Work Text:
In the middle of the Devil May Cry office living room, a brilliant blue rift continued to tear open, swallowing dust particles and a few leftover slices of pizza on the table. The demonic power emanating from the Yamato blade was resonating with an ancient fragment that the Sparda brothers had just recovered from a mysterious location in the Underworld. Normally, it would have been just a routine cleanup mission, and the two had only recently managed to return. However, the lingering demonic energy from the Qliphoth tree had triggered an uncontrollable chain reaction.
"Vergil! Tell your damn sword to stop right now!" Dante yelled over the howling wind, one hand tightly gripping his favorite fedora while the other hand held onto the devil sword.
Vergil did not answer. The handsome face of the twin brother darkened beneath his slicked-back platinum hair. His leather-gloved hands gripped the sheath of the Yamato tightly, veins bulging on his arms. He attempted to draw the blade to sever the anomalous force, but an invisible, colossal gravitational pull locked them both in place.
Crack!
Space shattered like tempered glass. Red and blue lights intertwined, swallowing both men into the void, leaving behind an empty Devil May Cry office and a slice of pizza hitting the floor with a dull thud.
The dizziness lasted no more than three seconds. But when Dante opened his eyes and crashed hard onto the rough ground, he instantly realized something was wrong. The smell of this place... was all too familiar. It was the scent of demon blood, damp limestone, and a familiar, oppressive dark pressure that made his chest ache.
"Damn it, Vergil. Where the hell did you take us this time?" Dante grumbled as he scrambled up, dusting off his dark red coat.
Vergil was already standing upright. He sheathed the Yamato back into its scabbard with a sharp click, his piercing gaze sweeping across the towering stone walls around them. In the distance, massive gears were turning sluggishly.
"We didn't change locations, Dante" Vergil said coldly, his voice dropping an octave. "We changed times."
Dante froze. His icy blue eyes widened slightly. He looked down at his own hands, they were still the calloused, stubbly hands of a middle-aged man. He hadn't been rejuvenated. Whew, what a relief. For a second, his old brother's words had made him think they were in for some cliché time-travel business...
BOOM
A cataclysmic tremor shook from deep underground. Not far away, the earth split open as if a black hole had unhinged its jaws to swallow everything within a massive radius. Everything collapsed in an instant.
And yet... it reformed in an instant.
From the massive collapsed area in the distance, something horrific and heavy was rising, like a structure forged by the devil itself.
A tower.
"TEMEN-NI-GRU????"
...So they were really in for some cliché time-travel business...
Dante raised his eyebrows, his face contorting into an exact replica of The Scream by Norwegian painter Edvard Munch. "Wa-Wait... If this is Temen-ni-gru, that means..."
It meant they had time-traveled in their physical, present bodies.
"Yes" Vergil interrupted, the corner of his lips twitching into his signature, punchable smirk. "Which means that bratty nineteen-year-old Dante is probably somewhere around here. Either about to arrive, or frantically running through the corridors, bullying wildlife."
The two fifty-year-old men looked at each other. For a brief moment, the tense atmosphere of the temporal accident completely vanished, replaced by an immense thrill of "personal revenge".
"Oh, look who's smiling" Dante crossed his arms, pacing around his brother. "The noble, cold Vergil is actually interested in meeting his edgy teenage brother? Don't tell me you're planning to jump out, wrap him in a hug, and start crying?"
Vergil let out a disdainful scoff and turned away, but his steps were incredibly decisive as he headed toward the path leading to the top of the tower.
"A ridiculous thought, Dante. Do you think I have forgotten your smug face and your mouth that constantly spewed garbage when you were nineteen? That brat needs a lesson. A lesson from someone with true POWER."
"Whoa... hold on, old man! What are you planning to do?" Dante ran up to walk alongside him. "Are you planning to interfere with the past? You're going to use your current power to bully a kid Dante who doesn't even awake Devil Trigger yet?"
"I have a list ready" Vergil said nonchalantly, his hand lightly brushing the hilt of his sword. "I will use Summoned Swords to pin his ragged red coat to the wall. Then, I will stand before him, lecturing him on Motivation and the proper way to wield a greatsword fitting the standards of the House of Sparda. If he is slow to learn, I will confiscate his Rebellion as well."
"Hey, hey, that's crossing the line, brother!" Dante protested. After all these years of 'rehabilitation', the very first thing this guy thought of upon meeting his brother's past self was to bully him? Sheesh!
"Seeing the helpless, infuriated face of your nineteen-year-old self... will be a worthy entertainment for this unintended trip" Vergil added smoothly. "If he gives up, I will steal his pizza box or whatever he's carrying and eat it right in front of his face."
"Cruel!" Dante clutched his chest, feigning agony. "Don't forget that I'm also stronger now than you were back then. Drop your guard for one second, and I'll beat that bratty teen Vergil to a pulp!"
They plotted and schemed as they walked. Vergil mapped out a perfect strategy to "bully" the 19-year-old boy Dante, from making a dramatic appearance from the shadows, to using the coattails of his jacket to slap the kid across the face if he dared talk back. Dante kept adding fuel to the fire by coming up with equally cruel ways to retaliate against teen Vergil, while also brainstorming ways to stop Vergil if his brother went too far. After all, protecting his past self was a matter of protecting his own current self-esteem!
As time passed and they drew closer to the tower, the surrounding atmosphere grew increasingly heavy. Thunder clapped rhythmically from the peak of Temen-ni-gru.
The scent of demon blood grew thicker. And then, there was another sound. The clanking of clashing metal, followed by heavy, staggering footsteps.
The tower had shifted again. Looking back from this outside perspective, everything seemed to happen so much faster than when they were actually the ones running inside it.
The torrential rain was receding, leaving room for the chaotic tremors to fill the air. The smile on Dante’s face vanished, and Vergil’s hand resting on the hilt of his sword froze.
They had arrived at the wrong time. Or rather, the most ruthless time of all.
The final battle between their younger selves had just ended. The entrance to the Demon World was closing beneath the abyss.
At the edge of the cliff, a young, slender figure was turning away in bitter sorrow. His short platinum hair was soaked with rainwater, plastered to his forehead. His once vibrant red coat was now in tatters, drenched in fresh blood and rain, clinging to his violently trembling shoulders.
The nineteen-year-old boy pressed his hand against his chest, where the red amulet, half of his mother’s charm, rested against his cold skin. His shoulders bore the weight of loneliness as he caught the final drops of the dying rain. Even the storm seemed eager to abandon him.
"Vergil..."
The boy’s whisper broke in the wind and rain. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his throat tightening as he tried to swallow a sob.
It's only the rain...
In the shadows, Vergil stood motionless, like a stone statue. He remembered that exact moment. The moment when he himself, driven by a frantic obsession for power, had let go and fallen into the abyss, leaving his brother alone to face a desolate world.
Beside him, Dante closed his eyes tightly, leaning one hand against the stone wall with a heavy sigh. The memory of that day,the day he officially became the loneliest soul in the world, flooded back, vivid and aching.
"Vergil..." Dante called out hoarsely. "Are you..."
But Vergil didn't answer, he had already stepped out of the shadows.
His footsteps were incredibly light, completely muffled by the sound of the rain. He simply walked, step by step, through the thick curtain of rain, heading toward the nineteen-year-old child whose demeanor was bleaker than the after-storm sky.
That child, with the sharp instincts of a half-demon, instantly sensed someone approaching. Startled, he grabbed the hilt of Rebellion, spinning around with a defensive and resentful glare "Who's there?!"
The words caught in his throat.
Standing before him was a tall man. He wore a luxurious blue coat embroidered with elegant patterns, a style strikingly similar to the coat of the Vergil he had just seen fall into the abyss. But this man was older. His face bore the lines of time, and his deep eyes held a weathered sorrow that a nineteen-year-old could not fathom. The murderous aura radiating from him was terrifying, yet at this moment, it was completely suppressed, strangely gentle.
"Vergil...? But how..." The boy's lips trembled. He thought he was seeing an illusion brought on by sheer exhaustion.
Vergil said nothing. He stopped right in front of the boy, and then, to the utter bewilderment of both the kid and his older self watching from afar, Vergil raised his large, warm hand...
...gently ruffled the boy's soaked platinum hair.
"It's alright, kid. Brother will return to you in the end." His voice was warm and steady, like an unshakeable mountain.
The kid completely froze. He had never had his head patted by anyone other than his mother. This sudden tenderness from a man who looked exactly like his brother, yet far more mature, felt like a rush of warm water thawing his frozen heart.
"Are you... really..." Tears threatened to spill again, caught between shock and confusion. He still couldn't comprehend where this "Vergil not Vergil" had come from. He could only stand there silently, bowing his head, letting Vergil’s hand soothe his hair.
Meanwhile, on the balcony corner.
Dante witnessed the entire scene from start to finish. His jaw dropped so low it nearly hit the floor. His face once again painted Edvard Munch’s Scream. His blue eyes darted back and forth between his older brother, who had suddenly turned into a doting sibling, and his younger self, who was behaving as meekly as a wet puppy forced into an unwanted bath.
The sorrow of the past dwelling within Dante was instantly swept away by a wave of sour emotion.
"What the hell is this?!" Dante muttered, blood rushing to his face. He stomped out of the shadows. "Hey! Vergil! What kind of game are you playing?!"
Dante's shout startled the kid, who snapped his head up. The nineteen-year-old's eyes widened in shock as he saw another middle-aged man in a red coat, who looked exactly like him, just older, marching toward them furiously.
Vergil didn't even bother to turn around. His hand continued to stroke the kid’s head with immense patience, his tone fiercely protective: "Quiet, Dante. You are frightening the boy."
"I'm frightening him?!" *Then who's frightening me?!* Dante jumped up, pointing a finger at Vergil's nose. "Look at yourself! Who just came up with a list of eighteen ways to bully your little brother? Who said he were going to pin him to the wall? Steal his pizza? Now at the very moment you see him cry, where's your motivation, Vergil!!?"
The teenage boy looked back and forth between the two older men arguing in utter confusion. He stammered, "Who... who are you two? Why..."
Dante didn't bother answering the kid. He stepped closer to Vergil, venting his frustration: "Back then, I cried my eyes out right here, did you ever turn around to pat my head? No! You jumped straight into hell! You even slashed my hand! I still keep the ripped glove for proof, don't even try to deny it though. Now you're suddenly acting all sweet, pampering him like a doll? Where is my equality?!"
Vergil slowly stood up, casting a look of ultimate disdain at his fifty-year-old brother.
"Your skin now is thicker than the walls of Temen-ni-gru, Dante. Even if you cried, I would find it nothing but a nuisance" Vergil replied coldly. "But the boy right now... he deserves better."
"What?!" Dante rolled up his sleeves. "I'm still your little brother hello? I deserve a head pat too!"
Teenage Dante looked at the middle-aged man in red throwing a childish tantrum before him and suddenly felt... that his future self looked a bit pathetic. He wiped his tears, stood up, looked at Vergil, then at Dante, and stammered, "You two... are us... from the future?"
Vergil sighed, refusing to deal with his green-eyed brother any longer. He turned back to the kid, his gaze softening as he patted the boy's shoulder.
"Yes. Do not worry about the future, boy. That envious fool is your future self, a sloppy, debt-ridden old man, however..." Vergil smirked faintly. "... I will endure him for the rest of my life. I promise."
Hearing this, Dante immediately pushed his way between them, shoving Vergil aside to look down at his nineteen-year-old self. Despite his jealousy, seeing his past self like this softened his heart. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a clean tissue (a miracle it wasn't wet), and tossed it at the kid's face.
"Wipe your face, kid. You look pathetic" Dante grumbled, looking away, though his voice had softened significantly. "And don't listen to that old man in blue. Remember to charge him a royalty fee later for daring to pat your head."
The kid held the tissue, looking at his two future selves. The emotional storm brought on by his brother's departure suddenly lessened by half. He didn't understand how they got here, but their appearance, a gentle Vergil who knew how to comfort him and a goofy, older Dante, was clear proof that Vergil would return. And they would be together again.
A massive bolt of lightning sliced through the sky. The blue temporal rift reappeared right behind the two strange men, radiating a powerful vacuum pull. Their time in the past was up.
"It's time to go" Vergil said, glancing at the rift. He gave the kid one last nod. "We got plenty of time."
"Hey, kid!" Dante shouted over the wind, trying to squeeze in his last words before being pulled in. "Remember to buy lots of pepperoni pizza! And don't let that old guy in blue have a single bite, you hear me?!"
A blinding light flashed and then died out. The two middle-aged men vanished into thin air as fast as they had arrived.
The surroundings returned to their original desolation. But both the sky and the kid's soul felt a little less bleak now.
Young Dante stood alone on the stone platform. In his hand, he still held the tissue from the future, and on his soaked hair, the warmth of Vergil's hand lingered.
He looked down into the abyss where his brother had fallen, then up at the sky where the two had vanished. A small, exhausted but hopeful smile appeared on the nineteen-year-old's lips.
He stuffed the tissue into his torn coat pocket, turned around, slung Rebellion over his shoulder, and walked away with purpose.
"Plenty of time?" he muttered in the rain. "Just you wait, old brother. I'm charging you for that head pat later."
Two heavy figures free-fell from the spatial rift, slamming hard onto the wooden floor of the Devil May Cry office. Dante landed flat on his back, groaning in agonizing pain as he bumped against the edge of the coffee table. Right beside him, Vergil landed in a flawless superhero landing pose, Yamato perfectly sheathed, looking as composed as if he had just taken a stroll in the park rather than jumping across thirty years of time.
The surrounding space returned to normal. The pouring rain of Temen-ni-gru was gone, replaced by the familiar clicking of the ceiling fan and the smell of cold pizza. They were back.
Dante stared up at the ceiling, silent for three seconds. Then, he bounced up like a coiled spring, pointing straight at Vergil's face:
"Explain yourself, Vergil!"
Vergil stood up, nonchalantly brushing non-existent dust off the lapel of his blue coat, casting a look that was half-weary and half-contemptuous at his bristling brother. "What is there to explain? The mission is complete, the temporal anomaly has been purged, and we have returned home safely."
"Don't change the subject!" Dante barked, placing his hands on his hips as he confronted him fiercely. "I'm talking about your out-of-character stunt back at the tower! Your master plan was just perfect, wasn't it? The moment you see a kid, your resolve dissolves like soap bubbles!"
Vergil tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Are you envious of your own nineteen-year-old self, Dante? How pathetic."
Vergil crossed his arms, leaning his back against a nearby pillar, eyeing Dante appraisingly. "The boy at that moment had just lost everything. He had just witnessed his brother fall into hell. My action was merely a minimum act of consolation."
"Well, I want a 'minimum act of consolation' right now too!" Dante stepped closer, his face inches from Vergil's, pointing at his own messy white hair. "Come on, try ruffling it? Are you scared?"
Vergil stared blankly at the top of Dante's head, his face devoid of emotion. He slowly raised his hand, and Dante followed it with an expectant gaze. But instead of a warm head pat, Vergil used two fingers to deliver a sharp, hard flick right to Dante's forehead.
"Ouch! You violent old man!" Dante jumped back, clutching his forehead.
"You are nearly fifty years old, Dante. Your face is thick enough to stop bullets, and your head contains nothing but pizza and strawberry sundaes" Vergil turned away coldly, walking toward his usual single armchair. "Cease this nonsense."
Dante cursed under his breath. Realizing he wouldn't get anything out of his former-villain brother, he stomped over to the fridge, pulled out a can of beer, popped the tab, and chugged it to cool off.
However, the peace in the Devil May Cry office didn't last long.
Ringggg~~~
The dusty red landline telephone suddenly rang loudly. Dante set his beer down and lazily picked up the receiver. "Devil May Cry... Who's this? If it's a debt collector, I'm not home."
"Dante? Is that you?"
The voice on the other end made Dante freeze. It was young, full of life, yet strikingly familiar... and a bit arrogant.
"Nero?" Dante guessed, raising an eyebrow. "No, not the kid. Who is this?"
It wasn't clear what the other side said in that long monologue, but Dante nearly choked on his beer. His eyes went wide as he stared at the receiver, then slowly turned his head to look at Vergil.
"What... What the hell..." Dante stammered. "You... You are..."
"Dante from the Devil May Cry branch office here" the voice on the other end laughed out loud. "Hey, old timer, I'm just calling to let you know that your butterfly effect is amazing. Thanks to that head pat from 'the old man in blue' back then, I was way less depressed. But more importantly... I just sent an express invoice to your place."
"An invoice? What invoice?!" Dante had a terrible gut feeling.
"An invoice for the head pat royalties plus accumulated interest over the last thirty years" his past self said cheerfully. "It's a grand total of one hundred thousand Red Orbs. Morrison will be over to collect soon. Catch ya later~"
The call disconnected. Dante stood frozen for five seconds, the phone slipping from his hand.
He whipped around to look at Vergil, who had just picked up his book to read. Dante’s face was no longer filled with jealousy, but with total, crushing financial despair.
"VERGIL!!!" Dante roared, lunging frantically toward his brother. "Your cute, ‘deserved better’ nineteen-year-old little brother just charged us one hundred thousand Red Orbs!!!"
Vergil raised an eyebrow slightly at his wailing brother, then nonchalantly flipped to the next page of his book, dropping a frosty line
"Not us, you"
"What?"
"This office is registered under your name. So... your money, your debt. What does that have to do with me?"
The Devil May Cry office erupted once again that day with the familiar sounds of clashing blades. Only this time, it wasn't to save the world, it was over a hundred-thousand-Red-Orb head pat from the past.