Mokulule

She calls to him, whole and restored unlike him. She has called to him for years so close yet out of his reach while he fought the poison enough to escape the prison of Nelo Angelo’s armor.

Finally, he is free, but while the armor was his prison it was also what held him together. Without it, his time is limited, which is why he mustn’t delay. The Qliphoth will grow anew soon, piercing the thin barrier in Red Grave. Vergil will be there and its power will regenerate him.

There is no room for hesitation.

So he breathes through the burn in his lungs, walks on towards Yamato even as pieces of skin crumble away, his regeneration only barely keeping up.

Yamato is not alone. The young man whose right arm contains Yamato is talking, but Vergil doesn’t hear anything. He’s too focused on the strange happy greeting Yamato is singing to him (almost like she’s trying to show him something), but then there’s a small pause and then the man’s tone changes to suspicion, aggression.

It will be just a moment and then Vergil will have Yamato back in the hands where she belongs. He tenses, ready to move, one quick twist and the arm will rip off easily where demon and human flesh meets. He doesn’t have much time, he needs Yamato’s power.

Suddenly there’s a high pitched voice screeching in with an announcement, running on short legs. The child, because it is a child, is quickly snatched up and pulled back.

The child’s eyes are wide, shocked; a distorted mirror of horror from a past wreathed in pain and fire.

And Vergil, he hesitates at the most crucial moment.

Why? He asks himself as he falls to a knee. The pain in his chest is unbearable, he coughs and coughs and coughs. Surely, he didn’t just hesitate because a child was in the way? He is not fool enough to think his actions haven’t cost the lives of children before. Why did he hesitate? He wasn’t even reaching for the child in the first place he was reaching for Yamato.

The ground is coming up.

“Woah,” the young man exclaims, before hands grab onto his arms. Vergil grits his teeth as the dry flesh threatens to crumble, the draw on his remaining dregs of energy as his body desperately tries to heal. Yamato is right there, thrumming with power and yet he cannot reach her.

Too weak. Too late.

Oo o oO

Alarmed, Nero holds the nearly unconscious man by the arms. His head has lolled backwards displacing the hood of the ragged cloak revealing white hair and skin which is grey and cracking like arid ground. Nero’s demonic arm is still glowing, pulsing even, warning him of the demonic presence, but Yamato is humming with an intensity and urgency Nero has never experienced. He looks from his arm to the demon- man? He doesn’t know what to do.

“Nero, is he sick?” Kyle asks plaintively.

Nero’s head snap back, suddenly reminded of the young boy’s presence. He stands where Nero hastily put him down to catch the falling man, eyes helplessly wide and approaching tears.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Nero forces his voice into a semblance of calm. “Maybe you can get a glass of water?”

Kyle presses his lips together and nods before running off. Nero lets go a relieved sigh before focusing back on the stranger. He was sure he’d been about to be attacked by him, but maybe he was mistaken. He shuffles his hold around to get his left arm around the guy’s back to better support him. The man’s labored breaths rasp wetly and Nero’s throat feels tight in sympathy. Gently he supports the man’s head and tilts it back upright with his right hand to get a better look- he freezes.

He hadn’t thought much of the white hair at first and the ashen skin could just be because he’s a demon, but the eyes hazily staring back at him through half lidded eyes are the same blue as Dante’s, the same blue as Nero’s, and with the white hair-

“Hey, are you awake? Can you speak?” Nero asks urgently.

A hand raises up to grip his Devil Bringer.

“Ya-“ The man’s mouth open, but then he’s coughing, strength rapidly fading, as he fails to clear his airways and by the time he stops coughing his slow breaths are still wheezing and bubbling.

“Shit,” Nero curses, panic is slowly encroaching because he doesn’t know what to do to help. He picks the man up, it is troublesome only because of his long, gangly limbs and certainly not his weight, he is much too light for a man his height.

He hHe hurries towards the door leading into the house and nearly collides with Kyrie in the doorway.

“Nero!” She exclaims breathlessly, “what is going on?” Her eyes goes from Nero’s pale face to the sick stranger, and immediately her worry turns to resolve. “Quick, couch. I will get some water.”

Relieved to have been given direction Nero heads for the living room and gently lays the man down on the couch. He moves all the pillows underneath his head and upper back to provide support; the guy doesn’t sound like he should be reclining completely flat right now. His eyes are still half-open but they don’t seem focused and Nero doesn’t know how aware he is.

Kyrie arrives with a glass of water and Nero supports the man into a more upright position and holds the glass to his uncomfortably dry lips. He doesn’t dare tilt it more than the slightest bit.

“Hey, can you drink something?” He asks, daring to give the man the slightest shake to try and get his attention. The eyes open a bit wider and glance in his direction before his mouth opens just slightly. He takes the smallest sips of water and it looks like every swallow is a war against his own body, like he’s one breath away from another coughing fit. By the time half of the glass is gone he’s clearly exhausted himself again and Nero carefully lays him back down.

“Nero,” Kyrie says, and the way she looks from Nero to the stranger makes it clear she has also noticed the similarity between them; if Nero was older and crumbling into dust. He runs his thumb over his fingers dislodging the fine layer of dust he’d picked up. He feels sick.

“I need to call Dante.” Nero sighs.

She looks at him with sympathy, knowing just how troublesome Dante is. “Of course, I’ll keep watch.”

He sees Nico enter the living room from the kitchen just as he leaves into the hallway, for once silent as she notices their guest on the couch or rather the state of him.

Nero stops in front of the phone in the hallway. He takes a deep breath. For all that he helped them. For all that he let Nero keep the Yamato despite it having belonged to his brother, despite him saying it should stay in the family- For all that he sent Nero a sign for the van allowing him to open his own branch of Devil May Cry-

Dante is always infuriating to deal with, dancing around any and all questions that Nero has before he can even ask them. He’ll brush him off unless Nero is in a bind and asks for help, and then he will lord it over him like a particularly obnoxious fly he just can’t manage to land a hit on.

Yet there’s something in his eyes, the way he looks at Nero-

He makes Nero so confused whether he cares or not. And it’s fair enough, he probably didn’t expect to find another branch of the Sparda line on Fortuna. Who knows how diluted Nero’s blood is or how far related they are. It’s not like he’s asking Dante to be something to him he doesn’t want to be, he’d just like to know if they are.

He sighs. This is not about him though, and if anyone knows anything about their ill guest it will be Dante. He picks up the handset and dials the number he’s long since memorized.

There’s only a couple of beeps before the phone is picked up.

“Devil May Cry,” Dante drawls lazily.

“Dante-“

“Nero,” Dante says in realization and it’s like he packs a thousand unsaid things into Nero’s name every time, and then he tries to dodge again, “look I’m a bit busy-“

And Nero is sick and tired of getting brushed off so he decides to interrupt him bluntly:

“So are there any other scions of Sparda’s bloodline out there you wanna tell me about?”

“What?” Finally he has Dante’s confused attention.
 “Got a guy here, looks an awfully lot like you,” and like Nero, but he doesn’t say that, “white hair, blue eyes, some really sickly grey skin.”

“Nero-“ Dante sucks in a breath and Nero can hear his boots thump down to the floor on the other end and then he speaks intently “Nero, do not take your eyes off him- Kyrie and the kids, you need to get them out of the house.”

“What?” Nero turns his head towards the quiet living room in worry, “You think he’d hurt them?”

“I don’t want to think so-“ Dante’s voice takes on a note of pain Nero has never heard. “Nero, whatever happens, you cannot give him the Yamato.”

Nero can hear him pacing restlessly, “I can’t- I’m coming Nero.” And with that Dante hangs up.

Nero stares at the phone, heart beating fast and scared. Clearly Dante thinks their guest dangerous. Nero’s arm is still glowing and pulsing from the presence of demonic energy, but surely- the man can barely breathe, much less move! Nero hadn’t even gotten to explaining that.

Oo o oO

Vergil stares at the unfamiliar surroundings. He’s warm and lying somewhere soft. The ceiling above is a light type of wood, not concrete. There’s no broken glass tubes or strange equipment, just a small cozy living room with pictures of people on the wall. The soft thing he’s lying on is a couch. His mouth is not quite as dry as he is used to, but his breath still rattles painfully in his chest.

He turns his head slowly, there’s a pair of kids staring at him with worried faces. He saw the smaller one before. Two women are talking with hushed voices further back, he cannot focus enough to actually hear what they’re saying.

The Yamato is nearby, so close, and yet getting up to find her feels insurmountable. His body is too weak, he missed the window. Hesitated when he should have struck. His gaze falls on the younger child again. Why did he hesitate?

Surely not because of the child. It makes no sense. How could he have hesitated when he was so close?

Suddenly Yamato is drawing closer and he turns his head to find the young man from earlier striding in, face drawn in worry. He had been moving towards the women, but the moment his eyes meet Vergil’s he turns to him instead coming over and leaning down slightly to look him over.

“Hey, you’re looking more awake, do you think you can drink more water?”

“Young man,” Vergil raises his left arm to grab the demonic arm with an effort that leaves him breathless.

“It’s Nero.”

“Nero,” Vergil acknowledges as he is helped into a sitting position, never letting go of the hold he has on that arm that keeps Yamato from him, but he no longer has the strength to take her. He may not have cared enough to notice before, but with the young man so close there’s no denying they are family. It makes sense. Yamato would not have accepted anyone else. He closes his eyes as he tries to catch his breath.

How many years has he missed that Dante has an adult son? The thought pains him but in the end it doesn’t matter, only survival does. Perhaps all is not lost, there is a possibility however small-

“You have something that belongs to me,” he rasps finally, “the Yamato.”

Nero grimaces. “I can’t give you that.”

And Vergil cannot take it by force. He is too weak. It’s galling, fighting for so long to be free only for it to end like this? He should be angry, but he finds he has little energy for it. His hold slackens, his hand falls into his lap and he looks down. At least he will die as himself.

The silence stretches until Nero breaks it, voice hesitant.

“Isn’t there something else that can help you?”

Vergil looks to the young man. It’s such an earnest question. So willing to help a stranger, though of course he didn’t know Vergil had intended to rip his arm right off. His gaze slides momentarily across the others in the room, the women and the children, as he decides to be honest. He would not reach Red Grave now to take advantage, but the fact remains:

“Human blood-“ All the adults flinch, finding it predictably gruesome. Nero too, and Vergil is not surprised Dante has not disclosed that part of their nature - in fact it’s possible, with Dante’s ridiculous sensibilities around his demonic heritage he knows very little. One of the women, the lighter skinned one is quietly ushering the children out of the room. Vergil lets his eyes slide back to Nero and holds his gaze tellingly. “Or better yet, the blood of family.”

Nero frowns. “You’re Dante’s brother aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Vergil agrees easily, then asks, “Did he warn you about me?”

Nero’s silence is telling. It was smart of Dante to warn the boy, but still the knowledge is a strange ache in his chest, different from the rattling pain he’s so well acquainted with. He resists the urge to scoff at his body finding new ways to hurt even now.

He sighs.

Every Night & every Morn Some to Misery are Born Every Morn and every Night..

Some are Born to sweet delight... 

Some are Born to... sweet delight... 

Some... are Born... to Endless...

Night... 

Oo o oO

The man seems to slip back into himself, closing his eyes. There’s something terribly resigned about him even as his chest continues to rise and fall laboriously. Yamato sings mournfully in his arm and Nero is incredibly and uncomfortably aware that the Yamato belongs to this man.

This is Dante’s brother.

Nero remembers desperately fighting Dante to keep the Yamato, because he needed its power to save Kyrie. And now he is keeping it away from its rightful owner, who is literally crumbling away on their couch. If anyone needs Yamato’s power right now it’s him, but Dante was very clear.

Dante somehow knew he wanted the Yamato. Dante told Nero to get Kyrie and the kids out of the house. He had sounded spooked and it’s freaking Nero out.

He cannot return the Yamato.

He sends a glance Nico’s way and they move into the kitchen.

Carlo secure in his high chair has long since stopped eating and is having an absolute party with the spaghetti, both hands buried in it and red everywhere from the sauce. He turns as much as he can in his seat and smiles widely at seeing Nero. Despite all his worry, Nero cannot help but return the smile. Carlo promptly lets go of the spaghetti (when his hands are over the floor instead of the tray of course) and reaches for Nero.

“Nene!” he calls.

“Hey buddy,” he bends down to kiss the little guy’s forehead shortly, aware that he hasn’t really washed up since both working on the van and helping his crumbling relative inside. “Just give me a mo-“

“Urgh, you are disgustingly adorable,” Nico remarks and Nero sends her a glare as he moves to the sink to wash his hands and face. He has to wash twice to get the oil sufficiently off his hands, and they have a nail brush so Nero can properly scrub in between the scales of his right arm. Carlo does not appreciate the wait and the sounds he makes are increasingly impatient.

“You could help clean up Carlo,” Nero tells Nico evenly, as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn spot on his scales.

She barks a laugh at him. “He wants his Nene, ‘fraid auntie Nico won’t do.”

“Nene!” Carlo agrees and demands in one.

Nero grimaces, she just doesn’t wanna risk getting sauce on her clothes. Finally he can rinse off the last of the grime and wets a washcloth.

He walks over and gently but quickly starts washing off the increasingly annoyed toddler. “No! Nene!”

“I’ll pick you up once you’re not drowning in sauce, buddy.”

He can practically feel the way a scream is building up in the small body. He’s done just the wrong side of too late, but the scream turns into one of delight as Nero tosses the cloth aside and pulls Carlo out of the chair into a toss. He easily catches him and tosses him again, to squeals and hiccuping laughter. Nero can’t help smiling.

“There we go buddy,” he says as he catches him again, this time settling him into the crook of his demonic arm. One plus, aside from the demon hunting applications, is that Nero seems able to hold the kids practically indefinitely on that arm without getting tired. Small hands pat Nero’s chest, and Nero absently grabs one of the hands.

Carlo yawns and rests his head on Nero’s shoulder, still awake for now, but seemingly content to just stay there. Some of Nero’s tension leaves his body as he just enjoys the moment. He doesn’t even notice he’s started gently rocking back and forth until Nico speaks.

“Gonna give me hives,” she says sticking her tongue out in disgust.

Nero levels her with an unimpressed glare. “What is your problem?”

Thankfully Kyrie enters the room before Nico can answer something that will piss Nero off, it wouldn’t be the first time. They’ve not known each other for long, but there’s a certain way their interactions can’t help but go.

“I told Kyle and Julio to stay upstairs for now.”

Nero smiles gratefully.

Kyrie looks to Nero with worry. “What are we going to do?”

Nero knows exactly what she’s talking about; the blood. He cannot give him the Yamato, but-

“I feel I have to.”

Nico looks from Nero to Kyrie’s soft accepting nod, and then her eyes widens.

“Wait! You’re not seriously thinking of letting him drink your blood, what is this a vampire romance?”

Nero feels his face go through several motions, before he properly parses where the sentence went.

“What eww, Nico, why do you have to be like this?”

“I don’t know,” Nico returns sarcastically, “since Mr Dry As A Desert in there said he needed human blood to survive.”

Nero sighs, and tries to explain: “It’s a demon thing, it’s why they kill humans in the first place, and we’re related.”

“If that’s a demon, why are you not killing it, mr demon hunter?”

Nero just cannot take that mocking tone of hers.

“Do you just only listen to half of what I’m saying?!” He snaps, hand instinctively covering Carlo’s free ear and it’s a small miracle he’s actually managed to fall asleep with the bickering of the last minutes.

Kyrie clears her throat and they both look at her guiltily.

“How about we quiet down so the kids don’t think we’re fighting?”

Nero takes a deep breath, focusing on Kyrie instead of Nico.

“Look Dante said I should get you all out of the house, I’m not entirely convinced it’s necessary, like you’ve seen the guy, but Dante also sounded really worried.”

Kyrie sets a hand on his shoulder and turns to Nico.

“Nico will you take the kids back to your place?”

Nico grimaces. “Only cause you’re asking Kyrie, Loverboy will have to owe me.”

“Hey!”

Kyrie steps on Nero’s foot and he promptly shuts his mouth.

“We appreciate it,” she smiles at Nico until she turns bashful.

“Eh, don’t mention it.”

“I will pack up some food, since dinner was interrupted.”

“I’ll go tell the boys,” Nero says handing Carlo to a hesitant Nico who does however take him without complaint and leaves the kitchen through the door leading to the hallway. He jogs up the stairs reaching the door to Kyle’s room first, they’re not in there. He finds them on the second try, sitting on Julio’s bed huddled together under a blanket.

“There you are.” He stops in the doorway and smiles, “can I come in?”

Julio nods, and Nero goes to sit beside them. They sit together for a moment before Nero sets a hand on Julio’s blanket covered shoulder.

“I need you both to pack a bag, you’re staying with Nico for the night.”

“Why?” Julio asks with a frown.

“Is-it-cause-the-man-is-a-vampire-and-we-made-the-mistake-of-inviting-him-into-our-house?” Kyle rattles so fast Nero has to take a moment to parse the words, then he promptly frowns and immediately regrets it when Kyle flinches back.

“Hey no,” He reaches out and pulls both boys into a hug. “I’m not mad at you Kyle, it was just something Nico said earlier I remembered. And no, the man is not a vampire. You guys remember Dante?”

Julio snorts and Kyle looks up at him with wide eyes, “the man who made you yell many bad words?”

Nero’s lips and eyebrows twitch in remembered aggravation. “Yes that a- guy. Well, the man downstairs is Dante’s brother and he’s very sick.”

“Is he contagious?” Julio asks, being older of course he’d think of that, especially because he actually remembers the aftermath of the Savior Incident - the destruction had only been the beginning, next was the issue of shelter for the survivors and lack of clean water. A lot of people had gotten sick.

“I don’t think so,” Nero finally replies, hoping he’s right, “but until Dante comes tomorrow, it’s best he gets lots of rest.”

“We can be quiet!” Kyle pipes up.

“I know you can,” Nero says kindly, mentally adding for half an hour. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

He squeezes them tightly one extra time before shooing them off to pack. He follows Kyle into his room and has to instruct him to pack clothes before plushies. When he’s satisfied the packing is happening, he goes to pack a bag for Carlo.

Some time and one tiebreak between the tiger and shark plushie later, which the shark won with its big teeth, they’re all ready to leave and strapped in except for Nico.

“Thank you, Nico,” Nero says sincerely and she punches his shoulder. He rubs it with a grimace, that’s what he gets for being nice. Kyrie chuckles though and she probably knows something about Nico’s behavior Nero just can’t figure out. Kyrie gives Nico a hug, that Nico melts into and Nero shakes his head, he really doesn’t understand that woman.

Nico is the one to break the hug, with a cough and she hurries into her car. Kyrie leans back against Nero.

“Kyrie…”

“No,” she says quietly as she waves to the boys. The car starts, and it becomes too late as they drive off. Kyrie turns around and looks up at him. “You know I’m not leaving you.”

Nero sighs. “I know, but I would prefer you safe.”

She smiles and she is radiant. Nero cannot look away. Kyrie holds Nero’s entire heart and every day he’s equally befuddled she decided to gift her own in return. She pulls him down and touches her lips to his for just the span of a breath. Her thumb strokes his cheek, as they part and there’s something in her gaze Nero can’t quite discern, before she lets her hand fall away to clap both hands together.

“Now let’s see if we can help our guest.”

Oo o oO

Vergil drifts, it’s a feeling he’s familiar with, a way to escape the decomposition of his own body. It’s how he’s rested in between fighting to escape his trappings. The pain is more distant like this, though never gone, he only has to turn his attention towards it and he’s harshly pulled into the reality of his slow inevitable death.

A hand is on his shoulder it feels like fire on his cold skin even through the layers of fabric and he frowns, opening his eyes.

The young man, boy, Nero, comes into view, eyes concerned.

“Hey, I hope this is okay,” he holds a large glass in front of Vergil, and it’s only when Vergil dares a deeper breath through his nose his brain connects the scent now in his nose with the red color; blood, power, family.

He doesn’t realize he’s moving until Nero says, “Hey easy!” And presses a hand on his chest. Vergil blinks, aware of himself again, and it’s galling how easily he’s held in place, he relaxes back against the couch. It doesn’t make sense Nero would bring him the blood only to withhold it.

“Okay,” Nero says, “I’m giving you the glass now, but you’re gonna drink slowly, and I will assist you.”

Vergil grits his teeth, but he’s all too aware of his pitiful state, so he nods, even as he has a hard time keeping his eyes off the glass and the power he feels from it.

It takes all of Vergil’s willpower to take small sips of the life-giving liquid. It’s potent, more potent than Vergil had expected it would be. Every sip feels like connecting a live wire to the core of his power. It feels like waking up. 
 The glass is empty all too soon.

Vergil is not fixed, he can still feel Mundus’ poison eating at him, but he’s been given something he didn’t have just moments ago - valuable time and strength.

He opens his eyes not even knowing when he closed them to see Nero, looking at him with a hesitant smile.

“You’re looking better.”

Vergil inspects his hands, his skin is still rather gray, but there are fewer cracks. He takes a deep breath free of rattling for the first time in recent memory. It feels incredible, the simple novel joy of being able to breathe.

He looks back up at Nero. “I feel better, thank you.”

Yamato is right there and Vergil can take her now. Nero would not be able to expect how fast he can move. Yamato belongs to him. Still, it would be dishonorable after Nero freely offered his blood. Vergil will allow his nephew to hold on to Yamato for a bit longer.

For now, Vergil’s regeneration has real power for the first time since he escaped the armor, and his body demands actual healing rest. He lays down and closes his eyes.

He breathes, slow and deep, how wonderful a feeling.

Oo o oO

Vergil turns around in his sleep to face the approaching energy, the other half of his soul returning, blazing with warm power. He reaches for that connection between them, it’s always been there and it always will be, even when Mundus tried to sever it, he reaches out and for just a moment their awareness meets; Dante.

Vergil’s eyes snap open. Dante is coming and he’s close! Now that he’s awake it’s all too clear how rapidly he’s approaching. His heart beats urgently in his chest as he pushes himself up. Of course Dante is coming, as if Nero wouldn’t tell Dante he’s here. Vergil is not in a state where he can fight Dante and win. He’s not in a state he wants Dante to see and most of all he doesn’t know what Dante will do.

Is he here to finish the job?

“Hey, are you okay? Do you remember where you are?” Nero says approaching him slowly.

Vergil needs to escape. The Yamato is the only option. Between one breath and the next Vergil stands in front of Nero, his hand closes on the arm that holds Yamato. The temptation is strong to just take it, but that fraction of a second with Nero looking shocked and fearful, has him once again hesitating, still he has to leave, now, before it’s too late.

A rapid series of teleports adds much needed distance from the place Dante will think to find him first, though it leaves him woozy and struggling to breathe. He lets go of Nero who falls to the ground, cursing. Vergil coughs, and tastes blood.

Nero is talking, yelling at him more like, as he struggles back to his feet looking nauseaus, but Vergil isn’t listening. There’s something familiar about the architecture of the buildings here. They are on a wide street, lined with elaborate black lampposts turned on due to the late hour. He turns around, trying to figure why this place feels familiar.

It clicks suddenly; this is Fortuna.

And Nero-

“You’re not Dante’s son, you’re mine.”

The words escape him before he can even consider to stop them and suddenly it makes sense why Nero’s blood is as potent for him as it is. It isn’t the diluted blood of his brother’s offspring, it is his own - only Dante’s blood would’ve been better and only because they’re twins.

“What?” Nero says reeling and Vergil looks at him, his son, and there can really be no mistake. No wonder Yamato accepts him.

“Are you telling me you’re my father?!” Nero voice is full of too many emotions to clearly parse, shock, disbelief, desperation, Vergil’s brows draw down because some things aren’t adding up - Nero doesn’t allow Vergil to answer though jumps right into a new question:

“Wait, my mother, who was my mother?”

Vergil unconsciously takes a step back.

“Your mother, you don’t know your-“ The stab of pain is like lightning striking behind Vergil’s eyes, a terrible pressure and his hand goes futilely to his forehead. It hurts so much. There’s a flash of a smile, a slender hand entwined with his, and then nothing else.

“I don’t- I don’t remember.” He doesn’t remember. How much of his life is missing?

Nero’s angry tirade starting with “What do you mean you don’t remember! How can you not-“ is cut off when he notices Vergil’s state and the fact that he’s taken another step away from him.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Is he okay? Vergil almost wants to laugh, but the scoff turns into a cough that feels like razors in his airways and it doesn’t want to stop. He coughs and coughs and coughs, until finally he can look down on the hand he used to cover his mouth to find it glistening in the lamp light from blood. His borrowed time is running out. Dante is getting terribly close, teleporting away was ever only a temporary measure.

“Nero,” he rasps, not daring to try and clear his throat, “I need the Yamato.”

“You need to sit down,” Nero says hands landing on Vergil’s upper arms steadying him, and he hadn’t even realized he’d been swaying.

That is the moment Dante shows up. Vergil’s twins brother, resplendent in his power, hale and whole, drops down from the sky like a small meteor opening up his wings at the last moment so he doesn’t damage the street - and then he lands, light as a feather in a shower of red sparks as he lets go of his demon form.

Oh how things have changed since Dante would barely acknowledge their heritage a lifetime ago.

Nero’s hands fall away from Vergil as he takes a step toward Dante. “What the Hell, old man, did you fly all the way to Fortuna!?”

And Nero is right; on a second look Dante does look old. There’s wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and lips, on his forehead - he looks worn in a way Vergil would never have noticed on his own too absorbed in the feeling of Dante’s presence rather than his actual physical appearance.

“Hello to you too, kid. How about you step away from my brother and let me handle it from here.” He smiles casually, but he is clearly tense.

Fear is a cold ball in Vergil’s belly, he cannot face Dante like this, he must escape.

“Nero, the Yamato, please-“

“Don’t give it to him, Nero,” Dante interjects voice even, casual as you please as he walks closer.

Nero has had enough of this, he doesn’t care about the Yamato at this point, but what he does care about is one small realization. “Did you ever plan to tell me you are my uncle?!”

Dante grimaces.

“You didn’t tell him?” Vergil frowns and steps around Nero, suddenly he realizes why he’d felt the pieces didn’t add up, because Nero should have known, if he knew Dante, then Nero should have known he was Vergil’s son. There is no way Dante could look at Nero and not know. That strange ache in his chest makes itself known again and his breath feels too short.

“Do you hate me so much you’d hide the truth from my son?”

Dante halts in place, his face does something strange and his fists clench, his shoulders rise and then they fall.

“I killed you, Verge!” His voice breaks. “You’d have me tell the kid I killed his old man?”

“He had a right to know!” Vergil yells and instantly regrets it as it triggers another coughing fit and he doesn’t see the way Dante freezes, guilt painted on his face.

“You killed him?” Nero asks incredulously. This is madness.

“I-“ After a false start somehow Dante manages to slap a grin on his face. “Evidently I half-assed it.” He nods to Vergil who is clearly still alive, though running out of time.

“Nero, Yamato now.”

“Don’t.” Dante steps closer and Vergil takes a step back.

“I don’t think you’d be able to stop me even with the Yamato at this point, anyways. You’re nowhere near healthy. Just give up.”

Nero looks between them bewildered and confused. He’s missing so much context, but apparently Dante kept their relation from Nero because he thought he’d killed his dad? Which he clearly felt guilty about but doesn’t explain why in the first place or why they are fighting now. This is a mess, but there’s really only one thing Nero can do.

He steps between them. “Stop. Just stop. What is going on?”

“Nero, I need the Yamato, or Dante will finish the job.”

Nero gives Dante a level look. “Are you really going to kill him?” It makes no sense to Nero why Dante would want to.

Dante looks past Nero and kinda barks a laugh, humorless and kinda edging towards hysteria. “I don’t know, Verge! Are you planning something nefarious that will result in a massive loss of human life?!”

Vergil flinches just slightly at the accusation and Nero’s jaw drops.

“Wait really?” And then it sinks in, this is his dad, Dante was afraid for Nero’s family for good reason, Nero invited him into his home and could have paid for it with much more than a glass of his own blood. This is his dad and somehow that fact makes it all the worse. He feels devastated and it shows on his face. In a smaller voice he repeats: “Really?”

Vergil’s jaw tightens, it feels like a gut punch. He was not prepared for Nero. He was so good and so kind and Vergil in contrast was only focused on his own survival. If Vergil had not hesitated in that one crucial moment he would have ripped off Nero’s arm, taken back Yamato and left his future to fate - mutilating his own son, however unknowing.

Vergil sighs and admits: “There was a plan.”

Nero feels his heart break, but Dante jumps on one important detail: “Was, you mean that’s no longer the plan?”

Vergil straightens as best he can. “The plan was always survival and recovering my strength, but a better option may have opened up.” He glances at Nero.

There’s suddenly a wild hope growing in Dante’s chest, enough that he dare admit the crack in his resolve.

“I don’t want to kill you again.”

Nero rubs his face, wonders how this is his life and how that is a sentence that makes sense. This is clearly a conversations that should have been had calmly over a cup of tea instead of this drama in the middle of the street.

Dante steps forward, holding out a hand, and his jaw clenches once before he says, “Vergil, please.”

Vergil looks at the hand he rejected a life time ago when he fell. Nero of course doesn’t understand the significance when Vergil’s shoulders lowers and he finally takes Dante’s hand.

He’s promptly pulled into a crushing hug, he gasps as it grinds his bones together. His weakened body protesting the treatment and he’s pushing futilely to get away, but then Dante burrows his face in the crook of Vergil’s neck and he’s crying. Vergil stops struggling uncertain how to react.

“Dante.”

Dante shakes his head. “Just give me a moment.”

All this time, all these years, Vergil hadn’t been sure Dante actually cared. Sure he’d cared enough to reach for him, but he’d been all too quick to talk about killing Vergil, all because of some faceless humans. Then he had soundly defeated him as Nelo Angelo, left him on the very brink of existence. Vergil doesn’t think it is unreasonable to have assumed Dante would finish the job given the chance.

It is a balm on his soul knowing Dante doesn’t actually want to kill him, to have Dante so close after everything, his warm power chasing away the cold of Vergil’s limbs. He folds his own arms around Dante and leans back.

Nero watches the brothers and he isn’t sure exactly why, but he finds himself tearing up a bit.

“Come here, kid.” Suddenly Dante’s hand springs out and snatches Nero and before he knows it he’s squished into the hug with an indignant squawk. But after a moment he too melts into the hug.

The applause starts as a few claps, but rise quickly in power. Nero feels his heart drop into his belly and his face heat as he looks up at the open windows and the people standing in them. His family drama for all to see. Someone whoops and yells, “Go Nero!”

Dante and Vergil are also looking up, Vergil bewildered, whereas Dante of course slaps on a smile and steps back to give a couple of flourishing bows to their audience.

It leaves Nero with only his newfound dad to hear as he mumbles mortified: “I’m gonna have to move to the mainland.”

-

His gaze falls to Dante. At some point he’s contorted himself around to bury his face in Vergil’s stomach and wrapped his arms around him. He shakes his head fondly, Dante always was clingy.

He sighs and looks blindly into the distance. So many years gone, the world moved on without him, changed at a rapid pace, but not this aspect of Dante. It was there all along, and he had not seen it. That day Dante had learned to hide just as Vergil had learned to run.

His hand still resting on Dante’s head tightens slightly. If he had known- if he hadn’t been fooled- all those years ago… would things have been different? But how could he not? Even now after everything, they nearly made the same mistake. If it hadn’t been for Nero- he huffs momentarily amused at the sudden thought that Nero’s conception truly had been fortunate. But all too soon the amusement flees.

He should have been there for Nero, but he wasn’t.

He thought he had it all figured out, and yet…

He hadn’t realized his death had affected Dante the way it had. He had utterly fallen for Dante’s ruse. To think when Dante said let’s end this, he meant entirely, the both of them, because he couldn’t bear-

Suddenly, he cannot stand being touched anymore. He pushes Dante off the couch and stands up full of restless energy. Dante lands with an oof and a groan. Vergil desperately grasps for an excuse.

“When did you last shower, Dante? Go take a shower.”

Dante looks up at him disoriented from the rude awakening. There’s a flash of hurt before it hides behind a reflexive fake smile - and no no NO!

Vergil growls, bends down and pulls Dante up crushing their upper bodies together hard and fast. “Do not misunderstand me, Dante.” He pushes Dante away just as fast. He stumbles backwards and Vergil turns away.

“I just- I can’t.” He forces the last through gritted teeth.

The urge to move wars with the urge not to let Dante out of sight, but he cannot face Dante right now. What would have happened if he had moved out? What would he have returned to? The fact he even considered leaving without telling Dante at all- his throat feels clogged with cotton, tension winds up his back to his neck and shoulders and-

“Okay, okay!” Dante interrupts his train of thought firmly. “I suppose the smell is kinda bad, I’ll take a shower. Sheesh Verge, that nose of yours,” he complains with a groan and a dramatic whine, which reveals he’s being purposefully dramatic about it.

Vergil takes a deep shuddering breath, relieved and grateful that Dante goes with it. That he doesn’t focus on Vergil’s inability to just get ahold of himself.

Dante’s footsteps move towards the bathroom. The door opens and closes and it’s not long before the shower starts.

Vergil closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, trying to center himself. He cannot accept it.

He oscillates between anger and the kind of terror that grips his throat like the discarded nightmares of Mundus’ torture.

“A month? No wonder I’m so stiff” Dante had said to V on the Qliphoth with no real surprise, as if it was not the first time he’s not moved for a month. And Vergil cannot help but think perhaps It wasn’t just a matter of healing after that first confrontation with Urizen, perhaps he simply did not have the will to go on.

Dante had spent five days “napping”, after he’d learned Vergil was moving. It was only when Vergil interrupted him that he got up to pretend at normalcy.

Even now Dante’s presence feels flat, lacking the normal fluctuations. Easy to mistake for sleep, but he’s clearly not because the shower just turned off, and Vergil just spent who knows how many minutes locked in place mentally and physically due to this conflict.

He starts towards the kitchen. He needs to focus on something else. Something that isn’t the thought that he could have clawed himself back to a world wherein his brother was gone.

He opens the fridge and looks inside but he might as well not have bothered. There are food items in there, but connections just aren’t made, and he isn’t really hungry. Then he thinks of Dante apparently intent on wasting away, and grabs the carton of eggs with a growl. Eggs are versatile. He sets them on the counter and tries to make his thoughts focus on ways to cook eggs.

Eggs…

Decisions…

Dante has exited the bathroom, his footsteps stop by the doorway. Vergil can feel Dante’s gaze on his tense back. He hears Dante take a breath in preparation to say something and holds his own in anticipation.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you,” Dante says lowly, guilt and shame threaded heavily in his tone and Vergil feels too much at once.

“Shut up Dante!” he snaps, because somehow, some way he will figure out how to deal with this. Not knowing, to have gone on not knowing… the potential consequences. He turns around and levels his brother with a glare.

“Do not think to spare me from the truth.”

Dante sighs. He runs a hand through his damp hair and Vergil notes that Dante decided to re-don his coat, and it irks him somehow. “Vergil…“ Dante pauses looking for the words before landing on: “I wouldn’t have died if you’d moved.”

And ha, maybe not, but-

“Not from lack of trying,” Vergil returns humorlessly.

Dante flinches and Vergil hates it. Dante is not supposed to be timid and ashamed. It sets his teeth grinding and his nails digging into his palms as a reminder to keep them human blunt because a single drop of blood would reveal his slip in control.

“Verge, I am not- It’s not-“ he starts, but gives up trying to explain. He rubs his face. “I don’t want you to stay out of pity.”

This again.

“We’ve been over this. I never wanted to leave in the first place.”

The skepticism on Dante’s face is clearly masking his insecurity. Still Vergil has little patience for repeating himself.

“Are you accusing me of lying?” He walks three measured steps to stand in front of his brother and waits expectantly until finally he meets his eyes.

“I do not lie, Dante.”

Dante concedes, not stubbornly like if Vergil had won a fight or like when he finally backs off with a smile and hands raised because he knows he was being obnoxious, no he looks down and takes a step back. Vergil bites back a snarl, because it’s all wrong. Dante should be fighting him tooth and nail for any ground. There is an urge to attack, to force the issue, but the terror that Dante will not fight back is too strong.

“I am not going anywhere,” he knocks the palm of his hand against Dante’s forehead, “get that through your thick skull.”

He turns around with a huff, takes measured steps back to the kitchen counter, and takes another centering breath. He cups his anger carefully, feeds and stokes it, because the alternative is not acceptable.

Briskly, he washes his hands, and dries them, wondering idly when he last changed the dish towel - it’s better to focus on the mundane - and decides it has been too long and tosses it at Dante’s face. It’s not really wet, so it’s unable to gain any sort of notable speed, but it is unexpected so it lands.

Vergil’s lips twitch upwards at Dante’s surprise, even more when Dante loses some of that blankness to bemusement.

“Really, Vergil?”

“Throw it in the hamper, will you?” Vergil simply says and opens the drawer for a fresh towel and hangs it in place.

Dante of a month ago, before all of this would have tossed the towel right back in Vergil’s face, this Dante walks away from the fight and does as asked. It unsettles Vergil, but he powers through the feeling. He takes a bowl, and carefully cracks four eggs into it. No shells fall in and he tries to draw the usual simple satisfaction from it, but it falls rather flat. He throws the shells in the trash and washes his hands again.

Dante returns to the doorway. If he’s going to hover he can make himself useful.

“Do we have any vegetables in the fridge?” Maybe Dante will have more luck actually looking.

Dante trudges over to open the fridge. Meanwhile Vergil pulls out the large cast iron pan and sets it on the stove. He adds a bit of oil and turns it on.

“We have some tomatoes… carrots- I’m not even sure what this is, some kind of cabbage, it’s green, leafy.”

“It’s a savoy,” Vergil remarks, remembering there was some leftover last he made stir-fry.

“Gesundheit.”

Vergil sends him a half-hearted glare and it’s met with a half-hearted smile - still Vergil do appreciate the effort. He pours the eggs into the pan and turns the heat low. The eggs sizzle and the scent of cooking eggs fills the air.

“Do you think you can rinse the tomatoes or does that exceed your culinary capabilities?”

“I think, given a chance I may even be able to halve them with a knife.”

Vergil scoffs. “That remains to be seen.” Nonetheless, he opens a drawer to pull out a cutting board and gestures at the knife block. Next he puts two slices of bread in the toaster. He’s not entirely clear on when they acquired a toaster, it was certainly not here to start with, but Dante had been rather enterprising in retrospect. Acquiring things here and there, like the table and the pair of mismatched chairs.

Little things he’d done for Vergil more than himself, back when just the idea of going out into the city amongst humans and their noise had felt like it would expose every raw nerve in his body.

He glances at Dante and promptly swipes the box of small tomatoes out of his hands.

“Hey-“

“Wash your hands first Dante.”

“I just took a shower.”

“Did your gloves take a shower?”

“I won’t be touching them with my gloves-” he wiggles his fingerless gloves- “besides it’s not like either of us can get food poisoning.”

Vergil narrows his eyes, considering his angle of attack. “Those gloves went to the Underworld with you, you sure you wanna test your hypothesis?”

The strike lands as intended, as Dante is suddenly eyeing his gloves suspiciously. He huffs, pulls them off and washes his hands. Satisfied Vergil relinquishes the tomatoes back in Dante’s care.

The bread pop up from the toaster and Vergil moves past Dante towards the fridge. He doesn’t really think about putting a hand briefly on Dante’s back as he moves by him in the narrow space leftover between counter, Dante and table, but he does when he turns back around to find Dante looking up at the ceiling trying not to cry over the tomatoes.

Something as simple as casual touch, with no meaning or intent behind affecting Dante to this degree… Vergil should do something about it. Dante clearly needs… a hug or something, but just the thought of it sets Vergil’s skin itching restlessly. He cannot do it.

He cannot open his arms like Dante, not even sardonically, because it would mean getting touched in return.

It’s frustrating, because it was fine yesterday. Better than fine, it was good, right, but now it is not. The frustration only makes the itch worse.

Vergil sets the butter he just retrieved from the fridge on the counter, then sets his hands firmly on Dante’s shoulders and steers him to sit down in the chair that’s unofficially his. He squeezes slightly and allows his hands to rest there for a moment longer than he otherwise would - it’s as much as he can do.

He refrains from looking at Dante any more allowing him his privacy to gather himself as he pulls out plates, butters the toasts and assembles their breakfasts, each consisting of a piece of toast, two eggs sunny side up and halved tomatoes on the side. On a whim he decides to cut the toasts once on the diagonal turning them into triangles. It looks more right somehow he thinks as he takes a moment to lay them slightly on top of each other reclining against the edge of the plate. A sprinkle of salt on the eggs and tomatoes and done.

He realizes the moment he sits down after depositing their plates and utensils that’s he’d not at all considered anything to drink. He sighs. It’s too late to make coffee and it’s not like it does much for them anyways. He cuts into the yolk viciously, deriving an unreasonable amount of satisfaction from making it bleed. Quickly he cuts a piece of bread and uses it to help scoop up yolk, a piece of egg and a tomato before raising it to his mouth and biting down. He chews, assessing the flavors and textures: the crisp, still warm buttered toast, the rich creaminess of the egg yolk accentuated by salt and the sweet tomato which bursts with moisture as he bites down. He swallows and is a preparing another forkful when he notes Dante hasn’t even started.

He’s fingering one of the pieces of toast. He looks up at Vergil shortly before looking down with a wistful expression.

“Mom used to cut them like this,” he remarks quietly.

Vergil feels a sudden strange disconnect from his body a sort of hot-cold tingling. Something like phantom fingers running through his hair and an arm encompassing him, squeezing him for just a moment and a familiar voice saying warmly, “see it takes just a little bit more effort, but it’s more fun like this.”

The memory, because that’s what it is, lingers like warmth in his chest. Vergil swallows thickly and kicks Dante’s foot under the table.

“Eat before it gets cold,” he grouses.

Dante should have looked up with a grin, knowing he’d gotten under Vergil’s skin somehow, instead he nods and starts eating.

Oo o oO

Dante isn’t sure what’s gotten into Vergil. His energy is on the fritz, buzzing and erratic to Dante’s senses.

It’s Dante’s fault, he never should have admitted to not intending to come out their fight alive. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a fact. It’s not the first time he’s felt this way. Still, he should have known; people are odd about this sort of thing. It had just slipped out. He was worn down and tired and he’d been going over so many things from his past and it had slipped.

He hadn’t expected Vergil to be so affected by it.

He still doesn’t understand why Vergil is so affected by it.

His attempt to apologize was rebuffed. Vergil’s energy is still erratic even if it settled just a bit while he was cooking. He still feels one wrong move from exploding or running off. Touch in particular seems a no go right now, it’s worse than when they’d just returned from Hell, but Vergil doesn’t even seem willing to stab him right now. It’s why Dante was taken off guard when Vergil’s hand touched his back.

He can’t even explain what had gotten into him. Something about the casualness of it. Just two people sharing space, when Dante expected, still expects, Vergil to leave.

Vergil doesn’t lie. Not outright. He says he’s staying, so that’s at least his intention.

It may be better if he left. Surely, Vergil would be happier. Dante doesn’t know how to fix this, everything he does seem to only make Vergil’s energy more erratic. Vergil makes a good impression of being calm, but he cannot fool Dante, not when he can feel the spikes of power Vergil can’t keep under control. He wishes once more he hadn’t told Vergil. He’s too tired for this.

He wishes he could just turn a switch and get out of this slump.

It’s not so simple.

The world feels dull around him - everything but Vergil’s fritzing energy, which cannot help but draw his attention.

They finish eating. Dante doesn’t really taste the food, he goes through the motions of eating only because Vergil wants him to.

He’s not entirely sure why he’s so particularly worn down today. Vergil says he’s staying. It was all a stupid misunderstanding. He should be better today, at least able to pretend to be better, but Vergil had taken one look Dante’s attempt to put on his mask of normalcy and freaked right the fuck out. He feels like a house of cards, with one of the foundational cards pulled out. How is he supposed to keep standing?

He hasn’t had the energy for more than some half hearted attempts at teasing.

They clean up. Dante is on drying duty and as he’s sluggishly drying the last fork, Vergil makes quick work of wiping down the counters and the table. He’s not sure if Vergil actually said anything, but soon enough the fork is plucked out of Dante’s hand to be put in the drawer and then they’re apparently leaving the shop.

It’s a sunny day, one of the first really warm days threatening summer’s arrival. It’s the afternoon rather than morning it turns out, but that’s really par for the course. People are out enjoying the weather. Children are playing in the park they cut through and Dante realizes the purpose of their outing is groceries, as this is the path they usually take.

Vergil walks like a man on a mission; A grocery mission that he dragged Dante on. Still, Dante is grateful. If Vergil hadn’t announced “we’re going out” with no room for argument. If he’d left on his own, Dante would have spent the entire time wondering if he would return at all, if he’d finally come to his senses and decided enough was enough.

Vergil says he’s staying so he’s staying. He said he wants to stay. Said he never wanted to leave in the first place. Dante hadn’t done anything to make him want to leave after all, but surely if Dante doesn’t find a way to be normal again it’s only a matter of time before Vergil changes his mind.

Still, it’s just a lot of effort, and today he cannot seem to muster it, no matter how hard he tries. His small attempts are met with Vergil seeing right through him and his prickly energy like the twitching tail of an otherwise outwardly calm cat moments before it sinks its claws in. He doesn’t know what Vergil wants from him, so he ends up just following along.

They get a variety of vegetables. This is a Vergil thing, he likes to try new vegetables and is currently considering something the sign proclaims a fennel. Any other times the amount of vegetables would make Dante roll his eyes, but today he admits to himself it’s something of a relief. Vergil hates wasting food; he wouldn’t leave with the fridge full of perishable food he knows Dante wouldn’t touch on his own.

The fennel goes in the cart.

They move on to meat and dairy and it becomes a bit of a blur until suddenly they find themselves in an unfamiliar aisle and Vergil puts something in the cart Dante never in his life expected.

“Yeast?” Dante blurts. “Are you going to bake?”

Vergil shrugs, which Dante takes to mean he probably will, but isn’t willing to commit. The whole idea leaves him baffled - and why baking is so different from cooking he isn’t entirely sure - but in the end he figures there’s probably a recipe for bread somewhere in that cookbook, so it’s really not strange at all.

Before Dante knows it, they’re suddenly ready to pay, but before Dante can pull out his wallet, Vergil has manifested a credit card from seemingly nowhere and paid. When did Vergil get a credit card?

Dante feels wrong footed the entire way back to the shop. Only a couple of months ago it took Dante practically strong-arming Vergil out of the shop if it involved being anywhere around people. Now Vergil has a credit card and - Dante suddenly remembers - he had printouts from the internet.

He’s caught up to the modern day in leaps and bounds and the things he needed Dante for has shrunk to nothing.

The familiarity of the shop is only a slight balm on the way Dante feels unnerved. He wants nothing more than to make a beeline for his chair and his desk for the thin veneer of normalcy they provide, but then Vergil hangs up his coat on the coat hanger.

Dante stares, because he has never done that before. It leaves him in that elaborate vest of his with his arms bare, and Dante can practically feel the discomfort it brings him, because he never goes without his full ensemble. Vergil however looks at him expectantly. Dante wants to balk, suddenly conscious of the way he wants to keep his coat on, which he realizes Vergil must have noticed.

Still, Vergil is not gonna one up him here; Dante hangs up the coat.

He feels uncomfortable and bare, despite the long-sleeved shirt underneath, but as they stand for a moment watching their coats, blue and red, hanging side by side, Dante understands why Vergil did it. It feels less like either of them is on their way out the door.

Vergil takes the groceries Dante carried and pushes him towards the couch. He would have gone for his chair, but he’ll take the couch, sure. It apparently matters to Vergil.

He lies down on the couch and breathes in Vergil’s scent, and maybe Vergil had a point about the couch, not that Dante is going to tell him. He feels so heavy.

He sleeps probably, because next he knows Vergil is pushing him up into a sitting position so he can sit down. Dante blinks and Vergil has cracked open one of the huge tomes he usually doesn’t read when Dante is around. Dante cannot muster his curiosity and leans his head back against the backrest.

It is tempting because Vergil’s shoulder is just there, but Dante resists. Somehow, he still wakes up to getting pushed away as Vergil goes into the kitchen again. He returns after a relatively short while and Dante has pushed himself more upright, tries to lean more the other direction, but still finds himself woken from another nap by Vergil pushing him away.

He leaves for the kitchen again, it’s a baffling behavior to be honest and soon he’s back, this time with a cup of tea. Dante considers Vergil’s shoulder again. Vergil doesn’t feel quite so prickly and erratic anymore. Slowly he leans their shoulders together. Vergil doesn’t react either which way and Dante finds himself relaxing into the touch, something that’s been wound tight since this morning unwinding. He finally dares to lean his head on Vergil’s shoulder as well and not even that is met with a rebuff.

He hums a rumble in his chest, that Vergil answers similarly. He feels like he is in a bubble and he wants to cradle this moment. He’s only half asleep when he feels Vergil’s restlessness rear again so he’s not woken by Vergil getting up again so much as he just opens his eyes.

It takes a bit longer for him to return this time, he’s doing something more in the kitchen. Something’s getting whisked. Making dinner perhaps. The oven door creaks open and shut. Then the water turns on, and there’s a clatter of the items used as Vergil starts clean up. A peculiarly sweet scent starts to emanate from the kitchen, rising in strength as time passes.

Curious and baffled but unwilling to intrude on whatever Vergil is up to Dante stays put, though he sits up straighter. His eyes land on Vergil’s book open on the coffee table. It’s open on a page about the theory behind blood seals, Dante rolls his eyes, of course it is.

It’s not that Dante has never opened a book. He’s learnt plenty from books, but anything relating to blood comes relatively innately to demons, and due to their half demon nature it’s not something he’s had to read much on. Blood is power, it’s pretty basic, adds that extra oomph in any spell, an extra layer of security in a seal, longevity. Have to kill every single fucker in a room to be able to leave it, that sort of deal.

It’s just like Vergil to read about something he already probably knows better than whoever wrote this book.

It’s been perhaps something like half an hour since Vergil left. The lovely smell has only increased. Dante has realized by this point that Vergil has made good on the maybe shrug from earlier. He’s about dying from curiosity, but nothing can quite prepare him for Vergil emerging from the kitchen with two plates with pastries.

“You made pastries?” Dante says delighted, only Vergil would be so mad as to make pastries as his first attempt at baking.

Vergil rolls his eyes at Dante’s reaction and hands him a plate. The pastry is round with custard in the center and dusted with powdered sugar.

“It’s not quite successful,” Vergil says after taking a bite, chewing and swallowing.

Dante takes a large bite, intent on proving him wrong, and yeah it’s maybe more sweet buttery bread-y than pastry-y but still crisp outside and soft in the middle.

“This is delicious,” he says around the mouthful of sweet treat.

Vergil rolls his eyes, but it’s rather clear he’s pleased.

“Though of course if you’re not happy you should definitely practice more.” Dante grins. He doesn’t have to say he’ll gladly eat the results of that practice.

“You always did have a sweet tooth.”

“So did you.”

Vergil hums non-comittingly, but Dante knows the truth. Vergil had rediscovered pastries at some point for him to even get the idea to make some. Vergil had bought pastries with that credit card of his on one or more of his outings.

Dante feels laughter bubble up in his chest and it feels amazing. He’s not sure what exactly is so funny, but there’s something about the idea of Vergil buying pastries, standing in line in a bakery - it’s so mundane and discordant with the accusations Lady had thrown his way - oh the nefarious things Vergil gets up to when Dante isn’t watching him, like reading and buying pastries and somehow learning to use the internet.

Vergil kicks him because he thinks he’s laughing at him. Dante pushes him in return and for a moment as their eyes meet all truly is well.

-

Hope you enjoyed! As usual I love to hear what you thought :D