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Because protection comes in many forms, big and small, literally and figuratively…
Part 2
(Set after DMC3, but before DMC1)
I had this idea for drawing a contemplative / sad Dante - in the rain, if possible - ages ago when I saw this amazing art by @duckydrawsart... but I never really dared to make it, it seemed so... big. Complex. Then DMC Gen Week came up and I was like “Now or never! Go for it!”. And I’m so glad I did! =D This was tons of fun!
So big shoutout to Ducky for the inspiration and to @wingsofthenight for setting this whole week up... you guys are awesome!
“I’m not calling you that. Not yet. Too weird.”
“You know what I learned, oh nephew of mine?”
“Oh god...what?”
“That we take things for granted. And passing through a Mega-Leviathan’s guts -- yeah, apparently there’s plenty of those in the Underworld -- has taught me that we should say things before they’re too late.”
“...you both smell like shit.”
“Yeah, Mega-Leviathan, crawling through its guts -- keep up, kid.”
“And now I smell like shit.”
“No, kid, that -- that’s the smell of family.”
Takes place after the events of DMC5, before the epilogue scenes.
Vergil hated the Underworld.
Why?
Well, for starters, it was always so bloody cold. The chill of it set him on edge the instant he and Dante had crossed over. The familiar icy caress reminded him of his other visits to Hell. He knew from experience if he made it back to the Human Realm, it would take at least a week to feel warm again.
Second on the elder Sparda’s list of reasons to hate Hell was the smell. Every plane had a distinct odor to it, but there was always an undercurrent of wilting roses. Ever since his first “visit” he’d hated the fragrance of roses. By itself, the scent wasn’t worth noticing. But when you mixed in the plane's aroma they had landed on, it was abhorrent.
Wilting roses and wet canine. Only in the Underworld.
Add to the mix of unpleasantness the fact that demons attacked every ten minutes, and Vergil lacked the ability to imagine a worse location to find himself.
And Dante’s here, too. Ugh.
Regardless, he had a job to do, and Vergil would not allow failure to wound his pride. He allowed himself the luxury of wrinkling his nose in distaste as he flicked the Yamato to the side to expel the demon blood coating it, sheathing the blade in a single, fluid motion. Dante didn’t bother. His idiot brother absorbed his own weapon back inside his body without cleaning it.
“C’mon, Verg. Let’s get this done.”
Vergil scoffed, his long legs bringing him to his brother’s side within three strides as the man in red walked toward their goal; the Qlipoth.
“My sentiments exactly, brother.”
Gazing at the tree filled Vergil with shame. He struggled to believe how foolish he’d been to think summoning this monstrosity to the Human Realm would bring him greater power. How naïve to imagine he could somehow become stronger by splitting himself in half. No, his desperation had borne that idea; it didn’t bear further thought.
His new plan was to observe Dante and decide for himself if his methods might cause his own strength to rise if adopted. It was a strategy he’d never considered, but knowing the life his brother led and taking into consideration what his human half had experienced, it was worth exploring. Perhaps the answer was to indulge both sides of himself, as opposed to just the one.
Even if his assessment proved incorrect, it would not be difficult to eliminate the man. Not considering how many demons were nearby waiting to rip him apart. Utilizing them would be child’s play.
The two men reached the Qlipoth within mere hours. There was no change in the lighting to mark the passage of time, leading Vergil to believe this was one of the Realms without sunlight. One where despite this, instead of the land being eternally shadowed, it was eternally bright.
Sleep would be a challenge.
A challenge to face later.
Vergil followed his brother to the bottom of the tree, the pair of them drawing their blades together to destroy the last remnant of his idiocy.
The Qlipoth fell easily to their combined might, a great crash marking its descent as it struck the ground. Once the rumbles subsided, Vergil once again sheathed his blade with care while Dante absorbed his own.
“Well… that’s that,” Dante commented.
“Indeed.”
“Guess we should find somewhere to rest for a bit.”
Vergil hummed his agreement, his cold eyes already scanning the environment for potential sites. Because they were in the Underworld, the Qlipoth hadn’t vanished upon being destroyed. Some of its limbs met nearby in a passable approximation of shelter. It still left one side open to attack, but it was an advantageous find, regardless.
“I’ll take first watch,” Vergil announced as he led his brother to the somewhat sheltered spot. Dante shrugged, peeling off his crimson jacket to curl up underneath it. He used one of the sleeves to cover his eyes and soon enough he filled the air with his restful snores.
Alone at last.
Vergil made a point to sweep his stern gaze across the horizon every few seconds, keeping vigil as was his duty. Yet as his eyes fulfilled his responsibilities, his mind wandered.
He couldn’t help but wonder about Nero. His son. He wasn’t sure how to describe his impression of that fact, his emotions too out of practice to recognize. His very bones informed him Dante had spoken the truth; he knew the boy was his. Yet there was no sense of ownership or urge to claim him.
I suppose I no longer have that right.
He’d made so many mistakes, so many errors in judgement. A twinge of unfamiliar discomfort made him shift uncomfortably as he dwelled on his many failures. He tried to find the language necessary to describe what he felt, but lacked the terminology. This, by itself, was alarming. Vergil prided himself on his vocabulary, always having a word ready for any -
“Mom…”
His eyes shot straight to Dante’s as he mumbled. The sleeve of his coat had fallen away at some point, letting Vergil stare in confusion as his brother writhed in the grip of his nightmares. His twin’s brows met and his teeth showed in a pained grimace.
Dante has nightmares?
“Mom… stay with me…”
Vergil turned away, redirecting his focus through sheer force of will. He envisioned a wall between himself and his brother, one that sound lacked the means to penetrate. He clenched his jaw in frustration as the echoing cries of his brother’s pain intermittently interrupted his musings. His thoughts drifted to their mother, of course. If Dante’s nightmares reflected reality, then it seemed she had left him behind as well.
A rush of understanding and sympathy did its best to overpower him, but he brutally grappled it into submission. Even if Eva left Dante behind, his life was still so different from his own that he didn’t merit kindness.
“Vergil… find Vergil…”
Dante’s muttered words sent Vergil reeling. He must have misheard his brother’s ramblings. For a moment, Vergil maintained his vigil. Yet his curiosity refused to abandon his thoughts and soon enough he edged nearer to his brother. He heard the low moans between the muttered expressions, his own name mixed alongside their mother’s in a cacophony of woe. He stepped closer, now standing mere feet away to listen to every word that escaped Dante’s lips.
“Mom… come back… too late…”
Vergil froze, not daring to draw breath as he listened. He tried to assemble the puzzle pieces into a coherent image, but without more information it was a fool’s errand.
Suddenly Dante’s eyes opened. He instantly spotted Vergil crouched beside him and grimaced, sitting up hurriedly. At first, Vergil considered playing it off somehow, making an excuse. Yet something inside him proclaimed its distaste for the idea. Instead, he sat alongside his brother with a sigh, his form rigid.
The silence stretched on as the two brothers both searched for the right words to bridge the vast gap between them, each for their own reasons. Vergil spoke first.
“I didn’t know you had nightmares about Mother.”
Dante nodded, his white hair hiding most of his expression as it shifted from the motion.
“Of course I do. What a clusterfuck that was.”
Vergil hummed in agreement, unsure how to navigate these treacherous waters. He wanted to know what happened, what Dante had seen. Needed more information regarding the night that left their family shattered. He cleared his throat.
“I miss her, Dante.”
His counterpart looked at him through his hair, probably assessing the truth in his words. Vergil’s chest felt tight as he watched his brother’s expression soften, his pain reflected in his twins gaze as their eyes met for what felt like the first time in understanding. He focused on him, maintaining eye contact despite the overwhelming urge to look away.
Dante broke first, shifting his body to hide his face as he sniffled. Even as Vergil scoffed at the sign of weakness, another part of him wanted nothing more than to lay his arm across his brother’s shoulders and attempt to comfort him. The opposing urges clashed within him in a storm, resulting in him not responding whatsoever.
“I miss her too, Vergil.”
Warmth on his knee made Vergil glance down to spot Dante’s hand resting there. He stared blankly for a long moment, unsure how to proceed. Upon considering it, he could not deny that the contact felt… nice. He wondered when he’d last allowed someone to touch him, but nothing recent came to mind. Dante withdrew his palm, leaving Vergil to puzzle over his mixed reaction. He asked the question he longed to find answers for to give himself another moment to process.
“What happened that night?”
To his surprise, Dante responded.
“She… she hid me in their closet and… went to look for you. I heard her scream but that’s all I know.”
Would she have survived if I’d been there? Was her death my fault?
Vergil bit his lip to stop it from trembling, fighting to conceal his emotions. They swirled within him in a whirlwind. His anger, his regret, his childlike sadness and his grief. He took a halting breath, his shoulders twitching as he withheld a sob.
“It’s okay, Verg. Let go, I’m the only one here and you can kill me later, anyway.”
Vergil glared at his kin intensely enough to melt glass, the mere suggestion of displaying his pain for anyone to see abhorrent. Yet even as he held his angry stare, a tear slipped out and rolled down his cheek. Dante sighed, rolling his eyes at Vergil’s insistence on self-control. He leaned closer and wrapped his arms around his brother, awkwardly pulling the man into a hug. It was clear from the look on his face he expected to Vergil to stab him for it.
Vergil steadfastly remained rigid, his staccato breathing the only outward sign of his grief. Once again, some foreign corner of his being longed to return the embrace. Another portion of his being wished for nothing more than to see Dante with the Yamato embedded in his belly. Yet he did neither.
“I’m not letting go until you either stab me or hug me,” Dante muttered stubbornly.
I’ve stabbed him before and it’s gained me naught. Perhaps it is time for a different approach?
As he said, I can always kill him later.
Vergil raised his arms with reluctance, wrapping them around Dante with a clenched jaw. Somehow, returning the hug made it more difficult to hold in his pain, and all at once it became too much to bear. He shook under the force of his need to control himself, unable to do anything to halt the erosion of his restraint.
Dante patted his back, and the dam disintegrated. Vergil transformed into a pathetic mess of sorrow as his tears dripped down his jaw, his shoulders and chest heaving from the strength of his sobbing. He could feel his heart burning in his rib cage, the low ache he had grown used to evolving into an agony so soul wrenching he couldn’t remain silent.
His own frailty disgusted Vergil as he howled at the still bright sky overhead, expelling as much of his pain as possible with the power of his voice. Dante released him as the sound echoed, cringing from the volume. Even without his brotherly hug, Vergil found control unattainable. He angrily succumbed to the tide of misery within him, riding out the storm until it blew itself out.
At long last, he returned to himself. He felt like a wrung-out towel, devoid of moisture or coherence in the wake of his episode. His limbs were heavy, eyelids swollen and raw from the tears he’d scrubbed away. Only a faded ache remained of his previously tortured heart. He leaned back against the Qlipoth they sheltered beneath, taking deep breaths to calm himself further.
Dante stood, threading his arms through the sleeves of his coat.
“Get some sleep. My turn to keep watch.”
Vergil hastily searched for a response, some arrangement of words to reassert his strength. Yet what escaped his lips did nothing of the sort.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Characters: Dante and Kyrie
Summary: Sometimes, it's the person you least expect that understands your pain the most. The pain of losing an older brother and feeling you should have done more to change their fate brings that to the surface.
I’m apparently allergic to deadlines, so this is really late. But I finally got it finished!
Dante only half-listens to the bubbly chatter of the girl perched on the corner of his desk, slowly flipping through a magazine he's read many times before. He's still not entirely sure how he got conned into babysitting Patty again, but at least it's only for a week or two while her mother's out of the country on some thing. And at least he's getting paid this time.
But after the first hour, he's discovered that if he thought an eight-year-old girl was a nightmare, a fifteen-year-old one is even worse, especially in the chatterbox department. Yap, yap, yap, about school, clothes, boys (he's surprised by the growl that tries to bubble up in his throat when that subject comes up), and whatever else enters her head. Interspersed, of course, with her usual haranguing about the state of the shop.
A change in her tone catches his attention, and he peers over the top of the magazine at her. "Come again?"
"I said," she huffs, expression twisting in annoyance, "my school's having an event for parents and children on Friday. I wanted to go because all my friends are going, and the theme sounds really elegant- Ren Faire formal. But with Mom out of town..."
Dante snorts and goes back to his magazine. "Doesn't sound very fair." He ducks with a grin as another magazine goes sailing past his head for the pun.
"It's not! But I still wanted to go, because the dresses are probably going to be so pretty..."
"Probably just gonna be a bunch of cheap medieval costume dresses from the local costume store."
"Hey! Some of those can be really pretty, you know!"
He just chuckles and says no more on the subject.
Friday rolls around, and Dante's in his room when he hears the shop doors bang open, Patty announcing her arrival, and the thud of her schoolbag hitting the floor. The sudden silence that follows makes him grin. Then he hears her happy shriek and thundering footsteps heading toward the guest room.
He takes the opportunity to slip out of his room and into the office, settling on the couch to wait, listening to the sound of her running back and forth in the guest room and bathroom. Eventually she emerges, and he stands to greet her.
Patty is resplendent in a gauzy blue dress the color of mist, pale blue butterflies dotting the shoulder veil and skirt. Her hair is done up in fancy braids, a delicate and intricately twisted diadem crowning the whole look. (Dante, for his part, is wearing the red and black leather outfit he'd worn during that mess with Arius and Argosax. It's the most medieval outfit he's got, and figures it'll be acceptable.)
He bows with a teasing grin just to make her blush, offering his arm once he straightens. "Our carriage awaits, Princess~"
His grin only increases at her delighted gasp when she sees it's an actual carriage waiting for them outside, instead of his car. He knows he's probably gone a little overboard with this whole thing, just for some school event that isn't even prom or whatever. But it's worth it to see the girl who'd once been as alone as he'd been at that age beaming so brilliantly.
