This is my first official foray into this fandom, though it feels like I've been lurking for a very long time.
Follows canon of games 1 and 3 loosely, but more or less disregards the other two. Sorry.
This fic also has AU elements, but then, what fanfiction doesn't?
I am making absolutely no money from the writing of this fic, and I am in no way affiliated with Capcom, or the seventh son of the seventh son of Capcom. I'm a college student. We don't have money!
I hope you enjoy this!
Dante stared up at the house, frowning. It was impressive, but a little old and creepy for his tastes. But the lady at the employment agency had promised that someone lived here, and he didn't have much of a choice but to look for a job somehow.
He scowled, more than pissed off at himself. He was a damn good devil-hunter and he shouldn't have to beg like this. But when the lady at the employment agency innocently used the phrase he'd been using as a password in his own (failed) business, he couldn't help wanting to go and check it out.
And he'd never been one to back away from a challenge, so he knocked on the heavy door and waited.
From the way the woman answered the door before his fist could even fall to his side tipped him off that this was probably not the owner of the house.
Great. I get to deal with some snobby asshole with servants who actually answer the door for him. "I'm... uh, looking for the owner of the house?"
"Is he expecting you?"
"It's about a job opening."
The woman nodded and opened the door wider. "Please come inside. I'll send someone to speak with you shortly."
Dante followed her through the dark hall into some room or another, and she left him while she went to go look for her employer. It was a weird room, he thought as he looked around. He half expected to see candles instead of modern lighting.
There was one thing he thought was odd, though. There weren't any mirrors.
There was a picture on the mantle, though, and without thinking much he went over to it, just reaching out to pick it up when the faint sound of steel against steel gave him a half-second warning before a sword came to rest against his throat.
"Don't touch that."
Dante smirked. "Hell of a way to greet your guests," he began, his eyes flicking sideways to see who was threatening him. "Kid," he amended. The boy holding the sword probably hadn't even hit puberty yet.
"Don't call me kid. Especially when I have a sword at your throat."
"You're a cocky little guy," Dante taunted, still completely relaxed. Why worry? He had Rebellion strapped to his back and could get to it in half a second. This kid had nothing on him at all. "You remind me of someone I used to know."
"I'm sure I do," the kid snapped.
Dante was a little surprised at that response. If he didn't know better, he'd think the boy had some secret vendetta or something. He shrugged. "Well, if you don't wanna hear the story-" a quick sidestep, hand behind his back and the familiar sword was there, in his hand, and the fight began.
He was fast, he knew he was, but the kid surprised him. He kept up. He didn't even get winded. And there was something familiar about the way he fought—the same way Dante had been taught to fight, with his brother years ago.
Dante closed his mind against thoughts of Vergil. It wouldn't be good to get distracted in the middle of the fight, because he found that he actually needed to concentrate to keep up with this kid.
...And didn't he look like someone Dante knew?
"You should just give up now. I don't like hurting kids. Especially ones that are too young to have big weapons."
"Stop referring to me as a child. I've earned my right to use this sword!"
"Says who, your daddy?"
Judging by the flash in the kid's eyes, it was the wrong thing to say. He barely had time to duck, serious about not wanting to hurt the kid, but he tripped over the edge of a rug and stumbled forward.
"Enough!" another voice cut in-
-but there was already too much momentum and the kid stepped the wrong way, and Dante barely felt the flesh beneath his blade slice in two before his hand was buried in a bloody shirt. The kid's eyes went wide, startled, and he stumbled backward before falling to his knees, looking not at his murderer but at the third person in the room. The one who'd yelled.
The one who shouldn't be looking back at him, or at the white-haired kid on his knees with Dante's sword shoved through his chest. He shouldn't be standing there because Dante had killed him, had watched him die twice and mourned him three times.
"V-Vergil?"
He didn't ask questions, but he had plenty. He only watched as Vergil stepped forward and caught the kid before he planted himself facefirst in the rug, and then he bent to give Rebellion a hard tug when Vergil asked, and then dumbly followed Vergil as he carried the kid up the stairs because he didn't know what else to do.
Vergil struggled at a closed door, briefly, obviously not wanting to sit the kid down to open the door. He clenched his teeth, and Dante leaned over to open the door for him. Surprisingly, the kid was still breathing.
"Go to the bathroom down the hall. You'll find a box of medical supplies. I need them."
It was on the tip of Dante's tongue to say You haven't changed a bit, you bossy bastard, but he bit his lip and turned around, knowing that this was about saving the kid he'd accidentally impaled on his own sword. He'd have time to argue later. Sighing, he grabbed the box and started back down the hall.
It hit him hard all of the sudden, why the kid looked so familiar to him. He'd just...
"Shit," he cursed softly, nearly dropping the box he was holding. He'd just impaled his brother's kid. His own nephew. "Not a great way to start a family reunion," he muttered, tightening his hold and walking a little faster.
Vergil had managed to get the boy out of his soiled shirt, and was sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the kid up so he wouldn't get too much blood on the sheets. The kid was alive, remarkably—and even more surprising, he was conscious. Barely.
"Verg-"
"Not now, Dante. Help me with him," Vergil requested, nodding to the boy.
Dante didn't want to make things worse, so he obeyed. "What's his name?" he asked quietly. His eyes flicked to the kid's, startled to find them focused on him. Losing that focus, but the boy was trying.
"Dorian. I'll make your introductions later."
Dorian. It sounded like a name Vergil would put on a kid. Dante vaguely remembered Vergil hauling around some book about a Dorian when they were kids.
He wondered if the kid—Dorian—was surprised to see that he and Vergil looked alike. Dante held him up while Vergil carefully wrapped gauze around the wound that didn't look as bad as Dante thought it would. Come to think of it, Vergil was remarkably calm for his kid just getting slashed.
But then again, knowing Vergil, the boy had a demon for a mother and he'd be able to heal, anyway.
His brother finished what he'd been doing and Dorian closed his eyes, letting Vergil carefully guide him down to the bed. He watched as Vergil carefully covered the boy with a blanket, and then he finally turned to Dante.
"We can talk outside. You can tell me what you're doing here."
Vergil didn't shut Dorian's door completely, leading Dante back downstairs and sending a maid upstairs to sit with the boy. "Let me know if there's any change," he ordered.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Dante," Vergil began, settling back in his chair. "You finally show up. I was beginning to wonder if you would."
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dante spat back. "How was I supposed to know to come to you? I thought you were dead, moron!"
"You weren't supposed to come for me. You were supposed to come for Dorian," Vergil explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He's waited almost as long as I've had custody of him."
"Look, Verg, how was I supposed to know you had a kid? Like I said, you were supposed to be dead... I'm sorry I stabbed him though, it was an accident..."
"What?" Vergil asked, struck dumb by something Dante had said.
Dante frowned. His brother wasn't this stupid. "Your son. I stabbed him. I'm sorry."
"Dorian isn't my son, Dante."
"But he looks just like..."
"He's your son."
Silence reigned over the room for... God, it seemed like forever to Dante. "Shit," he mumbled softly. Vergil's gaze never left his face. "...Shit."