Chapter Text
For someone who’s dealt with their fair share of madness, it’s crazy how fate always finds a way to top it.
Today was supposed to be one of those days where Dante just moved around on autopilot. He knew from the moment he opened his eyes that it’d take more willpower just to drag his body out of bed. Which sucks. But eh, it's fine. After forcing himself through a shower, he wandered down the stairs of the rather unkempt Devil May Cry (well, he swears it's seen better days, it's just– he's been going through it lately. Capisce?) and found two slices of pizza he'd left in the fridge last night.
Which was supposed to be awesome! But then he remembered he had a blurry night filled with alcohol, emotions and his heart laid on a platter. Things he’d rather not remember.
And Lady.
Yeah, Lady was there. It was Lady who somehow found a booze strong enough to knock out a half devil two bottles in. Which– he guessed it did. Because he couldn't remember anything else after that. And it was Lady who put olives and pineapple on his pizza. Now that he looked at the thing sitting in his fridge, olives on a pizza? Who does that? On his pizza? No wonder he'd left it to rot in there.
Now, that did absolutely nothing to improve his already ruined mood. See, Lady is a great friend, but sometimes she could be a bitch, this is one of those times. Dante abandoned the breakfast plan and settled on his good ol’ chair, throwing his boots up on top of the messy desk. He considered dozing off but it was way too early in the morning to do that.
That was when the phone rang, tearing straight through his poor eardrums. It was Morrison, that means a gig. Well… yay? A gig means having something to do than being an unmoving globe of meat with a heavy weight sitting in his chest.
It's the usual “There's a horde of demons nearby our town and we need your help Dante!” Nothing he couldn't handle even on his bad days. Hell, he might even need it. Anything to clear this lingering dread from his chest. He flicked his eyes to the calendar and– Bam. That'd do it.
Vergil’s death anniversary.
Sometimes having a superhuman half-devil body came with downsides. One of them being that grief hit with the precision of a goddamn yearly alarm clock.
It's not that he's absolutely sure his S.O.B of a brother, who’d been hell bent on raising a giant hell tower was hundred percent dead. But on that fateful day when his own heart had its first taste of the Rebellion. Vergil had already been exhausted, already wounded. Falling into the underworld in that condition… It's hard to think otherwise.
His brother had never left his mind. Nope. Not really, he's always been like a lingering ghost of the past. The victim of Dante’s hatred, his love, his unspoken pleas for the other to stay. The promises they'd left behind, never fulfilled. Dante could pretend all he wants, he could be a dick, a legendary devil hunter, a charismatic guy with a questionable taste in food who helps unfortunate people for almost no pay. He could put on the smiley until his cheeks hurt. But even he had to admit he'd lost the other half of himself that day. Hypothetically and quite literally.
It still hurts.
Sucks doesn't it?
Enough emotional gymnastics and trauma nuggets for today! He thought back to the conversation he just had with Morrison, the job was in a small town near the Capulet city, surrounded by forest. It wasn't a long trip, with his speed he should be there by evening. Get the job done, accept the townsfolk's gratitude, and maybe grab a strawberry sundae from his usual place. Go home. Shower, sleep. Easy peasy.
The gig was, in fact, not so pleasant.
Well, obliterating the hordes of demons was easy, it's being dragged through mud and blood by a giant lizard-shaped demon across half the town that left him disoriented. The goddamned thing choked him with its tail and swung him around as if he were a fucking ragdoll. With one furious swing of the Rebellion, Dante severed its cursed tail and put the son of a bitch out of its misery in no time.
But now he was covered in an inconsiderate amount of mud, blood, and gore. The usual stuff, just three times more. He hated scrubbing all that crap off afterward. Oh, and to put the cherry on top? His gorgeous coat was ruined.
And like that, after a few conversations with the townsfolk, he dragged his sorry ass back to Capulet city at a much slower pace than usual. Fuck the strawberry sundae, He’d kill for a nice shower and a warm bed right now.
It's well past midnight in the city, all the local shops have closed, and the people have retreated back into their home. Dante didn't want to bother stuffing his nice cool sword into a guitar case just for the sake of not scaring the poor civilians. But he did anyway, you can never be too careful y’know?
The warm glow of the street lamps was giving him a headache. But as he neared the corner leading into the alley where the Devil May Cry shop resided. He felt it. A demon presence, faded, quiet. Yet so sharp and familiar it felt like knives digging into Dante’s veins.
His breath stuttered. It had been a long day, and his patience was wearing thin. So wherever this demon in his home came from, he'll kick its ass back into the hell hole it crawled out of twice as hard. And for the audacity to try to imitate an aura of that one specific person long gone, he'd make sure it never saw moonlight again. For the first time after a while…
Dante was truly furious.
He discarded the guitar case to the side without a second thought, Rebellion sang to him as he lazily twirled her in his hand. He strode across the rain soaked concrete toward the front door. Dante had to give it to the damned thing, for not even once had a demon ever pretended to be his long lost brother. Sure, he'd met demons that toyed with the mind. Illusions. Hallucinations. They usually dragged him back to the smell of smoke and ash, to the fire devouring the wooden walls of his childhood home. But this? This is a line crossed.
His demon core roared unbridled, rage pounding through his veins, His grip tightened around Rebellion's hilt until it almost shook from the force. No quips, no tactics this time. He drove his boot straight into the door, kicking it open with his sword raised high–
Only to find the shape of a tall man sprawled across on the floor– No. Collapsed on the floor. His clothes were torn and filthy, caked in dried blood. A dark gray cloak hung in tatters around him, not unlike Dante's own ruined coat..
What the hell?
Hah. Dante wouldn’t be Dante if he couldn't see through a demon's illusion. This half assed imitation of a broken man collapsed in his house? Wearing his twin’s aura like bait?
He had to give it to the demon. This one's got guts.
Dante growled as he crouched down and grabbed the stranger by the collar, yanking him upright. That's when a sinking feeling settled itself deep in his stomach. His breath stopped altogether, in front of him, was– his brother. But also not his brother.
If any demons were to ambush him, this would be the perfect time, because Dante has stopped moving altogether. Because more terrifying than the ruined face of his twin before him, was the unwavering aura that is so Vergil it couldn't have been an illusion.
The man's unconscious face was so pale, dark cracks traced across his skin like shattered porcelain. Dried blood stained every inch of him. His breaths came in shallow little puffs, one could mistake him for a non-breathing corpse.
But he was warm.
He was still warm.
Was fate playing another cruel joke on him or was heaven finally throwing him a bone?
Could Dante really allow himself to hope?
He's hyperventilating, oh well shit he hadn't even noticed that, his hand was shaking, and he would deny it with everything he has, his voice isn’t wavering
“Y..You're not real.."
He stumbled backwards and landed hard on his ass, his head filled with fog, his vision blurred, this is not real, it's not real– this is just. Another cruel trick– Another nightmare. He just had to get himself together, or– or wake up.
It's not real, because Dante’s twin was dead. Deadeadeadeadead.
With a trembling hand, Dante reached for the crimson amulet resting against his chest, he squeezed hard until the sharp edges bit into his palm and blood spilled. He tried to control his breath. In– out, In and out again– when he felt that his heartbeat had eased, like it's not trying to crawl its way out of his ribs anymore. Only then did he finally stop shaking.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him.
It shouldn't be real, it wasn't even possible. Yet somehow, every instinct screamed the same impossible truth. This mess of a body was his other half. Dante forced his slightly trembling legs to crawl forward. He wanted to take a better look. Carefully, he pulled back the hood.
An unmistakable face stared back at him. It revealed an undeniable face of Vergil. Twisted, changed and broken but not beyond recognition, this was still his twin.
Dante felt the man's heart beating, so slow and weak, barely hanging on. That's when his body moved on autopilot. He had to do something, he didn't even know what it is he’s doing but he grabbed Vergil’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. The red twin dragged the unconscious piece of meat towards the stairs. Each step felt like an eternity. Vergil was so light. It didn't help that Dante's own legs still felt like jelly.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this distraught. Not since the night Nell's shop went up in flames. When Mundus had sent a clone of his brother to tear his life apart. And even then, he hadn't felt this helpless.
He stumbled up the stairs in an embarrassingly stupid manner before making his way to his bedroom and pushing the door open with one hand. From that point, he more or less tossed Vergil onto the mattress, the blue twin's head barely missing the headboard. Dante almost felt guilty for nearly breaking his brother's nose. Almost. But other feelings overwhelmed him far too quickly.
With a shaky breath, he plopped down on the bed beside Vergil. …Now what? He stared at his face, it was so messed up it physically hurt to look at. “What the hell happened to you, asshole?"
Dante could only stare in horror now that he was seeing everything under proper light. Vergil's skin was an unnatural gray white, cracked like shattered porcelain. Ink-black markings disappeared beneath the torn fabric of his clothes. His face was gaunt, his brow permanently furrowed.
Again, he looked like a corpse, only the barely visible breathing indicated he wasn't one. His throat tightened with grief. "Ten years.” Dante's voice cracked. "You left me thinking you're dead– and now you came back looking like you've been through a meat grinder?”
It's so unfair, so unbelievably unfair, Dante wasn't prepared for this. His stomach twisted violently, just what the hell has been done to his brother? Is this another clone? But that couldn't be, his instinct proved otherwise. Did Vergil come here on purpose? Why is he so hellbent on chasing power? Why didn't he just stay with his family? Did he even know just what it had cost? Just how much his decisions affected Dante?
If only the idiot had grabbed his hand. If only Dante jumped into the underworld with him, maybe– maybe none of this would've happened.
He reached for Vergil's unmoving hand with one of his own. The contrast startled him, between Dante’s sun-kissed, rough, tanned hand and Vergil’s pale, cold one. It felt no different than holding a corpse. He felt like a child again. Not knowing what to do, lost, helpless. He felt like crying, he felt like the stupid little boy hiding inside a closet while his home burned and his family was torn away from him.
That was until Vergil's hand twitched. Dante’s head snapped up. His twin's eyes barely cracked open. And Dante froze as Vergil slowly raised his other hand towards his face. He expected a punch, an attack, or any kind of violence, really. But instead, what he got was a gentle caress as he stared dumbfounded at his twin.
Cool fingers gently brushed against his cheek. Dante could only stare.
“Dante..." Vergil croaks, His voice sounded like gravel, like his vocal cords hadn't been used for years, that, or he had screamed for so long he'd forgotten how to speak. Everything else Vergil wanted to say remained unuttered, but thousands of emotions swam inside those barely opened blue eyes.
It was like a dam had burst.
Hot tears stung his eyes, a ragged sob tore out of his chest as he collapsed over Vergil, clumsily wrapping his arms around his broken, but very real brother. He buried his head against the other's neck, felt weak arms wrapped around his back gently. So carefully. As though even that tiny embrace cost Vergil everything. Dante cried like a child.
His tears soaked into Vergil's deathly pale skin while trembling fingers combed weakly through Dante’s filthy hair.
He was so relieved to see that his brother wasn't gone for good, that he was still alive. But now that he realizes the state Vergil was in, despair settled heavily in his chest. How were they supposed to recover from this? Would Vergil ever heal? Will Dante ever find whoever had done this?
“Verge I-” he choked on another sob "I'm so sorry… Fuck"
If only he’d grabbed Vergil's hand, if only he'd jump after him, if only he'd done something, kicking and screaming to bring his brother home. Then this could've been avoided. If only Dante were braver and didn't stay in that closet for so many days while his world fell apart. If only he had searched harder, maybe they would've stayed together. Maybe decades of pain would've never happened. Mom would've known what to do, what would mom have done?
Dante stayed there in his twin brother's embrace, his heart laid completely bare. Only when exhaustion finally caught up with him did darkness pull him under.
Warm sunlight pricked into his eyes, Dante squeezed them shut, but it did nothing to the pounding in his skull. He groaned and tried to shove away whatever was pressing against him– wait what?
Dante slowly opened his eyes and furrowed his brows. There's a whole freaking arm draped over his shoulder. Another inch and he'd probably roll right off the bed. He slowly pushed himself upright to take a good look at the body beside him and– Oh. Oh.
There beside him lay a thin figure, a man-shaped object wrapped in a dark cloak. Pale skin marred by blue veins and spiderweb cracks peeked through the torn fabric. Even beneath all the dirt, Dante could make out the unmistakable white hair.
Vergil. Right. It's Vergil. Oh god it's Vergil.
Vergil had come back to him last night, from the dead or from wherever the hell the motivated half-devil came from. Collapsed on his shop’s floor, said his name and made Dante completely fall apart.
He tried to calm his screaming nerves and the thunderous pounding of his heart. It still felt too surreal, like he was trapped inside a dream. It is both a nightmare and a dream come true. His brother had come back to him, but at what cost?
“Not cool, man…” He moves Vergil’s leg out of the way and climbs out of bed.
“I can't believe this is the first time in years you didn't try to murder me on sight.” He muttered. “Well, it doesn't make much difference when we barely ever see each other anyway.”
He settled onto the floor beside the bed, leaning against the mattress while Vergil remained stubbornly unconscious. Great.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that? left me thinking you were dead for a whole decade. Never wrote me any letters, never showed up, no. Nothing.” He laughed bitterly. “Then ta-daa you crawl back from the grave, raise that fuckin’ tower of yours, and turned me into shish kebab.”
Dante kept rambling even though Vergil couldn't hear a word of it. He couldn't help himself. Talking was easier than letting his mind wander to the turmoil inside.
“Left me thinking you're dead for a whole other decade– and, now what?” He scrubbed angrily at the tears threatening to return. “You came back just so I could clean up your mess? After you fucked around all this time? What am I a fucking contingency plan?”
He couldn't stop the hurt from bubbling back to the surface, years of it. Did Vergil only come back to him because he was dying? All this time– Had he never once thought about his brother? His last remaining family? Why couldn't Dante ever be enough for him? Why couldn't he ever be enough?
He reached for Vergil's wrist and felt a weak pulse beating beneath his fingertips.
A sinking dread settled in his stomach. "No nope, not happening. You're not kicking the bucket when I just got you back, you book obsessed nerd." Dante bit into his own wrist and held it over Vergil's mouth. “C’mon open your mouth.” When that earned him absolutely no response, he slapped Vergil's cheek three times.
“Seriously?"
With a sigh, Dante grabbed his brother's jaw and pried it open himself. Crimson blood dripped between Vergil's lips.
Five long minutes passed before a hint of color slowly returned to his face. The horrifying cracks were still there, but at least he no longer looked like a corpse. Dante finally felt his own heartbeat settle. They stayed like that for another fifteen minutes before Vergil's eyes finally fluttered open.
"Morning Verge" Dante deadpanned.
Suddenly, Vergil’s hand shot out. He grabbed Dante's wrist and in one fluid motion, hurled him across the room.
Dante slammed into a wooden shelf with a painful gasp.
He rubbed the back of his throbbing head. "Geez–” Dante wheezed out. Where the hell did the guy get all that strength from? He was so thin he looked like he could collapse from a stiff breeze just last night.
And now Dante's shelf was broken too.
This day just keeps getting better, huh?
"Scratch that, you're still trying to murder me after all. Old habits die hard huh?” Dante pushed himself back onto his feet, leaning against the wall. He lets out a tired sigh. “Not sure if it matters but can you like- not do that for five minutes? I'm tired." He admitted. He hoped Vergil understood he wasn't talking about getting thrown across the room. He'd been tired for years, and he was still trying. Just throw him a bone.
He eyed his brother warily. Dante swallowed. “No matter what you do, I'm not gonna fight you. Had enough of that, of everything, really–”
"...Dante.” Vergil's eyes widened, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Which was bullshit, honestly. It's so unfair because it was supposed to be Dante who got to be surprised! The last twenty four hours had been a giant fever dream! Vergil doesn't get to be baffled.
"Dante…” Vergil tried again and this time, he doubled over in a violent coughing fit.
"What the hell.” Dante hurried over and rubbed circles against his brother's back. "So..." he said carefully, trying to keep things light, "are we gonna fight, or are we actually gonna give this whole family thing a shot? You're making me really confused here, man" he joked. It came out as a joke.
It wasn't. His heart was trying to punch its way out of his ribs again.
When the coughing finally subsided, Vergil slumped back against the headboard and closed his eyes. The crease between his brows refused to leave, like it'd taken permanent residence there.
Dante lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, moving slowly, like he was trying not to spook a wounded animal. "...So are you still trying to kill me?”
Vergil shook his head and Dante's whole body sagged with relief. That's one step forward, alright. "Can you talk?”
Vergil shook his head again. "Well, that's inconvenient. Is it your throat?" This time his twin nodded. “Does it hurt?" Another nod. Alright, this seems to be going somewhere. "But you can write right? Considering you just threw me around like a ragdoll– by the way I'm getting you back for that, just wait until you're recovered.”
Vergil looks at Dante as if he were staring at a vomit covered coat rack. Rude. But he nodded anyway. “Oookay let me just grab a pen or something” He stood up and immediately regretted it, his head was still swimming, healing factor kicking in slower than usual. This really couldn't get any worse.
Dante groaned, his skin was sticky with mud and blood. Ew. And his coat was still ruined, his poor, poor gorgeous coat. He briefly considered abandoning Vergil to take a shower first, but decided to be a good little brother for once instead. He grabbed a notepad and a pen before returning to the bed. He handed it to Vergil who accepted it without any fuss. Huh, that's an improvement.
“So… first question, where the hell have you been?”
Vergil scribbled for a few seconds before handing the pad back. The Underworld. It says.
A cold chill ran down his spine. He does not like where this is going.
Dante snorted. “Heh, Alright, so you survived that fall, spent a decade fucking around in the Underworld chasing power?” He looked up. “Did I get that right?"
Vergil let out an annoyed grumble before writing something much more aggressively. I was never granted freedom during my time in the Underworld. Don't you see how I look right now, you imbecile?
“Ouch." Dante tried to laugh it off, but a knot had already formed in his stomach, he felt sick. He really does not like where this is going at all. "W..who did this to you, Verge?”
At that, Vergil froze. He sucked in a breath and looked away from Dante, Whoever had made his ever proud brother react like that. Dante was going to kill them. Though he already had a pretty good guess. Their father had left behind an impressive collection of enemies. It wasn't hard to figure out which one was powerful enough to reduce one of Sparda's sons to… this.
“Hey, that's alright. You don't have to tell me yet. Let's.. let's move on for now." He gestured awkwardly toward Vergil’s– well. Vergil in general. "What's with the cracked skin? Gotta admit, it's creepy as hell.”
It is an aftereffect. My body has rapidly deteriorated. It seems the one who held me captive irreparably damaged my natural regenerative abilities.
Dante's face crumbled, playful smile disappeared. "It's Mundus isn't it?” His voice came out strained and forced. “It's him isn't it? What did that son of a bitch do to you Vergil? What–”
The lack of eye contact was sending him spiraling, this is even worse than he’d imagined. Vergil clenched his fists. There was something painfully vulnerable hidden beneath that guarded expression. Oh God, they didn't torture his brother did they? What if they did? Every instinct screamed that they had. Dante didn't know what he'd do if that suspicion turned out to be true. Rage and grief mingled together within him.
Not for the first time, he wished he'd followed Vergil into the Underworld. Maybe he could've saved him or just stayed with him. Maybe he wouldn't have to be alone. This is really not the time for a breakdown Dante! Get it together! His brother's the one that needs help right now, not him.
Warm fingers rested lightly against his knuckles. Dante blinked. He looked up to see his brother's concerned gaze. He swallowed nervously. “Sorry. Please go on.”
Vergil lowered his eyes again and wrote one last sentence. We can address this mess later. My stomach is currently waging war against me. Please tell me you have something in your fridge besides two days old pizza?
Dante stared at the note pad for a beat. At this he let out a genuine giggle. “Heh, about that–”
The twins silently agreed to leave the giant elephant in the room where it stood for now, seeing as none of them are currently ready to face it anyway. Vergil smacked Dante upside the head the moment he learned there really was nothing in the fridge except two days old pizza. Something never change.
They’ll figure everything else out. They'll know what to do, somehow, someday, but for now having each other back was enough.