#pre dmc3

“It’s not exactly modern in the same way as Earth, Dante,” Vergil growled, going from confused to annoyed. “Their technology is similar—more advanced in some ways, less in others—but showers weren’t common, no.”

“But, you said you’ve been back on earth for around six months! Even if you just broke away from old Mundy a month ago, you have to have taken a shower by now.” 

Vergil’s expression still stayed the same, but he refused to meet Dante’s eyes again. Embarrassed? 

Dante rocked back on his heels, staring at his twin. Sure, Vergil looked… dusty, but he’d figured it was from the last eight (six? ten? Who the fuck knows?) hours of fighting followed by a motorcycle chase. Yeah, his hair was a greasy mess, but so was Dante’s. And he didn’t smell like someone who hadn’t showered in six months! He just smelled like Vergil, which was a weirdly good smell; he smelled like rain, steel, and family … but was that Dante's human nose talking, or his devil nose? 

Finally, Dante decided just to be blunt and ask, “So, how do you not look like a homeless person?”

Lips thinning with irritation, Vergil nonetheless explained, “Well, whenever we switch to our Devil Form, the surge of magic burns off any muck that clings to our bodies. Since our clothes shift with us, it’s a simple matter to… concentrate that surge.”

“So, you’re basically dry cleaning yourself and your clothes,” Dante summed up, intrigued by the idea. He was man enough to admit that he’d been known to forget to shower, especially when he got into one of his funks, and laundry was one of his least favorite chores. Being a half-devil sucked, but this was an unexpected consolation prize! Even so, Dante wanted a shower, and if it had been ten years since Vergil had one, then he sure as hell deserved one (and probably needed it). “Devil dry cleaning is cool, but showering’s good too. Look, it works just like a regular sink, hot and cold. When you get the water to a temperature you like, pull this little doohickey and it starts rainin’. Shampoo in your hair first, scrub ‘til you get bubbles, rinse, then conditioner— you’re the sort of guy who uses a lot of conditioner, I can tell.”

Vergil eyed him with suspicion. “How?”

“I just can, but I’m right, you’ll see. Anyway, finish it off with the body wash. Make sure you remember what Mom always said and don’t forget to scrub behind your ears!” He ruffled Vergil’s hair and nearly got stabbed by one of the floating blue swords. Worth it! 

“I don’t remember her ever saying that.”

“Well I remember.”

Snorting with derision, Vergil started to fiddle with the taps. “That’s probably because you were always filthy. You’d come inside trailing mud, with twigs in your hair and vermin in your pockets.”

Dante thought about it, then nodded. From what he could remember about those hazy days, Vergil was probably right. “You loved that mouse just as much as I did.”

Vergil stopped unbuttoning his coat to stare at Dante. “Mouse?”

“Yeah. The vermin in my pocket?” He’d forgotten about the incident until just now, and smiled a little at the reclaimed memory. “I brought home a hurt mouse and Mom let me keep it until it healed up. We kept it in a birdcage, remember? I might’ve brought it in, but you were the one who named it and cried buckets when we set it free.”

“I… don’t remember that.”

Dante shoved down his disappointment and chuckled. “Was a long time ago.” He turned away. “Don’t lock the door and I’ll put the clean clothes on the counter, alright?”

Vergil examined the door with new interest, eyes brightening. “Oh. You can lock it from the inside?” He paused, considering, then nodded. “Very well, I won’t lock the door.”

Dante deliberately chose not to think about the implications behind that statement. He had Vergil back with him, they’d have years and years to examine all their built-up trauma. (They would have years and years. Decades. Hell, centuries. He’d make sure that their single lost decade was paid back with interest.) A peek in the vanity drawers showed him a package of cheap toothbrushes and travel toothpaste, which he tossed to Vergil. “Here. Stay minty.”

He flipped on the fan and shut the door before Vergil could retort. 

As soon as he heard the sound of falling water, Dante let his smile drop. His back hit the door with a soft thump and he slid down until he was sitting, arms wrapped around his shins and forehead resting on his knees as he listened to the pipes rattle. He was so tired. Six months in a coma should be enough to last a guy for awhile, but all Dante wanted to do was dig a hole and climb into it. If he wanted, he could crawl over to the small bed and take a nap… but it felt like too much effort. The rattle of old pipes, the rhythmic thud of the shower fan, and the sound of falling water was eventually drowned out by the singing inside his soul. 

The Rebellion. 

Of all the (admittedly) cool abilities his demonic heritage came with, being able to hold his sword inside him was definitely his favorite. He’d always known Rebellion was more than just a sword, more than just the only tangible gift he’d gotten from dear old dad. It’s why he’d grabbed the blade after the fire that took everything, grabbed her and nothing else, then run away as he’d been told. He’d always been able to feel her, a little thrum inside his bones that got stronger whenever he had Rebellion in hand, but now… now he could hear as well as feel the way she sang in harmony with his soul. Better still, he could hear the Yamato resonating back, both swords humming their contentment at being close to each other and their wielders. Yeah, weird as it would seem to an outsider, the swords weren’t just dead metal. They were kind of alive, because Vergil and Dante were alive. 

Vergil (who thankfully never seemed to get tired of explaining things to his dumbass twin) had said that the Rebellion and the Yamato were sister swords, twins, the same way Dante and Vergil were. That Sparda had forged the blades from pieces of their souls, imbued them with his own power, then set them as a kind of key for their Devil Triggers. Vergil had been stunned when he learned that Dante had unlocked his trigger without the Rebellion, and Dante had been distraught to learn that, apparently, being impaled by Yamato was how Vergil had unlocked his.

Having been impaled by a big ass demon sword already, Dante rated that experience one star, definitely not fun, would not try again. (Even though the experience, weirdly, had been the closest he’d ever felt to his father. Sparda’s strength, a piece of his soul, inside Dante's own flesh and blood.)

Admittedly, being impaled had been better than having a microchip explode inside his blood (zero stars, fuck you very much DARKCOM), but Dante was happy to just to hold Rebellion’s essence instead of being a kabob.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs, then in the halls, made Dante snap out of his half-doze, body shifting to put his feet properly under him, Rebellion already summoned to his hand. He relaxed when a knock came at the door, and a man’s voice called, “Tony? It’s Cosmo. Mama said you and your brother needed fresh clothes?”

Setting his sword aside, Dante opened the door and smiled tiredly at the older man outside. Cosmo was the second eldest (at least Dante was pretty sure he was the second eldest) of the Ferino sons, and took after his late father—which meant he was only a few inches shorter than Dante, instead of Dante needing to bend in half to look him in the eyes like with Enzo. “Yeah, I think your mom’s worried we’ll leave stains on her furniture.”

Cosmo raised a bushy eyebrow, then offered a pile of folded clothes. “I hope these fit. You’ve grown, Tony. I didn’t believe Mama when he said you’d gotten bigger.”

“Be shocked if I hadn’t,” Dante grumbled, more to himself than to Cosmo. He’d never admitted his real age to anyone, thankful for what he now guessed were the devil genes that had made him grow faster than human normal. Four years on the streets before meeting the Ferinos had left him looking more like fourteen than twelve. He’d left Capulet City nearly three years ago at age sixteen, while appearing around nineteen, and his current fake IDs had listed him as twenty-four. “Thanks Cosmo. I really wasn’t expecting all this fuss. All I was hoping for was a damn pizza, and to let you know what really happened to Enzo. Maybe show off my long lost twin if I had a spare minute to brag.”

“Then you’ve forgotten how Mama feels about all those who’ve come through our doors,” Cosmo said dryly. “We are like the fairies. You eat our food, you become one of us. On that note, I should warn you that she has issued a call to arms.”

Dante groaned and rubbed his face. “I don’t… Dammit.” The last thing he wanted was to explain the whole damned catastrophe to the entire Ferino tribe— especially since he hadn't had a chance to work through everything that had happened— but could he really tell them no? Black sheep or not, Enzo was family. They deserved to hear how and why he'd died. 

Shoulders slumping, Dante took the offered clothes. “Did you find all the guns?”

Cosmo rolled his eyes. “Of course, of course. We’ll have them and the motorcycles taken care of. I take it you will want the forty-fives?”

“And the shotgun. The rest are all yours. Figured resell would pay for the effort of cleaning up our trail.”

“They should. Especially with the friends and family discount.” Cosmo gave him a smile almost invisible beneath his broom of a mustache, then left Dante alone to sort through the clothes. 

Dark gray sweats, black t-shirts, new socks, and still packaged boxer-briefs. Dante had to laugh at that; Noninna thought of everything. Though… she might wish she’d sent up one white shirt and one black shirt.

The thought of once again being mistaken for his twin warmed him, and chased away the dread of the coming conversation with old allies.

Going to the bathroom door, he knocked, throat automatically letting out that special trilling chirp as he did. Hey, it’s me, your brother! 

At the returning trill —I hear you!— he opened the door, was nearly overwhelmed by all the steam, and tossed Vergil’s new clothes onto the counter. “Hurry up, big brother! The Ferinos are marching!”

“What?!” Vergil asked, but Dante shut the door. It’d make Vergil hurry and then maybe there’d still be some hot water left over.

To his amusement, his ploy worked and Vergil emerged sixty seconds later, hair dripping and new clothes sticking to his still wet skin.

“Did you use a towel at all?” he asked at the same time Vergil demanded,

“Are we under attack?”

Maybe Dante should be a little more careful with his wording next time. Grabbing a towel, he dropped it over his brother’s head and gently rubbed his sopping wet hair. “Only metaphorically, and the weapons are made of pasta. But we’ll get coffee, so it's worth it!” He could already smell the coffee, and he wanted that cup of liquid life more than anything. It had been six months since he’d had any  caffeine, after all.

Honestly, he should be a lot more hungry than he was. He doubted DARKCOM’d done more than run nutrient shit through his veins when they’d put him in cold storage, so why wasn’t he about ready to raid the restaurant downstairs? It's not like he'd eaten—

Skin cracked like ice. Blood too frozen to bleed. The only thing that mattered was his rage. Warmth splashing over him like waves on a beach. Life seeping into cracks, and his heart began to beat again. The empty ache inside was filled and soothed. He wanted more more more—

Dante’s hands tensed involuntarily, which made Vergil smack him away with Yamato (which hurt, but not as bad as it would’ve if he’d unsheathed it). “Sorry sorry,” he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Get dried off before you catch cold.”

“I’m literally half-devil. It’d need to be absolute zero to do damage to me,” Vergil sneered, yanking the towel off his head. 

Dante locked down his expression, refusing to laugh at the sight of his brother’s hair standing on end like a lopsided dandelion. After a moment of struggle, he said, “Wow, your hair’s actually white again!”

“It was always white.”

“Off-white.”

Vergil snarled at him, fangs flashing. “You are such an asshole!”

Dante covered his mouth with one hand and mock-gasped, “You said a bad word! A bad sapien word! You’re being corrupted!”