Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After the first weeks, hell became repetitive. Mile after mile of irregular, dark terrain, surrounded by bizarre shapes and a foul air with a smell he had stopped noticing a while ago, in a place that irradiated a strange and uncomfortable heat despite the absence of a sun.

Dante walked with no purpose, only aware of the echo of his own steps and his loneliness in such eternal gloom. The motorcycle had been forgotten long time ago at some place in hell, nothing more than a bundle of scrap and another debt to add to a too long list. Now, he could only walk through half of hell with the few possessions he had managed to save: his pair of guns, Evory and Ivory; the Rebellion firmly strapped to his back, and the Little supply bag Trish had practically forced him to carry into the misión “just in case”, and which Dante had not thrown away yet not for a real need, but simply because it reminded him of his friend’s genuine concern. He doubted anything in that bag could be useful for an indefinite stay in the underworld.

He sighed with a grimace. Truth be told, at that moment he wouldn’t have minded to hear Trish’ scolding. For the first time in a long while, there were no demons around, and thus the place sank in a heavy silence, only broken by his own steps.

Dante hated those moments. It was a lot easier at the beginning, after throwing himself there in search of Argosax, when he had found horde after horde of demons, and every second of his way he found himself immersed in the deathly dance of his sword, Ebony and Ivory’s bullets, and his own labored breathing. There were no thoughts then, only the rhythmic routine of the demon hunter and his body moving itself on pure instinct. Dante knew that world, he knew how to move in it. He lived in it.

What he couldn’t stand was the dark, oppressive silence, that reminded him things he rather forget.

The echo of Vergil’s painful screams in Mallet Island when, without knowing, had ended with his life. The silence that followed, when he picked from the ground the other half of the amulet and had discovered the horrible truth. The emptiness that followed him when, even during the frenetic escape, Dante was unable to stop thinking about his brother, feeling the empty space of his absence… the blood that he kept seeing on his hands, no matter how much he tried to erase it…

Dante stopped with a gasp, unable to inhale no matter how much he tried. He grabbed his chest, where he could feel his wild heart and his faltering breathing. He cursed the calm of the abyss that suddenly forced him to face his own sorrow.

He wondered at that moment what the hell was he doing there, walking aimlessly in search for an exit. After all, what was there for him in the human world? The carbonized remains of a house, the lonely and too much empty room of the Devil May Cry, people who sooner or later must go away to carry on with their lives. What should he want to go back for? This was his father’s kingdom; maybe, this was where…

Dante’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized Vergil’s words inside his mind, the words he said that fateful day his brother had chosen to stay and had condemned himself, and Dante, to a life of pain.

Remembering him made him clench his fist in rage, holding Rebellion’s hilt with such strength that the design hurt his fingers. He had been an idiot; he should have followed him, he should have stretched his hand enough, damn it! He should have dragged him along with the edge of Yamato all the way back, if only with that he could… none of this would have happened if he had been faster. There would be no Nelo Angelo, no Mallet Island, and then… then Vergil would be alive.

Dante laughed at himself. So much time trying not to think, evading the guilt and pain that devoured him from the inside with a façade of carelessness and indifference, and it was useless. The sorrow was there, as fresh and painful as the first day after Mallet Island. At this point, it seemed it would never go away. If he closed his eyes, Dante could still feel Vergil’s essence, barely perceptible among the debris and darkness left by Mundus, trying to reach him while he failed to recognize him on time…

He flinched, and stopped almost immediately when he noticed a presence more real than his tormented memories. It was not Vergil’s, of course. It couldn’t be, no matter how much Dante wished for it, but it was undoubtedly a familiar presence, that stood out among that strange calm in the way as a mantle, or a warning to any demon that dared to pass.

No doubt, that was the reason why the area was so empty. Whatever it was that was stalking in the proximity was more powerful than the lesser demons Dante had found often. It was obvious they avoided the area to save their sorry asses. But he was no lesser demon trembling with fear, and the idea of a powerful creature watching his steps, awaiting the moment to attack, was not one he liked; therefore, instead of continuing on his way he tried to locate his invisible foe with more precision, leaving the improvised track to go into what seemed to be a withered, gray forest.

A part of him wondered what was he doing. Hell was plagued with demons, what difference one or two on the proximity would it make? He could have followed the path, and don’t give a fuck about whatever was in that forest while it didn’t try to attack him. But something called to him, as if his own instinct scream that this one was different… or maybe it was only his sorrow, so overwhelming that a fight sounded like a balm of peace; to fight, to run, to bleed, anything was better than the silence and loneliness that unleashed his sadness. He guessed a stalking demon was a good option for a distraction.

Although he was expecting it, the sudden display of hostility the moment he set foot in the withered forest made him gasp in surprise. The demon’s essence exploded like a grenade, and the shadows of the scarce trees trembled and then moved towards him like blood-thirsty claws. Dante jumped on pure instinct just when the shadows materialized in a row of sharp needles, as thick as his legs, that destroyed the soil around while a strange roar echoed in the air.

Just when he landed in a safe place, Dante managed to see the dark, elegant figure of a panther, that fell in front of him coming from who knows where; it fixed his eyes on the demon hunter, and menaced him again with that throaty roar.

Shadow. Perfect. Dante held Rebellion’s hilt and placed his free hand next to Ebony, ready to attack the moment the shadow panther launched the second attack… but the demon, on the contrary, didn’t move.

Dante frowned. Shadow demons were fierce and territorial, and once you found one there was no way of making them back off except killing them; also, it was obvious the demon was not happy at all with his presence, judging by the way it showed its fangs and the supernatural glow of its red eyes. Why, then, it refused to attack?

Suddenly, something clicked on his mind, and Dante tensed. On Mallet Island, the first Shadow he found had not appeared at random: it was protecting something important, acting like some sort of twisted test of courage. This panther must be guarding something… yeah, that was it. And it had to me something ridiculously important for the demon to stand there, unwilling to attack and leave its treasure unprotected.

Dante evaluated his position. He didn’t know what it was that the shadow was guarding, but in hell there could be hundreds of arcane artifacts that were worth protecting, many of which could cause innumerable damage if they reached the human world. The demon could even be protecting a way, an entrance, a portal. With a little luck, a portal to the human world.

It was a remote and farfetched possibility, but it wasn’t as if Dante had many options to begin with. Whatever the shadow protected, it was important, and he couldn’t just ignore it.

—Well, lady kitty… time to play —he said, not knowing why he suddenly referred to the demon as a female. Well, it was a panther, and he supposed the animal evoked a female personality in his mind… whatever.

Dante launched himself against the panther with a fearlessness that Trish or Lady will surely have criticized as imprudent. The shadow shook, and her figure trembled for a millisecond and then melted on the ground, tracing a deathly line of black needles that tried through all means to pierce him or nail him to the ground. Dante avoided then quickly, using Rebellion to cut any needle close to him without stopping. To his surprise, the moment he seemed to pass the shadow, she jumped and rolled in the air, forming a sharp disc of darkness that fell against the hunted in an almost desperate line, which forced Dante to stop and retreat, firing a couple rounds now he had his rival on sight.

Shadow melted on the ground again, protecting itself from any damage while Dante used the moment to jump and try to look behind her. He saw the same dark ground of before, the same withered branches… no portal, no artifacts, only a small mound of what seemed to be black branches, arranged in some sort of… was that a nest?

The demon roared as her only warning when shadow jaws emerged from the ground, approaching until they managed to bite one of Dante’s legs. He cursed under his breath, but there was little he could do when the shadow shook him in the air like a puppet, and dragged him with her until she crashed him against the ground.

Dante cursed again, but he managed to aim enough to fire a couple of times in the open muzzle of the shadow, which growled and retreated with a furious roar before disappearing yet again. The demon hunted didn’t even allow himself to evaluate his wounds; he felt at least the stinging when the skin on his leg closed, and his demonic blood healed the deep cuts, while the shadow attacked again, turning herself into four sharp spears that launched themselves against Dante, forcing him to step back again while the demon remained in her place, standing between him and whatever it was behind her.

That was strange. Once and again, Dante tried to force her to move, and every time the shadow refused to give up her position. However, there was nothing behind her that looked of worth to any demon or human, except that strange nest of branches. Intrigued, Dante wondered if it was some kind of den where the shadow hid her offsprings. If they did have offsprings. How in hell these things reproduced? Were there really little demon kitties running around between…? It sounded so ridiculous that Dante wondered if he was losing his mind, but, what other explanation there was? The shadow behaved, exactly, like a mother protecting her cubs.

—Well, there’s only one way to know —he gasped, and in the next attack he gave a powerful jump, held the Rebellion with force, and launched a cut with all his strength against the body of the shadow.

Just as he expected, she had no option but to fade again, leaving the improvised nest on full sight for a moment. Dante scanned the area quickly, expecting to see a couple of red eyes looking back at him between the branches, or the familiar trembling of the shadows every time one of them moved…

However, what he saw was an arm, so pale that it seemed to shine in the shadows, as still as a corpse half buried between the branches.

Dante’s heart skipped a beat, and rage coursed through his body like an electric shock. That was definitively a human arm but, what the fuck was it doing there? How could a human get to hell? The shadow didn’t give him more time, and emerged from the ground as a sphere of darkness with sharp fangs, and opened her jaws once again with the obvious purpose of devouring him right there.

Dante turned midair and avoided the attack, shooting several rounds with Ebony and Ivory to win more time. The shadow paralyzed for an instant, and the hunter took the opportunity to advance and draw a fierce cut with the Rebellion’s blade, which managed to traverse the shadows and open a wide cut.

The shadow disappeared again, but this time Dante was not going to follow the game. It was different now, with the life of a human being at stake, and he couldn’t allow that vermin to feed in his presence. He could still feel life in that person, and a strange essence that called him with an almost familiar air. No, this was serious now, and if that human was alive, there was no time to play.

Shadow reappeared at the side, launching yet again her black needles, but this time Dante was expecting her. Instead of stepping back, he dodged the attack as best as he could while he marched forward, ignoring the stabbing pain when the needles grazed his skin, and the moment when the bag’s strap broke and Trish’s bundle fell to the ground with a thud while Dante reduced the distance, reached the central body of the shadow, and unleashed on her all the fury of the Rebellion.

It was evident the demon had not expected that, and was unable to retreat on time. The panther had barely trembled to change shape when Dante was launching another cut, and another, forcing her to step back while it was him the one who advanced step by step, cut after cut, aware of the essence behind her which seemed more familiar with each step, more real. More similar to a memory that evoked in him something he rather forget.

The shadow retreated after what seemed like an eternity, weakened and furious again in her panther form. Her once-black body was now surrounded with a reddish aura that was testimony of how wounded she was. Dante gasped and stood on guard; this was usually the hardest part of the battle, when the demon abandoned itself in a frenetic and desperate fight to survive, which made it much more violent and dangerous. In that moment, the shadow should explode in thorns and fire, in thousands of needles and fangs, in fast and lethal movements.

Instead, she remained standing between Dante and her prey, looking at him with those red eyes full of rage and determination. Dante wondered since when a demon fought with such ferocity for a single prey, when it was easier to run and look for something better.

Unless… that was no prey.

Unsure, Dante moved the Rebellion to the side and took Ivory instead, pointing it with a serenity he did not feel not to the shadow, but to the branch nest and the arm. It was ridiculous to think about it but, hadn’t he thought the panther seemed more protective than hostile? Maybe was that thought what gave him enough trust to pull the trigger, shooting to the dark nest.

As in slow motion, Dante saw the demonic panther react, and saw the moment her figure transformed again, turning herself into a shapeless mass that rose like a stream of ink, writhed in the air… and received the bullet in its place.

Dante lowered his gun, unable to make sense of what was happening and at the same time surprised by what he saw. A demon, protecting the life of a human. That was impossible… or no. After all, was not himself proof that there were demons capable of loving and protecting humans? His father, Sparda, had faced his own race to protect humankind. Why couldn’t a shadow do the same?

No matter the reason, it was evident the demonic panther was protecting that human. Which could mean, maybe, that she understood more than what Dante gave her credit for. The demon hunter put away his gun, and then rose both hands in a sign of peace.

—Hey, kitty… —he said, feeling exposed and silly at the same time. The shadow growled. —What about a truce? If you let me see your friend back there, maybe I can help him —he offered, while taking a step and then another one towards the nest under the watchful eye of the panther. Dante thought this had to be one of the most idiotic things he had done in his life (lower his weapons, trying to reason with a cornered lethal creature) but at least the shadow remained still. —He shouldn’t be here, and you know it, right?... dammit, I don’t even know if you understand what I say… be a good kitty and let me pass, ok? Maybe I’ll buy you a big can of tuna if you behave —he continued, getting closer and closer, aware of the red eyes that studied each one of his steps, which evaluated his face with a strange intelligence, almost as if she was able to understand.

Until the moment when, to his surprise, the panther gave a step back, and her powerful demonic essence dimmed enough while the sight before him made Dante gasp again.

Because there, free at last of the shadow’s presence, another one burst in his senses, taking his breath away while his mind evoked the cold, elegant blade of a sword, and a flash of blue clothing before falling into the abyss.

Dante felt himself pass through all existing emotions, felt his body paralyze and at the same time tremble in a powerful spasm, as if a Frost’ spear had pierced him suddenly, going from acute pain to the numbness of the cold. His heart seemed to refuse to beat, his lungs didn’t manage to carry enough air, and his body moved on his own, running as if his life depended on it and then falling on his knees on the nest. Dante pushed the branches aside with visceral despair, ignoring the branches that stabbed his skin and the beads of sweat on his brow, the trembling on his hands and his own mind out of control, a mind that repeated over and over again that this couldn’t be, that it must be a trick, an hallucination caused by the infernal heat.

It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, itcouldnotitcouldnotitclouldnot…

Until the branches were no more, and Dante found himself watching a mirror of himself. Pale, gaunt, unconscious, but so identical to himself that he felt a lump in his throat, and a burning sensation that almost made him cry in pain. Before realizing it, he had stretched a hand to caress with trembling fingers the unconscious face on the ground, and felt the week but persistent beat of a heart under the skin.

—¿Ve… Verge?

The name floated in the air like an illusion, but there was him: pale and unconscious but undoubtedly alive. The memories of their last encounter flooded Dante’s mind as if a damn had broken, releasing all those emotions he had repressed deep inside. Until he was unable to contain, and lifted the ashen body of his brother to press him against him in a hug.

Vergil was not moving, as limp and indifferent as a corpse, but Dante could feel his heartbeat, like a soft drumming next to his ear when, at last, he allowed himself to lean on his brother’s neck uncaring about the hostile land, or the watchful eye of the shadow… or the wetness on his eyes, flowing through his cheeks until it fell on Vergil’s terribly pale skin…

That at last made him return to reason, and Dante recovered enough to at least place his brother on the ground again to evaluate his condition with a more professional look.

He had no idea how Vergil had ended up in that point of hell, but the traces of his suffering were written in every centimeter of his naked body. Dante immediately noticed the bruises, the half-healed cuts, the still somewhat bluish tone of his skin… the half-healed wounds made with a terribly familiar blade. It was evident that, after his defeat, Mundus had discarded him like a broken, useless weapon. Or, maybe, it was Vergil himself who had rebelled, recovering enough sanity to remember who he was, who Mundus was… Dante wondered how far they were from what had once been Mallet Island, and shivered.

It couldn’t be nearby. Had Vergil travelled all this way in this condition?

Dante stretched his hand, and grazed with some measure of fear a point in his brother’s arm, where the white skin was marked with several small veins, deep black, that reminded him with a shiver the marks he saw when Nelo Angelo’s helmet had fallen, revealing his face. The moment he touched them, Vergil whimpered softly in pain.

The demonic panther growled as a warning, though it was not necessary. Dante moved his hand away immediately, with a lump in his throat and a cold sweat on his back. He remembered that voice, and that gesture tainted with pain when… when he…

He cursed under his breath.

—Fuck, Dante. Control yourself —he whispered to himself. This was no moment for guilt. Vergil was terribly cold despite the almost suffocating heat of hell, and his wounds didn’t seem to be healing as they should. His brother was too weak.

In an instant, Dante tensed and looked for Trish’s bag, abandoned on the ground just a few steps away during his fight with the shadow. The demon hunter rose to his feel immediately and practically ran towards it, and then opened it to find one of his characteristic red coats.

Bless Trish’s motherly nature.

Dante returned to Vergil’s side immediately, all under the attentive and disturbing stare of the demonic panther. For the first time in all that moment, he felt cleat headed enough to wonder why that creature was so protective of his brother. Demons were capable of love or loyalty, but in general they only protected themselves without much care of the others. That shadow had not only fought to protect Vergil, but had been willing to give up her own existence for it. Even now, in that tense truce, the creature looked at his as if she tried to warn him that, if he harmed Vergil, he would pay with his blood. That kind of ferocious loyalty was, at the least, strange.

Whatever. That was a problem for another moment. He would have his chance to discover what tied her to Vergil when his brother recovered consciousness and could explain.

He felt a shiver on his body when he realized his own thoughts. WHEN his brother woke up. WHEN he could speak with him. Because now he was alive to do both.

That thought alone nearly made him sob, and at the same time ignited in his chest a warm he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Dante swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the situation once more; the fact Vergil had survived was nothing short of a miracle, but he wasn’t at all in good condition. It was up to Dante to help him survive. The coat would not cover him enough, but was better than nothing.

The shadow behind him growled in warning when she saw him move the clothing next to Vergil’s body.

—Easy, kitty. You probably don’t mind going around showing everything, but Vergil is more modest—he joked. At least, Vergil USED to be more discreet. If he had to be honest, he had no idea what was his brother’s mental state, or how much of the Vergil he remembered had survived Mundus’ enslavement. But that, plus his strange alliance with the shadow, was a problem for future Dante. So, he tried to ignore the panther’s warning and slid his hand under his brother’s back to pick him up.

Just at that moment, Vergil gasped, released a soft, low whimper, and opened his eyes with a confused air before Dante’s surprised stare.

—¿Verge? —he called him, feeling his heart about to burst from his chest. He was awake, he was moving, he was AWAKE.

At that moment, Vergil’s blue eyes finally moved to his brother’s face… and his eyes peeled in a mute gesture of terror.

Dante could barely react on time and hold Vergil’s arms when he fought to crawl away from him with all his strength, while looking at him as if instead of a familiar face he was looking the most deathly and fierce demon of all hell. Vergil shook his head, fighting to set himself free and move away while Dante tried to keep him still with all the care he could, afraid to hurt him.

—Hey, ¡hey! Easy, it’s me, Dante. Come on, you remember me, right? Quiet! — Dante ordered, while he tried to sound less desperate than he really felt.

—N-no… not him… please… not him… stop… stop! —pleaded Vergil, completely lost, shaking under Dante’s arms as if he was plunged into frozen water. Dante made an effort to hold him, although his brother struggled without rest, prey to a panic he couldn’t understand.

—¡Calm down, Vergil! It’s me, look at me. It’s ok. Everything is fine —Dante tried, but his voice couldn’t reach his brother.

—¡No! He’s not here… ¡he’s not real!... stop it… leave me… no more… —begged Vergil, with a trembling voice that caused Dante another lump in his throat. The Vergil he remembered never begged.

—I’m not an illusion! Damn it, Verge, look at me! It’s me, Dante! I’m here! —he insisted, holding his brother with more strength while forcing him to look at him. Vergil, indeed, looked at him, but the terror in his eyes seemed to imply he didn’t believe him, as if he expected that in one moment he would burst in pieces. Troubled, Dante wondered how many times had Mundus used his face to torment Vergil.

He had used Eva, after all. Why not him?

—No… not again… no more… Dante… no… — Vergil whispered, but in that moment what little strength was left in him abandoned. Dante managed to react in time to hold him when his brother practically fell, and his eyes fogged and then closed with a last gasp of pain.

At least, unconscious he couldn’t hurt himself.

However, Dante remained there for an instant, aware of the horrors Vergil had endured and still troubled by the terror he had seen in his brother’s eyes. Those eyes that in the past had looked at everything with coldness and confidence, with the certainty of someone who knows himself superior to all other living beings. The lump in his throat was so fierce he had trouble breathing, while his mind tried to imagine against his will the kind of torture Mundus had used against his brother, the agony necessary to beak someone as stubborn and proud as Vergil.

—Fuck… —he hissed, although the word was not enough to define the wave of rage he felt at the moment.

The shadow, suddenly at his side, winced. The demon seemed restless, as if Vergil’s panic attack had physically affected her. Dante saw her tremble with something similar to a shiver, and then move from one side to the other in clear distress. At least she seemed to have already decided that Dante was not her enemy or a threat to Vergil, so he took the chance to cover his brother with the extra coat.

Vergil’s unconsciousness, although worrying, at least made his job easier, and Dante buttoned the coat to cover him as much as possible. Luckily the coat was long enough to reach his knees, and warm enough to at least warm a little his frozen skin. There was little he could do about the wounds and bruises; Trish’s bag contained some bandages, but in an exposed position like that one he didn’t dare to take more time. He would have to trust in Vergil’s demonic blood, and wait to find a better refuge to check them.

Aware of it, Dante released the breath he was holding, placed Vergil’s arm over his shoulders and slid his hand behind Vergil’s knees to pick him up. He shovered when he remembered the fearsome size of Nelo Angelo, Vergil’s physique as he remembered it, and compare them with the light and battered body in his arms.

Now, what?

Chapter Text

Dante frowned. The truth was he didn’t have the slightest idea where to go; if he had found Vergil on the way, it had been a strike of good luck (and that was quite new to him), but apart from that he had no idea how to get our or which direction to go. At some point, he didn’t mind much about that, but now…

He was surprised to notice that the shadow stood up straight, looking at firm first with an evaluation air and then walking with indifference, passing him by towards a specific point of the way. Dante looked at her for a few seconds, while the demonic panther gave a few steps, stopped, and turned around to watch him as if wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

It took a moment for Dante to understand the shadow wanted him to follow her.

At first, he doubted. After all, he didn’t understand at all the bond that seemed to exist between Vergil and her, or what was the origin of her loyalty. But, in the end, he guessed he had to take a chance and trust that the panther was attached to his brother enough to guide them to a safe place. With a little luck, she could even know a way out to the human world.

Dante nodded without knowing if the shadow could actually understand, and took a step forward. The panther seemed content, and started advancing again.

At least she seemed to know where she was going, although Dante had no idea of what was her goal. For a brief moment in which he lost track of time, the panther guided him through infernal plains and rocky areas, insisting on following a path Dante did not understand, and in which he felt less confident with each step. It was true that the shadow seemed determined to protect Vergil but, who knows what a demon as her would consider as “protection”: a safe place to hide? A rocky cave where she could devour Dante and offer his brother fresh meat? The panther had no human language or any other way to converse with Dante and solve the hunter’s doubts, or ease his fears. She could very well be leading them to a more dangerous place in hell, in her own territory, where Dante would be at the mercy of more dangerous creatures than the ones he had faced before.

Dante started when the shadow produced one of her menacing growls while she looked at him, unmoving, at the summit of a big rock. Up to that moment Dante had not realized she had stopped, too aware of his own doubts to keep going with blind faith and follow a demon he didn’t know. The panther fixed her red eyes on him and shook her long tail, impatient, and Dante could almost imagine the reproach in his head.

—Yeah, yeah. I’m coming —he said, and kept walking. Is not that he had many choices; the shadow could turn aggressive if he did not follow her. Also, there was Vergil, completely still in his arms, vulnerable and weak. He couldn’t afford a combat now, and the shadow was at least strong enough to scare lesser demons.

His brother was another concern to add to a long list, one in which he held the place of honor. Vergil had not made even a coherent sound during all the journey; if only, Dante had heard him whimper or gasp in his sleep when he moved while passing through especially difficult terrain or readjusted his position in his arms. Despite the red coat, he could feel Vergil shiver once in a while, as if nothing could stop the cold holding on to his skin. At that moment, his doubts about the shadow were not that important: his brother needed rest in a safe place, a place where Dante could look at his wounds and maybe try to get him to drink some water, if he could find any in that desolated place. He could only hope that the panther had enough instinct to find a hiding place and not a deathly trap.

After a while, it was evident he had misjudged her. After a couple of hours walking, Dante found himself looking at a rocky formation, strange and withered like anything else on hell, with an opening at its side. A cave. Dante couldn’t hide a relieved sigh.

—Alright, I withdraw half of the bad things I thought about you —he couldn’t help but say to the shadow. The panther growled and showed him her fangs, almost as if she could understand what he said. Maybe she did. Luckily, that was her only gesture of displeasure before going down the small slope that led to the rocky formation and kept going.

The cave at least was wide and deep enough into the rocky formation to cover anyone that was inside from curious stares. Also, there was a soft but constant dripping that suggested the presence of water. It was hell water, of course, but to someone with demonic blood that was not a problem.

Dante carefully placed Vergil on the ground, supporting his back against the wall of the cave to keep him in a sitting position; it was easier to evaluate that way. The shadow sat immediately at his side, with her eyes fixed on Dante and her long tail shaking from time to time, even now cautious and distrusting. Well, the feeling was mutual, so the hunter was not going to complain about that.

Even in the darkness of the cave, with only uncovering a little of his brother’s body he could see the wide collection of bruises and cuts of different sizes spread across his skin. Dante could also see several scars that Vergil’s weakened body had been unable to heal, like a testimony of even more serious wounds that had undoubtedly killed any normal human being.

Dante couldn’t stop himself from shivering. Vergil’s body, slightly thinner and gaunt, seemed to be still standing due only to sheer willpower. He detected three half-healed long cuts on his side, and several bruises with a clear shape of tentacles that had hold him with too much strength. The demon hunter looked at the demonic panther out of the corner of his eye; she was still sitting faithfully at his brother’s side like a guardian, and Dante couldn’t help but reproach her in silence for her lack of ability doing so.

He clenched his teeth and told himself it didn’t matter. Now HE was in charge of protecting his brother. With a lump in his throat, and the strong desire to punch anything, Dante focused on his immediate task and looked inside Trish’s bag for a few bandages.

At least there were enough to bandage the most serious wounds and prevent an infection, unless until Vergil’s body recovered enough to heal at his normal speed.

That was a different kind of torture. Tending to the wounds made Dante fully aware of the hell (no pun intended) his brother had endured not only since Mallet Island, but from that day he had plummeted himself in the underworld after his defeat at the Temen Ni Gru. Dante could see the traces of Nelo Angelo’s armor, mixed with recent hist and traces of a body crawling through the ground at the edge of collapse. He could see bites and scratches, cuts and bruises of years mixed with more recent ones… the wide scar of a sharp blade close to the heart.

Dante’s hear clenched inside his chest, and the hands tending to the wounds trembled with the bandages. So much pain, so much agony… many caused by himself.

—Sorry, Vergil —he whispered, without knowing if Vergil could hear him, feeling the phrase was not enough to cover all he felt and the guilt he dragged behind. Tense and sad, he secured the last bandage in place and walked towards the dripping of water.

—Dante…

He felt as if something had hit him in the chest with the strength of a punch, and that the voice, although weak, resounded all around the cave with the power of a scream. Dante looked up immediately and saw the tired, but apparently lucid, stare of Vergil, who looked at him with barely a flash of emotion that could be surprise or confusion. The rings under his eyes, in some way, seemed to highlight the icy blue of his eyes.

—About time you woke up. I’ve had to drag your battered ass for hours —he answered with a whisper that ruined his pathetic attempt at comedy. Vergil, ignoring all that, frowned and looked at him attentively as if he had trouble recognizing him.

—Dante… —he repeated with a tired tone but, at the same time, surprisingly unsure. He was trying maybe to decide if what he looked was real. Dante smiled.

—Yeah.

—Dante…

—The one and only. I don’t do autographs.

There it was again, the pathetic attempt to joke when what he really wanted was to launch himself in his brother’s arms and stay there until hell froze. But he guessed his heart, too used to disappointment, refused to let go of the old habit of playing down things to avoid pain.

However, when Vergil let go a soft growl, Dante couldn’t help but smile. It was a weak imitation of the mocking and condescending tone of old, but it was no doubt a gesture so… VERGIL he couldn’t help but feel relieved.

Once he (apparently) decided Dante wasn’t an illusion conjured up by his demons, Vergil’s sight moved from one side to the other with a confused gesture. He clearly didn’t remember falling there and even less advancing on his twin’s arms.

—We’re in a cave. It’s not a five-star hotel room but one can’t be picky in hell —Dante informed him.

—Cave… —Vergil whispered, as if he didn’t fully understand the meaning of the word or was trying to assimilate what was happening. Almost by accident, his eyes moved to the shadow, and Dante was surprised to see the spark of recognition in his brother’s eyes. —Shadow… —he murmured. He did know her, after all.

To Dante’s surprise, the demonic panther rose immediately with a low, but totally friendly, growl and, before the demon hunter’s incredulous stare, came to lay at Vergil’s side and then rested her big head on his brother’s lap.

Even more surprising, Vergil rose his hand with effort, with an absent air, and placed it on the shadow’s head in a soft caress, as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing and the panther was nothing more than a domestic cat.

Without knowing how to interpret all that, Dante decided that at least he could go away for a few minutes to search for water. He could still hear the soft dripping, and had no idea how much time had passed since Vergil ate or drank something. Hell water was not ideal, but it was better than nothing… Dante found it easily, nothing more than a puddle of liquid in an eroded hole on the ground. Quickly the hunter looked around the cave and found another eroded rock that, roughly speaking, could pass as an improvised bowl; Dante sipped a couple of times, confirmed that the water was at least drinkable, and filled the bowl to take it to his brother.

Vergil seemed to have dosed off again, with the shadow still in his lap like a vigilant pet. Dante thought he must be deeply tired to sleep there, defenseless and without protection in a hostile environment. He didn’t like it. But he was aware of the urgency of the situation, and the need for Vergil to drink something, so he resigned himself to wake him up.

—¿Vergil? —he called, almost in a whisper, trying to be as subtle as possible to prevent a panic attack like the first one. Vergil didn’t answer. —Hey, wake up, ok? You have to drink something —he begged reducing the distance to hold his brother’s shoulder and shake him lightly.

He had no idea how did he look, or what was the image Vergil saw before him, but he suddenly opened his eyes and fixed them on Dante with a gasp, while every trace of recognition erased from his stare, leaving only a couple of reddish irises. Almost immediately, Vergil ushered what seemed to be a growl and writhed, getting away from Dante’s hand as if the sole contact with it burned him, while the shadow’s hair rose and the animal growled a threat.

—¿Verge? Hey, easy. It’s me, Dante, remember? —Dante said, with a lump in his throat and a shiver. For some reason, Vergil didn’t recognize him, and when he heard his voice, he stepped back entirely against the rocky wall as if he wished to merge with it or traverse it and run away; all the while, one hand searched frenetically on the ground, and the other flew directly to his chest, where a scar was clearly visible to Dante’s eyes with a somber recognition.

Dante knew that gesture almost immediately, as well as that frantic need to recover his weapon and keep fighting, while a sword plunged into a wound that wasn’t there since a long time ago, but Vergil clearly felt as though he had just received it.

—¿Vergil? —Dante asked, with the lump suffocating him and the awareness of his brother’s pain punching him in the chest. Vergil didn’t seem to know where he was, and his name in Dante’s lips didn’t cause even a flinch of familiarity or recognition, only the emptiness of a strange name. A name that wasn’t his own. Dante started, and saw the moment Vergil’s blue eyes seemed to fully turn into a red tone. —Nelo Angelo… —he whispered, more to himself than to Vergil, but he felt the sting of rage and pain when his brother rose his head at hearing it, looking at him like that time in Mallet Island. Like a stranger.

The shadow answered to her companion’s distress with a low growl, and stood up quickly to stand cautiously at Vergil’s side. At least she didn’t seem willing to launch herself against Dante, although judging by her stare she was clearly evaluating the situation. Aware of the danger, and with a heavy and saddened heart, Dante left the improvised bowl on the ground and rose both hands in sign of peace. He flinched when Vergil’s eyes moved towards them with an evident stress, as if he expected to see the sharp edge of Alastor pointing at his chest like that time in the past.

—I… I’m not armed. We’re in a safe place, I just… I just wanted you to drink some water —he explained, slowly lowering a hand to recover the bowl, all the while being painfully aware of Vergil’s eyes fixed on it as if it was an animal about to bite him. Dante rose the bowl, and his brother tensed, moving his hand to the side in search of a weapon that was no longer there. Dante saw his apprehension when his pale fingers grasped only air, and the way his posture changed as if he was preparing to fight… or flee.

—It’s only water… ¿see? —the demon hunter pressed, approaching the bowl to his own lips to sip it, and then left it on the ground before Vergil, close enough to make him jump again, but also to allow him to take it if he wanted.

Vergil kept still, holding his chest as if stopping a non-existing hemorrhage while his eyes remained fixed on the bowl. He didn’t seem willing to trust, and that hurt even more than seeing the open wounds in his brother’s body. Dante clenched his teeth; he didn’t blame Vergil for hating or avoiding him. After all, hadn’t he tried to kill him more than once? He didn’t know who he was back then, but still… if he only had seen the amulet…

The demonic panther then looked at him. Not with the previous distrust, but with something similar to acceptance. Dante saw her sight move from his hands to his saddened face; Dante surely couldn’t hide his pain as well as he would’ve wanted. The shadow then looked at Vergil, who looked at her with more recognition than what he granted to his brother; after a moment, the panther gave a step forward, lowered her head, and clearly licked the water in the bowl, then licked her demonic whiskers with a peaceful growl.

Vergil, at last, took the bowl with shaky hands and drank, but kept his eyes on Dante. He undoubtedly expected an attack.

Dante felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. It was evident something was not right in Vergil’s mind, that Nelo Angelo’s memories and his own were mixed, plunging his mind in a strange confusion. Dante cursed mentally; he had just recognized him a moment ago! He had remembered his name! And now… now he looked at him like a murdered. HIS murderer. Because he was… because he had been his executioner in Mallet Island up to that fateful moment where he had seen the amulet. Late, all too late. He still remembered his reaction when he saw it, the moment his mental balance and Mundus’ control broke apart and Vergil, his Vergil, fought to rise again.

Dante’s heart jumped inside his chest. That’s it! The amulet was a constant memory, something even Nelo Angelo recognized as part of him. It had helped once, maybe…

The hunter took a hand to his chest, where he could feel the cold contact of Eva’s amulet against his skin. Vergil reacted to the movement with a jump, and let the bowl fall with another growl that could be of fear or rage.

— I Just… just want to show you something, ok? —Dante offered. Vergil didn’t seem convinced, but to his surprise the shadow supported him with another growl, as an unexpected ally. At least, with her help, Vergil kept still, cautious but willing to listen.

Dante could feel the tension in the air flowing from Vergil’s body as he slowly (too slowly) searched for the small chain and showed him both parts of Eva’s amulet, which he took off from his neck with a calculated and cautious movement in case his brother felt threatened with the gesture. Without saying a word, Dante left both jewels on his hand, extended it to the front to let Vergil see them, and rose his head to evaluate his brother’s reaction.

Said reaction was almost immediate. Vergil’s eyes moved to the amulet and he seemed to refrain from gasping, while hos whole body tensed in a flash of recognition so strong he even winced. Dante heard him gasp again, as if his body was fighting to say something but at the same time was unable to produce a sound, and the hand previously holding his chest extended for a moment to the front in an unconscious desire to touch the amulet. He remembered it.

—You do remember this, right? The amulet mom gave us when we were children. One for each one —Dante pressured, careful. Vergil let out something quite similar to a hoarse growl and held his head with his hands, with such strength his fingers clawed on his long hair. The gesture made Dante remember with a shudder the battle with Nelo Angelo, and the moment the amulet had unleashed a similar reaction.

—No… no… —Vergil whispered, with a voice that seemed to fluctuate between the hoarse low growl and his brother’s usual voice. In a moment, he closed his eyes, and it seemed to Dante that his irises moved from red to blue before losing sight of them.

—This was yours —the hunter continued, without knowing if it was wise to do so, but too desperate to stop. He took one of the fragments of the amulet and held it high, even though Vergil couldn’t see it. —Once I wanted you to give it to me, remember? But you took it with you. And then, when I found you again… —Dante said, but stopped midsentence with a tremor and a lump in his throat so strong he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t continue. He couldn’t describe the deep pain when he discovered the truth, the emptiness when the amulet was all that was left of Vergil, and the echo of his painful screams before disappearing. He couldn’t talk about all these years he thought him dead, fighting with guilt, drowning himself in alcohol and humorous phrases that soon stopped helping…

Vergil flinched in a spasm, and the fingers sank deeper into his hair. Dante couldn’t help but notice how long it was, falling to his back and partially covering his shoulders… another testimony of how much he had changed. The Vergil he remembered, the one who tried to hard to differentiate himself from his twin, would’ve never let his hair grow so much.

He didn’t like it. He hated to see that mark of neglect and indifference, a clue that Vergil, maybe, was no longer Vergil. It was obvious something wasn’t right with his head, that his memories and events mixed violently to the point he, at times, didn’t even know who he was. Who was before Dante at this moment? Vergil, weakened but alive? A poor imitation of his brother? A body with the mind of a weapon?

No. He refused to think that. Vergil was still there, he had to be, and as long as Dante lived, he wasn’t going to give up on him. His brother would never give up that easily; he’ll find the way to come back. And Dante was damn well going to help him recover.

More determined that before, Dante dared to reduce the distance enough to stand face to face with Vergil. His brother was still hunched over himself, holding his head while shaking and whispering.

—Listen, Verge: I know everything’s a mess right now. That maybe… maybe you don’t remember me. But I’m here, and I’ll always be here. I won’t let anyone hurt you again —Dante reassured him, while he stretched his arms and hung the amulet on Vergil’s neck. —Remember that —he added, and stepped away.

Maybe it was the weight of the jewel on his chest, or the cold touch of the chain on his skin, but the moment the amulet was on his neck Vergil stopped shivering with a start. Slowly, as if moved by strength beyond his control, Dante saw him lower his hands, leaving the white locks of hair to fall freely on his shoulders. With trembling fingers, Vergil immediately searched for the jewel, and then held it with such strength his fingers turned white.

Dante allowed himself to consider that as a good sign. The hunter released the air he was holding, and hung his own half of the amulet on his neck, above the clothes.

—Dante…

Dante tensed, and rose his head. Vergil wasn’t looking at him, not entirely, but at the other half of the amulet on his chest, and his eyes were tainted with a fog of confusion and tiredness that seemed to erase it all… or almost all. Dante saw there a trace of recognition, when his brother finally rose his head to look his face with a mixture of indecision and exhaustion. Dante saw there a glimpse of the Vergil he remembered.

—Yeah. It’s me.

The confirmation seemed to weight on Vergil, who shuddered as if he was finally aware he was there, with his brother, after years of sorrow and fights. Vergil closed his eyes, letting go a deep sigh that released some of the tension that had accompanied ever since Dante found him in the shadow’s nest. As if he was allowing himself to finally believe… and let himself go. At that moment, he slid until he sat on the cave, using the wall for support, and closed his eyes in a tired, but calm gesture. Maybe sure, at last, that what he was seeing was read.

His hand remained firmly holding Eva’s amulet.

Dante himself felt as is something inside him had yielded, and before noticing he had dropped on the ground of the cave too, almost with no strength left, under the watchful eye of the shadow, that remained sitting in her spot, as Vergil’s faithful guardian.

Dante laughed, more to release tension than for a real sense of humor. He didn’t remember feeling so tense in his whole life, not even in a fight with the most powerful, deathliest demon of the underworld. He didn’t even know if Vergil would remember him after waking up later, or if he would need to repeat the scene over and over again, until the puzzle of his brother’s memories fitted into something coherent. But at least, for now, he could allow himself to breathe.

—You always have to make things difficult, eh, Verge? —he complained with a bit of optimism, while the demonic panther tilted her head in a very cat-like gesture.

At that moment, Dante was finally aware of the reality. Of the fact that emptiness he carried for years was no longer there, that the guilt and the pain went away to be replaced with a joy that, although maybe premature, he couldn’t help but feel.

Vergil was there. Vergil was alive. And as long as his brother was alive, Dante could deal with anything else.

Dante moved in an impulse, suddenly to tired and stunned by it all to reason if it was wise or intelligent. His feet moved on their own, moved by the deepest longing of his heart. And, in an instant, Dante slid from the cold wall of the cave, sat next to Vergil, and allowed himself to feel the proximity of his twin for the first time in years.

He didn’t even notice the moment he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

A soft pull brought him back to reality, slower than he would have liked it.

For a very brief moment, he wondered who the hell had come inside the Devil May Cry without knocking, or why the usually comfortable chair of his desk felt like laying on a… another pull, accompanied by a growl, and everything fell into place inside his mind like a torrent: the stale air, the echo of dripping inside the cave, the constant aura of demonic essence.

Dante opened his eyes immediately with a start, while instinctively looking for the cold hilt of the Rebellion but, the moment he tried to stand up, he was fully aware of a body next to his, and a head laying on his shoulder…

Vergil.

Dante felt a lump in his throat, aware of the proximity with his brother, with a familiar warm traveling all over his body when he watched the sleeping face of Vergil, the way he kept holding the amulet… and the naturality with which, at some point during his sleep, Vergil had surrendered to an act of confidence and had searched for his brother’s support. Dante felt tempted to stretch his hand and push aside some lock of Vergil’s long hair to have a better look at his face; to make sure, for the thousandth time, that he was real and not the product of some strange hallucination.

A third pull, stronger than the previous ones, stopped his thoughts and forced him to finally look at the figure, black as night, in front of him, and the powerful fangs that bit his sleeve.

The shadow stared at him with fierceness that greatly contrasted the truce they had reached before Dante fell asleep. The shadow growled, showing him a full sight of her dangerous fangs, and pulled at him again, so strongly that Dante’s back separated from the cave’s wall and his clothes creaked, threatening to tear.

—Yes, yes, I’m awake! Strop drooling on my clothes! —he complained, and the panther let him go at last with a hiss, and then sat in front of him in a wordless wait. Impatient. Tense.

He didn’t like that.

Careful not to wake him up, Dante moved Vergil so that he laid again against the cave’s wall and stood up with a sigh, using a moment to stretch and get rid of the tension in his muscles caused by the improvised bed while the demonic panther conformed with walking a couple of times in circles around the cave, like a caged tiger would do.

Her despair was so evident that Dante felt restless. He felt no demonic presence besides the shadow’s, but it was obvious she was desperate to keep going… wherever it was she was going. In fact, he saw her sniff the air a couple of times, shake her tail, and look at him again with such a readable gesture of exasperation in her cat eyes that the hunter could almost imagine the annoyed sigh.

—We’re in a bad mood today, uh? —Dante joked, although truth was the demon’s uneasiness was starting to get into his nerves. The shadow answered with a powerful growl that seemed to shake the whole cave, and forced Dante to step back while his free hand searched for Ebony. —Hey, hey… easy —he threatened, but the panther ignored him entirely, showing his fangs while she clawed the cave’s ground with her paws.

For a moment, demon and hunter looked into each other’s eyes, mutually holding the stare while, behind Dante, Vergil kept sleeping. Dante could see every inch of the shadow’s body in tension, and the fast movements of her long tail, her red eyes full of fierce determination, mixed with something that almost seemed like… fear?

Dante was reminded of the first time he saw her, when she had placed herself between him and Vergil with the evident purpose of protecting him. There was something wrong… and she knew it.

The demon hunter bit his tongue to suppress a curse. This was the second time he felt trapped between carrying on blindly or trusting the instinct and reasoning of a demon with which he couldn’t even communicate… but he wasn’t an idiot. The shadow clearly wished to move away from the cave and, after all, she did have much more acute senses than him. With a resigned sigh, Dante rose his hands in a truce, and the panther answered by giving a few steps towards the opening of the cave; she sniffed the air again, and turned to see him as if she was reproaching him for not being right behind her already.

—All right, you win this time. Hope you know what you’re doing… —Dante complained, turning to look at his brother. Vergil was soundly asleep, and it was obvious he was not going to wake up in a while. He was too much weak and exhausted. —Shit, I hope to know what I’m doing… —he added, then he reduced the distance with his brother and, carefully, picked him up again.

He just did so, with Vergil’s head supported against his chest, and the shadow hissed in satisfaction and then walked to the exterior of the cave. Bossy cat.

The walk was as Dante had expected, with no demon on sight except of the demonic panther that served as guide, and which advanced towards her unknown goal while looking over her shoulder from time to time, as if she was making sure Dante was following her, or if Vergil was still safe.

The more he looked at her, the more he was sure he was missing something important. Although he himself felt restless and tense while walking in an open area, the shadow was a demon of hell, undoubtedly used to this world and its dangers. This was her home, after all; she knew how to survive in it and she was not such a lower ranked demon as to fear every step, unless… unless she was running from something. But, what? She had dared to face Dante to protect Vergil, what could she be running from after showing such ferociousness?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, so he trusted the creature’s instinct and allowed her to guide him at her pace, all the while being on alert as much as her in case any demonic presence suddenly appeared among the shadows to devour them.

But the day gave way to the night, and he hadn’t found even a demon around.

It’s not as if it was easy to calculate how much time they’d been walking or the distance they have covered. In the underworld, day and night were not much different, except for a slightly colder darkness and the big shadows projected by the occasional rock or arcane formations.

Dante immediately detected the shadow’s next den: nothing more than a big rocky protrusion that at least offered enough shadow underneath to shelter and cover from the sight of any demon that could be lurking nearby. By mutual agreement, demon and hunter slowed down and walked towards the new refuge.

It was at least high enough for Dante to enter without bending down, which meant he could maneuver with Vergil in his arms until he laid him down again, supported against the only wall available. His brother was still deathly pale, and although his breathing was stable, it sounded too weak for his taste. The fact he hadn’t reacted with even a whimper during the travel unsettled him, but there wasn’t much he could do about it; he had to look over him, and wait for the best.

Contrary to the last time, the shadow did not lay next to Vergil but sat at the edge of the formation, showing her back to him in a silent but evident posture of vigilance.

—Guess you take the first watch, then —Dante commented, without knowing why the fuck he kept talking to the panther as if she could understand him. But she then turned around to look at him, with an expression that was clearly animal but at the same time intelligent, and Dante smiled at her with some complicity. Ok, maybe she did understand after all.

Trusting for the first time in the shadow to keep watch, Dante focused on his brother’s wounds. He had no new bandages to change the ones he already had, but at least he could check if the wounds were better. With some luck, they would’ve started to heal.

At least, they hadn’t gotten worse. Still, Dante felt a wave of disappointment when he noticed that the wound looked barely different from the last time he had checked them. Vergil’s body, weakened as it was, seemed unable to recover at a quicker pace. The worst was maybe to see the evident pain his brother was in; despite being unconscious, Vergil reacted with a start and a grimace of pain every time Dante rearranged a bandage or checked a wound; the most dangerous of them being the one in his side, deep enough to make Vergil moan with a labored tone when Dante merely rubbed the reddened skin around the wound. Dante frowned, trying to be optimistic: the wound after all didn’t seem infected and, although the bandage had some red stains, it was way better than what he expected considering the travel and Vergil’s movement the last time he was conscious.

He wished Trish would’ve packed also some medicine from the first-aid kit into the bag, but he couldn’t blame her for not thinking of it. Dante healed so fast that even the bandages seemed like an exaggerated precaution on her part. Sadly, that meant Vergil would have to endure the pain until they escaped from hell to the human world, or until his body could recover by itself; whichever happened first.

At this point, Dante was not sure which option was more possible to happen. He had no idea in which direction he should walk, nor which was the way planned by the shadow; he only had a -very- vague hope that the panther was guiding them towards an exit for Vergil’s sake, but she could be very well leading them to an entirely different place. She was a demon, after all, she had no reason to consider the human world as a safe place, no matter how much she seemed to care for Vergil.

Dante sighed. He had to figure out more about the shadow’s plans, but he had no idea how to do it. Even if she understood him, she couldn’t answer or explain. The only thing he was sure of was that she seemed to be running away from something, and whatever it was it surely wasn’t a good thing. The demon hunter frowned, returning to reality when Vergil’s body shook in a shudder. For now, it was best to finish the immediate task, and thus Dante focused on rearranging and securing the remaining bandage around Vergil’s side. He couldn’t do more.

He was just finishing when a hand held his wrist with surprising speed. Dante winced when Vergil’s hand squeezed his wrist… or tried to. He was so weak he only managed to hold it in a relaxed hold.

—Vergil? —Dante asked, cautious, aware of his brother’s trembling body. He looked at him, but not with that spark of familiarity he had learned to recognize, but with an almost empty gesture, and a stare that moved from Nelo Angelo’s red and Vergil’s blue. —Hey, calm down, don’t…

He didn’t even manage to finish the phrase. In an instant, Vergil jumped and pushed him with his legs, forcing him to step back while he released his hand. Dante, afraid to hurt him, had no option but to let him throw him to the ground, and watched in horror as Vergil forced his weakened body to stand up.

—Verge, no… —he pleaded, without daring to scream in case he unwillingly triggered another panic attack… or a violent impulse. Vergil staggered with a grimace, but the gesture in his face showed something quite different from rage or fear; Dante recognized there a glimpse of the stare he remembered, when his brother awaited him at the top of the Temen Ni Gru to show him who was the strongest of them both.

Vergil took a step towards the exit, and Dante stood up as if something pushed him from the ground.

—Vergil, no! —he ordered, unable to refrain himself. The scream startled Vergil, and Dante saw him turn towards him with a mixture of fear and determination; his brother rose a hand with surprising speed, and a frail flash of blue energy flew towards him, so close that it grazed Dante’s hair before crashing against the rock. Maybe he should feel thankful about Vergil’s condition, that undoubtedly affected his aim.

—No… —Vergil whispered with hoarse voice, and then took another tentative step to the front, and another, and another, until he walked away with trembling steps.

The shadow appeared among the darkness, standing for the first time between Vergil and his way with a growl that sounded like a plea. Vergil looked at her, but made no attempt to attack her or push her away.

—Shadow… —Vergil whispered. He recognized her. However, after a moment he rose his hand, and Dante launched himself towards his brother in an impulse, hugging him from behind his back so that Vergil couldn’t move his arms.

That wasn’t one of his brightest ideas but, how could he stop Vergil from running away? His brother struggled weakly, as much as his strength allowed him, while Dante fought to keep him still without hurting him.

—Enough, Vergil! What are you trying to do? You’re wounded, dammit! No! —Dante protested, gasping for breath while he dragged his brother with him back to the safety of the shadows. Vergil kept struggling, whispering over and over again a single word that, at first, Dante couldn’t understand.

—No… Yamato…

Yamato. His sword. Dante felt for the first time a sparkle of hope. Was Yamato close? Could he feel her?

—You can go looking for her in your condition! Damn it, Vergil, stop!

—Stop… Let me go… Shadow… Yamato…

—I’m not Shadow, I’m Dante! Dante! Remember?

The shadow then suddenly roared, apparently with all the strength of her lungs, and Vergil looked at her with a sudden grimace of panic; he turned around, and looked at Dante’s face over his shoulder.

The hunter heard the moment his brother held his breath, and then felt a shudder when his brother’s body shook as if someone had hit him. In a moment, Vergil held his head in his hands, and sank his fingers on his hair like the last time.

—No… not again, no… —he whispered, desperate and breathless. Dante felt his brother’s body lose stability, and made an effort to hold him.

—Listen to me, Verge. Listen! It’s not an illusion, it’s me, you hear? Dante —the hunted pleaded, trembling as much as his brother while the shadow growled and went around in circles, clearly anguished. In an impulse, Dante took Vergil’s hand and forced him to touch the amulet hanging over his chest. His brother stopped immediately, holding the jewel almost by instinct alone. —That’s it. You remember, right? I found you here, I gave you your half of the amulet… I still have mine, you see? —he continued, fighting to find his own amulet to show him without letting go of Vergil.

There was no need.

—Dante… —Vergil suddenly whispered, and just as the last time, his body went limp in his brother’s arms, devoid of strength. Dante cursed and held him more firmly; then he dragged him along and made him sit down again.

Vergil was a mess, The little show of rebellion had costed him dearly: he looked if possible even more pale and haggard than before, and his breathing was labored as if he had run all around hell. His whole body trembled, no matter how much Dante tried to cover him with his coat. And yet, this time, Vergil was fully conscious, enough to look at him with a gesture that seemed to move from incredulity to relief.

—Dante… —he murmured again.

—Yes —the hunter answered, feeling some sort of déjà vu. But, unlike the previous time, Vergil leaned in the wall, let go a tired sigh, and looked at him again with more clarity than what he had showed before.

—What are you doing…? —he asked in a whisper. Coherent, at last. Dante couldn’t help but smile at him, with that confident smile he knew Vergil hated.

—What does it seem? Taking care of my stubborn older brother before he fucks up even more, of course —he answered with some insolence, and was rewarded with a very slight but evident gesture of disapproval from his brother, so similar to his natural disdainful gesture that Dante felt a familiar warm inside his chest.

—No… you should not be… him... or is…? —Vergil whispered then, taking his hand to his head with a gesture. Dante could almost see the gears in his head moving slowly, painfully, trying to make sense of memories that mixed within. Vergil sighed, and lowered his eyes to watch his free hand. —Yamato…

Dante shuddered again. Ever since he received her from Sparda, Vergil and Yamato had been practically inseparable; the sword was his anchor, his pride, his partner in all hardships and battles he had suffered in life. It was strange to see him without her at his side, like a guardian as fierce and merciless as the shadow. It was obvious Vergil missed her, but her absence made Dante wonder once more what had Mundus done with his brother during his captivity. Vergil would have NEVER separated himself from the Yamato, not willingly.

Maybe the wises thing would have been to wait for a better moment, but the question was out of his lips before he could think it better.

—Where is the Yamato, Vergil? Is she close? Can you feel her? —he asked, almost frantically, fearful and anxious for an answer. The sword was their key to an exit, but… Vergil seemed to retract with a shudder, and Dante heard him holding his breath as if he was in pain.

—He broke her… —his brother whispered, as if it was a revelation even to himself. His stare, lost in the distance, tainted with fear, and the sole idea of Yamato broken made Dante hold his breath. How was it possible? Mundus…? —And… and then he… —Vergil continued, suddenly paralyzed as if he had just received an electric shock. He didn’t need to say the name.

He. Mundus.

Vergil crouched over himself suddenly, trembling from head to toe despite the coat covering his naked body. In a moment, he embraced himself, and his lost stare then was filled with terror, as if he was looking at something only he could see, while his lips moved forming words at such a low volume that Dante could barely hear a thing.

He didn’t need to. Vergil was the most serious and unemotional person he knew, able to remain calm and under control even in the face of a horde of demons. Seeing him there, fragile and defenseless, trembling and in fear, was a testimony of whatever Mundus had done, and was enough for Dante’s imagination to run wild to the deepest and most terrifying possibilities available.

But, unfortunately, he had to admit the signs were there: the way Vergil protected himself as if he expected a hit, the trembling of a body accustomed to be tied up, the empty expression to avoid showing pain… the half-healed scars, and the cold sweat that covered his brother’s skin at the sole idea of Mundus… suddenly, Dante imagined him standing before the old king of the underworld, tied up and bleeding, subject to the demon’s tortures and whims, watching as Mundus destroyed his sword and destroyed him over and over again until only the empty and obedient creature known as Nelo Angelo remained.

He didn’t want to imagine the torture necessary to break someone like Vergil. But, unfortunately, Dante had a very good imagination.

—It’s ok, Verge. Calm down —he tried, but his brother didn’t hear him, submerged in his memories and the agony of his past. Vergil kept hugging himself with such strength he seemed about to tear the coat’s sleeves.

—She’s broken… broken… and then… then he… —Vergil kept repeating, over and over again, with a broken and trembling voice that expressed all the pain his words couldn’t. Dante felt rage burning in his chest: for Mundus, for his brother’s pain, for his own inability to prevent it…

In a second, he reduced the distance and, without caring of Vergil would accept it or not, surrounded him with his arms in a hug.

He felt Vergil’s body tremble in his arms, but to his surprise he made no attempt to move away. His brother instead placed his forehead on Dante’s shoulder with a soft whimper, so similar to a sob that Dante wouldn’t have been surprised if he felt the tears in Vergil’s face. The demon hunter held him with more strength then, with a lump in his throat, letting his actions speak for him to transmit years of guilt, regret and longing, letting his fingers sink in Vergil’s long hair to press him closer against him in an attempt to protect him from his nightmares and his memories, offering at least a little comfort.

It should have been surprised that Vergil did not move away. He was, after all, reluctant to show weakness and that others made said weakness evident. But he suddenly seemed to weak, too stunned and hurt to care… so Dante stood there, hugging his brother like when they were children, and felt the moment Vergil’s fingers clung to his back almost with the same despair, so vulnerable and broken that he didn’t care to expose himself anymore.

Just like Dante had wanted him to do so many times in the past. How much pain could have been avoided if only Vergil had just let Dante help him in the Temen Ni Gru? How much would’ve changed, if only his twin had accepted his own pain?

After what seemed like an eternity, Vergil’s fingers released him, and Dante felt his brother’s body give up again to tiredness. Dante then allowed himself to be worried: Vergil needed help, care, food… nothing of which could be found in hell. And with the Yamato broken and no clues of how to come out, he…

—She…

Vergil’s voice was barely a whisper, so much so that Dante had trouble listening to him while he guided his brother so that he was laying against him.

—What? —Dante asked, uneasy. Vergil sounded distant, close to collapsing.

—She… Yamato… —Vergil repeated, closing his eyes.

—What with Yamato? —Dante repeated, feeling somewhat stupid but unable to understand his brother’s message. Vergil sighed, and seemed to make an effort to stay conscious.

—No… she knows… Yamato… —he said with an effort, while his body lost whatever strength it had left and all his weight fell over Dante’s shoulder.

—I don’t understand, Verge —he apologized, with no other option, but Vergil was not listening.

—She knows… —he whispered in a last attempt, before going limp again.

Dante muttered a curse. What the hell was Vergil trying to say? Obviously, he missed the Yamato, but Dante didn’t understand what was the point of bringing it up. And ‘her’? What about her? The sword? Or was it…?

The hunter looked with a frustrated sigh towards the directing in which Vergil had tried to walk moments ago. Did that mean he could feel the Yamato’s presence? If that was the case, they were fucked; Vergil was asleep most of the time, how could he guide him? And her… the Yamato? How in all hell was the sword going to KNOW what?

It was then that his eyes moved almost by accident to the demonic panther. She remained unmoved in her place, but for some reason had turned to see him, fixing her red eyes on him, those eyes full of that strange mixture between bestiality and intelligence. And then he understood.

She knows. The Shadow.

—Is there where you’re taking us, right? To the Yamato —he asked her after the revelation. The panther didn’t say anything (for obvious reasons) but shook her tail once, licked her whiskers, and looked again at the distance with a hint of impatience, as if saying “finally, you realized it”.

Dante smiled. That bossy know-it-all attitude was familiar. Very familiar.

—You remind me of someone, you know? —he commented, in a better mood, while in an impulse he imagined the panther with locks of long, golden hair. —Trish would kill me if she knew —he said to himself, and the shadow seemed to snarl in indignation.

It didn’t matter. Suddenly he didn’t feel so lost in the immensity of hell anymore. If there was a fragment of the Yamato out there, no matter how small, and if the panther knew how to track it, they could escape. They could come back.

Vergil, at his side, trembled. No doubt that position was quite uncomfortable… in an impulse. Dante reaccommodated himself against the rocky wall and guided Vergil’s head to rest carefully on his lap. In the past, that would have costed him no doubt a couple of amputated limbs; now, however, Vergil only answered with a sigh, and his body relaxed immediately in sleep as if some of his tension had left him, just like Dante’s.

As if he, at last, felt safe enough to sleep.

Chapter Text

This time Dante didn’t need the shadow’s growls to wake up, although he wasn’t sure what had woken him up. Vergil was still unconscious, curled up on the ground and with his head still resting on his lap, and the only sound outside was the faraway echo of some demon fighting.

There wasn’t anything relevant, except maybe the small prick of something Dante couldn’t identify, something weak but constant, like a shadow lurking between the bushes…

Speaking of shadows, the panther was restless again, and had stood up from her guarding post to sniff the air with the same tense attitude she had shown in the cave. Only this time, for some reason, Dante shared her distress.

The hunter tensed and looked outside. Time was as unpredictable as always in hell, but he guessed it was still night; he probably had slept just a few hours. The demonic panther went around in circles a couple time under the darkness, growling under her breath with growing despair while Dante, with a strange and sudden shudder, lowered his eyes to the sleeping form of his brother.

Vergil needed rest, but something told him they had to change shelter. Soon. Keep moving despite the little rest was not a good idea, but that stab of uneasiness told him it was better to do so. Anything capable of scaring a shadow was to be feared, and the unusual environment around him supported the urgency. They had to move.

—Ok, kitty, time to go —Dante commented, and the shadow answered immediately: the panther stopped and fixed her eyes on him, so still that her silhouette got lost between the shadows of the formation… except for her long tail, that moved from side to side like the sole evidence of her uneasiness. In fact, she seemed relieved when Dante, with careful movements, stood up and took Vergil on his arms again. —Hope you can sense the Yamato as well as he does —he added, looking worriedly at his twin’s pale face. The walk, even in Dante’s arms, was no good for him; the movement and the wounds were not a good combination, but…

One look at the shadow was enough to understand she was in a hurry to advance. So he chose to trust her instinct and follow her yet again.

The demonic panther began walking with surprising urgence, moving at a quick step between rocks and withered trunks of what once had been trees, jumping over an obstacle once in a while with her usual feline ability, but with an urgency that Dante could notice. To make matters worse, he still felt that strange oppression in the air, as if something was lurking close enough to make him uncomfortable without really making itself evident. Very much like that feeling when you know you’re being watched despite not seeing who is watching. Dante had yet to feel a demonic presence, but that was definitively not a good sign.

Even Vergil seemed aware of it, since he moved and trembled in his dreams on Dante’s arms, sometimes murmuring something in low voice or wincing in pain. It seemed to Dante that he looked a little more pale, a little more weak, and that was enough to ignore his instincts and focus on the most immediate concern: Vergil needed help, and a safe place to properly rest.

—Hey! How far is the Yamato? —he asked without thinking, while they walked over the worst area he had seen until then: a vast flatland where they remained in full sight even to the most short-sighted demon. The shadow looked at him over her shoulder and growled, showing him her fangs. —Oh… right —Dante complained. No matter how smart the demon was, she could not speak. Much less explain the distance.

Vergil suddenly jumped, as if the shadow’s growl had hit him with the strength of a whip, while he let go a whimper of pain. His hands balled into fists, and he trembled with such strength that Dante had to stop to keep holding him safely.

—Verge?

—No… don’t touch me… enough…

Suddenly, Vergil was thrashing with such strength that Dante had trouble holding him, shaking and twisting as if he was fighting against invisible chains. Afraid to let him fall, Dante had no option but to let him go, releasing him when his brother’s feet stood up firmly on the ground. Vergil staggered immediately, as if he had forgotten how to walk now that Dante wasn’t holding him up; the hunter stretched his arms, ready to catch him if he fell…

Vergil’s movement was so sudden and fast that, despite his weakened state, he broke through Dante’s defenses. In a moment, Vergil took a step forward and hit his brother’s chest, pushing him while his free hand stretched like claws towards something behind him… Dante felt time stopped, along with a stab of panic when he saw from the corner of his eye as Vergil’s hand closed around the Rebellion’s hilt.

Dante staggered a couple steps, but he managed to stay standing despite the sudden strength of the hit. Before him, the shadow’s hair rose with a hiss while Vergil, between them both, stood with the Rebellion in his hands, with the red eyes of Nelo Angelo shinning in the gloom of hell.

The shadow growled, and Dante shuddered. Whatever it was that Vergil was looking at, definitively was not him; there was not a trace of doubt or recognition in his eyes, only blind fury and terror so mixed that it was hard to say if he was scared or furious. Dante rose his hands with a lump in his throat.

—Hey, Vergil… all is fine —he tried, taking a step towards him. Vergilsquinted his eyes, and rose the Rebellion to point her at his brother’s chest. Well, at least that wasn’t new.

—No… don’t touch me… filthy scum —Vergil hissed, with a guttural and somber tone more similar to the incomprehensible growls of Nelo Angelo than to his own voice. Ironically, that had sounded so similar to the Vergil he remembered that Dante felt a stab of pain in his chest.

—I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m Dante, remember? —he pressed, trying to take another step. Vergil moved to a most comfortable stance, clearly willing to pierce him with the sword. Meanwhile, the shadow moved in circles around them with a series of desperate growls, as if she wanted to stop them.

—He’s not here… I’m not going to fall for your tricks… —Vergil hissed, oblivious of all logic. In that moment there was no trace of weakness in him, only the murdering aura of a cornered demon. Dante wondered if he was reviving a situation of the past, if that was how he had faced Mundus… if that was how he had lost the Yamato.

—Come on, Verge. Don’t tell me you can’t tell your dear brother apart from an illusion. Look, I’m going to show you that… —Dante commented, while he took his hand to his chest in search of the amulet.

He didn’t get to even touch it. The shadow’s roar was the only warning before Vergil launched himself against him, with the sword still aiming for his heart and a strength that was undoubtedly fueled by fear. Dante barely managed to step aside to avoid the powerful attack, leaving his brother to pass him by while he cursed.

Vergil turned around, apparently unaware of his own faltering breath and the paleness of his face, to launch to attack again, holding Rebellion with a mastery that would have been admirable, if not because he was pointing her at Dante. The hunter, scared and frustrated, had no option but to step back again, avoiding the blade of his own sword by mere centimeters while his brother in front of his prepared the next cut.

—Vergil! Stop! It’s me, Dante! Wake up! —Dante screamed over and over until he felt his throat sore, but his brother didn’t listen. Suddenly, he was Nelo Angelo once again, fighting against Dante in an unkempt garden at Mallet Island, with those same red eyes and unaffected gesture that drowned every trace of his humanity.

With that same coldness, Vergil let the Rebellion fall in a vertical cut, with such strength that the sword sank in the ground where seconds before Dante had been. The hunter avoided him with a jump to put some distance between them, and landed a few meters away.

—Vergil, listen to me! He’s not here! —Dante screamed, searching among his clothes to hold his half of the amulet. The shadow, standing at his side, kept growling with her fur still stanging like a cornered cat, apparently unable to decide what to do. Vergil stood still for a moment to look at Dante, ignoring the panther and the world, without even releasing the sword from the ground. Dante showed him the amulet, letting his brother have a full view of it. —It’s me! Remember? I don’t know what that bastard did to you, but he’s not… There’s no one here except…! —he continued, but he suddenly couldn’t finish.

Because there WAS something there. An essence that exploded all around him like a detonated bomb, along with the deafening roar of the shadow… and something more. Something Dante recognized the moment the enormous mass of a demon appeared in the air out of nowhere.

Just above the unmoving figure of Vergil, who looked at him with a confused but conscious gesture…

—Dante…?

—Vergil! —he screamed, desperate in a second… but it was late.

The Phantom fell on the ground with a roar, opening his hideous jaws while Vergil rose the Rebellion again to try and defend himself. But the spell was broken, and his consciousness brought along all the pain and weakness he had ignored as Nelo Angelo. The enormous scorpion tail of the Phantom fell like a spear, and although Vergil managed to step back to avoid the deadly sting, there was little he could do against the explosive impact of the hit.

Dante watched paralyzed as his brother fell among fragments of rock, the moment he fell to the ground with a pained gasp, rolling for a few meters until he stood still. The Rebellion, free from his hand, fell with a clang on the ground a few steps away from Dante.

In an instant, the hunter took his sword and practically ran towards his brother, while the demon already opened his jaws to release its most powerful attack.

—Filthy scum! You can’t run forever —the Phantom growled, with that same arrogant voice Dante knew so well at this point, and the demon’s insides shone with the strength of the lightning. However, before it could say something more, a ball of shadows fell over it, hitting it’s side with such strength that the Phantom roared in rage and turned to a side, where the shadow recovered her shape to face it with a growl. —You again… insolent creature… —the Phantom hissed, furious… moving his sight away from Dante.

The hunter took the opportunity. He didn’t like the idea of moving away from Vergil, defenseless as he was, but he knew all too well the rank of the attack and powers of a Phantom and knew, although unwillingly, that the best way to protect his brother was to get the demon to move away from him. So he launched himself forward with a fierce thrust, reducing the distance until the tip of Rebellion sank in one of the Phantom’s legs.

The demon roared in rage and jumped with a powerful impulse to avoid more damage and distance itself from its unexpected rival. The shadow dissolved on the ground, and then stretched like a snake to surround Vergil’s still body, where she materialized again before him with the same fierce and protective expression she had shown when Dante saw her for the first time. At least, he could trust her with protecting Vergil. The Phantom recovered immediately, snapping its sharp fangs in a menacing grimace.

—I see you’ve brought more scum… Good. This time, the result will be different —the Phantom hissed, hitting the ground with its front legs in a menacing gesture.

The demon hunter’s heart skipped a beat. Those words seemed to imply the Phantom was not a casual apparition. It must have been following them… Dante remembered the way the shadow kept Vergil hidden in her nest of branches, the panther’s urgency to keep moving despite his brother’s condition and her evident concern for him, the way she sniffed the air with apprehension and anxiety…

She must have been running from this Phantom.

They clearly had a past conflict. The shadow roared again behind Dante, and the Phantom answered the challenge by hitting the ground with its huge legs while moving its infamous scorpion tail.

—Silence! The clan does not forget. You and that human garbage will pay for my brother’s blood —the demon roared, and Dante suddenly understood. If there was something he knew for certain about Phantom demons was they were ridiculously proud and stubborn when defending their relative’s lost honor.

But the Phantom was not the only one with a brother to protect, and thus Dante took a step forward enough to place himself between of both demons, with the Rebellion resting on his shoulders and an apparent calm that he didn’t actually feel.

—Well, well… an acquaintance of you, kitty? —he commented, sarcastic, looking at the shadow from the corner of his eye. The panther’s eyes shone when she answered with a growl. —Sorry, pal; the lady says no —he added, looking at the Phantom with all the arrogance he could muster. He knew the demon would hate him, would consider him outrageous, and mark him as his main target just because of it. Whatever it took to make it forget about Vergil.

—Shut up, human! Step aside or die! —the spider menaced, opening its jaws to show its fangs.

—Sorry, bug, that’s not gonna happen. You’re gonna have to look elsewhere for another bite, or another brother; I’m not giving you mine —he joked, just to get the demon’s attention. He could feel the shadow’s eyes on him as if they traversed his back, and could feel Vergil’s weak and erratic presence.

—Filthy human! I’ll teach you to lower your head before your superiors! —the Phantom bragged, and then attacked him.

Luckily Dante had experience dealing with its kind, and took a step back just in time to avoid the Phantom’s sharp pincers, that crashed against the ground with a loud noise, launching dust and rocks everywhere. The hunted then took the opportunity to attack, avoiding the creature’s legs to reach its vulnerable, and momentarily exposed, point: he drew a vertical line with the Rebellion, opening a deep cut in the Phantom’s face, that roared in pain and flexed its legs to jump again.

The demon fell a couple meters behind, and opened his jaws before Dante could aim with Ebony and Ivory. The shinning inside its throat grew in a second, and the hunter had no option but to step aside when the Phantom unleased one of its characteristic fireballs. Dante rolled and stood up again just when the demon launched another fiery ball, not in his direction but against…

—Son of a bitch! —he roared then, turning quickly in search of his brother. However, he barely took a coupler of steps when the fireball crashed against a dome of shadows. The panther recovered her shape the moment the last flames died out, and launched a warning roar.

Dante let go the air he was holding. At least she seemed capable of blocking her rival’s attacks.

Finally trusting that Vergil would be safe, Dante then focused on the Phantom and ran towards it. The demon launched a series of fire balls with a mocking growl against the demon hunter, and Dante avoided them by moving one side and the other without stopping until, in a moment, he was again in front of the Phantom, that kept his pincers away exposing its face, vulnerable.

The second cut destroyed at least three eyes of the enormous creature, that roared in rage and pain and immediately covered with its pincers. However, in a moment Dante saw movement from the corner of his eye, and the Phantom’s sting fell over him with lightning speed.

This time it was Dante’s turn to step back. The Phantom charged with almost blind fury, with its body surrounded by demonic energy and a speed that was usually the most irritating aspect of its kind. For a moment, Dante couldn’t do much except running, while trying to evade the demon’s powerful legs and its constant thrusts with the sting, all the while covering its face with the pincers. Dante tried to hit him a couple of times with the Rebellion, but he knew very well that was useless: the cuirass that covered most of the demon’s body made the sword bounce like a metallic sound and a vibration that almost paralyzed his arm with the impact.

No doubt the Phantom knew it too, and despite its rage it merely chased him and attacked him with the sting and its legs, trying to crush him or traverse him, without daring to expose its face once.

It was the first to learn the lesson, he could grant him that. But he had no time to loose with it. Who knows what other demons were lurking in the area, and which ones would come to see the moment they felt the battle. Vergil’s energy, although partially hidden by the shadow’s, was weak enough to attract demons looking for easy prey, and the Phantom’s blood was not going to help with discretion in a place where most of the population had ultra developed senses. No. Dante had to finish this soon.

The Phantom’s sting quickly fell again, so close that Dante held his breath while he jumped to the side barely on time… too close to evade when the demon finally dared to lower its protections and its enormous pincers hit Dante’s side with the strength of a truck.

The hunter cursed under his breath, feeling himself spinning in the air with the strength of the impact, and then fell with a painful hit against the ground. He heard his own body cracking, and gasped when his lungs lost all the air. He heard then the Phantom’s victorious laugh, as proud as its brothers… Dante stood up almost immediately, with the Rebellion in one hand and Ebony in the other ready to shoot, ignoring the stab of pain and the natural tingling while his wounds closed on their own.

The Phantom focused then on Vergil and the shadow, which hairs stood in fear just by looking at it.

—Inferior scum… no one can help you this time. You, and that traitorous piece of crap will become my meal —the demon threatened, just before a rain of bullets crashed against its cuirass.

—Hey, you! We’re not done yet —Dante screamed, and gave a last shot that managed to hit the Phantom’s head; the demon growled in outrage.

—Filthy human, you still want more? —it mocked, but at least turned around to face Dante, ignoring Vergil once more. The hunted gasped when he felt his broken ribs reaccommodate, but smiled.

—Why not? It’s not like is something new… I’ve dealt with your kind before. In Mallet Island, in Dumary Island… you could say turning your relatives into spider mash is my favorite sport —he mocked. He could almost see the moment the Phantom’s little eyes shone with rage… rage, and recognition.

—You… dirty piece of shit! —the demon roared, and gave a mighty jump. Which was exactly what Dante expected it to do.

Phantom were irritatingly hard to kill, protected as they were by that hard external cuirass. They only had two weak points that could be attacked: the head… and the abdomen. And there, floating in the air, the idiot had exposed both.

Instead of trying to guess where it would fall, Dante used those few seconds to holster his gun, hold the Rebellion with both hands, and stand in his place while raising the sword just when the Phantom fell. The demon was obviously unable to fly, even less control the rhythm of its fall, so he could do nothing with its own impulse pierced him with the Rebellion’s blade; the sword sank to the bottom in the space between its neck and jaw.

Dante knew that was going to hurt, but he hadn’t expected the force of the impact. That felt like the hit from a massive rock, bending his knees and pushing him against the ground with such strength he almost fell. But the demon hunter gathered his strength, and when the Phantom was still thrashing trying to take the sword out of his body, Dante pushed with his legs to stand up, using all the power he had to sink the sword even more in his rival’s body… until he pushed the Phantom with a scream and an outburst of energy, leaving it upside down, and fell over it.

—Dirty… human… —the spider whispered while lava flowed from its jaws and neck as if it was blood. Dante, covered from head to toe in that strange mix of blood and lava, smiled.

—Like I said… sport —he concluded, and held the Rebellion to guide it in a powerful horizontal cut, that separated the Phantom’s head from the rest of its body. The creature shrieked and thrashed in a terrifying spasm of legs and sting for an instant, until the head rolled slowly away from its body, and the demon finally stopped moving.

Dante let go a relieved sigh and, after making sure there were no more demons around, stepped down from the Phantom’s body with a jump… that ended in a whimper of pain when the impact made his wounds evident. To his surprise, he heard the shadow’s worried growl, and he ended up raising a hand in a dismissive gesture.

—I’m fine, fine, just… give me a moment —Dante said, worked up, while his whole body pulsed with pain. The hunter stabbed the ground with the tip of the Rebellion to use it as an improvised cane, and supported himself placing his free hand on his thigh in an attempt to remain standing while his metabolism did its thing.

At least, unlike Vergil, Dante was well enough to enjoy the benefits of his quick healing, and the pain soon became nothing more than a slight throbbing and an echo of memory where once had been at least more than one broken bone.

The hunter only allowed himself that moment of rest, and a instant later he was again at his brother’s side. He felt a lump in his throat when he saw the blood on the ground, and another more when he pushed aside the red coat and saw the bloodied bandage. At least Vergil was still unconscious, which allowed Dante to move and tend to the reopened wound as best as he could… which wasn’t much, really. There was no water or medicines, and he only could remove bandages from more stable wounds and use then to cover the most serious injury. For the hundredth time since he found Vergil, Dante lamented being in that depressing dark hole instead of being in the human world, in the safety of Devil May Cry and with the help of Trish, Lady and modern medical science.

But of course, he was not that lucky. All his luck had ran out with the miracle of Vergil’s reappearance… he was not going to complain about that.

At least the shadow seemed calmer. While he tended to his brother, Dante looked once in a while to the panther from the corner of his eye, and saw her approaching the Phantom’s remains to sniff it with something very similar to scorn; she then sank her teeth and pulled out a piece of meat to devour it with a satisfied growl while the demon hunter finished with Vergil’s bandages.

Dante wondered if he should follow her example. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all, and there was too little food in hell to ignore such a good source of protein… but Phantom was not like any other low-class demon, and that sting was surely poisonous. Better not to risk it.

There was a sudden moan at his side, a subtle mix of pain and discomfort, and suddenly Vergil was awake, moving slowly in an attempt to stand up before Dante’s scared and tense stare. He wasn’t sure he could contain it again this time, and the reopened wound could be dangerous if his brother… Vergil, however, stood up with calm, without the violence of moments ago and enough consciousness of himself to ignore Dante and stagger a little in his attempt to move.

—Hey! Stop. You’ll hurt yourself —the hunter instructed, stretching his hand to grab him just when Vergil was close to fall face first to the ground.

—Yamato… —he whispered, while trying to break free from Dante’s hold, with such weakness it hurt to notice how his strength had diminished, but determined to walk. Dante placed a hand on his brother’s chest to try and stop him.

—I know, yeah, but you can go on like this. You barely… —Dante said, before his brother turned around to look at him with such a cold expression that was so… VERGIL that the rest of the lecture died on his lips. But he could barely walk; there wasn’t many options to begin with. —Let me help you —he offered, very much willing to take him in his arms like he had done the last few days.

—No…

—Damn it, Verge. Don’t be stubborn…

—NO.

Dante cursed under his breath, struggling with his brother while he thought of a course of action. In Vergil’s current condition, it would be easy for him to impose and carry him despite his protests, but… something in that idea felt wrong. Up until now, Vergil had shown no traces of pride or awareness of himself beyond those brief flashes of familiarity when he woke up in a good day. The fact he now felt with enough attitude to try and preserve his dignity by walking was a huge improvement… would be better if he could actually stand up, but Dante was not going to be picky. One step at the time.

—Ok, ok! Alright, you win… —the demon hunter said, frustrated, and before Vergil could protest or escape from his hold, Dante passed one of his brother’s arms over his shoulders and gave a tentative step. Vergil sighed heavily, and to Dante’s optimist he sounded a little annoyed. —This or nothing, Vergil, or I swear to mom’s memory that I’ll drag your heavy ass around hell —he added, to settle the matter.

Vergil didn’t seem happy at all, but apparently was well aware of his own limitations. And walking with Dante’s help was surely much better than to be carried like a virginal bride, so he pressed his lips in a thin line and, without saying a word, took another step.

Victory.

Dante turned around towards the shadow, but he didn’t need to call her: the panther immediately trotted to reach them, looking at Dante and then at Vergil as if she was trying to decide which was more stubborn… or more idiot. She definitively looked like Trish.

—Don’t look at me like that, it was his idea —he defended himself. Why the heck was he justifying himself with an infernal cat as if it was his mother? The shadow at least only growled, and walked slowly at Vergil’s side while his brother, supported by Dante, made his best effort to place a foot in front of the other.

This was going to be a long journey…

Chapter Text

Or maybe not.

In the end, Vergil’s weakness chose for them, and after a while (longer than what Dante had guessed), his brother’s knees buckled and he let go a tired gasp, after which Dante had no option but to ignore his protests and carry him again in his arms. Vergil was so tired at this point that he didn’t even get to protest before falling asleep.

At least this time there was no danger on sight. The shadow, restless before, walked now with more calm and confidence, evaluating the terrain and sniffing the air with casual movements, as if she was just evaluating the territory but didn’t expect any ambush. Definitively she had been running from the Phantom, which left Dante with many questions. The bug had mentioned a dead brother, and his thirst for vengeance was aimed to both the panther and Vergil, which meant his brother had been involved. The Phantom had also mentioned something about the “help” the shadow had received previously… Vergil’s? Did that mean VERGIL had executed the brother? And if that was the case, why? How?

With nothing to do except walking, the questions kept going in circles on Dante’s mind, even while the shadow guided them to yet another cave, much smaller than the previous one but big enough to protect them from the weather and the occasional curious demon.

It didn’t take long for Dante to hear again the slow dripping of water, but at this point he wasn’t surprised. The shadow knew her territory well, and she was obviously making sure to get safe refuges with, no doubt, water sources for her travel companions. The panther even laid at Vergil’s feet with something similar to a purr, watching while Dante drank from the little puddle of water with no reservations, as if she was questioning his excess of confidence.

Not even the kings of hell had managed to kill him. A little water was not going to do much difference.

After managing to make Vergil drink too (thanks to the rudimentary bowl he had kept from the previous cave) Dante sat with a tired sigh. His wounds had healed by then, but the constant stress for Vergil’s health and his erratic mental state were starting to tire him. To his surprise, the shadow growled and looked at him with a concerned gesture.

—Don’t worry, I’m not going to die —he joked, and the stretched with a sigh. The panther moved her tail. —I don’t know what the hell you two had been doing, but you surely know how to get into trouble —he added. —This would be a good moment for you to tell me you can talk, you know, kitty?

—Shadow.

Dante jumped when he heard Vergil’s voice, tired and weak, but undoubtedly coherent.

—What? —he asked. Vergil sighed as if he was dealing with a not too smart kid.

—Her name… is Shadow —he explained. The moment she heard him, the panther rose her head and looked at him with evident acknowledgement, and Dante couldn’t help but give his brother a mocking stare.

—You really named a shadow demon as SHADOW, Vergil? —he mocked. Something in his voice must have given him away, because the demon made a grimace to show him her fangs, and then proceeded to rearrange her body to place her big head on Vergil’s lap.

—She likes it —his brother answered as sole explanation.

—She likes YOU. She would answer even if you called her Bitch McFurry —Dante joked, which earned him a look of disdain from his brother.

—Don’t call her that… —he reprimanded him, with a tingle of poison in his voice that surprised the demon hunter. Vergil didn’t use to be close to… well… anyone. Except maybe Dante himself.

—Just joking, Verge. I like cats —the hunter answered, looking at the subject of their discussion with renewed interest. If he had to be honest, she was a beautiful creature, with that fur as black as night and those fierce red eyes. If he didn’t have to fight her kind so often, he surely would find her an elegant and beautiful pet. —I don’t remember you liking them, however —he added, almost by accident, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

That had to be the most pathetic attempt at making conservation, especially with someone like his brother, but at that point Dante didn’t know what else to say. Speaking about what Vergil had endured all those years in hell was out of the question, and the previous times he had been awake for so little time before falling asleep that Dante was willing to bring any subject up just to hold to that instant of sanity. And since Vergil had the courtesy to correct him about Shadow’s name, well…

Vergil, however, made a gesture and lowered his sight to the demonic panther, pressing his lips in a thin line that made clear that, sane or not, he had no intention to keep talking. Dante suddenly felt transported to his childhood, when he ran around Vergil with a wooden sword in an attempt to take him out of his books and pay attention to him.

Dante sighed. At least this silence was more like Vergil’s usual behavior than his disoriented whispers.

—She was… small —Vergil suddenly said, when Dante had already resigned to not receiving an answer. His brother said the phrase with a soft and somewhat unsure tone, as if he was digging in his memory for the right answer. —The Phantom tried to devour her attacking her from behind. He had ordered… —he continued, with a slight shudder when he mentioned the last part. Dante didn’t need more to know who he was referring to. —Only a coward and unworthy creature attacks from behind —he concluded.

—You killed it, then —Dante added, careful not to highlight that, in fact, Vergil had killed to protect a defenseless and powerless creature (even if said creature was a demon). His brother usually didn’t like to be exposed, or that Dante made evident those brief glimpses of humanity he tried so hard to suppress.

Vergil said nothing, which was in itself a confirmation, and Dante let him be. At least he had his answers and a more logical explanation for the strange bond the demonic panther shared with his brother. Although vile and treacherous, demons were capable of affect and loyalty; his own father was proof of it. No doubt Shadow had tried to return the favor by saving Vergil’s life, something for which Dante would be forever grateful.

The conversation then gave way to a strange silence. Unlike previous conversations, Vergil seemed more aware of time and space, although deep in a tense meditation. Dante wondered of that hit from the Phantom had put order in his ideas, or if remembering Shadow’s incident helped him to sort his own memories. In silence, Dante watched while his brother made a gesture, and then held his forehead with a hand while he supported himself against the wall. He looked tired.

—Dante…

—Yes?

—What… what are you doing here?

Dante let go of the air he was holding. Although it wasn’t the first time Vergil asked that question, this time it was accompanied by awareness; Vergil was not doubting his presence, or sliding again to a crisis of amnesia… he was just asking what was obvious. The hunter smiled with a carefree air, trying not to remember that the last time that same question had ended in a panic attack.

—I told you, dragging your stubborn ass back home —he answered. Vergil seemed to shudder at the word: home. Maybe, he remembered the last home they had shared, with Eva.

—You… you shouldn’t be here —Vergil repeated, sinking his fingers in his hair. Fighting to remain under control. Dante could not help him with that, so he did what he knew best and pretended nothing was happening.

—Well, Verge, you know me. Following rules is not my thing —he answered with some pride. Vergil seemed to tense, and placed his hand on his chest to hold his half of the amulet.

—I told you… no —he said, tense. Dante frowned; he didn’t remember Vergil prohibiting him to search for him, much less to enter the underworld. In Mallet Island he hadn’t been coherent enough to know who he was, how could he…?

And then he remembered a scene, long time ago. Vergil at the edge of the infernal precipice, Yamato pointing at Dante’s chest and the amulet safe in his hand. The hunter felt a stab of phantom pain in the palm of his right hand…

I’ll remain here. This was our father’s home…

The last time he saw him as Vergil, after the fiasco of the Temen Ni Gru. The fact he remembered made Dante shiver.

He had no idea if Vergil’s fragile mind was omitting the events of Mallet Island, or if he deliberately chose not to take them into account, but it didn’t make any difference.

—No —he said, with such determination and rage that Vergil tensed at his side. —I listened to you once, and look how well that went —he added, before realizing how cruel his words sounded. In fact, Dante heard his brother held his breath, and Shadow reacted with a warning growl.

—It is for the best… —Vergil argued, although Dante could notice his trembling voice. He wondered if Vergil was listing mentally all his choices and consequences: Mundus, Nelo Angelo, their fights. Well, to hell with it all.

—To hell with your thoughts, Vergil! I don’t give a shit about your damned pride, or whatever you think you have to do. I’m going to take you out of here and you’re going to come with me even if I have to drag your pale ass in all damn hell. We’re going home, you like it or not, because I’m not going to lose you again! —Dante finally yelled, unable to control himself. Guilt and pain accumulated in his chest and now exploded like a volcano.

What did he care about Nelo Angelo? Who cared a fuck about Mallet Island? Vergil was his brother, the only family he had left. And for all the demons in the underworld, he was going to drag him out of this damn place.

Whatever it was Vergil was about to say, it suddenly died on his lips, as if he could read in that moment all that crossed his twin’s mind. Even Shadow stood still, looking at him with those demonic eyes that looked intelligent and savage at the same time. Although regretting his outburst of emotion, Dante held Vergil’s stare, daring him to answer… more than ever, aware of the traces of tiredness in his face.

The scars of years of torture and abuse.

Vergil lowered his eyes, and the hand that held the amulet squeezed the jewel with such strength his knuckles paled even more. Dante watched his face below the long white locks and saw his lips moving in a trembling whisper.

—Foolishness, Dante…

Dante smiled despite himself. True to his nature, Vergil evaded any answer that involved a minimal trace of fondness or acceptance. That had not been actually a “yes”.

But, of course, it wasn’t a “no” either.

-------------------------------------------------------------

 

At least, the absence of a mutant scorpion-spider following their steps made the rest of the journey to pass without much incidents.

Shadow at least was much more relaxed, enough to guide them at a normal pace in which was easier to travel for hours without rest. The demonic panther was also powerful enough to keep away any lower demon that felt curious and, when they found any group that was more dangerous, she was able to fight alongside Dante with ability, which made most of the fights a piece of cake. In other moment, Dante maybe would have complained of how boring that last thing was; but, with Vergil under his charge, he preferred not to deal with unpleasant surprises.

Vergil, on his part, had good days and bad days. At times he was so lucid he seemed fully recovered; others, he was again inside the ruins in Mallet Island, or in one of Mundus’s dark dungeons at the mercy of whatever the demon had done to him. Some days he insisted on walking on his own, with Dante’s support, as far as he could go; others, he was so lost and unconscious that Dante had to carry him all the way.

But he was improving; maybe not at the speed Dante would have wanted, but he did. At least he seemed to escape his nightmares and hallucinations more easily, and there were more frequent moments where he could talk with Dante about the events that had lead him to find him in hell.

Vergil didn’t say much, as usual. Dante didn’t expect him to. But he could see with more frequency the sparkle of sanity in his blue eyes, instead of the red unattached tone of Nelo Angelo that, little by little, gave was to his brother’s personality before Mundus transformed him in his slave. From those years, none of them mentioned a thing. Dante didn’t wish to open that wound, and Vergil was so unstable and affected with the sole mention of the Demon King that it was best not to bring the subject up. There would be time for that later.

At least they seemed to walk on the right direction. Dante still had no clue about where they were or where they were going, but soon he started to feel a different essence, mixed with the hundreds of demons from afar but, at the same time, completely different to them. A far away humming, a beam of light that seemed to resonate with him, that vibrated with the Rebellion’s blade as if singing its desire to join her.

The weak but increasingly distinct presence of the Yamato. Even at the distance, she beat in search of her master with such strength Dante could feel her, too. They had to be close.

—Just a little more, Verge —he whispered, looking at Vergil’s sleeping figure, which head rested yet again on his lap.

That had been one of the bad days; it had taken all of Dante’s self-control and many soft and careful words to return Vergil to sanity. At least since that time the Phantom had made its theatrical entrance, his brother’s disorientation had not escalated as much as to made him attack; however, it had left him so exhausted that, even after remembering who he was, Vergil hadn’t even argued when Dante had pushed him to rest on his lap.

They were close. Maybe closer than he expected.

Shadow woke him up that morning (or whatever time it was, in hell it was difficult to notice) with a soft pull to his leg, biting one of his boots with enough care not to tear his foot apart with her fangs. Dante made a grimace and opened his eyes, staring at his personal alarm clock with reproach.

The demonic panther answered with another pull to his foot and a growl.

—I’m coming, MOM —Dante complained, moving barely enough to release his leg without moving Vergil too much; his brother was still asleep, with his head on Dante’s lap. —Are you sure you’re not related to Trish somehow? —he asked, half-jokingly, while the panther sat and stared at him with all the force of disapproval in her red eyes.

She seemed restless. Again. Although she remained sitting, her tail moved from one side to the other, and there was an air of urgency in her feline face that almost resembled her previous desperation, when she was chased by the Phantom. Dante frowned.

—You didn’t kill any other spider relative of which I must know about, right? —he wondered, to which Shadow answered with a low growl and a subtle movement of her paws that clearly indicated how much she wanted to start walking. Was that a yes or a no?

In that moment, Vergil stirred. Before Dante could process what was happening, his brother sat up as if in a trance, ignoring his tiredness and his half-healed wounds, judging by the way he flinched the moment he managed to sit straight.

—Hey, hey, not so fast Mr. impatient —Dante complained, holding him before he chose to stand up. Vergil didn’t even seem to listen to him, focused on an apparently random point of the scenery.

—Yamato… —he whispered, as sole explanation. Dante could feel the sword’s energy, of course, but still too weak to think it was around the corner. The Yamato emitted an aura that was difficult to ignore; if they really were close enough, her essence would have dominated the area, anxious to reunite with her master.

—She’s not here, Verge. You know that —Dante explained, fearful he would have to deal yet again with one of Vergil’s episodes of confusion. The ones involving the Yamato were the worst. Vergil didn’t answer, and in a moment released from Dante’s hold to stand up with shaky steps. The hunter noticed Shadow stood up, too.

—No… I feel her close… —Vergil corrected him, at least coherent enough to explain before taking an unsteady step.

Dante cursed when he saw his brother lose his balance, and he reduced the distance in a second to hold him and support him. If he could, he would have carried him, but the mere insinuation of the movement made Vergil look at him with a stare that, were he in peak condition, would surely had involved the loss of at least a vital organ.

—There’s no hurry. We can still rest a few hours more —Dante said, feeling that Vergil gave a soft pull in an attempt to move. At the same time, Shadow growled, took a couple of steps, and rose her head to look at him almost with the same reproach Vergil had shown him. The demon hunter sighed in defeat. —You tow are fucking stubborn, you know that? —he complained, but he had no option but to give up. There were two against one. He passed Vergil’s arm over his shoulders, gave the panther the most poisonous stare he could make, and started walking.

The territory they were traversing this time was very similar to a forest. O what could pass in hell as a forest, with withered and blackened branches that stretched towards the sky like bony hands, erupting from an irregular soil full with what seemed to be roots. Or mummified demon remains. Hard to tell. At least Dante did not detect any hostile presence in the environment that could indicate an ambush; however, that place made him uneasy. Too much quiet, too much somber… too much easy. Even Shadow seemed to notice, since she moved among the roots and rocks with a cautious air, sniffing the air and lowering her head as if she was waiting for something. Or someone.

Until the moment where the panther, with no prior notice or apparent reason, stopped in something that looked like a thin area of reddish soil, and then rose her head with a low, satisfied growl.

—Now what? —Dante asked, confused. The panther looked at him for a moment, lowered her muzzle and started to move around like a hound looking for its prey, apparently forgetting entirely her initial mission. —You should have gone before we went out —me joked, even if only to feel less confused.

Vergil, however, seemed to understand what was happening. Dante felt the moment his brother’s body tensed, subject to a strange emotion, and then felt a stab of panic when Vergil’s arm slid away from his shoulders, leaving him to take a trembling step, and then another, in the same direction, stretching his hand in a straight line towards an objective Dante could not see… until there was a sudden glow of blue energy, and a point of light that rose from the ground before Vergil’s stretched hand.

Dante immediately recognized the blue aura of his brother, flowing through a silver, shinning blade… or what was left of it. The demon hunter’s heart jumped, and he felt a lump in his throat that suddenly stopped his breathing while what was left of the powerful Yamato flew in the air before Vergil, nothing more than a battered fragment that irradiated a weak bluish light.

It wasn’t that the sword was too far away to feel her presence: it was simply that what was left of her was not big enough to emit more than a weak imitation of her power.

Dante heard Vergil hold his breath in a gasp that almost seemed painful, and the hand that stretched towards the fragment trembled so much it seemed unable to stop. For the first time, Vergil’s face lost all traces of control or indifference, watching the Yamato’s fragment with a grimace of pain and surprise. Vergil took a step back, as if something pushed him back to Dante’s side, while that gasp turned into a whimper.

—Yamato… What …? —Vergil whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from what had once been his sword, and his pride. Dante felt as if something hit him on the chest, blocking all reasoning while he stood there, with his eyes fixed in the broken piece of the magnificent katana, unable to believe what he was seeing.

—What… what happened, Vergil? Why…? —he whispered, terrified and lost, while his mind raced in search of an explanation, trying to evoke the meaning in finding a broken sword. Trying not to imagine something or someone capable of breaking her, of tearing her apart from Vergil when he had refused to let her go even at the edge of the abyss. Just a name came to mind…

—No… no… —Vergil said, at his side, shaking from head to toe; he then held his head in his hands and sank his fingers on his hair with such despair he seemed close to pull it out.

—Verge…

—Don’t touch me… no… not again…

—Vergil…

—No! No more! NO MORE!

—Vergil!

Vergil then shook as if something hit him, screaming with a hoarse voice, as Dante had never heard him scream before. The loss of Yamato, the vision of the fragment, seemed to break the fragile balance that Dante had achieved with days of care and coexistence. Vergil’s heartbreaking scream felt like a slap, and Dante stretched his hand to try and contain him, or hug him, something, damn it!

But then, something shone at his feel, and his whole body paralyzed in a spasm while a strange sigil formed under the three of them, imprisoning them.

A fucking seal! But, why? What the hell was going on? Was it Yamato? Vergil…?

Dante tried to scream a warning, but if he still had his voice, it was lost in the emptiness surrounding them. The infernal forest stopped making sense, turned into a mix of blurry figures and uncomprehensive silhouettes, while Vergil’s screams and Shadow’s roars echoed in his head like non-stop torture. Dante felt his body stop breathing, and the tremor in the ground when something fell over him with the force of a tank…

No… not over him. Over Shadow. She suddenly was there, small and defenseless, wailing like a scared puppy while the Phantom’s huge jaws opened before her… and then something cut the spider in two, seconds before it managed to devour her…

Vergil. But…

The Yamato suddenly feel from his brother’s hands, falling to the ground with a metallic tingling that echoed in all the forest…

Insignificant creature. What makes you believe you can defy me?

Another heartbreaking scream, and suddenly Vergil was there, hands and feet tied up, help up high in a dark space that reeked of blood and fear. The forest disappeared into the darkness, and a giant hand held the Yamato’s blade until it tore her to pieces.

Son of Sparda…

Kneel before me, and all will be over…

Suddenly there were hundreds of blades, hundreds of claws and fangs launching themselves towards Vergil before Dante’s terrified stare, tearing at his skin until his bones were visible, ripping his muscles into rags among screams of agony, spilling his blood over and over again while a demonic voice laughed. Something held Vergil, rose him in the air and then launched him against the ground until each and every one of his bones were broken…

And then he was there again, suspended in the air, too wounded and tired to answer. And Mundus sat on his infernal throne, looking at him with those eyes that knew nothing but disdain and hate.

Kneel before me, and all will be over…

And then the claws and fangs were there again, the swords and the whip… there were screaming of pain and terror once more… while before him his mother burned in the flames until her body consumed, while Dante saw himself burn until he consumed, while Yamato broke with a tingling of goodbye. While Dante, powerless, fought to reach for him.

Vergil whimpered, knelt on the ground, holding his head, with his long hair covering his face… Vergil again, with short hair and a broken, bloodied body… Vergil, with the armor glued to his skin, looking at that figure with white hair that had the same amulet… Dante…

The demon hunter gasped for breath, overwhelmed, but at the same time aware. Vergil’s image kept changing before him, moving from the brother he remembered and the one that had fell under Mundus’s tirany. This… this was…

It wasn’t an attack. Those were Vergil’s memories. His suffering at the hands of the Demon King, years before. An illusion.

With a jump of his heart, Dante returned to the forest, that blurring group of darkness and shapes, to the red ground under his feet and the sigil that beat with intensity, heightened by every scream from Vergil, every roar from Shadow…

Feeding of their suffering.

Dante cursed between his teeth and fought to move, trying to reach Rebellion’s hilt at his back, but it was useless. He could barely move, and even if he could he had no idea what was feeding the sigil. There had to be an artifact somewhere, or some demon that invoked it, but, where? He could barely see anything among the wave of bloody scenes around him, while Vergil’s memories of each day of torture and pain flooded everything, mixing so much with the forest that both seemed to unite in a single image. The only point of light was the fragment of Yamato, like a small lighthouse illuminating in blue the few space that was not devoured by memories, illuminating a withered trunk that suddenly shone with a bloody sparkle…

There! The shinning of something embedded into the tree caught Dante’s attention. Something that flickered in red every time Yamato’s light hit it, and that got lost at moments between the blood of the visions. That had to be it. He wasn’t sure, of course, but it didn’t hurt to try. He could hear Vergil’s screams tearing at his heart; he HAD to do something.

With a superhuman effort, Dante forced his paralyzed hand to move little by little not towards the Rebellion but to Ivory’s case at his back. At least it was close, and after what seemed like an eternity, he felt the cold touch of its handle in his fingers. When he held it, it was as if the world and time returned to their course; his arm moved by instinct, raising despite the sigil to aim in a split second, after which Dante pulled the trigger and his voice got lost among his brother’s screams.

Jackpot.

There was a loud noise when the bullet crashed against the tree, and another more when whatever it was inside broke into pieces. He thought he heard the agonizing voice of a demon dissolving in the air at the same time the sigil disappeared as if it had never been there. Yamato’s fragment fell to the ground, Shadow released a single anguished growl while the hair of her fur rose… and Vergil let go one last scream, and then fell on the ground as if…

The moment he was free, Dante ran towards his brother, holding him in his arms while all he had seen fell over him like a cascade of freezing water. He felt himself shaking when he pressed Vergil’s body against his own, afraid not to feel his breathing… aware, at last, of all Vergil saw in his nightmares, and all he had gone through after their separation.

—Verge… I’m sorry… I’m sorry… —Dante whispered over and over again, hugging his brother without realizing the moment his apologies mixed with his tears. He had been an idiot! He should have looked for him! He should have at least tried!

—Dante… —Vergil whispered, with a voice so hoarse and weak it was hard to hear. He didn’t seem fully conscious, judging by the way he let himself go and pressed closer against his brother as if it was the only thing holding his sanity in place. Dante felt him shiver. He couldn’t hold on anymore; they had to get out of that damned place once and for all.

Desperate, Dante wiped his face with a hand and looked around. Free of the illusion, the only thing left on the area was a circle of blackened ground, and the smoking fragments of what seemed to be a crow’s head made of copper. A demonic artifact left there by accident, or as a trap, or forgotten until it merged with the trunk of a withered tree… whatever. What he needed was the damn fragment.

Dante felt Vergil tremble again, as if prey to a fever.

—Fuck! —he hissed, just when a weak silver glow drew his attention.

Then, Shadow shook her head, coming around after the moment of confusion. Dante and the panther looked at each other, and the hunter couldn’t help but feel a stab of worry at the gesture of the demon, clearly still scared. However, Shadow’s stare moved seconds later to Vergil, and it seemed as if her fur rose yet again. With a growl, the panther turned around and ran before Dante’s confused stare… until he saw her approach the fragment of Yamato; the demon held it carefully between her fangs, turned around, and ran to Dante.

—Smart kitty —Dante complimented, more thankful than he had ever felt for the existence of a demon, Shadow opened her jaws and let the fragment fall on the hunter’s hand, while Vergil moaned. It was evident that the episode had not been good at all for his health.

Aware of it, Dante didn’t waste time. He accommodated his brother as best as he could to keep holding him, stood up and held the fragment of Yamato wondering how the hell was he going to make it work. He knew to a certain extent how to use the katana if he should, but he wasn’t sure how much he could use her powers to open portals in space. Frustrated, he clenched his fist without noticing, and felt a pang of pain when the shapt blade cut his skin deep enough to draw blood.

Somehow, that was enough. The fragment beat once more, and the fine veil between worlds (already weakened by Yamato’s presence) divided again to give was to an opening. Dante felt he could breathe again when, at the other side of the irregular supernatural opening, he distinguished the neon sign of the Devil May Cry.

The portal flickered slightly. It wouldn’t hold much time.

—Time to go home, Verge —Dante said to himself, and took a step forward before realizing Shadow was not following him. When he turned around, the panther looked at him, cautious. —Move those paws, mom, or you’ll stay behind —he reprimanded her.

That was enough, and Shadow practically jumped to his side; the three of them crossed the portal seconds before it closed, and the only sound left in the street was the soft wind before the Devil May Cry.

Chapter Text

Dante felt all the accumulated tension left his body, and that the air he let go in a relieved sigh took with it all traces of anguish and uncertainty he had been carrying since he found Shadow in that stroke of luck. However, it was enough to feel his brother shiver to remember he was not safe. Not yet.

The door of the Devil May Cry opened with a good kick, but in that moment Dante didn’t even allow himself to absorb the familiarity of his home. Instead, he practically ran through the room, climbed the stairs two at a time with Vergil in his arms, and walked immediately towards his room, barely aware of the demonic shadow following his steps.

The demon hunter opened the door of the only bathroom available with the same care he had opened the entrance door. That is, none. In that moment the only thing on his mind was Vergil; Vergil and his wounds; Vergil and the fever; Vergil and the dead weight of his body in his arms. Dante carefully let his brother slide until he was sitting on the ground, with his back against the wall, while the hunter opened the tap in the bathtub.

He wasn’t even aware of why he had chosen to tidy Vergil up first instead of, maybe, looking for food or medicine. Maybe it was his instinctive urgency to clean Vergil’s wounds as he should, the existence of the fist aid kit behind the mirror… the certainty that Vergil hated dirtiness, especially in his own body. Didn’t matter. The water would help with the fever, and would allow Dante to clean the wounds before doing anything else.

At least in that state of stupor, Vergil had no intention of resisting, and Dante took the coat off with more calm that he actually felt, trying not to upset him or affect the wounds. Trying not to look the blood stains visible among the red of the fabric. His brother barely reacted with a gesture when Dante removed the bandages, with half open eyes and the tired and veiled stare of one who is not at all present.

He only hopped that the damn illusions of the crow-headed artifact had not sent all his advance to shit.

—Ok, here we go… behave, will you? —he warned, uneasy, and then took Vergil in his arms and walked towards the bathtub.

His brother reacted with nothing more than another jump when he felt the contact with the water, but nothing more. Dante didn’t know if that was good or bad… maybe it was best not to know and focus in the fact now, at least, he could tend to his wounds.

Vergil winced and then moved back as if on pure instinct the moment Dante rubbed his skin with a clean cloth.

—Easy. It’s me, Dante, remember? —the hunter explained, unsure if it would be enough or he would need to fight for Vergil’s recognition again.

Vergil rose his eyes, with an exhausted and haggard stare more fit for a living corpse than a human being, and looked at him. Dante stood still, watching while his brother’s eyes moved with frustrating slowness from his face to his neck… and then, to Eva’s amulet. In that moment, Vergil let go the air he apparently was holding all that time.

—Dante… —he whispered, with no more explanation, and returned to his initial position, with his head supported against the wall.

Well, that was something.

Even so, Dante tidied him up with enough care, rubbing the wet cloth against his skin with slow movements not to upset him, removing dried blood and remainders of thing he rather not identify. At least it seemed the wounds WERE improving, enough to avoid an infection. After cleaning them enough, Dante focused on Vergil’s face, moving away a couple locks of hair to clean his forehead and cheeks, both to tidy him up and to help with the fever… maybe he should cut his hair, but he wasn’t so sure about the idea of putting any kind of sharp object close to Vergil’s face. Not after what he had seen in…

No. He was not going to think about that. Not now. Maybe, never. At the moment it was more important to take care of Vergil and keep him as comfortable and healthy as possible so that he could begin to heal.

Since there was not much he could do about his hair (for now), Dante focused on using soap to clean it, running his fingers through the long white locks to remove blood, dirt and all remains from hell.

—You had to bury him, right, kitty? You know how hard it is to clean mud? —he complained, half-jokingly, aware of Shadow’s presence in the bathroom. The panther, sitting at the door, made a grimace to show her fangs and then proceeded to lick her paw with dignity.

At least, soap made wonders, and after a while Vergil’s skin and hair returned to their usual color, with no evidence of the years he had been living in hell. Dante smiled, satisfied; he would surely like it.

Although not at all conscious, Vergil didn’t even protest when Dante wrapped him in a towel after taking him out of the bathtub, maybe too tired to allow Dante to take the reins of the situation. The hunter then took the opportunity, picked him up again in his arms, and went back to the bedroom.

Tending wounds in the mortal world was much easier, and Dante felt another wave of relief when he was finally able to place medicine on the cuts, to rub ointment in the bruises and cover it all with clean, white bandages. Bless modernity.

Even Vergil seemed grateful, judging by the very subtle sigh of relief that escaped his lips the moment Dante finished drying him and placing bandages. But of course, he couldn’t stay in a towel all day.

Dante looked at him with a grimace. Although Vergil remained sitting on the bed, the demon hunter suspected it was only due to his own hands holding him than with whatever strength he had left. But if he wanted to look for something for him to wear, he had no let go, and if he waited until later Dante suspected that, once Vergil lay down, it would be difficult to get him to cooperate.

—You think you can hold on a little longer, Verge? I just need to go for some clothes —Dante asked, almost without expecting an answer. To his surprise, Vergil’s hands moved to support himself on the mattress.

—Yes… —he answered, with the same soft, half-out-of-it tone. Dante wondered, for the hundredth time, how weak and tired Vergil had to be to be so docile.

But at least in the human world there was nothing to fear.

Resigned to trust, Dante cautiously let go of him and, after making sure Vergil remained sitting and didn’t fell like a bag of potatoes on the bed, moved away in search of one of his pajamas. Is not that he had a lot of them, but when Trish or Lady stayed in the Devil May Cry, they insisted Dante kept some decency while sleeping.

While he searched, Dante mentally thanked that none of them were nearby. Trish no doubt was in some hunt and Lady… well, she must be making money. He didn’t know how they would react to Vergil’s presence, especially Lady. Trish could be more tolerant; Lady, however…

Dante finally found something comfortable enough, closed the drawer, and left that concern closed too, turning around to come back to Vergil.

It was evident his brother remained sitting due to pure force of will. He looked, if possible, even paler than before due to the effort, and Dante saw that in some moment Shadow had gotten on the bed, had sat behind him, and acted as an improvised support to prevent him from falling. Now that he knew where that devotion came from, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat touched. The demonic panther REALLY liked his brother very much.

—No criticism, Vergil. It’s all there is —Dante warned him, before beginning to dress him. Is not that the pajama was very showy, but he knew his brother well; they usually didn’t share the same taste in clothing. But at least Vergil allowed him to dress him up without protests, obediently raising an arm and then the other to let Dante put the shirt in place.

He felt a subtle shudder while looking at him. Even with the long hair and the baggy eyes, it still was like looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe a haggard, sick version of himself, but the likeness was still there.

He could barely believe it. Vergil. In the Devil May Cry. In his house. Wearing one of his pajamas… at home.

Dante had to control himself not to give way to emotions he didn’t know he was containing, to suppress that sudden burning in his eyes that forced him to look away from Vergil, excusing himself with the pretense of pushing aside the blankets.

Once again with no protest on Vergil’s part, Dante moved his brother and accommodated him on the bed, covering him then just enough to make him comfortable. He heard Vergil sigh again, and was aware of how much time should have passed since the last time his brother had slept under a roof, on a bed… and before realizing it his hand had flown to Vergil’s cheek in a soft caress. At least the fever seemed to be going down, and Vergil closed his eyes almost immediately.

Dante took the opportunity to clean himself up, moving around his bedroom and the bathroom at lightspeed. Afraid to come back and find the bed empty. He knew it was an irrational fear, he knew that very well; still… when had things gone this well for him?

However, when he returned, satisfied and relaxed with the hair wet and clean clothes to get rid of hell’s pestilence, he found Vergil still there, on the bed, sleeping as if he hadn’t done it in years… because maybe that was the case. Even Shadow seemed to have surrendered to the comfort of the bed, or maybe the safety of a refuge like she had never known before, and now laid down like a domestic cat at the feet of her master.

But, unlike Vergil, the cat was still alert, and Dante merely sat at the edge of the bed when she rose her head to look at him with those demonic eyes. Eyes that, despite the obvious, didn’t show even an inch of malice. Dante smiled and stretched his hand to rub her head, like he would with any cat, expecting she didn’t choose to rip his arm off.

Instead, Shadow growled something quite similar to a purr, which made Dante smile again.

—Don’t get used to it, kitty. I don’t want my bed full of demonic hair —he threatened, although the truth was he had no idea how to force a demonic panther of who-knows-how-much-kilograms NOT to get on whatever she liked.

For a moment, he didn’t say more, happy to just be, feeling the presence of his twin at his side. It felt like being whole again, after an eternity of a broken life. Suddenly he felt terribly tired, but it was a different kind of tiredness: the one that comes when you know you’re safe, satisfied and happy, without the need of something more. The tiredness of peace.

Before realizing it, he had laid down, and fell asleep next to Vergil.

--------------------------------------------------------

 

The scenes mixed so much in Vergil’s mind that he had difficulty discerning which were truth, and which were an invention of his tired consciousness.

He saw himself in a dark place, with his own blood dripping to the ground while Mundus exerted his retorted will; he could see the armor adhered to his skin, and his own hand holding a sword against someone whose white hair and red coat seemed familiar… pain mixed with tiredness, sorrow with shame, his screams with those of his mother in the fire… it all marched before him in a single nightmare, twisting with an arid and somber scenery where the only sound was his own steps. The shadow at his side made no sound, the demons before him lacked sense, and there where whole fragments that seemed to be missing in his broken memory. Was he alive? Dead? Was he walking or was he still tied up in the king of hell’s dungeons? He could feel the heat around him, a heat that didn’t burn and reminded him of something he had lived a long, long time ago.

Suddenly, there were other steps next to his own. Suddenly, instead of falling to the ground, someone was holding him. Suddenly there were voices, and warm, and sense in a world of chaos and suffering. Someone was holding him… someone was helping him… Dante…

Vergil opened his eyes slowly, still stunned by the wave of mixed memories and afraid to find darkness before him. But when he tried to move a hand, nothing stopped his arms, no stab of agonizing pain fell over him in response to the movement; there was no metallic scent in the environment; there were no echoes or screams of pain. And the blurry figures before Vergil’s eyes settled little by little, until they revealed themselves to be the simple furniture of a room.

He shuddered. He didn’t recognize the place. Undoubtedly, it wasn’t hell: the daylight passed through a window, and the only recognizable sound was the soft movement of the leaves moved by the wind. It seemed… real, so much so that when Vergil clenched his fists, he found himself holding the soft fabric of clean sheets, combining with the comfortable bed where he laid. How much time had passed since he had slept on a bed? Still confused, he looked at his arms, aware of the bandages covering his skin and the soft clothing that covered them. Where was he? Was this real, or another product of his hallucinations? What…?

Something moved at his feel, and Vergil jumped before recognizing the big shadow laying down on the sheets. Shadow rose her head to look at him, with a calmed and relaxed gesture Vergil didn’t remember seeing before. She felt safe. No doubt, the fact the Phantom was no longer chasing them helped a lot to…

He felt a stab in his chest when the Phantom’s memory came to his mind, reorganizing his ideas with a lightning’s speed. He suddenly remembered Shadow’s nest of branches, the days travelling on Dante’s arms, the moment they both had crossed the portal. Vergil took a hand to his chest, and could feel the cold tact of his half of the amulet. It was real. All of it. And Dante…

The door opened just at that moment, and his brother entered the room with all the carelessness that was so normal in him, with that mocking smile that didn’t seem to abandon his face even while he slept, and with a little tray in his hands. However, the moment his eyes met Dante’s expression turned subtly tense, and the relaxed smile became a mask that hid something more. Something that, maybe, Vergil wouldn’t want to know.

He was aware he had earned his brother’s distrust. What he didn’t expect, however, was his own remorse hitting at his chest when he noticed it.

—Well, someone chose to join the world of the living —Dante joked, as was his usual, as if they had just seen each other yesterday instead of encountering one another after… Vergil felt a sudden lump in his throat. Temen Ni Gru.

—Dante —Vergil saluted, more uncertain than he remember having felt in all his life. He remembered fighting with him in the underworld, or was it at the Temen Ni Gru? Or that blurry castle that evoked a stab of panic? Vergil pressed his lips together. He couldn’t remember.

He closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by his own inability to remember, and tried to sit with a grimace. Almost immediately he heard the sound of quick steps getting closer, and then felt the touch of hands that, carefully, helped him to sit and support himself in the pillows he didn’t remember having arranged. Those where the same arms he remembered from hell, the ones that held him while he tried to walk or when the pain made him fall. The same arms that held him while he, sword in hand, tried to cut his head. Vergil tensed.

—Verge? You still here? —Dante’s voice whispered, with a slightly anguished tone that forced Vergil to nod. He didn’t trust his voice. —You sure? —his brother pressed, with a clear anguish. Even Shadow seemed restless, judging by the movement that shook the bed in a spasm.

—Yes… —Vergil whispered, slowly opening his eyes with a distracted air. He didn’t remember attacking Dante but… had he hurt him? Was Dante’s cautiousness caused by fear? However, Dante patted his shoulder with such camaraderie that Vergil looked at him, confused, even more when his brother placed the tray on his lap with a wide grin.

—Good, because I hope you eat it all like a good kid —Dante admonished him, jokingly, arranging the tray with excessive gestures.

Vergil just looked at the tray without much interest. He had no appetite, but he had to admit the food looked… good. It was just a soup, of course, but still he couldn’t help but stare in surprise.

—Looks good, right? I made it just for you —Dante bragged, standing proud like a cock showing off. Vergil frowned. Dante? Cooking? —All right, all right. There’s a restaurant across the street; but I’m sure it tastes good —he finally admitted. That sounded more logical.

Without knowing why, Vergil suddenly felt an outburst of nostalgia. It was as if, all of a sudden, all the years passed had been erased; it was like coming back to the house of his childhood, with his mother taking care of him during some disease. Dante didn’t even seem to realize what was he evoking, of the terrible sensation of home and longing that he brought along with a simple soup, as if the past had never happened. As if they had always been brothers.

But the past had happened, and Vergil couldn’t ignore the guilt while looking at that plate of soup, while remembering the effort with which Dante had protected him in hell… the same Dante he had stabbed, hit and tried to kill more than once.

Ignorant to his meditations, Shadow sniffed the air with a growl and licked her muzzle, looking at the tray with renewed interest. Dante frowned almost immediately, but contrary to what Vergil expected, there was no trace of real distrust or resentment in the gesture.

—Don’t even think about it, kitty. This is food for humans, not for demonic and potentially homicidal cats —he warned. Vergil knew Shadow was too proud to be intimidated; in fact, he saw her exposing her fangs… but there was not hostility. In fact, she seemed to like Dante. But his brother, more cautious, frowned again. —I doubt there is some kind of demonic pet food at the supermarket. What the hell am I going to feed you with? I mean, look at you, you’re huge, you’ll be my ruin if…

Vergil let go the air he was holding, and soon lost the trail of his brother’s monologue. Typical of Dante to think about something so ridiculous when he had a demon panther as a guest in his demon extermination business. But, deep down, Vergil discovered he felt more comforted than irritated with his twin’s explosive and noisy character. It was, in a sense, the closest he had to a… a home.

But no. Vergil had no home. He himself had made sure of that when cutting Dante’s hand before falling to the abyss, blindly following a thirst for power that, in the end, had only led him to pain. He had pointed his sword against his only brother, his twin, more than once. That home didn’t exist.

But then, why was Dante behaving as if he felt happy?

—Why are you doing this, Dante? —Vergil asked, unable to refrain himself, interrupting the absurd meditations of his brother about cat litter and antirabic vaccines.

—With “this” you mean…? —Dante answered, looking at him with such a genuine confusing that Vergil wondered if so many hits along the years had left permanent brain damage after all.

—Why… did you bring me here? —Vergil pressed. He couldn’t be clearer, in his opinion.

Unfortunately, Dante was more idiot than he remembered.

—Well, Vergil, it’s not a five-star hotel, but what did you expect? You wanted me to leave you there naked on the street? What would the neighbors say? —he answered. Or Dante was as stupid as he appeared to be, or he was shamelessly evading the question.

Vergil frowned. He must have known that trying to talk about serious topics with his brother was a lost cause. He felt too tired and confused to deal with Dante, no matter how much his brother’s presence transmitted that feeling of calm.

To his surprise, after a moment of silence Dante sighed and sat at the edge of the bed, at his side. Shadow didn’t even move, and licked at her paw as a normal cat would.

—Really, Verge, I feel like I’ve been answering the same damned question all week. If you go on like this, I’m going to start worrying about your mental health —Dante said. Vergil looked at him expecting a joke, but his brother held his eyes with full seriousness.

—I… Is that so? —he asked, unsure, while feeling an unpleasant throbbing in his head. Time seemed unconnected and confusing. How many days had he been there? He felt a wave of panic when he couldn’t answer. Had he… been sleeping all that time? Vulnerable? Unprotected? Vergil looked at Shadow. No, not unprotected. But still… Dante pushed him suddenly, returning him to reality with a wince.

—Hey, relax. You were a mess; it’s normal —Dante justified. As if that made him feel better. That only meant Dante had been taking care of him for days, he had been at his brother’s mercy for DAYS and, instead of taking revenge, he had protected him. He felt a lump in his throat.

Dante hadn’t answered his question. And now, more than ever, he needed to know. But, in a way he could not explain, he felt ashamed to repeat the question and make his need for an answer evident. Instead, he slightly lowered his sight, contenting himself with watching while Shadow continued with his feline care routine, ignorant to the world and complications of human feelings.

There was a time when Vergil had envied that capacity, the demonic instinct that only yearned for power and territory without worrying for family, resentment, the bond of love. Maybe, that way, he could have forgotten about his own broken heart when his mother had protected his brother instead of him; maybe that way he could have stopped seeing Dante among the bloody hallucinations Mundus conjured for him.

But the universe had granted his wished by turning him into Nelo Angelo, and Vergil wasn’t sure that was an improvement. He remembered all too well the emptiness of purpose, the hole of something he yearned for without knowing what it was, and the lack of will to rebel against the one he considered his lord. Now he was free but, at the same time, he felt completely lost. Weak. Vulnerable. At his side, Dante sighed.

—You really want to know? —Dante asked. Vergil tensed slightly; yes, he wanted to know. Dante sighed again. —You’re my brother, Verge. No matter how many stupid things you do, or how many times I want to punch you in the face… you’ll always be my brother, and I’ll always want to help you. Nothing will change that —he finally admitted.

Vergil couldn’t help the lump in his throat that suddenly stopped him from breathing, or the bittersweet feeling while Dante’s words echoed in his head. He realized he wanted to believe him, he longed for that feeling of peace and safety that came with being part of a family… but…

But it was enough to lower his eyes and look at his hands to remember himself stabbing Dante with the Rebellion, or attacking him with a ray of bluish energy while covered in armor… or Mundus’ voice inside his head while HIS own blood stained the ground…

They have forgotten you… they abandoned you…

—No… Everything has changed —he whispered, before noticing it, before even wondering if he really wanted to say it out loud or not. Dante could fool himself all he wanted with family ties and nostalgia; Vergil, however, knew the truth. That day, Eva had chosen. And, since that moment, he had done so too.

His family, his ties, had died in that fire and that truth. In the Temen Ni Gru. Under Nelo Angelo’s armor. Even if Dante refused to see it.

—Come on, you don’t need to be that pessimistic —his twin scolded him, and to Vergil it seemed his tone sounded pained and somewhat scared. But there was nothing he could do about it. No matter how thankful he was for Dante’s presence, and the familiarity and safety he evoked, Vergil was lucid enough now to know that was a dangerous path… one he shouldn’t walk.

Vergil tensed again and remained silent, aware that his determination could shatter at the minimum gesture. That slip of vulnerability had been a mistake. All this was a mistake. There were too much blood and resentment between then. How could Dante not see that?

—Really, Vergil? That’s all you’re going to say? —Dante complained, clearly restless with silence. It had always been like that, since they were children; those moments of silent meditation were unknown to him. —Not even an “I love you, too”? “Thank you, my cool and handsome brother, for saving my ungrateful skin”? —Dante pressed, pushing him slightly almost like when they were children and wished to get his attention. Vergil pursed his lips; that burst of nostalgia didn’t help at all.

This was not his home. It was not where he belonged. He reminded himself for the hundredth time that he didn’t need anyone. Hadn’t Eva chosen Dante? Why was Vergil going to…?

—Enough —he whispered, tense and overwhelmed by feeling he didn’t wish to confront, hating yet again that part of him that wanted to answer, to take refuge in someone, to feel something different from the constant threat of a demon lurking in the shadows.

—Or what? You’re going to stab me?... Again? As if you could in that condition. Even the cat would have better chances —Dante mocked him, clearly trying to piss him off. Shadow, still at the foot of the bed, rose her head to show her fangs to his brother as a warning.

Vergil knew Shadow wouldn’t hurt him; not after all they had been through. Still, deep inside his chest he felt an unpleasant jump at the sole idea to a threat to his brother’s life. No… this was wrong… very wrong… He couldn’t be strong like this. He couldn’t… Vergil clenched his fist among the sheets, while he fought against the impulse of opening a portal and hiding away in a place where he didn’t have to deal with his human emotions, where he wouldn’t feel that despicable fragility that made him shudder, a place where he wouldn’t have to deal with Dante and his undoubted affection despite everything… he jumped, feeling the sudden emptiness of Yamato between his fingers. There were no portals. Not anymore.

—Enough, Dante —he repeated, in a frustrated, angry hiss, trying not to remember the tingling of Yamato’s blade while breaking, or Mundus’ laugh while he held his hair to throw him against the ground.

—No —Dante suddenly said, with such determination and seriousness that Vergil was forced to look at him. He didn’t know how did he look, or if his brother somehow had managed to read between lines his somber thoughts, but Dante was no longer smiling. He, instead, looked at him with a ferocity in his eyes he had only seen in the midst of battle. —You know what? No. I’m not going to stop. Because I didn’t spend whole days dragging your sorry person through half hell only for us to keep doing the same shit as always —he added, with a calm that ironically accentuated his rage.

—I didn’t ask you to do…

—Of course you didn’t, asshole! You don’t have to! Don’t you get it? —Dante growled, almost with the same fury of Shadow. The panther in fact jumped, while his twin walked from side to side in the room. —Do you know how many fucking years I spent suffering for you? Believing that I had killed you on Mallet Island? Every fucking day I couldn’t think about something else. And you… you stay there, with that pampered selfish boy attitude, after all we went through, and tell me you don’t give a shit… —he next hissed, poison in his voice. Vergil felt as if he had been slapped, but made an effort to remain firm.

—But you DO care, Vergil. Because if you didn’t care you would have let me follow you at the Temen Ni Gru; if you didn’t care, Nelo Angelo would’ve killed me even if he saw the amulet… —Dante stated, and Vergil felt a stab of absolute panic, as if someone had destroyed all his defenses leaving bare an open, bleeding wound.

—That’s not…

—And you know why? Because that human side you despise so much is what makes you who you are. Because you can reject it no matter how many fucking towers you invoke, or how many armors you wear. You’re not the only one who has suffered! It is me who has to come every time to clean your messes, just because you refuse to accept that you care, that you care ABOUT EVERYTHING! Mom, the fire, EVERYTHING. For once in your life act like a man and accept it, instead of running away from it all! —Dante yelled, so angry that flashes of his demonic essence coursed through his body before the stunned stare of Vergil who, suddenly, felt as if instead of just yelling at him, his brother had sank the Rebellion’s blade deep down in his chest.

—You know NOTHING, Dante! —he hissed in response, like a wounded animal using his last strength to defend himself. Aware of the fragility of his mind, and how close he was of crumbling down. Because Dante, curse him, was right.

—Well of course I don’t know, damn it, because you never tell me! You just sit there, pretending omnipotence and…! —Dante answered, making a gesture with his hands out of pure despair. However, the outburst extinguished in an instant, and then his brother was at his side again, holding Vergil’s face in his hands with such strength that he almost hurt him to force him to look into his eyes. —ENOUGH, Vergil. Enough. You don’t have to keep running anymore. It’s ok to feel sadness, fear, pain… it’s ok to ask for help, and accept it. And I’ll ALWAYS be here. No matter how many times you fuck up, how many apocalypses you manage to conjure… I can’t hate you. Never. Because you’re my brother, and I’ll always want you to be here —he added, with a broken voice that caused Vergil a different kind of pain in his chest, and a burning in his eyes that he hadn’t felt in years. —She would have wanted it.

She. Eva. Vergil pressed his lips, trying without much success to harden his heart as he had done long ago, drowning the memories of his mother under the terrible truth of her rejection. But he was so tired of running… so tired of fighting.

—She went looking for you. You know that, right?

—… What?

—Mom. She went looking for you. That day, in the fire, she… hid me in the closet, and asked me not to come out while she went to look for you. I heard her screaming your name… it was the last thing she screamed, before… she went for you, Vergil. She wanted… for us to be together.

If it wasn’t because Dante was holding him, Vergil no doubt would have fallen. He suddenly felt the room spinning around him, and the stability of the bed disappeared under his body, launching him to a deep, dark well. No. Dante was wrong. Eva never… but Dante never lied. Not when it mattered. Eva was still inside the house when… but Vergil was outside. What if… if it was true? If his mother had died looking for him, then…

Vergil felt something inside of him breaking, that an invisible barrier inside his mind shattered, and guilt and fear then flooded him like a wave. All this time, he had thought this was his fate, that Eva had chosen Dante above him, that defeating his brother would prove her and himself that she was wrong, that he was worthy to be saved… to be chosen. But Eva had not chosen, she had not forgotten him. She just hadn’t reached him on time.

Vergil felt as if he was falling, but then there were a couple of arms holding him, preventing him from falling into emptiness. For a brief moment, he felt the impulse of moving away; to show weakness, to allow anyone to get closer, was death… but it was Dante hugging him. Dante, who had taken care of him and had protected him in hell, who had carried him in his arms for days until bringing him back to the human world when he could have easily killed him, or leave him there.

I can’t hate you. Never. Because you’re my brother, and I’ll always want you to be here.

And then, instead of moving away, his own body moved on its own, and his own hands held his brother’s body as if it was the only point of light in the darkness. Because all of a sudden weakness didn’t matter; Dante was there. He could trust Dante. Vergil lowered his head, letting his forehead rest on his brother’s shoulder, comforted by a warm he didn’t even know he missed, while he felt the warm trail of something flowing through his cheeks.

—He… He said… —Vergil whispered, without even realizing what he was doing, too broken to remain silent. —Everyone has abandoned you… Everyone has forgotten you… —he continued, shivering at his own vulnerability. To him, this was like opening his arms before a hungry demon, waiting to be devoured without resistance. But instead of a deathly claw, instead of a mocking laugh, he felt Dante’s arms pressing him closer to his body, and his brother’s face nestling in his shoulder almost the same way Vergil’s was.

—I don’t, Verge. I don’t —Dante whispered, with broken voice. Vergil didn’t need to look at him to know he wasn’t lying. He could hear it in his voice.

And, for the first time in an eternity, Vergil felt he could trust.