"So, that's it, then. I'll hit the streets again, try to find another way into the club," Dante gruffly announced, pushing his aching body off the wooden chair that sat in the corner of Vergil's safehouse.

Vergil reluctantly set aside his bottle of rubbing alcohol, and the cotton swabs that were more than a little red from his brother's blood. Still, he didn't take his eyes off his injuries—a deep and nasty cut on his right shoulder, another small slash in his bare side. The second injury was quickly taken out of Vergil's sight, as Dante pulled his sleeveless grey shirt back on. There was a tear in it where a demon's claws had obviously cut through cloth—and skin—and Vergil couldn't help but feel hesitant about letting Dante go back in alone.

If Lilith had that much demon security on guard, surely she knew of their intentions to take her down. And if those demons had been too much even for Dante's strength, not to mention ego, then was it really worth the risk? Vergil hated this plan. He hated that Dante was going through all this trouble, merely to rescue Kat, but felt he had to respect his brother's wishes. He wanted Dante on his side, after all.

He watched as Dante limped across the room, holding his side ruefully at first, then letting his hand fall, like he didn't want to be seen in such a meagre state. The young man reached the couch, eyeing his beloved coat which was mostly shredded now. He released a heavy sigh, and turned for the exit.

"You're not going out like that, brother," Vergil spoke, eyes slanting as he watched Dante's back.

"I'm going. We don't have time to waste." The Rebellion tattoo that rested between his shoulder blades lit up a radiant gold as Dante tried to heal himself. The wide cut on his shoulder grew a little thinner, but he soon made a small, pained noise as his strength waned. That was the best he could do for now.

"I mean it. You're not leaving until..." Dante remained where he stood, waiting for Vergil to finish, but no response came. Before he could turn his head to look for him, he felt a weight on his shoulders. He looked down to see the familiar navy trenchcoat draped around him.

"You're not serious," Dante scoffed, attempting to shrug off the heavy cotton jacket, but hands were on him in a second, coaxing his arm into one of the sleeves.

"Have you looked outside, Dante? There's snow in the air, and I don't want you coming back in even worse shape than you're in already. Besides, it will hide your injuries, and you don't want enemies to know you're not at your best." Vergil's tone was so sincere, so concerned, that Dante actually found it hard to form a smart enough comment to make the man back off. In fact, he didn't want to make him back off. It had been a long time since he'd had one, but... this was the sort of thing family was for, wasn't it?

Dante allowed his brother to help him get his sore arm through the sleeve, then he tugged the other one through on his own. He popped the collar up a bit, feeling a little silly in such upscale attire, but the soft material did feel better than his old coat did on his open wounds. When he'd finished adjusting the garment to his liking, he looked turned around to face his brother, only to find Vergil staring at him, a look of adoration in his eyes.

"It looks good on you," he said, smiling softly. Dante gave a chuckle, one that was meant to tell Vergil he was being stupid.

"'Course it does," came his cheeky reply. Vergil grinned in amusement as his dear brother headed for the door.