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Vergil turned the page of the book in his hands, anger radiating off of him. Had he had the ability, his book would already be ashes by the strength of his glare alone. And that would be terrible, because despite his current anger, he was quite enjoying it, really.
Regretfully the last few days have been, to put it plainly, absolutely horrible, so he is not feeling quite as enthusiastic over reading 'How to kill a mockingbird' as he perhaps should, despite being a recommendation from Kyrie.
She had also been really happy with it too, at being able to share some of her favourite books with him. A simple and harmless interest over reading that they could share and engage in.
In her own words, it was good idea for him to have some hobby he could talk to other people about. Something he truly enjoyed.
Nothing about worrying about demons, or about the struggles that came with reconnecting with his family.
He might not have as much of a connection with her, their interactions easily counted with just one hand, but she was important to his son, so Vergil valued the thoughtful gesture.
Not only that, but her kindness towards Vergil despite his previous actions was also an incredible display of strength and compassion. He…appreciated her efforts, truly.
It was disappointing that he would probably not be able to give her his opinion on the book next time they saw each other. He had been looking forward to that too.
If he wasn't too distracted at the moment by the feeling of a horrible migraine pounding inside of his head, he would perhaps be feeling worse about it.
He stifled a cough, but his chest still heaved. His throat felt like sandpaper every time he took a breathe, irritating his throat. It would cause him to cough again shortly, and Vergil only felt his mood worsen at that knowledge.
He was one of the most powerful demons in existence. He had survived the King of Hell, navigated what humans knew of as the Abyss of despair for two decades and survived. He had been torn and remade more than once, one time by his own hand.
And despite that, he was currently feeling sore and disgruntled over what he was coming to finally accept as a mere fever.
He hadn't even thought that it was possible for him to get sick nowadays.
Long ago, when they had been children, him and his brother had gotten sick a few times, yes, but those times weren't many, and they had still been young, barely more than newborn nestlings, their demonic power little. At this point in time Vergil had expected that he wouldn't have had to deal with a meagre sickness anymore.
He turned another page of his book, even without actually having read the one before it. His eyes burned, as if someone had decided to pour salt in them, and the lights of the office were not making him feel any better. Every single bone of his body felt as if someone was repeatedly hitting them with a hammer, a dull pain that was mostly a nuisance, but still bothered him while he tried and miserably failed to concentrate on the book before him.
To add to his never-ending list of troubles, the shop was inordinately quiet too.
Of course, had it been loud, his head would have had that to complain about, but right now it was the stillness that was pressing down on him what was making his mood dampen even further.
Or perhaps, his mood had worsened simply because it was his own fault that the office was currently silent, much to his own chagrin.
His brother had been acting as usual, so it shouldn't have been a problem, but Vergil had been more snappish than other days thanks to his growing sickness, so of course, they had argued as a result.
They had (miraculously) managed to avoid a fight, mostly because the office was still in dire need of repairs after another previous argument right after one of Nero's obligatory family dinners, but still.
The ambience had been strained.
Today a job had finally come in, and while Vergil had been dying to get outside and kill some low-life demons, he knew better than to try to do that while he was currently so out of sorts. Had he tried to go, he knows that his form would have been far too sloppy to go unnoticed, and he was not going to be a hindrance to a job that was so utterly simple. He refused to let his brother see that.
(The tension between him and his twin had nothing to do with his decision at all. It didn't)
In the end Dante had taken the job, after loudly complaining over his refusal to go with, but he had seemed to have his mood lifted over the prospect of letting some steam off and of getting a good pay out of it.
Vergil wishes he could be as happy about it. He is not.
The half-demon sighed, running a hand throughout his hair, which was damp from sweat he hadn't noticed forming until now. He grimaced at the sensation.
He wanted to go get up and do something, perhaps make some tea, but he could only stare at the ceiling above him, frowning while his body protested demanding rest.
He had always despised fevers as a child. His brother had disliked them too, for his inability to go outside because of them more than any other reason, but besides that he hadn't minded them too much.
Vergil had. He would always hate how his bones felt weak, strength and energy depleted, the way his mind seemed to lose focus and become slower, even when he was thinking clearly. The unbearable heat that was nothing like the one his demonic side gave off.
(Their mother had been the only reason being sick had been bearable)
Vergil snapped his book shut. He put it down on the table and slowly released a breath, trying to organize his thoughts, pinching the bridge of his nose.
This was a senseless endeavour. He wouldn't manage to read anymore today, he was perfectly aware of that. He instead decided to turn around on the sofa, where he had been laying down in an attempt to dampen the feeling of his bones screaming in agony.
'You sure you that's not simply age talking, old man?' snickered a voice that sounded remarkably like his brother's inside his head. Vergil pushed it away, feeling annoyed that even when his twin was away he still managed to rob him of his peace and quiet.
He moodily shoved his head against the sofa's cushions, trying to drown the light worsening his headache. It didn't help quell the sensation at all, and honestly, the pressure against his head was probably making things worse, but Vergil was not willing to move again, his bones furiously making their displeasure over their continued existence known.
(He hated being sick so much)
Vergil felt himself being woken up, groggily trying to move his head up to see what was responsible for that. Regretfully, he was hit by a dizzy spell that disoriented him, so he only managed to struggle a bit while he tried to right himself.
Moving however, also proved a bad idea, because his stomach protested loudly and his head let a sharp pain against his temple be known. Vergil groaned miserably, letting his head fall back against the sofa.
He heard something shuffling near him. Before he could panic, a hand went to his temple, comfortingly cold against his skin.
"Jeez. No wonder you've been so grumpy lately, you are melting like this, Verge."
Vergil cracked one eye open, and looked at the person beside him.
"Dante…?" he asked. His voice sounded scratchy, and he couldn't stop himself from suddenly breaking into a painful fit of coughs, making Vergil's chest heave. His brother kept him steady.
"Yeah, it's me." Dante said, rubbing his shoulder when Vergil managed to stop.
Vergil looked at the younger twin confusedly. Hadn't he been on a job?
His brother, easily caught onto his thoughts apparently, because he continued, "Finished a while ago. Took me a bit longer than expected. When I came back you were asleep on the couch." he smiled a bit, hiding a grimace, "You never sleep on the couch, so I came to check what was up."
That made sense. Dante had finished the job so it was obvious than he would then come back to his shop. He wouldn't simply leave him here without a warning.
And it was true that Vergil disliked sleeping out in the open (too exposed, too easy a target). He hadn't even noticed himself falling asleep. No wonder Dante had decided to check on him.
Vergil blinked ar his sibling, who was still hovering above him. When Dante saw that he wasn't going to say anything, he pulled on his coat.
"Come on, we gotta take you out of this thing. You are drenched in sweat."
Vergil then faintly noticed that he was soaked.
His coat felt annoyingly sticky, his vest was decidedly too warm against his skin, and it felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of water all over him. His clothing was all rumpled from his awkward positioning on the couch and he noticed how some of his hair was now sticking out awkwardly, even worse than before when he had touched it with his hand.
He felt miserable, and decidedly didn't want to move, his body protesting just at the mere thought, but his brother insistently tugged on his arm.
"Come on, Verge. You cannot stay with this on. You'll feel better when you change, promise."
His brother finally managed to lift him off the couch, slowly enough that Vergil's stomach only protested briefly, and then Dante helped him walk to the stairs, keeping the swaying at a minimum.
Vergil appreciated how he at least was letting him walk on his own instead of simply carrying him, like he could see his brother obviously wanted to do, thanks to worried glances he kept sending his way. But that would be far too embarrassing, even in his current state.
Not even as V had anyone fully carried him, and he had been doing definitely worse at the time.
Walking as dizzying as it felt, helped him focus a bit.
One step, then the other. Lift his foot a bit up the stairs, then put it back down. His brother stayed beside him, ready to catch him if it was needed.
Despite their slowness, they finally reached the bathroom without any trouble, even if Vergil was definitely out of breath after climbing the stairs.
He blinked and tried to turn his head to glance at his brother, curious to see what he might be thinking after this clear display of weakness.
A horrid decision, his vision tilting at the movement as he swayed to the side, but thankfully Dante held him fast, keeping him upright, avoiding any danger of Vergil falling down the stairs.
His brother pushed towards the bathroom door. "You are getting a bath."
Vergil frowned.
"I'm not a child. Do not tell me what to do."
Dante huffed amused, before he began to drag him inside. "Yeah, but you are still all gross, and you need to take a bath. It'll also help with the fever." Vergil tried to protest, but his brother was unrelenting.
His brother helped him wrestle out of his coat and vest, despite Vergil's protests.
He knew that trying to get out of those on his own would be bothersome, but he wasn't a child. His brother's help was not essential here. Of course, his brother's pestering would get even worse if he didn't accept it so in the end he begrudgingly allowed him to help.
(He would, however, not let him help with getting out of his pants. Vergil had his dignity)
His brother helped him unlatch his boots and then turned around to get the bathtub ready. He handed Vergil a towel so he could use it to cover himself with it while he was still wrestling with the stupid pant leg.
Good to know that Dante had a modicum of sense then, not even trying to convince him on that one.
He let his brother continue to fret over the bathwater and focused on his pants. Vergil would not ask for help, despite how he could feel his brother's amused smile, even with his back turned to look at the bathtub.
Finally, he managed to get them off. He picked up the towel, and turned towards Dante, who was checking the temperature of the water with his hand. Vergil turned his head to the side to look at the mirror when he caught his reflection..
His face looked terrible. Haggard, sweaty, dazed. If he had been in Hell he would be prime prey to take care of.
Vergil coughed, his lungs feeling itchy (unfocused, too slow, unable to do more than simply hide away and hope for the best-)
If he let his guard down, it would only worsen his currently poor fighting capabilities. He wouldn't be able to survive on his own, he would not be strong enough to fight back, not enough to even flee, he-
"Okay, the water's ready. Come on, into the bathtub you go. I'll even wait outside so you can keep your dignified image, princess" his brother teased.
Right. He was not in Hell. He would not be again.
He shoved his brother a bit when he passed him, and then went in the tub's direction. He somehow managed to enter it without breaking any of his bones, which was nice. Most of the water managed to stay in the tub too.
Dante knocked once before entering again. Vergil tilted his head in his direction but didn't bother to say anything, waiting to see what he wanted.
As all response, Dante knelt down just beside the bathtub. He put a hand on Vergil's forehead again, checking his temperature, which only made him scowl, annoyed at his brother's babying.
His brother let out a small laugh at his reaction, "Oh, come on. Stop pouting and let me take care of you for a bit, alright? You aren't looking that great, Vergil."
"I don't need a babysitter, Dante." he mumbled in response. His brother's hand felt cold, contrasting against the heat of his skin and the mildly warm water on the bathtub. He hated to admit it but it felt…nice.
Vergil couldn't help but lean a bit towards it, against his will. Dante didn't comment on it, simply moved it further up to scratch his hair a bit. Vergil felt embarrassed when that only made him lean further into it.
His brother didn't stop stroking Vergil's hair, "I know you don't. But I care, and I want to help you out when I can. So, just let me do that for once, yeah?" responded Dante, with an awfully soft voice.
Vergil felt his eyes prickle, so he simply closed them, humming in response.
It wasn't as if he could stop his brother from doing anything when the world was spinning so much in any case.
Vergil felt the world fading a bit, only managing to focus on the nice temperature of the water, the cold air against his face and his brother's hand petting his hair, occasionally pouring some water on it to help clean it a bit, careful at avoiding it from getting in his face.
Vergil isn't sure how much time he dozed off, but he only found himself waking up later, when his brother tapped his face.
"Come on, your highness, time to get out of the bathtub. I think you are far less warm right now, so we better get you in your pyjamas, and then some soup."
Vergil coughed lightly. "You are the one cooking? I'm doomed."
"Shut up. I think we have some tupperware with leftovers Kyrie gave us." he looked at Vergil, who was still half asleep, "Do you need any help?"
Vergil frowned and glared at his brother. Or made an attempt.
His brother lifted his eyebrow, trying to conceal his amusement and failing.
"No."
"Alrighty. Do try not to fall on your face. Call if you need anything." Dante left the bathroom, leaving the door just shy of closing, probably leaning against the wall outside again.
Vergil felt his annoyance battling his gratitude at his mindfulness.
He managed to get up from the tub only wobbling a bit, and he put on the towel before getting out, only slightly bumping into the sink when he moved a bit too fast trying to get out.
When he finally regained his bearings, he knocked on the door. His brother entered and looked at him.
"Good to know you didn't whack your skull and lost the little sense you had."
Vergil gasped exaggeratedly, despite how much his throat itched, "That would be terrible, to end up just like you, brother."
Dante lightly punched his shoulder, enough to be noticed but nothing like their usual play-fighting. A testament of his worry. "Ass. Come on, let's get you some clothes."
This time, he didn't have to lean on his brother to walk, thanks to the bath helping him feel far more aware of himself, but his sibling stayed closed anyway. They reached Vergil's room, and entered.
The bed was clean, but it wasn't made, forgotten about in between his sickness and bad mood. The nightstand had his poetry book resting on it, besides a glass of water he had forgotten to put in the dishwasher earlier.
Apart from the writing desk Vergil kept on the side opposite to the bed, the room was visibly a bit messy, and Vergil felt annoyed. He wasn't as rigid about cleanliness as some people might imagine him to be, but he did like to be tidy if he could.
It didn't matter too much now he supposed. He walked to the bed, Dante right behind, and tried to at least straighten the bed sheets a bit.
"You are making your bed right now? You are going to lay down in just a minute anyway."
"Shut up. Not everyone is a heathen like you." he replied at his brother's incredulous question.
He heard his brother move, opening and closing the doors of his wardrobe just before leaving the room. Vergil was going to ask him what was the matter, but a sudden cough attack robbed him of any breath. It wasn't of any help that when he finally managed to stop his coughs he couldn't stop sneezing.
(Why had the universe forsaken him like this?)
When he was slightly less out of breath, he felt a hand resting on his back rubbing circles.
"Better?"
Vergil nodded, still tired. He turned around to look at his brother, who was holding…
"No."
Dante rolled his eyes. "I looked in your drawers, you don't have any spare pyjamas left. They are all in the washing machine."
"No."
"They're just pyjamas Verge."
"I should have made you do laundry more frequently. And I am not wearing those. They look ridiculous."
Dante shook the offending clothing, "What, no. They are adorable. Who wouldn't love penguins?"
The pajamas Dante was holding, were white and grey plaid pyjamas. Had it been only that it would have been fine for Vergil.
But this pyjamas also had little drawings of penguins wearing winter hats in between. It was childish and ridiculous, in no way befitting of him.
(No, they were not cute. He refused to hear it)
"I am not wearing that and that's final."
His brother send him a sceptical look. Vergil would have crossed his arms, but he preferred to at least keep one of his hands holding the towel still covering him, so he simply lifted his chin, haughtily.
"Well, if you are not wearing this, then you are going to have to use some other pyjamas." he tilted his eyes, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "The only other ones available would be mine, I think. They probably fit you fine so there wouldn't be too much of problem with it, I guess. I'm pretty sure the only difference between our pyjamas is in their colour, anyway..." he said, voice trailing off.
There was a pause.
"Give me that" he shoved Dante out of his room, taking the clothes from him, "I don't need your help to put on some lousy pyjamas."
Dante lifted his hands, failing at his attempt of an innocent smile. He stepped out while Vergil changed.
After a bit without any sign of being done, Dante knocked and peered his head in.
"Verge? Are you okay in there?"
Vergil didn't answer, too angry trying to wrestle with his stupid buttons on his shirt. Dante huffed amused.
He walked towards where Vergil was still furiously trying to coordinate his fingers to button up the shirt, "Come on, let me help you out there."
Vergil grumbled, but didn't bother to slap his hands away when Dante reached his side. He kept still while his brother helped him, but he kept his annoyed frown.
"Alright, done. Now come, on. Rest for a bit. I'm gonna heat up some soup for you."
"I'm fine like this."
"Yeah? When did you eat last?"
Vergil didn't answer. Dante shook his head. He made Vergil lay down on the bed not allowing him to complain and then left, picking up the glass on the nightstand on his way down.
Vergil stared at the ceiling.
It had been so long since anyone had bothered to try to take care of him. It felt jarring to experience this kind of concern about him coming from another person. He wasn't sure what to do with it. How was he even supposed to act? Grateful? That was the most logical conclusion on what to do but in Vergil's case it only bothered him to think about it.
Being sick meant being defenceless, and that only made him wary of other's actions, no matter their intentions, so in turn it only made him defensive and angry. How could he trust anyone to truly feel concern for his well-being?
He let out a breath, trying to avoid going deeper into that spiral.
This wasn't him simply trusting anyone with his health.
He felt his brother's steady presence just below. It managed to sooth his nerves a bit, despite his lingering uncomfortableness of relying in someone else for anything.
At least his twin was the only one being witness of his vulnerability. It didn't feel as anger-inducing as it might have been once.
No, it even felt…reassuring, having some who truly cared.
When his brother finally came back, holding a tray balancing a bowl of soup and a new glass of water, Vergil felt most of his reluctance to accept help vanish.
Dante grinned, lifting the tray a bit. "Soooo…soup?"
Vergil sighed, but felt his lips curl up in response. "Fine. That way you'll at least shut up for a bit." he heard Dante make an offended noise, but he passed Vergil the tray anyway.
The soup, made out of vegetables, felt warm and light enough for his stomach, a heavenly taste regardless of his atrophied palate because of the fever. When he finally managed to finish the plate, he barely could even handle to drink some of the water Dante coaxed him to take.
His brother took the tray again and left it on the desk, while he placed the glass of water on the nightstand, within easy reach.
Vergil felt his eyes dropping, but he wasn't too enthused about sleeping more. He had rested far longer than he liked already.
His brother didn't care about that of course, so he prodded him regardless of his opinion. "Think you need a nap, grandpa. Come on"
"I'm fine." answered Vergil, slightly drowsy.
Dante chuckled, "Yeah, sure. I totally believe you."
His brother managed to make him lay down again, this time tucking him in. Vergil wriggled his arms out, glaring at Dante in annoyance.
He despised having his arms immobilized, ever since he was a child, something that Dante knew perfectly fine. His brother snickered, smoothing down the blankets, this time allowing for more movement.
"Sleep tight, and don't let the demon-bugs bite~" said Dante cheerfully.
Vergil was already asleep by the time his brother picked up the bowl to clean up later.
Everything is on fire.
Vergil wakes up as if he had just swam through molasses, his brain feeling like cotton and body heavy like lead. He can only manage a gulp of air before his lungs decide to give up on him completely and he begins to convulse between terrible coughs.
Every time his lungs inhale, his body aggressively rejects the air it manages to breathe, making him dizzy. The only other sensation that he manages to register is how hot everything is, making him want to try and tear off his own melting skin to make it stop.
His stomach lurches after a particularly harsh cough, and Vergil barely manages to turn his body and vomit on the floor beside his bed, expelling everything he managed to eat before.
His throat burns, and he can feel his eyes watering, but at least his stomach settles somewhat. That, or maybe he is too light-headed to notice the nausea at the moment.
The world keeps spinning around Vergil, and he can't make sense of where he is or what he is looking at. Everything is tainted by his own distress.
He is in Hell. He is back home again, in his old room. He is escaping from demons, hiding and running and never stopping, wandering the streets. He is V, he is Urizen, he is none, and there is nothing but pain and hate and something incomplete.
(He is dying, trying to reach Yamato, but this time the path keeps stretching and stretching slipping away from him like water through his fingers, and there is heavy armour dragging him down and-)
Something touches his forehead, cold and gentle, and it's such an opposite sensation to what his brain keeps envisioning that it makes his thoughts stagger, his mouth letting out a pained and confused groan.
"Shh, Verge. It's okay, I got you."
The cold feeling leaves a moment later and Vergil whimpers, missing the sensation.
Before he can do anything about it (or probably not, given his barely coherent thoughts), it comes back again, colder, and feeling blessedly perfect against his burning skin.
He hears shuffling coming from his side, and he feels panic rise. His eyes feel heavy, the possible threat is too close and-
A hand reaches for his own.
"Hey, hey, calm down, it's me. It's just me, Vergil. You are okay."
Vergil cracks one eye open, vaguely registering a figure at his side. It's blurry, and he doesn't manage to make sense of it, but the hand holding his is cold and soothing, so he manages to relax minutely.
The person rubs Vergil's knuckles with their thumb for a short moment before letting go. Vergil lets out a pained noise, not managing to move his hand coherently enough to try and grab the other back.
"Just a minute. I'll clean this up and then I'll be back, Vergil." it's the soft response that reaches him.
Vergil can feel his throbbing eyes watering. The figure leaves somewhere out of reach, far from his wavering sight and he is alone again.
It always seems to come to that.
Vergil's thoughts are followed by more harsh coughing.
Everything is still much too hot. He tries to tear off his blankets away in an attempt to fix that, frustration bubbling beneath his skin, but the chill is horrid too, and everything hurts.
There is nothing but misery for him. He curls on his side, trying to drown muffled sobs that manage to escape him without permission, and also in an attempt to stop the coughing.
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder and Vergil opens his eyes again.
The person is back. They have a worried frown, and it is so familiar. It reminds Vergil of someone so very much…
The figure manages to coax him into laying on his back again, and covers him with the blankets once more, washing his forehead with a cloth like they had been doing before but this time, staying beside him, crouching on the floor.
Vergil manages to snag one of their hands, holding it as hard as he can, trying to communicate his craving to keep the loneliness threatening to drown him at bay. He hears bones creak, but the other person doesn't even wince, changing their hand position to hold Vergil's hand better, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
Vergil's vision waxes and wanes, coming and going, but the person by his side stays, and he notices his hand is being held even when he dozes off in a half sleep.
t is when his vision begins to clear that he manages to register who the person besides him is, his tired eyes finally connecting with his brain and sharing the information they finally manage to understand.
His soft hearted brother is still there when he expels more bile the next time he wakes up, and he stays by his side holding his hand when he drifts into and uneasy sleep after having to clean the floor again.
Vergil sleeps, and despite the horrible burning of his body, and his sluggish senses, he knows that he'll be fine, Dante's blessedly cold hand an anchor for his muddled thoughts.
He wakes up with the sun on his eyes. It sends a dull pain up his head, but he feels far more coherent than just a few hours ago, so he is sure he is past the worst part of the fever, finally. He blinks his eyes open, trying to get used to the light entering the room.
He is still a bit warm, but apart from feeling slightly drowsy and tired, he is fine, the chilled air from the open window that touches his skin a feeling that is deliciously calming.
His eyes turn to the side, where his arm is hanging at an odd angle, and his hand feels numb.
His brother is conked out face down in the side of the bed, drooling. His hair is a complete mess, spilling in every direction. He can hear him puffing out breaths, and the occasional snore, with his demonic hearing also registering a soft rumbling sound beneath it all. Despite the obvious exhaustion, his brother's sleep seems…content.
The only thing that may contradict that statement is how he is holding Vergil's hand like he is scared to let go, even in his dreams.
The older twin feels himself soften.
He moves slightly, upwards, the cloth his brother had used sliding down from his forehead. Vergil picks the now dry cloth, and debates himself for a second, looking at his younger sibling.
He then throws it against Dante's face.
His brother let's out a confused sound and blearily opens his eyes, still drowsy from sleep, before finally looking up and seeing Vergil staring at him. He blinks up at him, before quickly rising from the bed.
"Oh, shit, Vergil you…you are awake!" Dante says, sounding delighted.
Vergil cannot help but smirk a bit "Well, what did you expect? You are too lazy to get up earlier than me anyway."
His brother makes a mockingly offended noise before responding.
"What, me? I think you are mistaken brother dearest, you are the one who is a zombie until he drinks his leaf water at breakfast."
"Says the one who immediately goes for the coffee maker the moment he is able to walk without stumbling. Much."
His brother grins, even if he swats at Vergil with his hand half-heartedly Vergil dodging his meagre hit as a habit. The youngest then puts his hand on Vergil's forehead, and the oldest twin huffs.
Dante, of course, doesn't care about his sibling's protests. He hums, apparently satisfied with his appraisal.
"Looks like your fever finally broke, so cheers to that. Or better yet, how about some cheers-ios to that? Because I am absolutely starving and you definitely are too, soooo…breakfast. Or brunch, I'm not sure what time is it."
His brother gets up, letting go of Vergil's hand, and the blue twin makes a move as to follow, but the other stops him.
"Ah, ah, ah! None of that, you are still not looking that great, so you stay here."
Vergil rolls his eyes, annoyed. He is glad to discover that his vision doesn't sway afterwards, and he is still not dizzy.
Finally some good news.
"I am not an invalid, Dante, I can walk down the stairs."
"Yeah, but-"
"I'll be closer to the bathroom if I do get sick." he states.
His brother pouts, but he does allow him to get up, even if he makes him take the glass of fresh water on the nightstand that he has apparently refilled, and also swaddles him in blankets before letting him move down the stairs.
Vergil endures it, just this once.
They bicker when they reach the kitchen, his brother annoyingly concerned about what he is able to eat, and Vergil thoroughly done with his incessant pestering.
They end up settling for some cereal, and his brother even finds some fresh fruits hidden who-knows-where to make Vergil a smoothie, who also endures his insistence on this, because he is being annoyingly thoughtful, much to Vergil's chagrin.
His brother drinks his coffee along with eating his cereal because he is a maniac, and Vergil restrains himself from drinking his tea for now, since he doesn't have any chamomile left and other varieties will probably make his nausea come back with a vengeance, and he'd definitely rather not.
His brother looks awfully pleased that Vergil is still on his dumb penguin pyjamas, and that he still has some time to goad before his older brother begins to complain about his coddling again.
He'll have to deny later that the pyjamas are quite comfortable, or Dante will hold it over his head for months. He can't let him know that he agrees with him on something, it would get to his big head far too easily.
Vergil sighs, trying to keep Dante from seeing too much of how unbothered he is by his obstinate resolution at caring for him. He doesn't quite manage to hide his smile when his brother insistently drags him by the hand to sit on the couch to rest, just like when they were children.