Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Today had sucked.

In a trash filled back alley in Buenos Aires, an irritated and headachey Dante shouldered his bag of (rightfully claimed) money and (outrightly stolen) clothes, and unsheathed the Yamato. He'd hoped that his first birthday reunited with Vergil would end better than the last ten, but had been disappointed. Though, he wasn't lying on a New York dive bar’s bathroom floor covered in vomit and clown makeup (Halloween “party” don't ask), so he had at least cleared the low, low bar of his sweet sixteen.

The day had started so good! Bantering with Vergil and a trip to beautiful Argentina! What could be better? His demon hunt had been very good, even if his client had turned out to be leader of the demons hoping to trap and kill him. That wasn't so bad. He'd even still gotten paid! Half up front was his new policy, ever since he'd gotten a “dependent” in Vergil, but he'd been able to claim the rest of his payment (plus a large penalty fee for his clients being demons, and a bonus for working on his birthday) from the demons’ own stash. He'd also been able to raid the demons’ well appointed “home” for a clubbing outfit to wear during his undercover work. (Why did a nest of demons have fancy clothes? Simple. Clubs, bars, and frat houses were favorite hunting grounds for demons worldwide. Drunk and horny humans were the sapien equivalent of wounded gazelles on the Serengeti.) 

The stint of spywork had been the disappointing part. 

At least he had confirmation that Arius was definitely a sorcerer, a human who not only summoned demons, but also leeched infernal magic for their own use and usually double-majored in nasty alchemy. Sorcerers were rare, due to their survival rates being even lower than for demon summoners (which were abysmal), so Dante was relatively inexperienced with them. His first real brush with one had been the White Rabbit, then with John Arkham as Vergil’s “research partner,” and Dante’s Marina Trench-low opinion of the species hadn't improved. Especially not after getting within sniffing distance of Arius. The air around the billionaire was rife with the stench of burning rubber, rotten flesh, blood, and brimstone. Dante had nearly vomited just being nearby.

He could've dealt with it and been happy if he'd found a clue to the locations of the Force Edge and Perfect Amulet, but his snooping had been a total bust. Searching Arius's rooms had revealed some decent occult research and the sorcerous equivalent of a wish-list— with the Force Edge and the Perfect Amulet still in the “need to get grubby hands on” section. There wasn't anything in his files that Dante didn't already know, no new hints to where Baines had hidden either item. Unless Arius had the clues on a different computer, or kept his research in a different location than his super stylish Argentina apartment. 

(Dante had intended to steal the laptop and pay a hacker to break into it. Instead, he'd found it unlocked and a Notes tab with all Arius's passwords. Dante wept for the man's bodyguards. They had to have their hands full guarding someone that dumb.) He still might see about paying a visit to Vie de Marli later, just in case, but he'd see what Vergil thought first.

Enough woolgathering, he told himself. It was time to get back to Fortuna and the flat he rented with Vergil. He was dog tired and ready for sleep.

With an effort, the Yamato obligingly cut a hole through space for him, and he stepped through.

The instant he set foot in the apartment, he was hit with a sense of something being… off. Not wrong or dangerous, just… off. 

His eyes darted around the apartment, searching for what had alarmed him. Nothing seemed out of place. The Rebellion still rested on the sword rack, humming a quiet greeting to him, unperturbed by the strangeness. Another indication that there was no danger. The floor of the living area was still covered in old books, scrolls, and notebooks… though they had moved positions since he left. That wasn't a big deal though, expected even. The only real changes were… His eyebrows shot up. What was this~? 

In addition to the regular clutter was an empty wine bottle and two wine glasses on the coffee table. Not only that, but the cake box had been emptied and alongside the wine glasses were two dirty forks and plates. Other dishes were piled in the sink, something Vergil did not tolerate. (Dante had been informed multiple times that food left sitting out, even scraps stuck to dirty plates, could attract scavengers.)

Grinning, Dante picked up the wine bottle and examined the label. Vergil had splurged and gotten something nice. He glanced at the kitchenette and saw no sign of the enhanced “get-half-devils-drunk” vodka he'd given Vergil as a birthday present, but when he sniffed one of the wine glasses, he caught a whiff of it. 

Dante's grin softened into a pleased smile. So Vergil had decided to trust his little archivist friend and allowed himself to loosen up a bit. That was good. Really good. Vergil deserved a friend that wasn't Dante or one of Dante's friends. He’d been hoping that this girl would make the grade, and it seemed she had.

Dante sniffed the air again, and his smile morphed again, this time into a smirk. Maybe more than just a friend, then. Dante had been right about their mutual crushes! And yes, he was going to be unbearably smug about it!

He took another, closer look at the contained chaos of their living room, this time looking for specific clues, and found them: a discarded shirt and belt that definitely weren't Dante's. Furthermore, a pile of books next to the bedroom door had been overturned somehow, and a bit of white cloth stuck out from beneath the heap. Curious, he tugged it free and snorted. Well, at least he knew Ivy (or whatever her real name was) hadn't come here with the intention of seducing Vergil. The pair of panties were cute enough, but not the sort a lady would wear to feel sexy.

Giving the closed bedroom door a considering look, Dante debated how to handle this. He would, of course, be teasing Vergil. It was his moral obligation as a little brother! But he would try not to go overboard and ruin it. After all, he wanted this for his brother. He wanted Vergil to find reasons to care about this world and the people in it, to experience the good things humanity had to offer, and, most importantly, he wanted Vergil to be happy. And if he could find happiness in the things Dante himself couldn't, then all the better.

Humming in anticipation, Dante returned the Yamato to her place and hung his guns and harness beside the sword rack. That done, he filled a glass with water, then went to the bedroom door and opened it, deliberately without knocking.

“Good morning, sunshines! It's a beautiful day, just awaiting your happy smiling faces!”

He dodged the phantom blade aimed at his head, smile never faltering.

On the bed, the blanket covered lump that was Vergil stirred with a groan, clutching his head. Dante laughed softly. His brother had the craziest bedhead. “You look gorgeous,” he teased, coming around to open the curtains. Vergil hissed at him, wincing away from the light, then moaned and fell back against the pillow, covering his eyes. 

“Go die,” he croaked.

“That’s not very nice, Vergil,” Dante tsked. Glancing around the small bedroom, he saw no sign of Ivy except a dented pillow and a faint whiff of her perfume, which was… odd. Where the hell was she? Dante firmly put the brakes on his worrying. The archivist had been nothing but helpful, a true worshiper of the Savior who’d known who they were by their looks based on the four ancient images of Sparda's human form, and been willing to break the rules to help them. Maybe she’d gone out to get Vergil a hangover cure, or some special, traditional Fortuna post-sexy-times breakfast. That was the most likely scenario. Well, he’d get around to teasing her when she got back. Meanwhile, he’d focus on supporting Vergil through his very first hangover!

Now that he’d had his fun, Dante took mercy on Vergil and closed the curtains again. (Though with their darkvision, he wasn't sure how much it would matter.) “Come on, sit up a little,” he said, sitting next to his brother. “You need to drink some water. It’ll help.” Normally, he’d be offering aspirin or something, but one downside to being half-devil was that most drugs had no effect on them. Vergil would just have to suffer through the aftermath of drinking too much. One upside should be that his hangover would be much shorter than a human’s might be, demon vodka or no.

Grumbling, Vergil scooted up enough to prop himself against the wall, but growled when Dante tried to help him drink. “I’m not an infant!” He grabbed the glass from Dante’s hand and, before Dante could warn him, took a long gulp. The effect was almost instant, but Dante had been expecting it and already had the trashcan ready. Like the good brother he was, he held Vergil’s hair back while his brother was violently sick. 

“Alright, let’s try this again,” he said patiently when Vergil had finally stopped retching and had gone limp. He held the glass to Vergil’s lips. “Little sips. First few to rinse your mouth, then actually take a drink.”

It showed just how miserable Vergil was when he meekly obeyed without a growl or protest. When he started looking a little peaky again, Dante pulled the glass away and, when Vergil kept the water down, moved the trashcan to the side of the bed. “How you feeling now, Verg?”

After a moment to catch his breath, Vergil managed, “My head hurts… a great deal.”

That made Dante chuckle. “I bet it does. I had no idea you were such a lightweight.” Getting up, he ran a washcloth under cold water then brought it back, laying it over Vergil’s eyes. His twin tried to remain stoic and not show that the gesture helped or felt good for about three seconds, then gave up and melted back against the pillow with a sigh.

“I am not a lightweight. That… That concoction you gave me is evil. That is all.”

“Right,” Dante said, amused. “Complete evil. And you had zero fun last night with the evil booze. Fun was banned. No cake, no wine, no girl…”

Vergil ripped the washcloth off his eyes, which were now blazing with temper. “Nothing happened!” he snapped.

Dante raised an eyebrow, dipped a hand in his pocket, and pulled out the panties, dangling them in front of his brother's face. “Ah, so these are yours then! Interesting fashion choice, Verg, but I won't judge what a man finds comfy.”

To Dante's glee, Vergil went red as a strawberry and snatched the underwear, hiding it beneath the covers. “This is all your fault!” he shouted, trying to shove at Dante and almost falling off the bed. 

Chuckling wickedly, Dante said, “I will gladly take credit for you two quitting mooning over each other and actually doing something about your cutesy widdle cwushes.”

“Oh shut up, you ass!” Vergil snarled, holding his head again. “Where is she, anyway? Did you frighten her away with your boorish behavior, or do I have a chance to salvage this?”

Dante cocked his head to one side, smile falling away. “She's not here, Verg. Was already gone when I got in a few minutes ago.”

Vergil looked up, blinking, startled. “What?” He turned, staring at where, presumably, Ivy had been sleeping beside him. Headache seemingly forgotten, he moved over and began searching beneath the pillow and blanket, then glanced over the nightstand and floor.

“What’re you lookin’ for?” Dante asked.

“A note, of course,” Vergil snapped. “She wouldn’t have left without leaving some message.”

Dante mentally kicked at his growing unease, refusing to let it take root. “Right. I’ll go check in the living room. Maybe I missed it.”

“She wouldn't just leave,” Vergil muttered, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall.

“Take it easy, Verg,” Dante told him. “Lie down before you hurl again. I’ll look for your note.”

Vergil, proving that pigheadedness could persevere through any hardship, ignored him and started to get up. Dante pushed him back down. “At least put some pants on first.” He grabbed a pair off the ground and threw them in Vergil’s face, then went to search for notes. 

There weren’t any.

Dante… Dante did not like this.

Filling up a fresh glass of water, he returned to the bedroom and set the glass next to the first.  “Keep drinking. You need to hydrate.”

“Dante?”

Unable to meet his brother’s expectant gaze, he fiddled with the new glass, spinning it and watching rings of condensation form on the wood. “There wasn’t a note. I looked. And yes, I checked everywhere. Even moved the books around in case it fell.”

There was silence, then Vergil said numbly, “I don’t understand. She… She would know that I would worry. I woke up ill. What if she was sick too?”

“I didn’t smell anything like that,” Dante told him, trying for reassuring. “I knew you’d be sick the second I walked into the bedroom, but I couldn’t smell any trace of pain or sick that wasn’t you.” He chuckled. “I bet she could give even a guy like me a run for my money at the bar. She seems like the sort to have a hidden wild side.”

Rather than reassure, this seemed to make things worse. Dante’s ears caught Vergil’s heartrate picking up, and the way his breaths came a little shorter. Concerned, he moved to sit next to Vergil again, putting a steadying hand on his twin’s shoulder. “You okay, Verg?”

Vergil shifted restlessly, unwilling to look at him, then got up and tried for the door, but wobbled and nearly fell. Dante caught him. “Woah! Hey, slow down. What’s the rush?”

“I want to see for myself.”

“Okay, just… just take it slow.” He helped Vergil to the door, letting his brother look into the living room and see for himself that there was no note. As Vergil stared, eyes flicking about, cataloguing the area, Dante could feel him growing more and more agitated, his rain-flavored power beginning to spin itself into a proper storm.

And it was… confusing. Vergil wasn't acting like a guy who had just gotten lucky with his crush. Sure, some of that could be attributed to the hangover, but this level of distress was unlike him. Was it all because the girl had left? Or was there something else?

“Verg…” he started tentatively, “you… remember everything, right?”

“What? Of course I do!” Vergil snapped irritably, jolted out of his concentration. “I remembered your advice and all those horrid stories of yours and so I was careful about how much I drank.” His annoyance gave him a boost of strength and he pushed away from Dante’s hold, stumbling into the living room to conduct his own search.

Well, if Dante had to be a cautionary tale, at least he'd been an effective one. Hearing Vergil confirm he had no blackout moments was also reassuring, knocking that worry off the table. Dante’s table was still stacked high with worries, though, and he was well out of his depth here.

“Alright, Vergil,” Dante said, when he’d had enough of watching Vergil working himself up to a genuine meltdown. Grabbing Vergil’s shoulder as he passed the bedroom door, Dante spun his twin around to face him, putting steadying hands on his upper arms. “Something’s up with you and you’re gonna have to explain it to me, okay? I’m not smart enough to work out what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

“You are perfectly intelligent,” Vergil protested, trying to pull away. “You’re just too lazy to do the work yourself!” 

Dante didn’t let go. If Vergil really wanted to get away, he could, still suffering from a hangover or not. “Aw, that’s such a great backhanded compliment. I love it. But you’re not getting out of this. Walk me through last night.”

Vergil glared at him. “Pervert.”

Okay, he’d kinda run right into that one. Rolling his eyes, he said, “You can skip that part… unless you want to brag?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which made Vergil’s ears and neck turn bright pink again. He laughed. “Ha! You better be blushing out of pride in a job well done, because no twin of mine is going to be a selfish prick in bed. I’d die of shame.”

“As if you know the meaning of shame!” Vergil hissed, covering his face. “I hate you so much! Why are you like this?”

“Because it’s hilarious. But seriously, Verg, talk to me. Please?” He pulled at one of Vergil’s wrists so his brother had to look at him. “You’re upset and I don’t like not knowing how to help. What’s wrong?”

For a moment, Vergil stared at him, then swallowed hard and admitted, “I… I don’t know.”

Shit. Well, at least they’d both gotten to the point where Vergil could admit to not knowing something. Bonds reforged by shared trauma were cool like that. 

(Dante couldn’t imagine how fucked up their relationship would be if they had reunited under different circumstances. If Vergil had gone ahead with his plans to raise the Temen-ni-gru and take the power Sparda had left behind to maintain the barrier keeping demons out, then Dante would’ve been forced to try and stop him—presuming DARKCOM hadn’t turned him into their pet brainwashed super-soldier by then, of course. He and Vergil would’ve been enemies, not allies, not family… and the idea of fighting for real and losing Vergil again was terrifying.)

Giving Vergil’s shoulders a soothing pat, he said, “Okay, then walk me through it. Start with last evening, when Ivy got here.”

He could tell Vergil wanted to correct him about the name, but held himself back, which was unlike him. It took a minute for Vergil to decide he wanted to talk, pride warring with uncertainty, but eventually he sighed and his shoulders slumped. Vergil was a thinker with a tendency to brood, a habit made worse by his time in the Underworld, but he’d quickly learned the usefulness of having a sounding board—something Dante had been counting on.

“She arrived on time, and brought dinner with her to share.” Anticipating Dante’s questions, he added, “It was pasta. No, it wasn’t as good as Nonnina’s. No, I didn’t save any, and you wouldn’t have liked it anyway. It had olives and onions.”

Ew. And he’d thought Ivy was such a nice girl.

“We ate and talked, and she told me about something she’d found, some fragments of sacred poetry about Sparda’s journey through the Temen-ni-gru. They contained details I had never heard before.” Vergil lit up, eyes brightening, and Dante understood why. This was Vergil’s obsession: his desire to harness all the possible power he could, which included the power Sparda had woven into the Temen-ni-gru to repurpose it from “The Underworld’s True Gateway,” into the literal lock and key to Earth, making the barrier between worlds one-way only for powerful demons. Dante was just as eager as Vergil to get inside the Temen-ni-gru, but for the exact opposite reason. Sparda had renewed the magics and seals before his death, but with Sparda dead and all the human meddling, his barrier was fraying decades early. It needed to be renewed, or it would inevitably fail— allowing Mundus to invade. The problem was that Sparda, being a smart cookie, had never written down how he did all that cool stuff, or exactly what safe-guards and guardians he placed in his scary tower of doom. No point in making a map for the bad guys to follow, after all! …Except he had died before he could explain things to his sons, who were now left scrambling for any scraps of information they could find before it was too late—one way or another. So far, they had only the bare bones basics.

“Really? What was it? Spill!” Dante urged his brother.

“Father wasn’t alone when he ascended the tower. He had a priestess with him!” Vergil said triumphantly.

Dante blinked, leaning back on his heels. “What? Dad had a girlfriend?” Logically, he knew Sparda had probably dated other women before he’d met Eva, but emotionally, the thought gave him the icks.

“What? No! That’s not what I said!” Vergil rolled his eyes, and Dante rejoiced, not only in the news, but that his brother seemed to be feeling better. Dante preferred Vergil annoying and prickly to uncertain and upset. “I only said he had a priestess with him, and she was specifically stated to have left behind a daughter and granddaughter to carry on her work, so she certainly wasn’t dating Father.”

“Alright, fine, yeesh. So you think she might’ve been important?”

“Maybe. Her death was called a sacrifice and stated as the reason Father was able to restructure the Temen-ni-gru’s magical composition. Whether that meant she gave him access to Earth- or faith-based power that demons cannot usually wield—which would mean that no devil could unravel it—or she gave her life to buy him time to complete the spell… I’m uncertain. Perhaps both. If it has to do with Earth-based magic, then that's good, because we're human and can access it. I was planning to go see the poem fragments myself today to verify, but…” Vergil trailed off, one arm wrapping around his middle in an unusual display of nerves. Or maybe his stomach was acting up again. His face was still pale, after all, and the green tinge was returning.

And just like that, we’re back where we started, and still no answers. Dante sighed, then immediately regretted it when he saw Vergil’s shoulders rise defensively. Quickly, he said, “We’ll go together later, when you’re feeling up to it. Trust me, hangovers suck, so you’re allowed to be lazy today, alright?” His smile slid back into place, old habits following well worn tracks. “So, you two nerded out and ate dinner. Even got through the cake too. Sounds normal enough.” Vergil nodded, lips pressed tightly together. “And emptied that wine bottle,” Dante prompted. “Rude, not saving any for me, by the way. But I forgive you, since I got to see baby’s first hangover!” He pinched Vergil's cheeks. “You got drunk, got laid, so now all you need is to get arrested for bar brawling and your journey to manhood will be complete! I'm so proud.”

This was enough to get Vergil to punch him in the gut, which Dante took as his due. It made him more than a little worried though, because that punch lacked any real power, but Vergil had still overbalanced himself and was forced to lean against the wall to stay upright. His delicate state did not stop him from growling, “Of course I didn’t save any for you! I will never encourage you to drink, because with how you act sober, I can only imagine what an insufferable ass you are drunk!”

“Rude, but accurate,” Dante coughed, straightening up. “So, you two got tipsy.”

Vergil avoided his gaze. “Yes.”

“And started making out?”

At this, Vergil frowned at him. “Making… out?”

Dante managed not to smack himself in the forehead by sheer force of will. Demons had very, very different slang terms, and he honestly wasn’t even sure if the general demon population kissed at all. “Making out means kissing,” he clarified. “Lots of kissing. Usually with tongue.”

If Vergil kept blushing like this, his head might explode. 

Dante thought it was both cute and funny, but didn’t say so. Getting stabbed hurt, plus it stained the hardwood and then landlords started asking pointed questions. (Ask him how he knew!) “I take it there was kissing then?” he drawled.

Reluctantly, Vergil nodded. “We were talking about poetry, comparing Emily Dickenson and Walt Whitman, and she just… she just kissed me.” His fingers moved to his lips, as if he still couldn't believe what mischief they'd gotten up to.

Well, that wasn’t exactly unexpected. If anyone was going to make a first move, Dante would’ve put his money on the girl bold enough to wear crimson in Fortuna. But he had to make sure… “And did you kiss her back?” He kept his voice gentle this time, not wanting to spook his brother.

Vergil shook his head. “No, I… Whenever a demoness tried to kiss me, it hurt, so I-I pushed her away. It was reflex. She apologized and tried to run, but I… I didn't want her to go, so I moved in front of the door and she ran into me and…” His eyes flicked in the direction of the front door and his blush returned full force.

Ah. So that's where things had heated up. It explained why Vergil's shirt had been on the floor too. Dante smiled, relieved. “Alright. So it sounds like it was mutual then.” Vergil nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes. “That's great! Did you have fun?”

“What?!” Now Vergil did look up, startled, and Dante chuckled.

“I asked: did you have fun?”

Shyly, reluctantly, Vergil nodded, eyes lowering again. “It was… quite enjoyable,” he mumbled, still blushing but not so painfully red.

“Glad to hear that.” And he really was glad for Vergil. Smirking, he asked, letting a bit of gentle teasing leak into his voice again, “Was it quite enjoyable for her too? Remember what I said before. Our family honor is on the line here.”

Vergil cleared his throat again, folding his arms, then unfolding them, then running his hands through his hair in agitation. “She… It seemed so. I thought so. She told me— I… I believed we were…” Dante's smile, already faltering, dropped completely as Vergil stopped fidgeting and reached out, clutching Dante's shirt with a shaking hand. “Why didn’t she stay? Was it me? I don’t— Dante, did I… did I do something wrong?”

The vulnerability in that question broke Dante's heart. Without hesitation, he pulled Vergil against him in a tight hug. “No no no, Verg. I'm sorry for teasing. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I wasn't there, but I know you. You wouldn't be anything but a gentleman. Her not being here is not your fault.”

“Not much of a g-gentleman, seducing a girl,” Vergil croaked, face buried in the crook of Dante's neck, fingers gripping the back of his coat so hard the leather creaked. “That’s something a… a devil might do. Maybe that's why—”

“Hey now,” Dante scolded gently, rubbing Vergil’s back with one hand, the other cupping the back of his twin’s head, fingers buried in his messy hair, holding him close “I don’t know where the fuck you got that idea from—” and when Dante found out from where, he was going to burn whatever or whoever it was to fucking ash “—but from what you told me, it was mutual heat-of-the-moment seduction, if it was anything. You both are grown-ups, and if she’d said no, you would’ve stopped, I know you would have. And you would’ve made her leave if she did anything you didn’t want, right?” Vergil nodded, just a little. “See? It sounds to me like you two felt a spark and took a chance. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Then why did she leave without saying anything?” Vergil asked, almost childlike in his bewilderment. 

Great fucking question. Love to know that myself. 

Clearing his throat, Dante stamped down hard on his growing anger, because Vergil did not need that right now, and said, “Well, I can’t be sure, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that Miss Ivy—”

“That’s not her name.”

“—woke up with a horrible wine hangover, looked down at your cute sleeping face, and realized she’d just seduced the son of her god. Or that’s how she’d see it, anyway. I mean, she’s pretty damn religious and the culture here is on the conservative side, puttin’ it mildly, so I bet she rushed out of here to the church to confess or repent or something. Had to have been in a real tizzy, since she left a critical piece of clothing behind, yeah?”

Vergil’s deathgrip on Dante’s coat lessened slightly, the tight muscles of his back and shoulders easing. Dante encouraged this with a soft demonic croon, working to untangle the knots from Vergil’s hair. After a minute of silence, Vergil said, “I don’t think Father would care that she… spent the night with me. …Not that it would be any of his business anyway.” This last was muttered with all the attitude of the angsty teenagers they actually were, and Dante smiled wryly as Vergil stewed against his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought that Eva and Sparda dodged a bullet by dying before they had to endure Dante and Vergil’s rebellious phase.

“Yeah, he probably wouldn’t care,” Dante agreed. “Actually, I think he’d be glad you found someone you liked and trusted enough to share your first time with. That’s somethin’ special, Verg, even without the romantic morning after. I’m really happy for you.” 

That… That was only partially true. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth either. In reality, Dante was more than a little bit… upset with the lady archivist. Sure, Dante himself was most definitely guilty of ghosting numerous casual encounters, but his circumstances had been very different. This wasn't a case of a convenient warm body on a freezing night, or the chance for a free meal and shower. Ivy (or whatever her real name was) and Vergil were friends. You didn’t treat a friend like this. Dante should be teasing Vergil into a rage right now, not comforting him. That his brother—who was just starting to find his footing on Earth and finally make real connections of his own—had the rug pulled out from under him like this… It was infuriating. 

Vergil’s grip tightened again. “Was… Was yours special, Dante?” 

Dante closed his eyes for a moment. “We’re talkin’ about you right now, not me. Now, I wanna hear you tell me that you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not letting you go until you can tell me that and mean it.” He would not let his brother walk around with shame he didn’t deserve. He refused to allow that. 

With a broken inhale, Vergil managed a wavery, “I d-didn’t… I didn't do anything wr-wrong.”

“Good. Now, again. Make me believe it.”

Vergil took in a deep breath, matching Dante’s own inhale, then said, more firmly, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dante relaxed as he felt Vergil’s power stop churning like a storm-tossed sea and return to something closer to normal. “That’s right,” he murmured, nuzzling his face against Vergil’s hair in that way that made him think demons and cats were related somehow. “You’re gonna be just fine, Vergil. It’ll be okay, I promise.” Despite his earlier claim, Dante didn’t loosen his hold until his brother started to pull away first. 

“What now?” Vergil asked, hurriedly swiping at his cheeks, as if afraid Dante would notice. (As if he hadn’t already noticed.)

“Now? Now you go take a shower, then stroll down to that bakery on the corner and get some food for us both. I know you’ve got a hangover, but cleaning up and getting some fresh air will help. Plus, don’t know about you, but I’m starving, and I’m feeling waaaay too lazy to make anything.” Vergil’s eyes drifted back towards the bed, cheeks darkening with a different sort of embarrassment. Dante physically moved Vergil’s head so he was looking at the bathroom door instead. “Shower, brother. I’ll clean up.”

Vergil’s eyes widened. “No, Dante, I can’t let you—”

“You can and you will.” He shoved Vergil towards the bathroom hard enough to make him stagger. “Not the first time I’ve cleaned up after someone else’s party. Hell, this won’t even rate my top fifty!” he said cheerfully. “I went undercover as maid service at a one-hour motel once, waiting for this total freak of a demon to show up, and daaaaayum!… the shit some people get up to! Enough to turn my hair white.” He gave Vergil a wink and an honest smile. “I’m fine, Verg. Let me do this for you, ‘kay?”

After a moment of hesitation, Vergil nodded. “Thank you, Dante,” he said softly, then shut the door.

First things first, Dante cracked open all the windows to air out the apartment. Neither he nor Vergil would be comfortable until the olfactory ghost of last night stopped hovering in their territory. Gloves back on (because he was desensitized, not immune to the cooties), Dante stripped the bed with professional ease, gathering up his brother’s discarded clothes at the same time. Then, deciding to conquer two birds with one trip, changed into fresh clothes and tossed his own bloody shirt and his club clothes in as well. (Too bad his hunting leathers had to be cleaned by hand. One day, he’d find someone to invent a demon-leather friendly washing machine.) He did not add the panties, instead leaving them between the pages of the book he’d found them under. The book would need to go back to the archives eventually anyways, so Little Miss Archivist could either wait and get them that way, or come back and get them her own damn self. 

He kept one ear on the shower while he worked, but when all seemed well, he hefted the whole bundle and took it downstairs to the building’s laundry room (swinging by the dumpster to get rid of the trashcan as he did.) By the time he’d finished wrangling the beat up washing machine, Vergil had left, which gave Dante all the time he needed to tidy everything up and even take a quick shower himself. 

He was just finishing toweling off his hair when Vergil came back, looking much better and carrying a box of breakfast buns and two coffees. Dante cheered at the sight of the coffee and swooped in to take his, relieving Vergil of the box at the same time. 

Sitting together on the couch, they wolfed down their breakfast in silence, both intent on filling empty stomachs. When they were done, Vergil unexpectedly laid back down, head in Dante’s lap, though facing away from him. It was rare for Vergil to ask for comfort, even non-verbally, and Dante was quick to settle them both in a more comfortable position. Kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, he pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch, letting it fall over Vergil’s slumped body. “You okay, Verg?” he asked. “Wanna talk, or just wanna rest?”

“Not sure,” Vergil mumbled, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

“Alright.” Dante let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes, but refusing the allure of a nap for now. It took a few more minutes, but finally Vergil spoke up again.

“I… I am uncertain of what to do now.”

“With Ivy?”

He just knew Vergil was rolling his eyes. “Yes, with Ivy. She is a valuable resource to our objective and…” Vergil’s voice trailed off, but Dante finished the thought for him,

“And you like her. She gets the academic in your soul.” Dante hummed thoughtfully. “I guess it depends. You should definitely go talk to her though, if she doesn’t come back here by this evening.”

“I don’t suppose you could—”

“Gonna stop you right there, Verg.” He tweaked his brother’s ear, ignoring the dirty look Vergil threw at him for it. “Just to be clear, I will always support you, so long as you’re not doing outrightly stupid shit. Whether in this case that means sleeping on the couch and making myself scarce when you ask— and teasing the hell out of you two turtledoves if you forget to ask, I’ll do it.” He felt Vergil’s face heat up through his sweatpants and chuckled. “Or if it means playing chaperone and bodyguard instead, if you aren’t comfortable being alone with her, I can do that too. I can even take over the research if it’s too awkward. But I am not getting in the middle of a lovers’ spat, today or any other day. You get to sort that out on your own. Plus… I think she's a little scared of me.” He didn't really blame her for that. He spent most of his time out on jobs, so they'd only really interacted in passing. And there was that one time he'd showed up in the apartment thoroughly annoyed and drenched in blood he'd been unable to absorb, which was enough to freak out most humans. And since he was blatantly biased towards his twin, Dante doubted his own newfound hostility would help her feelings.

“We’re not even lovers, though,” Vergil grumbled, rubbing his face. “I am so… confused, Dante. I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“That tends to be the case when liquor gets involved,” Dante said dryly and Vergil groaned. Taking pity on his twin, Dante smoothed down his hair, then started chasing away the frown lines until Vergil relaxed again, a reluctant purr stuttering out of his chest for a brief moment. “Look, Verg, nothing has to change between you and your little poetry buddy. You can still just be friends. Or, if you both want to see if there’s something between you, you can try dating. You know, actually go out and do activities that don’t involve reading old tomes? It’s up to you. It is going to be super awkward at first, but that’s normal. So’s being confused, which sucks, but welcome to peopling. Everyone hates it.”

“Demons are not nearly so confusing,” Vergil complained. “They may lie and do so convincingly, they may scheme and trick you, but you always know that it is a matter of power. And sex is… it's not really a part of the culture— if you can call Mundus's court a culture.” He snarled briefly at the memory, as he usually did. “Humans seem obsessed with sex, but demons don’t care unless they’re mates, or they’re like succubi or a leanne-sidhe and use lust to lure human victims. After all, what’s the point? If it’s power over someone they want, there are easier ways to gain that power than seduction, and if they want to hurt someone, then they simply hurt them and are done with it. That’s why I was never interested. That and because I knew that most of the ones offering such favors just wanted to eat me!” His growl of frustration rumbled through Dante’s bones. “Things were so much more simple in the Underworld.”

Dante’s heart went out to his brother. Being human wasn’t easy, not even for the ones who’d had a lifetime of practice. Soothingly, he rubbed his thumb along the back of Vergil's neck, easing some of the tension there. “Maybe not that much simpler. Some of the demons had mates, so they must’ve bonded for a reason. You did say greater devils generally mate for life.”

“They do, at least, all the ones I knew of,” Vergil admitted. “It always seemed like a matter of… consolidating power and forming an alliance. Mundus disapproved of it, said it showed their individual weakness, but the couples were stronger together. Perhaps there was something like love between them, but I wouldn’t have known what to look for! I have no idea what to look for, Dante!” His frustration lashed out like burning wires against Dante’s senses. He steeled himself against it and weathered the storm. “For devils, it’s easy! Use and protect those who have submitted to your power, trust in your own strength to survive, never stop striving to get stronger no matter what shape that strength takes, and kill those who dare stand against you! But humans… you make it all so complicated! Nothing is just one thing, it’s a hundred different things all layered on top of each other. How can I feel two opposing emotions at the same time? It makes no sense!”

Poor Vergil. He was just as lost with human emotions and interactions as Dante was about his devil instincts and newfound powers. “It’s just how it is, Verg. I know it’s confusing, it’s still confusing even for people who haven’t spent more than half their lives pretending those feelings don’t exist. You just need to take your time and sort them out, just like you do with one of your research projects.” He ran his fingers through Vergil’s hair. “And remember that things are more complicated here, sure, but they do have their upsides. After all, I haven’t sworn a blood oath or submitted, but you still trust me, don’t you? You couldn't have that in Makai.”

A hand flashed up and smacked him on the side of the head. “Fool. Of course I trust you. Do you think I would lie here if I didn’t? We share blood, you dimwit.”

“Owie,” Dante whined, flopping dramatically forward onto Vergil’s shoulder. “Don’t hit me. That’s mean.”

“Fool,” Vergil said again. “How is it that you can so confidently advise me about this situation, and yet be such a buffoon?”

“That,” Dante said brightly, recovering from his ‘injury’ and sitting up again, “is because my love life has seesawed between nonexistent and dumpster-fire, so I know exactly what not to do! I’m great at giving advice, just shit at taking it myself.”

Vergil sighed gustily. “Well, thank you, Dante, for not making fun of me about this. It’s… hideously embarrassing.”

“Aw.” Leaning down again, this time Dante planted a kiss on his brother’s temple, rejoicing in the way Vergil’s nose scrunched up in disgust he didn’t actually feel. “I’ll never make fun of you for something like this, Verg. If I catch you with a girl, I will tease you until you knock me unconscious, but I won’t make fun of you for asking questions. Not about serious stuff.”

Again, Vergil’s hand rose, but slowly this time, and Dante willingly leaned into his touch. “Then here is a serious question, Dante: One day, are you going to tell me all the things you never say? You’re always so quick to jump in to help someone else, so eager to listen to my problems and explain things I don’t understand, but you shy away whenever your own wounds begin to show. You did it today, when I asked you if your first time was special. There have been other times too. You won’t speak of Tony Redgrave, even though that is the name most of your nightmares call you by.”

Dante let out a long breath, closing his eyes. Truthfully, he admitted, “I don’t know, Vergil.” His throat tightened and he leaned harder into his brother’s hand, feeling his eyes burn. “I want to tell you, I really do, I just… can’t. The words won’t come. They’re right there, but I can’t— I can’t say them. When I moved to New York, I promised myself that I wouldn’t look back, that I wouldn’t dwell on that… that fucking misery. I lived every day for that day, not looking back, not looking forward, not caring about anything except right now. ‘Cause if I died, then fine, just so long as I didn’t die miserable. It's a hard habit to break, ya know?”

Vergil sucked in a breath. “Oh Dante.” His fingers tangled in Dante’s hair, tight enough to hurt a little. “You are not allowed to die, do you understand? Miserable or otherwise.”

“So bossy,” Dante teased, trying not to sniffle.

“I am your older brother. It is my job to boss you around, just as it is my duty to look after you because you allow sentiment to blind you to danger.”

Snorting, Dante pulled his head free and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Worst thing was that Vergil wasn’t wrong. Look at him now, still technically helping his brother to plot the downfall of Earth because he couldn’t bear the idea of a life without his brother in it. Sentiment. “Love you too, Verg.”

Vergil snorted, but he was smiling. “You're too soft, Dante. Now, choose one of those infernal shows you like so much. I don’t want to think for awhile.”

“You? Not wanting to think?” Dante pretended to take Vergil’s temperature, even as he rooted around in the couch cushions for the tablet (it usually ended up there). “Was sex so amazing it broke your brain? Damn! Well now you have to give me details!”

Vergil rolled over enough to hit him upside the head, this time with a lot more force than his previous swat. “Shut up!”

Dante responded by poking him in the ribs where he knew Vergil was horribly ticklish. Vergil, always a dirty fighter, grabbed Dante’s hair and yanked. From there, it devolved into a minor brawl. The fight was pretty mellow for one of their scuffles, not even drawing blood, but it was fun and that was what mattered. They ended up in a heap on the back of the overturned couch, laughing. “Found the tablet!” Dante crowed, holding it up. “And I know just what to watch. You’ll love it.”

“Another of your talking animal cartoons?” Vergil drawled, shifting so they were slightly less crowded together and rescuing the blanket from beneath them.

Dante propped the tablet up against an intact pile of books. “Hell yeah! This one’s an adaptation of Shakespeare! And you know how I feel about Shakespeare. Trust me on this, it’s one of Disney’s best.” 

~*~

Vergil had to admit Dante was right. He did enjoy The Lion King. The show was visually striking, the characters fun and interesting, and the music was engaging. The two sidekick characters reminded him of his brother, particularly their “Hakuna Matata” motto, which suited his laidback twin to a tee.

Speaking off… Vergil was amused by how quickly Dante had fallen asleep. The villain had barely been introduced before his brother started snoring. (Though he was also grateful for that. Otherwise, Dante might’ve teased him when Vergil got emotional over the death of Mufasa. As it was, Vergil had allowed himself the indulgence of a few tears.)

Vergil frowned as an alert popped up on his tablet. He had installed the encrypted messaging app that Morrison had recommended, so he and Dante could stay in touch without risking another phone. But he had only four other contacts besides Dante, and he didn’t recognize this one.

Lady in Red: Can we talk?

It took Vergil a moment to connect the dots, then he sighed and gave his snoozing brother an exasperated glare. Dante must've broken into his tablet and changed his contact names… again. It was a prank his twin was inordinately fond of. Just to double check, he looked for Dante's current phone number and found it under “The Sexier Twin.” Yes. Dante had most definitely broken into the tablet. When had he done that? Last night? No. It had to have been this morning, while Vergil was in the shower or getting breakfast. He snorted and poked Dante's cheek gently, careful not to wake him. “Foolishness, Dante. I will have my revenge, you know,” he whispered, feeling a rush of fondness for his ridiculous twin, “And you will have no one to blame but yourself.”

As he was wondering what prank to play in return, Dante’s phone buzzed. It seemed they were doomed to interruptions.

Snarling in response, Vergil barely managed to glimpse the contact name before silencing it: “The Clown.” Dante made no bones about his antipathy towards Arkham, and Vergil shared it, but unlike his twin, he understood that Arkham was useful. He had more knowledge about the Temen-ni-gru and Earth’s magic than Vergil did, which galled, but it was what it was. All Vergil could do was watch his back, watch over Dante, and try to catch up as swiftly as possible. 

When the phone began to buzz again, Vergil turned it off. Arkham would surely be interested in the sacred poetry Vergil had found, but he could wait to hear about it until Vergil was feeling more settled. Today was feeling like one of Dante’s “lazy days.” Something both he and Dante were due.

Another message from “Lady in Red” popped up: a similar plea to talk. Vergil looked from the tablet to Dante, unsure. He wasn’t sure he was ready to follow Dante's advice and talk to his… friend? Even soothed by his twin's kindness, the hurt was still tender and raw. To have allowed himself to be so vulnerable, physically and emotionally, showing his throat in a way he’d never done before, even with Dante (especially with Dante)— then to wake up alone in a state of pain and confusion, barely able to defend himself… 

It had been absolutely terrifying. 

Not since he was a small child had he been so weak without also being brutally injured. Thank whatever luck he had that it was Dante, not a demon or a human enemy, who had found him like that.

He turned the tablet screen down, leaving the message “on read” as Dante called it. He would answer later. 

Probably. 

Sighing, he shuffled himself and Dante until Dante's head rested on his chest. His twin allowed himself to be maneuvered without waking, an unconscious show of trust that touched Vergil. He smiled as Dante snuggled in closer, running a finger over the dark circles beneath his twin's eyes. Dante had been working hard the past month, perhaps Vergil should take the next few hunts. It would help him to clear his head and allow Dante some much needed rest. Furthermore… he rather thought it was time for them to leave Fortuna. 

It had been nearly a month, and the sacred poetry was the only truly new information they’d found about the Temen-ni-gru. Now able to be honest with himself, Vergil admitted that it had been his growing friendship and attraction that had made him linger here, but they didn’t have time for frivolities, not with Sparda’s barrier so frayed and worn. The fact that Dante had so much work was proof that it was deteriorating. They should return to Red Grave and see what Sparda had left behind. Everything else could wait until after Mundus was dead.

“Sleep well, little brother,” he murmured, “because we have much to do still.” Remembering what their mother had always said before kissing them goodnight, he whispered, “Dream of only the good things, but should your dreams turn dark, remember that I will be here to chase away the shadows.” He immediately felt foolish for saying it, until Dante sighed deeply in his sleep, somehow relaxing even further into complete bonelessness. Silly, trusting Dante, with a heart too big for two worlds. 

Closing his eyes, Vergil felt his chest begin to vibrate, an instinctual response to soothe them both. Outside, another autumn shower was making itself heard, raindrops tapping against the window. Holding his twin close, Vergil let himself drift, thinking of the poem she had recited last night as it rained, but fell asleep before he had finished his silent recitation.

“A Drop fell on the Apple Tree –
Another – on the Roof –
A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves –
And made the Gables laugh –

A few went out to help the Brook,
That went to help the Sea –
Myself Conjectured were they Pearls –
What Necklaces could be –”