Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A rhythm beat behind his eyes. Mate. Mine. Mate. Mine.

Vergil gritted his teeth behind closed lips. His nostrils flared as a new scent cut through the blood and miasma, earthy and sweet like fresh leather. Trails of fire lit up his veins, spreading up through his limbs, his shoulders, straight to his core where it settled into a warm smolder. He’d never caught this particular scent before, but he could guess who it might be attached to even before he looked.

His fingers flexed, clenching and unclenching in a fist, as the burning feeling morphed into a pressured ache in his chest and pants, familiar and suffocating. He’d felt it at least a dozen times over the course of his life, but the blood pounding in his ears now was compulsion, not merely suggestion, as it had been in the past.

The tails of his coat flared out as he spun, red peeking out from under the blue as the air caught them, and faced the object of this obsession.

Dante was poised by the door, a challenge burning in his blue eyes. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, holding Rebellion aloft one-handed to point it straight at Vergil’s chest.

He was also off. He favored his left leg more heavily than usual, and Rebellion’s steel quivered in the air, magnifying even the faintest trembles in the wrist holding it.

“Dante…” He crooned.

Dante rolled back onto his heels, and his arm loosened so Rebellion was pointed about half a centimeter lower. It lasted barely a blink before he was back on the tips of his toes, and one less observant—or perhaps less familiar—than Vergil could be forgiven for missing it entirely.

Vergil’s lips twisted into an ironic smile.

Of course it would be him. The only person who ever dared stand in his way, who was worthy of standing in his way. His fiercest enemy, most hated rival, the other half of his soul. The only thing left in this world worth protecting.

“You should have gone home,” Vergil said.

I’m glad you came.

“What can I say? Someone’s gotta keep you in line.” The smirk on his lips quivered with the effort of keeping it up.

The thrumming voice in Vergil’s head grew louder, faster, more insistent as the pair began circling each other. Vergil with his careful, measured steps, and Dante with his erratic, limping ones.

Mine claim mine claim mine claim–! He’d slam Dante down and tear his name into his flesh with his bare claws, over and over, until his body gave out and stopped trying to heal it.

Dante ran at him, a roar on his lips as his sword cleaved the air in two. His motion was clumsy and wide, and Vergil dodged to the side easily. Steel clanged against the ground and Dante froze, eyes wide and stunned for a fraction of a second as he processed his miss.

That fraction was all Vergil needed. He stepped inside Dante’s guard and popped Yamato out of its sheath just an inch. The hilt slammed into Dante’s chest with enough force to crack ribs.

His brother stumbled back, a hand on the bruised flesh that rapidly transformed from black to blue to yellow. Dante’s eyes were darting around the room like a caged animal seeking an escape route, but he’d sealed his fate the moment he stepped foot in this room.

Vergil sheathed his sword fully again. He let his right hand relax at his side.

“Quit messing with me! Fight like you mean it!”

Dante swung his sword again, more wildly than the last. His brother had always fought with a clumsy inelegance, all flash and cool with little regard for technique, but now it hardly resembled even that disgraceful “style”. He moved more akin to a marionette piloted by an inexperienced puppeteer. That he was standing at all was impressive, let alone swinging around a massive Devil Arm, but his willpower could only take him so far.

Vergil deflected the blow with Yamato’s scabbard. Dante’s arm left his chest wide open for another blow, but Vergil didn’t take advantage of it.

Dante was panting heavily now, as if the air were viscous and clogging his lungs. His bangs were wet with sweat and he had to lean against Rebellion’s hilt to keep himself standing, but he was still standing.

That warmth in Vergil’s core ignited again. His tongue ran behind his teeth, playing with the sharp edge of a fang. Pain pricked at it and the taste of blood danced across his tongue, grounding him to the fight at hand.

Patience.

The tip of Rebellion dragged against stone as Dante tried to heft it up. Sparks flew at their heels and a gash trailed behind him, but Vergil paid them no mind as he danced out of the way. The momentum of his swing carried him forward, well past where Vergil had been standing just a moment before, and Vergil took the opportunity. His fingers curled around Dante’s outstretched wrist and twisted.

Rebellion clattered to the ground beside them. Vergil shoved his shoulder hard against Dante’s, sending his brother stumbling back, tripping over his own feet. His back hit the ground hard and he rolled a good ten feet before he slid to a stop on his side.

His left arm was twisted under him, wrist wrenched all the way around and snapped to a ninety degree angle. The shoulder of his coat was shredded and the skin of his bloodied back was peeking through. Though it was impossible to tell what blood was his own, and what blood had come from the remnants of Vergil’s ritual.

“I expected more of a fight from you, little brother.”

Dante’s fingers curled against the stones, nails scraping against it like a chalkboard. He’d managed to push himself to his stomach, but the weakness in his arms was obvious. It took him two attempts before he could get upright, and even then he only managed to make it to his knees.

He was more blood than skin and cloth, torso and coat spattered deep red. Even more was soaking into the fabric of his pants, painting red blossoms against the leather. Vergil’s blood. Vergil’s scent. Vergil’s claim.

Vergil nudged the hilt of Rebellion with his toe, as if he was going to slide it back over to Dante so they could continue. He toyed with the idea for a moment, pushing it back and forth against the ground with his foot.

“You look good on your knees.”

Dante was done. There was no use prolonging this boring exchange. He wouldn’t be putting up anything close to a fight even if he got Rebellion back. He kicked the Devil Arm in the opposite direction, toward the edge of the room. It clattered down the ledge of the dias and clanked against the wall in some dark corner.

Dante’s throat loosed the tiniest whimper. His whole body trembled like a leaf in the pressure of an approaching storm, until tension shot through his shoulder muscles to brace himself.

His demon purred in anticipation.

“This is cheating!” Dante snapped, breathless, barely keeping his voice level. “What did you do to me?”

Vergil closed another inch between them. The tremble in Dante’s spine grew to a full blown shiver, and his brother had to wrap his arms around his center to keep it from bleeding into his limbs.

Of course Dante had neglected learning much about his demon side, just as he’d neglected the demon side itself.

“Must I explain everything to you?”

The blank look he received in response indicated, yes, he did. He waved his hand at Dante’s near-prone form in an exaggerated motion.

“You’re in heat.”

“So?”

Vergil took another step closer. This time, Dante bared his teeth at him in a snarl, a warning shot. He’d reached the border of Dante’s nest. Shiny new fangs had taken the place of his woefully blunt human canines.

He prowled around Dante, keeping the same distance the whole way around, sizing him up. He’d chosen a circle about five feet in diameter as his nest and, unmarked as it was, it was very real. Dante would defend it tooth and nail. He could enter if he wanted. The only thing stopping him was Dante, and if their fight earlier was any indication, his brother didn’t stand a chance.

Cold disgust slithered into his stomach at the thought.

He finished his circuit. In the minute or so he’d taken, his brother had gotten visibly worse as the reality of his heat settled in. His mouth was hanging open and gasping for air, and his shoulders were hunched as he gripped his stomach. He was no longer able to contain the shivers; his knuckles were white and his face pale as he kneaded his hands against his sides.

He couldn’t have picked a worse time—or place—to go into full blown heat. The space was wide open, and he hadn’t accumulated any items of comfort to form his nest. Dante was strong enough to fight off anything else that might attack him, but it wouldn’t be a pleasant, safe, or comfortable heat without a mate to protect him.

Vergil slid his coat off of his shoulders and tossed it at Dante. A token, and a request. His heart stopped as he watched it sail through the air, questioning for a split second if Dante would catch it. 

He did.

Dante clutched it close to his chest, and the air inhabiting this gloomy chamber was disrupted by pleased chirrups as he nuzzled the leather.

“You’re mine.” Vergil stepped over the invisible barrier between them and knelt right in front of Dante. He gripped his mate’s jaw with both hands and drew his face up. Dante bared his teeth, but his skin was already looking more flush and healthy with Vergil close. “I’m going to ruin you.”

He crashed their lips together, tongue rolling and teeth clashing against Dante’s stubbornly pursed mouth. He knotted his fingers in Dante’s hair and yanked so hard he gasped, allowing the entrance Vergil sought.

Claim claim claim claim claim–!

Their blood mixed on his chin. Dante’s tongue thrashed wildly against his, fighting for dominance, and his fangs nipped at Vergil’s lips. Weak hands knotted themselves in Vergil’s shirt, pushing and pulling at his body like a tide that had lost its moon.

His hands slipped under the lapels of Dante’s coat and kneaded at his bare chest with his palms. Fingers traced across his sides and over his toned stomach, following the pathways of his muscles and bones. The voice, his demon, whatever it was, rumbled in pleasure.

Mate is healthy. Mate is strong. Nestling will be safe.

His finger curled under the strap connecting Dante’s coat and tore it away. Such a flimsy thing to rely on… The two halves of fabric separated, and one sleeve slid down Dante’s arm to expose his bare shoulder.

Dante ripped himself away from Vergil’s embrace, scrambling to pull it back up.

“Now you want to be decent? When you’ve been running around like that all evening?” He nodded to Dante’s bare chest.

“Piss off.”

He threaded his fingers through Dante’s bangs and slammed his head backward. The back of his brother’s head cracked against the stone ground like a clap of thunder, and the flash of murkiness in his blue eyes told Vergil he’d done some damage to his vision with the blow, if only for a second.

“You reek,” he snarled. He ground Dante’s head into the blood-soaked floor until his snow-white locks were tinged pink. “You should only smell of me. No one else.”

Not even yourself.

Dante squirmed until his eyes went glassy and unfocused, and his throat loosed a resigned whine. Both his arms were around Vergil’s coat, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline.

“Good.” Vergil stroked a bloodied thumb over Dante’s cheek, then kissed it.

“S-something’s wrong… with me… I’m…” Dante wriggled his hips against Vergil’s knee. His breathing hitched into the start of tears. “H-help…”

Vergil hooked his fingers in Dante’s belt loops and ripped them down. His eyes raked over the exposed flesh, looking for injury or anomaly, but found nothing out of the ordinary. His thighs were soaked with the slick that laid bare his demonic nature. His body clenched and released, begging to be filled.

“Not wrong. Ready for me. Made for me.” How dare his mate call himself wrong.

Vergil wiped away the bloodied tears streaking across his face with a tenderness that might almost be called affection.

“Don’t be afraid. You’re mine.”

Dante’s body finally went limp under him. His legs went slack and his knees fell to the side, at least as far as the pants tangled around his calves would allow.

Vergil slid between them, caging Dante’s body with his own, jealously covering him from the view of stone busts above their heads. No one else was worthy of this. Deserved this. His fingers flexed against Dante’s bare thighs, mimicking the motions of gouging eyes. He shot a glance to the edges of the room, a half-feral growl on his lips to warn anyone—or anything—that might be peeking in from the dark corners.

He fumbled his way out of his own pants, guided more so by instinct than by any practical experience, and sheathed himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. Perfect.

Made for me.

Dante was his and no one else’s. Dante was his and no one else’s. His chest pressed against Dante’s, forearms braced around his head. His whole body rocked back against the ground with each thrust. Leather scraped against stone and skin slapped frantically against skin. Dante’s back arched into him and his legs squeezed around his midsection, as if he, too, wanted to crawl inside of Vergil’s body and settle there for the rest of eternity.

“Ver… gil..!” He buried his face in Vergil’s coat to muffle his moans.

“Let them hear you,” Vergil growled. He ripped his coat away from Dante’s mouth, and punctuated it with another slow, rough thrust that sent ripples of pleasure up his spine.

Dante bit his lip instead.

He knotted his right hand in the hair at Dante’s nape and yanked his head back, exposing his bare throat to the world. He was panting, adam’s apple bobbing with each labored breath, each whine, each muffled groan of pleasure.

The rhythm in his head rose to a scream.

MatemineclaimclaimclaimCLAIM—

Vergil’s teeth snapped around Dante’s throat, laying claim to even the lifeblood that flowed through his veins. His tongue lapped at torn flesh like a parched man reaching an oasis in the desert, leaving not even a single drop wasted. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, but so unlike the sickly human treats he’d spent his younger years consuming.

He groaned, noise muffled by Dante’s neck. The coil building pressure deep in his core snapped and his vision went white. He spilled his seed inside, locked their bodies together with his knot. 

There was nowhere in his brother he couldn’t touch, couldn’t claim, couldn’t ruin. He lapped at his neck proudly.

The pounding rhythm in his head finally went silent. He half collapsed on top of Dante, pinning him firmly to the ground with his weight.

“Verge…” Dante whined. “Let me go. H-hurts…”

Dante’s hips tugged against his overly-sensitive cock. Gently, exploratory at first, but then his squirming grew more frenetic as the pressure in his stomach built. His fingers were clawing at his slightly-bloated midsection, covered now with his own seed.

“Shhhhh…”

Vergil pressed his forearm against Dante’s mouth to muffle his complaints. The other pressed against Dante’s lower back to help him tilt his hips up.

A sharp pain streaked up his arm. Dante’s teeth were around his wrist, sunk down so his flesh was flush with gums. Quiet, wet slurping sounds filled his ears and his vision went fuzzy. The voice, briefly quieted, shrieked in satisfaction.

The frantic squirming relaxed, until the only motion beneath him was labored breathing and the bobbing of Dante’s throat as he drank.

“That’s right,” Vergil purred. His fingers stroked through Dante’s sticky, sweaty hair. “Mark me. Make me yours, my mate.”

He pulled his arm back when the fuzziness turned to lightheadedness. Dante’s eyes peered up at him, half lidded, and his mouth was hanging open, teeth and tongue painted deep red. His cheeks were flush with life again, and there was a dribble of blood skating down his chin. Vergil wiped it away with a careful brush of his thumb.

He watched in shock and fascination as his wrist healed. The skin where Dante’s teeth had been stitched itself back together strangely. Where the rest of him would have healed identically to how it had been before, this patch wound itself back together in such a way that the skin was raised. A prominent, jagged white scar in the shape of teeth was the only thing left behind.

Dante snatched his arm back and sank his teeth back into every inch of bare flesh he could find, drinking Vergil down until his vision was going black at the edges. Every place teeth touched healed in the same manner as the first, and Vergil’s forearm was now a constellation of raised, white bite marks.

Dante rolled his hips against him again. The connection between their bodies had slacked and Vergil’s cock slipped out of him. A long, thin trail of his seed followed, though not as much as he would have expected given the slight swell of Dante’s stomach.

Dante ground his hips down against his thigh insistently, grunting with need, staining his pants with the evidence of their mating frenzy.

“Later. Sleep now,” he commanded, and surprisingly Dante complied. His eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened out near instantly.

Vergil carded his fingers through Dante’s hair and prodded him to expose his neck again. The skin around his throat had already healed in the exact same manner as Vergil’s arm. Two raised, white arches bracketed either side of his throat.

He traced the new scars with a feather-light touch. Prominent on the front of his neck. Easy to see, difficult to hide.

Proof that you’re Mine.

Vergil rolled them both onto their sides and tangled their legs together. He curled tightly around Dante’s body, a makeshift shield against the world, suffocatingly close. His soul complete again, maybe for the last time.

Chapter Text

He still remembered the faint aroma of smoke and sulfur.

If he closed his eyes in this dead silent room and focused on Dante’s steady, even breaths, then he could almost pretend its weight was wrapped around him once again like a warm blanket. The two of them would be tucked comfortably into the couch beside the fire, each under one of their father’s protective arms.

Dante would be snoring lightly with his cheek pressed against their father’s thigh or stomach, while Vergil would be gazing up in rapt attention as he told them all kinds of stories about his home and his adventures. He would follow Vergil’s breadcrumb trail of questions until mother popped her head in the room and insisted upon enforcing bedtime.

The story at the forefront of his mind now was one their father had told shortly before he’d disappeared.

They’d been training in the fields surrounding their home on a sweltering day, and Father had taken off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Along his forearm were a collection of scars, old and faded, barely visible.

“What are those?” He’d asked, pointing to his arm. Then Dante had jumped on his back and peeked over the top of his head to follow his gaze exactly, mouth agape at the new revelation.

“Yeah dad, what are those?!”

He’d wriggled under Dante’s weight to try and shake him off. “Get off of me!”

“Make me!”  

His tongue had scraped over Vergil’s scalp and through his hair. The wet, sticky texture had sent a full body shiver through him, and his hands immediately went up to scratch at the area to dull the sensation. The urge to dunk his head in the river was kept in check only by his desire to avoid how annoying Dante would be about it in the aftermath.

He’d rocked back on his heels and slammed his weight down in an attempt to crush Dante into the ground, but he’d been smart enough to let go before that could happen. Soon they were both rolling around in the dirt with their hands at each other’s throats, and Father had to pick them both up and hold them apart by the scruffs of their necks. By now mother was standing at the door, arms crossed disapprovingly.

“I believe your mother wants us for dinner. I’ll tell you the story after you’ve both cleaned up.”

So Vergil had found himself pouting in the tub as Dante’s shampoo covered fingers scratched through his scalp, and dinner had been a quiet affair with minimal food flinging. Several hours later they’d found themselves on the couch once again, clean of all the mud and sweat, dressed in their matching pajamas and tucked under their father’s arms. Dante was fast asleep and snoring softly while Vergil listened eagerly.

He’d rolled up his sleeve again to display the assortment of faded, white semi-circle scars. The indentations in his skin were studded, like teeth. Vergil had poked at them curiously, and although he could hardly see them, he could feel them raised against his father’s skin.

“These scars represent an unbreakable vow for demons. We give them to our mates.”

“Mates?”

“Yes. Our mates… They’re someone we want to protect,” he’d said. “Someone we love more than anyone in the world.”

And Vergil had scrunched up his nose, because having a mate sounded an awful lot like having a twin, and he didn’t want to be stuck with another Dante forever.

“That sounds awful.”

“Some day you’ll find a mate of your own,” he’d said with a chuckle as he ruffled Vergil’s hair. “Then you’ll understand.”

The memory dissolved into the noise at the back of his mind. He cracked his eyes open, returned once again to the cold, blood-soaked sacrificial chamber. Dante was gently snoring in the protective embrace of his own arms.

My mate…

Their father had been full of it. Making it all about protection and love were the fairytale lies told to protect ignorant children from reality, because that was only half of what made up the darkness that swirled in his heart every time he looked at Dante. He wanted to own him. He wanted to hollow him out and fill him back up until there was nothing but thoughts of Vergil left in him. He wanted Dante to love only him, look at only him, speak only his name and breathe only by his grace.

His fingers stroked circles over Dante’s bare stomach. He couldn’t see it, tucked under Vergil’s coat as he was, but the slight swell of his abdomen hadn’t gone down in the hour or so they’d been lying here. He laid both hands over it protectively, cold palms leeching heat from his too warm core.

Dante’s head tilted forward slightly and he nuzzled into the lining of Vergil’s coat. The steady rhythm of his breathing was interrupted by one long, deep breath and a little sigh that stirred up all of the dark feelings Vergil had been trying to tamp down for the better part of the hour. Every possible inch of Vergil’s body was pressed against Dante’s, and yet that little sigh made it inadequate. He wanted to pin him down, tear into his flesh with his teeth and claws, and crawl inside of his skin.

The heartbeat thumping against his chest grew quicker. Dante’s body arched away from his, and Vergil’s arms snapped around him tightly to yank him back. His own heart slammed in his chest to match.

Where are you going? You can’t leave me. You can’t ever leave me.

“Clingy bastard,” his brother mumbled against the lining of his coat.

“You’re one to talk, little brother.” The most prominent memories of his childhood all involved Dante following him around like a lost puppy, begging for his attention. He supposed this wasn’t too different. How much of the evening had Dante spent chasing him through Temen-ni-gru?

“I–” The word died in a soft whimper as Vergil’s teeth nibbled at his earlobe.

His blood was on fire again, roiling in his veins like the ocean in the midst of a tempest. His death grip on his midsection loosened so his hands could wander over his bare chest and stomach, down toward his belt buckle.

A sharp elbow slammed into his ribs and Dante rolled away, or at least tried to. His limbs got tangled up in Vergil’s coat. His panic flailing—like a cat trying to fight its way out of a paper bag—gave Vergil ample time to pounce after him. They rolled together, a tangle of limbs and teeth fighting for dominance. There was no voice chanting in his ear, but the melody that sang through his blood had grown no duller.

He came out on top again. His coat was splayed out under Dante’s body and both of his hands pinned Dante’s wrists above his head. He had one knee on his thigh to prevent him from taking any more cheap shots.

“So eager to fight me already?” Vergil growled, smirking. Dante’s hips bucked against the pressure of his knee in a weak, desperate bid to free himself.

“Been this way our whole lives, hasn’t it?”

Vergil’s fingers flexed against his skin in anticipation. His eyes roamed over the angry red scar at Dante’s throat. He dove down to kiss Dante’s jaw and neck, his tongue lingering at his claim. His chest vibrated pleasantly as he lavished it with attention.

“Hey, knock it off!” Dante squirmed under him. His resistance grew more haphazard, but also more forceful. “What kind of game are you playing?!”

He pulled back to get a better look at his brother’s face. Dante’s mouth was open and panting and his cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were darting around the room, conflicted, vulnerable.

“You think this is a game?”

Dante bit his lip, the war on his face evident, before he finally said, “Didn’t think you’d be taking that ‘how about a kiss from your little brother’ line so literally.”

It stung like a bullet to his chest.

Of course. The same stupidity that had led him to run around a demon-infested tower in full blown heat probably also informed his understanding of what had just transpired between the two of them. Or, more specifically, his lack of understanding.

The dark part of him urged him to pin Dante down and take him until he was hoarse from screaming and fully aware of who he belonged to. The niggling voice in the back of his head couldn’t shake the image of him sobbing in fear, flinching at the mere motion of Vergil’s hands.

“Tch.” He let go of Dante’s wrists and settled back onto his heels.

The moment Dante was free he rolled up to his feet. His hand trailed behind him, fingers tangled up in the lining of Vergil’s coat as he dragged it with him. He tied the leather sleeves around his waist automatically, then went for the missing hilt at his back.

The sting dulled in his chest, if only a little. Dante’s body told truths even if his mind hadn’t yet recognized them.

“You really don’t understand anything, do you?” Vergil asked.

“Never was the best student Vergil, you know that.” His hand went for his white gun instead. He spun it on his index finger once before his palm settled on the grip. The safety clicked. “You gonna pick up your sword and fight, or are you just going to sit there?”

Vergil was torn between amusement that he thought a gun would be in any way useful, and frustration at Dante feeling the need to put any weapon between them at all. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head, joints popping as he worked out the stiffness in them from lying in the same position for an hour. When he opened them again Dante wasn’t looking at him. His entire face was as red as his coat and his teeth were worrying at his bottom lip.

“I suppose you still need to be put in your place. Very well.” He summoned Yamato to his hand and pointed it to his right. If Dante still had reservations then he doubted there was much he could say to change his mind. He would just have to show him how perfectly they fit together. “Rebellion is over there somewhere. Surely you don’t intend to fight with just that human toy.”

The instant Rebellion’s hilt met Dante’s hand their blades were locked once again, and they were back to speaking their shared language of blood and violence. They danced back through the room dodging and clashing. Dante’s body anticipated his every swing, and his reflexes left little for Vergil to take advantage of.

If he didn’t know better he’d think Dante was trying to seduce him. The longer the fight wore on the more difficult it was to ignore the growing blood flow to his pants.

In the end they fought to a standstill. Their blades locked and Dante grinned at him, eyes shining with predatory desire. Vergil had to muster whatever remained of his self control to refrain from dispensing with the blades and bringing it back to the realm of claws and teeth and other blood engorged organs.

He heard it before he saw it. The missile-like projectiles disrupted the deathly still air around them like pebbles on a glass-smooth pond. It was aimed straight at his chest, set to fly just past Dante’s right arm. In that microsecond he glanced up, then shoved Dante back out of the way. He caught the rockets mid-air with Yamato and flicked them onto the cold stone.

Arkham’s daughter was glaring up at him, her rocket launcher pointed right between his eyes. Though the intimidation factor was reduced somewhat by her tear-stained cheeks.

“Sorry, but this is no place for a little girl. So beat it,” Dante snapped at her.

Vergil nodded slightly along with the statement, suppressing the embarrassed growl at the back of his throat. This stupid girl had no idea what she’d just interrupted. She hardly counted as competition, but Dante was for his eyes alone. Not just when they were fighting, but especially when they were fighting.

“Shut up!”

She fired again. Dante dodged. Vergil followed after, but the magic of the moment was broken with this girl’s interruption. They were both forcibly yanked back to the cold reality where they were not simply fighting as a form of courtship.

The point hammered home yet again when Arkham, the traitorous worm, reappeared acting the buffoon he was.

The last thing Vergil remembered was the back of his head hitting the ground and the world blinking black. When he regained consciousness the space around him was pitch black. Even with his enhanced vision, he could barely make out the silhouettes of the walls around him. The air was thin and choked with dust, and if he’d been some normal human he might have suffocated.

He was on his back, arms twisted and squished against the walls of the narrow space. Any pain had long since passed, his vertebrae healed from the shock of landing. There was still a sharp rock jutting into his right kidney, but there was no blood. Merely discomfort.

He took a deep breath of the empty air.

Dante…

He couldn’t sense him nearby. The melody that sang through his blood had devolved into a raucous cacophony, then silence that choked his lungs worse than the air or the dust.

He turned over the image of Dante in his head, teary and panting beneath him, crying his name, holding on to him like he was the thin string separating life from death. It filled his chest with a dull ache.

He wanted to cage him like a beautiful, exotic bird and keep him selfishly locked away where no one could ever touch him or hurt him… and that was exactly why he knew he shouldn’t. The harder he fought to keep Dante, the more unbearable it would be when he was ripped away.

He’d lost sight of the mission. Dante wasn’t his goal, even if his traitorous heart disagreed with his head on the matter. He needed power. He’d just been bested by some buffoon in a circus costume. He wasn’t close to having the power to protect himself, let alone Dante.

His stupid, stubborn brother would understand some day. When everything he loved was ripped away, he would understand why Vergil did this.

He wriggled free of the crevice and pushed forward until he reached a space open enough to slash a portal with Yamato. The front of Temen-ni-gu appeared before him, and fresh night air rushed into the narrow space, damp and earthy from the rain.

I’m coming…

Chapter Text