for nothing. Let’s go.” His voice cracked slightly, but he covered it with a cough, turning to Vergil, who wore a blank expression.
They went back down, Dante grumbling the whole way. “Sorry for wasting your time. I should’ve known better.”
Before they could circle back to the foyer, Vergil halted abruptly in the remnants of the sitting room, his back to Dante as he looked up.
A large portrait leaned against the far wall, half-charred and peeling in the edges, but the frame, while scorched black, was still intact. The family portrait, painted when they were boys. Sparda sitting in the center, Eva radiant beside him, young Dante and Vergil below them, smiling. The faces remained eerily intact too.
The only picture of all of them together.
It always broke something inside Dante seeing it, and he avoided it whenever he came by the house.
Dante kept chatting to distract himself, pacing nearby Vergil. “Oh, remember when Mom bribed us with a chocolate cake so we could stand still. I was thrilled until I found out I had to be still for three hours! My legs were killing me when it was over.” He stopped mid-stride, drawn by Vergil's heavy breathing. “Vergil?” Approaching, he expected the usual stoic mask, the cool dismissal.
But as he got closer, something shifted.
Vergil's shoulders trembled, subtle at first, then nonstop. His head was bowed, gloved hands clenched at his sides. A soft, choked sound escaped, barely audible for anyone who wasn’t Dante. Tears suddenly streamed down his face, quietly, soaking into the collar of his coat.
It broke Dante’s heart seeing Vergil cry.
“Hey, hey,” he said softly. Dante reached out carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, one hand settling on Vergil's arm. “It's okay.”
Vergil didn't pull away. Instead, he turned slightly, the dam breaking as his composure shattered. His body sagged, and he leaned into Dante's hold, face pressing against his brother's shoulder. The sobs came then, muffled but raw, years of buried grief spilling out all at once.
Dante wrapped his arms around him fully, firm and steady, pulling Vergil close. “Let it out,” Dante murmured, his own eyes stinging as he rested his chin on Vergil's head. “I'm here. I've got you.” He needed to be strong for Vergil, who always bottled everything in.
Vergil's grip tightened on Dante's coat, fingers holding on like a lifeline. “I miss them,” he finally spoke, voice breaking. “Mother... Father... this home. Everything we had. It was... all taken. This was supposed to be our happy childhood…”
“I know. Me too.”
“If only I wasn’t weak! If only I was stronger— I could’ve protected—”
“Don’t say that,” Dante interrupted, pulling back as he locked gaze with Vergil. “It’s not your fault. We were just kids. We were supposed to be protected.”
Vergil cried harder. “It’s not fair.” He shook his head. “Every day it hurts knowing they’re gone. Our life will always be a reminder of it.”
Dante's throat closed, tears blurring his vision as he held on. Because it’s true. He blinked them back fiercely. No. He’s not breaking down in front of Vergil.
“God, I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “It hurts every time thinking about it.” He started crying as well, no longer able to stop it. “We didn’t deserve the shitty life we got.” Then Dante cupped Vergil’s cheek. “But I’m so damn happy you’re still with me, back with me, Vergil. It makes my life a little better.”
“Dante,” Vergil breathed. He closed his eyes and shakily exhaled, then he sniffled as he rubbed his eye. “I’m glad we reunited again.” His lips formed a small smile.
“Couldn’t agree more.” Dante’s hand moved in slow circles on Vergil's back, rubbing circles to soothe him. Slowly, he leaned to kiss his forehead.
Vergil pulled back slightly, wiping his face with a sleeve, eyes red-rimmed but clearer. He held Dante’s hand and squeezed it, feeling better.
“Let’s go home,” Vergil said eventually, voice gentle.
Home. Yes. Devil May Cry was their home now.
Dante grinned. “How about we fly there? Stretch our wings for once. Maybe do a little race.”
That got Vergil’s attention. He smirked, then said, “You’ll be disappointed when you lose.”
“In your dreams!”
They padded towards the exit, shoulder to shoulder, leaving the house together. Something they hadn’t done since they were kids. Their parents would’ve been proud.