Author's Notes: I don't think I can make it any plainer: THERE IS TWINCEST IN THIS STORY. If you don't like it, this is your chance to turn back now. I started this a good long while ago for a 'forbidden and taboo' thing and only just now got around to finishing it. Again: THERE BE TWINCEST HARR. Consider yourselves appropriately warned.
He'd expected retaliation, when he'd snapped and the red haze had covered his vision, and he'd found himself shoving his brother against one of the towering statues ringing the tower's ledge. He hadn't known he possessed that kind of strength. He'd come to the summit, all bravado and smart mouth, in truth unsure if that had been the brightest of ideas; it had been a year since he'd laid eyes on Vergil, except through a mirror, and while he'd somewhat honed his own self-trained skills in that short span of time, he knew he was behind. He knew that Vergil was leaps and bounds beyond what he'd managed to get himself to, and so finding himself slamming into Vergil with the momentum of the shove had come as a shock, and the realization of it dawned on his face as it loosened from its mask of fury, his eyes darting up to meet his brother's.
His expectations on the matter didn't go disappointed.
Vergil's eyes had started to darken, the black overtaking the white, red the blue. Dante himself had never witnessed the change like that, not with his own eyes, and he actually found himself trying to pull back, to instinctively shrink away from the unnaturalness of it, when a hand shot out and the fingers weaved tightly into the front of his hair, yanking him straight and holding him in place, as Vergil pushed away from the statue's base.
Dante knew he was in trouble. The sad part was, as much as it had initially jangled his nerves, and as much as the tugging on his hair hurt, he found himself slipping back into the insolence he'd had before. Instead of seething in pain, as he wanted to do, from both the yank on his hair and the multitude of small wounds he was riddled with from their earlier fight, his mouth twisted into a dark grin, revealing the small fangs both he and Vergil had inherited from their father. His eyes found Vergil's once more, in that strange state, and locked on, refusing to drop his gaze again.
"That the best you got?"
It was answered with a hard backhand, and he felt his own teeth rip into the soft inside of his cheek, the copperty taste filling his mouth almost instantly. He didn't care. They'd gone this far; he wasn't afraid to push it further. "C'mon, Vergil, you can do better than that." It ended with him spitting to the side, to get the blood out; Vergil was lucky, as far as he was concerned. He could have spat it in his face. It wasn't like the bastard didn't deserve it, after everything.
"Dante." As always, Vergil's tone was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. It didn't matter that he and Dante had been battling like it was the end of the world, right there but a few moments before. Vergil was a smug bastard, and it was written all over his face as he gave Dante's hair another hard yank, almost pulling him to tippy-toe with it. His mouth twitched, but he didn't smile, and instead took the moment to observe Dante.
He always did that. Like Dante was some kind of specimen, and not his brother. He had no idea how much that both stung, and pissed Dante off. But he would, if Dante could have had his way about it.
"You look confused." Vergil tilted his head slightly to one side, mouth twitching once more. "Why...And here I thought you would be glad to see me. For shame, little brother."
"Screw yourself." It was said with a grin that was closer to a grimace, blood staining his teeth red in the moonlight. Vergil had messed up. It became clear, as Dante realized his hands were free. Vergil had messed up, thinking Dante was too emotional to truly fight back.
But what Vergil hadn't realized was the fact that Vergil was the only person Dante gave his all against. It didn't matter what the situation was; it wasn't any fun otherwise. And when that realization hit, Dante reached around, yanking Ivory loose from its holster against his back, at the same time jerking back, not caring if the his hair stayed with Vergil while he did not.
"You fucked up." And it was obvious Vergil had realized it, at that moment, as the barrel pressed into his midsection. But it was also obvious he didn't care himself, and instead leaned into it (he'd always been a crazy fuck), yanking Dante forward at the same time.
"So I did." His face was in half shadow, hair hanging in his eyes after being beaten down by the rain, the sheen from it oddly blue with the moonlight. It was funny, to Dante, how that worked; that their hair tended to reflect the colors around it, being as white as snow itself. He was almost distracted by it, until he realized Vergil had leaned in far enough to trap his arm between them; until he realized he could feel Vergil's breath on his cheek, warm and familiar and a reminder of why Dante had been so pissed off in the first place.
He found his other wrist caught, and bent back, as Vergil scanned his face at that close distance, and he refused to give him the satisfaction of making Dante squirm. Or showing a sign of pain, for that matter. It was then, in the absolute silence that blanketed the top of the tower, outside of the soft patter of rain, that he realized how ragged both his, and Vergil's, breath sounded with nothing there to override it. He couldn't say for sure that it was entirely from the fight before, either, but he took a certain measure of pride in it anyway.
"Well." It was as level as Dante could make his voice, as he forced himself to meet Vergil's gaze directly, eyes narrowing. "You got me. Now what."
It was answered with a low growl, and with it Dante found himself spun around and his own back slammed into the statue - it was much harder than he'd done to Vergil, enough to make his head slam back and crack against it with a sickening thud - only to have Vergil move right with it, much as Dante had moments before, to press Dante there, between the statue and himself. Ivory clattered from his fingers to the ground, as he found his hands pinned above his head against the rough stone of the statue as Vergil leaned in, their noses brushing. It stirred something unwanted, and unbidden, that started a tightening in his stomach, as he tried to jerk his head back, well aware he had nowhere to go.
"Dante." There was a warning in Vergil's voice, and it was one Dante was well acquainted with, from past experience. He'd pushed Vergil against that metaphorical wall, and any further prodding would get him results he wouldn't necessarily have been receptive to. And it was a bitch and a half it was he who was pinned; he was nothing more than a sitting duck at that point, completely at Vergil's mercy. It wasn't the most pleasant of thoughts, considering.
"What." Anyone else would have strained to hear it, but he very well knew Vergil could. Their hearing was nothing if not excellent, and Dante figured Vergil's was better than his own, given that he was so much further along in the development of his demonic side. He forced his face into a mask of indifference, even when he felt Vergil's tongue flick slightly at the blood in the corner of his mouth, refusing to break the unannounced staring match that had started without him realizing it. He knew better than to give in and knuckle under; he'd learned that one that hard way, too, and had gotten burned for his trouble.
Vergil's mouth twitched slightly once more, as he pulled back slightly, eye-to-eye with his little brother, his own narrowed in dark humor, while Dante purposely kept his own blank and shuttered. There was too much there for Vergil to see, had Dante reacted otherwise. He'd come, all that way, all the way up that stupid tower, only to have the same stupid mind games used on him that he always fell into, and he'd have damned himself before he let Vergil have the satisfaction of winning that one.
"You've lost your goddamn mind." It was a bald statement, leaving no room for opposition. He could see it. Vergil had always been a little off; they both had, considering everything they'd gotten up to before Vergil had simply up and disappeared one day, a year previously. But there was something there that hadn't been before; or perhaps the madness just wasn't hidden any longer, because Dante couldn't honestly say, but he felt something twist, seeing it there. "You've fucking flipped. Just what the hell are you trying to prove?"
He got no answer. Instead, Vergil's own expression shuttered, closing Dante out once more; it always went that way. Dante would see something and open his mouth about it, and Vergil would always promptly shut down, forcing the attention away from it, until it was too late to mention it again.
The silence between them stretched, Dante's breathing still ragged and hitched, emerging in puffs of white, and he still refused to drop his gaze. He couldn't, at that point. He'd seen something there, and he willed it to show itself again though he knew it was futile to even begin to hope it would; and it was magnetic, besides. That like blood calling to like, that had put him on the path he currently tread: The one that had lead him to the top of the tower, even though by all rights he should have refused Vergil's stupid and inadequate 'invitation'. It had cost him his shop, after all, and of course there were no real apologies. There were no confessions that maybe, just maybe, Vergil had wanted to see him again, after leaving him stranded a year before. Nothing, really, that suggested they'd ever been brothers, outside of the seemingly easy banter that had taken place between them when Dante had first reached the summit.
His hands, in the vise-like grip Vergil had them in, had started to go numb at the fingertips. He flexed them, to get blood flowing, as his eyes narrowed sharply, and he gave a snort, effectively breaking the silence. "Whatever. How about you let me go and we finish this. I'm tired of this 'who blinks first' shit."
The answer came in the form of Vergil leaning in, the press of his mouth harsh - almost like a punishment for running his mouth, if Dante thought about it - against Dante's own, forcing his way inside like he always had, as though it was Vergil's God-given right to do so, brooking no room for Dante to protest. Dante, honestly, couldn't say he would have to begin with, as he began to relent, little by little until he was meeting Vergil's ferocity with that of his own. While Vergil's mouth ordered silence and supplication for his own wants, Dante demanded answers; he let Vergil know just how angry, hurt, and fucking used he felt. Not that it would matter, he knew. Vergil had never cared about that part of it. Dante had been a shiny obsession for a while, until something had taken his place, and before Dante had even known what had happened, he'd found his place there as the focus of Vergil's attention usurped...And alone. Like always. It was the story of his life.
But it was because of his own voluntary relenting that Vergil released his hands. Stupid, considering, but what could Dante honestly do? Short of sucker punching him, there wasn't anything, and he wasn't in the position to do so to begin with, when Vergil's teeth clamped down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood, as though he'd eat him alive. That was the problem, really; Vergil would, but it wasn't in the way he thought. He had the moment he'd walked out the door and hadn't looked back. Did he honestly have any idea what that kind of thing did to a person? Especially to someone like Dante, who'd seen his mother die, had been told time and time again his own brother was dead, who'd gone through the hell of being shuffled from one home to another, always being told he wasn't wanted because he was an oddity? No, because he very well knew Vergil could give a shit less about it.
Of course, Dante wasn't privy to the knowledge that those that had been harder on Dante than others had ended up dead. He'd never learn the why, either, and never realized the cause was the very reason he was pressed against that statue, seeming as though he were chewing Dante's face right off of his skull.
Not that Dante reacted any better to that action, more than tempted to just bite Vergil's tongue clean off, when he felt it slither its way inside of his mouth. He knew he could do it; it was that demonic strength of theirs that would allow it to happen, and the fact that, regardless of what they were, and what kind of damage he'd slowly learned they could take, they could still be hurt and put out of commission as easily as a human being. Instead, he found his hands fisting in Vergil's wet hair, tugging him almost inhumanly close, like he'd crawl inside his very skin if it were possible. It was an act of desperation, a last ditch effort at finding something he remembered there, in the familiarity of the close contact.
He was crushed when there was nothing at all but the physical aspect.
They'd been alone, when it had started, far from any prying eyes that Dante could have imagined, which was why he'd reacted so violently to it; which was the only reason he'd revealed any sense of desperation in the act, because it was meant for Vergil, and Vergil alone. It was with a sense of violation, then, that he slowly became aware they weren't alone on top of the tower, and as Vergil became aware to the same thing, breaking off abruptly.
His eyes, however, never left Dante's face, even as he spoke. "Arkham. I thought I told you to wait until I was done here." With that, Dante found himself released from the press of Vergil's body, his own fingers untangling from Vergil's hair and his hands dropping away, as he went to rub his wrists; they were still stiff from a lack of circulation, and the chilliness of the air which had always been a bane. Vergil moved away, and Dante caught a glimpse of the other; some old, ugly bald guy, with the grossest tumor on the side of his face Dante had ever seen. Or perhaps a birthmark. It didn't matter.
"So I take it you haven't recovered what we need." The old man's voice was monotone, but Dante's ears pricked at the words as he bent to retrieve Ivory, the weight in his hand comforting in a situation turned topsy-turvy. He watched the two closely; closer, he imagined, than Vergil would have ever given him credit for.
"Well, if you hadn't interrupted..." There wasn't an ounce of shame in Vergil's voice or stance, at being caught dallying with his twin brother. Of course not. Dante had never known Vergil to make excuses for anything; he just did them, insisting silently whether he knew it or not that there was a reason for it all. Dante couldn't say he believed that, but he'd always let Vergil have it his way.
"Time grows short." There was something of disapproval there, but Dante snorted at that. If the old fuck had disapproved, he wouldn't have stood there watching like that. "We don't have time for...Extra curricular activities."
It was then that Vergil spared Dante a glance, and Dante was unaware for the reason of the harsh, sharp set of his brother's features; of course, Dante didn't realize he stood there like a scolded, insolent child that had gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. He just knew he didn't like what he was hearing, which was the reason he decided to speak up, finding it somewhere within himself to adopt the same flippant tone from before.
"Imagine that. Ulterior motives, Vergil? And here I thought you had some kind of honor." He snorted, folding his arms and looking elsewhere, shifting his weight from one hip to the other as he did so. "Can't say I'm all that surprised. Well, c'mon, then." Ivory was spun outward on his finger before being leveled at Vergil's head, Dante mustering up a cold, cocky grin just beyond it. "Let's finish this. Frankly, I'm sick of you wasting my goddamn time."
He'd been a hair's breath from pulling the trigger; he knew it wouldn't kill Vergil, but it would damn well hurt him, and hurt him tremendously, when he found himself practically bum-rushed. Ivory was knocked to the side, right out of his hand, and as he made the mistake of going to grab for it, he felt the first intrusion of Yamato in his stomach, right below the ribs. It slid cleanly through, horribly invasive and cold as ice, before the wound flared with heat, almost enough, it seemed, to singe his very nerves. He heard, more than saw, the blood splatter against the stones, and he moved with instinct, hunching over the blade and gripping it with both hands, the pain of it slicing there, where he had control over it, pulling his focus from that in his torso.
"I thought you learned before that your silly guns hold no weight here." Vergil grabbed the front of his jacket and tugged him upward, straight, forcing the wound to rip wider against the blade. "You wanted it finished, it's finished. Now stop acting like a baby and take it like man." If he thought anything of the rage and pain plastered on Dante's face, he gave no sign. Instead, he pulled back on Yamato and gave Dante a hard shove, square in the chest, at the same time.
It was then that Dante felt his knees buckle, as the world started to white out around him, before there was a tug at his neck, and the chain holding his amulet in place snapped in two. A last effort was made to grab for it, but Vergil swiped his blade at the hand that reached out, and Dante hit the stones beneath him hard, knocking his breath away.
"And that's the end of your part in this story." It was said monotone, Vergil's eyes cold as he gave him one more glance, before turning away. Dante struggled to pull in air, to focus his attention anywhere but in the horribly throbbing hole in his stomach, and started to push himself upright, just as Vergil had yanked Rebellion from the stones it had been inadvertly thrown to and stuck upright in.
He had no time to react, not in his condition, as Vergil turned on him, repeating his impalement through the chest with Dante's own weapon, and he flopped back to the stones of the tower's roof, splashing the water that had gathered there from the rain as his blood seeped out into it in an ever-growing red pool. Everything was foggy, and he couldn't make out what was being said, but all the while the rage boiled and bubbled and something constricted deep inside his chest, before the world went red.
He was up and moving before he could even think, his own sword heaved out of his chest by sheer will alone, and his motion was faster than he'd have ever credited himself with, his skin tingling with something foreign, but not altogether unpleasant. He supposed, in a tiny, coherent corner of his mind, that this was what power was really like. And he could see how it could be addictive.
A fist swung out, his aim as unerring as ever, for that tender spot along the cheekbone, more than ready to feel Vergil's bones snap under it. And he couldn't have backpeddled if he'd tried, as Vergil turned, swinging Yamato up in one fluid motion, to catch the fist there and thwart what Dante had seen as inevitable. The blade practically chewed its way through this hand, in that small space between knuckle bones, right up to his wrist before it became lodged there, and Dante lunged against it again, for the most part unaware of the pain.
It was Vergil's gloating, cocky half-smile that made him froth with rage, Dante's eyes darkening, pitch and crimson, as Vergil tipped his head in what was almost a silent, if amused, salute. "I see the devil in you has awakened as well."
Dante said nothing, baring his fangs in something not quite a smile, as he began working his hand backward off the blade. Instead, he held Vergil's gaze steadily, and he saw the half-smile on his twin's face flicker, ever so slightly, as he gripped the blade. And there was a stab of satisfaction as, for a split second, worry ghosted over Vergil's features, before Dante tugged, sending Vergil in a (somewhat) ungainly flip over his head, before the blue-clad twin found his balance and landed on his feet, already brandishing Yamato for another round.
"Enough." It was the old guy again, and Dante glanced at him over his shoulder, inverted eyes narrowed sharply. "For now we have everything we need, so leave him." And with that, he saw Vergil hesitate a moment, his knuckles white against the wrappings along Yamato's hilt, before it was slid home in its sheathe and a hand was raked through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
Dante watched them go through still-narrowed eyes, his breath coming harsh and fast as though he couldn't draw enough, his lungs practically screaming for more, though he didn't know how to satisfy them. The world grew foggy once more, and he felt himself faceplant into the puddling rain on the tower once again, but he simply didn't have the strength to push himself upright.
That was fine. Despite what Vergil had said, Dante had a feeling his part had just gotten started in whatever twisted fairytale they were a part of.