Thanks to: Laryna6 and Porkbuns of AO3 for beta-ing this for me. Though there are some things that I changed WITHOUT their consent, so, if there are mistakes here, those are mine. With that said, enjoy~

A bouquet of magnolias in hand, resting it on his shoulder as he was wont to do with a sword, Dante walked through cemetery. His gait was deliberate, his posture relaxed. He only stopped when he reached an area that was relatively hidden. It was his Mother's tomb. But today, it was not her he wanted to visit. It was...

"Hello, brother," he said as he sat down cross-legged in front of his brother's tomb, uncaring if his pants got dirty. His brother's tombstone was smaller than his Mom's though, just like hers, it was bare of any writing except for the words that he carved years ago.

The one who fell.

"For you," he put the bouquet near the tombstone. "Oh I can practically hear you gripe; 'I'm not a woman who needs to be placated with flowers!'" he made a face, pitching his voice higher teasingly in a bad attempt to imitate his brother's voice. He chuckled then. "But when did I ever listen to you?" His eyes have a faraway look in them as his mood turned melancholic.

"Magnolia suits you anyway," he said, trying to chase the silence away with his own chattering. That way, maybe the gaping hole where his brother once was would not hurt as much as it did now. No such luck.

He continued none-the-less. "Do you know what Magnolia means?" To fill the silence, he said the first thing that popped into his mind, silly and girly as it was. "What am I talking about, of course you know. You practically know everything." He rolled his eyes at this, both fond and exasperated. "But in case you don't know, after all, we're talking about flowers here, it means dignity." He fell quiet as his chatter died down, his face turned serious, his melancholy returning.

"I know Dad asked you to protect me," he started, his voice quiet and somber. "But just because you were older doesn't mean you were stronger," he snorted, "And even if you were, which you were not by the way, what do you think I am? A fucking damsel in distress?" he was ranting and he knew it. But he could not care less. There was no one here to scold him anyway. He could ramble all he wanted. "I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much," he rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Not to mention that Mom asked me to protect you. And we both know who had higher rank on the chain of command in our home. So, there!"

"How?" I asked her back then, not understanding how I could protect you when you were so much stronger than I was. Not that I would admit it to you. You were insufferable enough as it was.

Mom smiled as she ran her hand through my hair. Unconsciously, I leaned into her touch. "Just stay with him," Mom said, a gentle smile on her face.

I nodded although deep down inside, I still had my doubts. I did not believe her when she said that you, of all people, would be in need of my protection. After all, to me, you were the strongest person I knew, stronger than even Dad. Oh, I would not say that to your face, not ever, even at the pain of death. But to me, you were my hero. Because you stayed when Dad left. And as a hero, you were infallible. Or so I thought.

Then as if she had read my mind – and maybe she had, who knew? She was Mom after all – she said, "Even the strongest can fall, dear," Mom's voice was so soft, her lips curled in a gentle smile though her eyes were unbelievably sad. "And when your brother falls, make sure you are there to catch him."

She said when. Not if.

"And how was I supposed to know it was important?" Dante protested, "Mom knew I wasn't all that attentive to details. After all, I wasn't the perfectionist one, was I?"

"Of course now I know what it means, but what good would it do? You're dead!" his voice sounded accusing even to his own ears. He knew his brother was not at fault for his own death (If anything, it is your fault, isn't it? A traitorous part of his mind whispered. Dante shoved it to the back of his mind) but he just could not help it.

"If only you were less prideful," he said quietly, mournfully, "Then again, if you were, you wouldn't be you, would you?" he smiled bitterly.

After Dad left, I know Mom tried to protect us the best she could, giving us as normal a childhood as we could have, what with moving around, never staying long in one place to avoid our pursuers. Not to mention the fact that both of us were half-devils.

I remember the many battles she had to fight when our pursuers caught up with us, regardless of everything we had done to avoid them. I remember her asking us to hide – sometimes in the closet, at other times, under the bed – and not to come out or make a sound until she came to tell us it was safe. Most of the times, she was bloody and bruised when she came to get us, but she always had a smile on her face. Always.

"I remember admiring her for that strength," Dante said, his face softening as he remembered his mother. "And actually…" he started, mouth opening.

I also admired you, was what he wanted to say. You were also strong, Verge. Even if your strength was different from Mom's.

He clamped his mouth shut before those cheesy – not to mention girly – words could come out. "Hell would freeze over before I admit that out loud," he grumbled, glaring at his brother's tombstone as if it were at fault for making him going soft, if only for a second. "Well, I remember one time…"

We were only seven and we already knew to not show our fear. Or to voice it.

That day, I broke that rule.

We hid in the closet. It was small and we were growing bigger. There was barely enough space between us. Yet, I still scooted closer to you. I could tell you were annoyed even though you said nothing. Your glare spoke louder than any words after all. "Verge, I'm scared," I whispered, eyes wide as I looked up at you. I was not sure what I hoped to accomplish with this confession. Even as a child, I knew you hated showing weakness. And admitting one's fear, no matter how rational it was, was a weakness to you. Weakness you thought you could not afford.

So even though I could clearly feel your fear echoing my own through our bond – and I could almost hear your thought, So am I – you stayed calm. Instead of succumbing to your fear, you steeled yourself.

"This is not the first time demons have come for us," you pointed out, trying to reason with me. And maybe, with yourself too. "Mother has never failed to defeat them before," you continued your argument. "She won't now."

I nodded, unable to see the flaw in your argument. Even so, my fear still had not subsided.

A beat of silence. Then…

"What if she fails now?" I asked, voicing my doubt if only because I could feel your own.

You gritted your teeth. For the briefest of moments, your hate for me flared. I supposed it was because I dared to voice your deepest fear. And you were afraid if I voiced it, it would come true. I had no doubt you thought it was irrational and worse, childish. But no matter how hard you tried to act mature, to replace Dad as the head of the family, you were as much of a child as I was.

"She won't," you snapped. I knew your reprimand came harsher than you intended because a second later, I felt your guilt spike.

"Okay." I nodded meekly, not wanting to anger you further.

You bit your lip, eyes looking at anywhere but me, wanting to apologize but not knowing how. Then your eyes glazed over, your overactive imagination bringing you to a world where your – our – deepest fear of losing Mom came true. In that world, Dad was gone. So was Mom. And we truly were alone.

Alone, your thought echoed in my mind. You shivered. It was not from the cold.

"Verge?" I called, feeling the echo of your fear through our bond.

You shook your head. "Nothing," you mumbled, head bowed, eyes hidden behind a curtain of silver bangs.

I frowned. I knew it was not nothing if it could make you scared. But I knew you would not budge no matter how hard I pushed for an answer. You could be even more stubborn than I was when you wanted to. So I reached out and took your hand instead, hoping the gesture was enough to calm you.

You frowned though you did not try to pull your hand, if anything, you squeezed my hand tighter. I smiled then, content in knowing that I was able to help you. I rested my head on your shoulder and for once, I did not mind the silence.

Surprisingly, it was you who broke it.

"If Mother fails," you started. I pushed away from you so I could look at your face though I did not let go of your hand. "Which she won't," you said with conviction, the contour of your face hardened. I stayed silent. "I will protect you." you looked me in the eye, your icy blue eyes were determined, thin lips pulled up in a confident smirk as if you were willing me to believe you. And I did.

But your hand was shaking.

And I could feel the slightest hint of fear – of failing Mom? Or of being alone? – trickled through our bond.

I knew you were scared.

So was I.

"But then, who will protect you?" I asked, only then realizing the very real possibility of that. I gulped, feeling the fear of losing you gripped my heart in a vice.

You rolled your eyes then. "And you called me worrywart," you muttered under your breath. "I can protect myself just fine," you said confidently, head held high proudly.

"But even the strongest can fall," I argued, remembering what Mom once said to me. I started to get worked up. How could you not see? Mother's right and I'm wrong. You're not infallible after all. You can fall. And you will. And once you do, you'll shatter into million tiny pieces. And...

"Then I'll fall protecting you," you said. Your tone was matter-of-fact, eyes calm as if you did not mind that. And maybe, at that time, you were ready to lay your life for me.

But I was not.

My face blanched as my heart skipped a beat. For a second, I could portray it so clearly. You, lying in a pool of your own blood, eyes open but unseeing, gaze empty, limbs slack just like a marionette with its strings cut. Lifeless. Because you were dead. Dead! And it will be my fault because I'm not strong enough, because I'm not there when you fall and everything's my fault and I'll be so alone and—

"NO!" I shouted, for a second, forgetting that we were supposed to keep quiet.

Fast as lightning, you put your hand on my mouth. "Hush!" you hissed, glaring at me. For a moment, I only stared at you, eyes wide, heart beating erratically. The image of your lifeless body still lingered in my mind. You narrowed your eyes, telling me with a heated glance all the unpleasant things you would do to me should I fail to keep my mouth shut. Then, as the picture receded back to the back of my mind, my panic ebbed. I took a deep breath before I nodded, telling you I would keep quiet. Reluctantly, you let go.

"Sorry," I said quietly. You nodded curtly. "But I won't let you fall!" was what I said next, furious, the fire from before – fuelled by my fear of losing you – returning.

"Oh," you arched an eyebrow. "And what will you do about it?" you asked snidely, your tone was a strange mix of curiosity and challenge.

"I'll catch you!" I answered heatedly. "When you fall, I'll catch you," I repeated, nodding to myself.

Your eyebrows rose higher. "'When'?" arms crossed across your chest, you deadpanned. I nodded, beaming at you. You rolled your eyes. "Are you implying you'll protect me?"

"No," I chirped, my smile never faltering, "I'm saying I'll protect you."

You mumbled something unsavory about me. Smartass little rascal was what you said if I was not mistaken. I grinned. You could act cold all you liked, brother, but I knew, deep down inside, you were just as hot-tempered as I was, if not more.

"You don't have to protect me," you said, a frown creasing your brow. "After all, I'm the older brother. It's my job to protect you," you pointed out.

I rolled my eyes then, in the exact way you did. Your eye twitched, annoyed. My grin widened. "Silly Verge," I giggled, ruffling your hair patronizingly. You swatted my hand away, glaring hotly at me. I was unfazed, I was used to it. "Brothers protect each other," I said, purposefully sounding condescending because I knew full well how much you hated it. You opened your mouth, about to argue no doubt. But I quickly continued, "Mom says so."

You clamped your mouth shut at that. I could tell you want to roll eyes though you refrained. Instead, you huffed. I knew the idea of me protecting you instead of the other around was too absurd for you to accept. But since I used "Mom says so and she is always right" card, you said nothing. You merely shrugged and mumbled a "Sure" half-heartedly.

I beamed. And I pulled you into a hug, one arm circling your waist while the other tucking your head into my shoulder. If asked, I would say I did it only to annoy you. The truth was... Well, I just wanted to know what it felt like to be the protector, for once. I could not see it, but I was sure you were glaring at me hotly. If looks could kill, I would have died the most horrible, the most painful death. But I noticed you did not even try to shrug me off. And was that just my imagination or the tips of your ears were turning red? Were you… blushing?

And I suppressed my laughter. Oh, brother… I thought fondly. You're always like that, saying one thing while meaning another entirely.

Dante paused, taking his time to collect his thought. "I remember that now," he said, voice uncharacteristically soft. "How could I forget?" he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. His laugh soon faded, leaving nothing but somberness in its wake. "You always were a liar," his voice was deceptively soft even as his eyes burned with anger.

"Saying one thing when you meant the exact opposite, always speaking in fucking riddles, never giving a straight answer!" his voice rose in volume. "Did you like it, brother? Did it make you feel stronger? You damn lying bastard!" he yelled, his chest heaving.

"I should've never taken your words at face value. I shouldn't have trusted you in the first place!" he was beyond angry now. He was furious. Even though he was not quite sure at whom his fury was directed.

"You could act like a fucking warrior for all you liked but in the end, you were still a liar. Acting all high and mighty when you were not even that strong!" Eyes narrowing, hand balled by his side, he hissed. "I tried to catch you, you fucking idiot! But you were too proud to take my hand, weren't you? Because falling into Hell was so much better than getting my help, wasn't it? Because Hell was Dad's home, wasn't it?" he asked sarcastically. "Well, newsflash, brother, Hell was not your home. It never was, it never would be!" he spat hatefully.

"But you never realized that, didn't you? Because you were too busy chasing after Dad's image! And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," he snorted. "What a joke," he let out a barking laugh. It sounded hysterical. He knew he sounded like a madman. But he did not care. Better laughing like crazy when the other alternative was crying.

Once he regained his composure, he glared at the tombstone, imagining it was his brother. "I tried. I tried my fucking best," he said through gritted teeth. "But my best wasn't good enough, was it?"

I remember fighting Nelo Angelo, remember that he reminded me of you; his code of honor, his stuck-up attitude. Remembered thinking "What kind of demon that refuses to attack his enemy from behind?" Even most humans were not that honorable. Or stupid.

And the only reason I never suspected that you and Nelo Angelo were one and the same was because I was so sure you would not let yourself stoop that low. I knew you were too proud to serve Mundus. Not willingly anyway.

But you had been robbed of your will, hadn't you? You had been broken and made anew.

And I never knew that! How un-fucking-believable!

So when Mundus ordered you to kill me, you obeyed him without a second thought.

You fought well, brother. And you were able beat me – twice, if you were in your right mind, I knew you would never let me hear the end of it – but you could not kill me. After all, Dad had drilled into your head that you had to protect me. At all cost.

And you protected me in the only way you knew; you let me win.

The price, your life.

"Had I never told you I was not a fucking damsel in distress?" Dante spat. "No? Well, now you know. I don't need any saving! I never did, I never will!" It was a lie and he knew it. But he could not care less. He was angry and that was that. "And certainly not from you!" in a way, he was glad for the burning fury he felt. Because it meant he could focus all his attention on his anger and his anger only. Because it was so much easier to deal with anger than any other emotion. Such as grief. Or regret.

"I'm not a fucking damsel and you are not a fucking knight in shining armor, you fucking idiot!" he glared at the tombstone, hard. "You didn't have to—" sacrifice yourself, the words came to his mind, unbidden. It only served to infuriate him further. Hands balling at his sides, he suppressed his urge to punch to something, anything to release his anger. "You didn't have to…" he spluttered for the right words. "You didn't have to save me! I could take care of myself just fine! I just…" he looked away, anger dwindling. And now his anger was gone, all he could feel was regret so deep and sadness so profound that he could feel tears sting his eyes. He dug the base of his palm into his eyes.

"Devil may cry, brother, but I won't cry for you!" he snapped, glaring at the tombstone of his brother's as if it was his brother who sat before him. The lack of response he got only made the fact that his brother was not here clearer. He gritted his teeth, clenching his hand tightly so he could focus on the sensation of nails digging into his palm rather than the annoying burning in his eyes. He was NOT crying! As if he would cry for a stupid brother who was too proud for his own good, an ungrateful bastard who was too stupid to accept his help when he fucking offered it! A brother who…

A brother who died for you, a part of him whispered.

And his tears fell. One, two. He wiped them harshly with the back of his hand. "Gods fucking dammit all," he mumbled, shaking his head, hoping it was enough to shake off his uncharacteristic melancholy. It was not. His gloomy mood clung to him like a wet blanket. "Don't you dare to laugh at me, you stupid bastard, it's all your fault anyway." he tried to rekindle his anger once again, but to no avail.

"Imagine how—" shocked, scared, his mind supplied though he refused to use those words. He was not weak. He refused to be! "—surprised I was when I saw the Perfect amulet on you," he chuckled bleakly. "For a sec, I thought somehow, you were able to tug it off of me. And wouldn't that make everything easier?" he murmured. "Then I realized the chain was fucking gold! And I realized it was you I was fighting all along."

It was you I just tried to kill. And the most hilarious part? I succeeded! I always wanted to win against you, brother. But not like that. Never like that! I never wanted to kill you…

I scrambled to you as fast as I could. I knelt by your side, wanting to touch you, make sure you were real, but too afraid to do so. I was scared that if I tried to touch you, you would dissolve into nothing. "Vergil..." I breathed in disbelief, staring at you with wide eyes. Your dim eyes lit up, as if you finally remembered who you actually were. Then you flinched as if your memories hurting you. And maybe they did, who knew what that bastard had done to you.

Hand balled, jaws clenched, I tried to control my temper. It would not do to lash out at you when you did nothing wrong. Counting to ten never worked for me, so instead, I imagined all the things I could do to the ones who were responsible for the miserable state you were in. And I promised right then, right there, they would pay. Dearly.

I was distracted from my dark thoughts when I realized that you were trying to reach out with a trembling hand. I stilled, wondering what you would do. Your hand stopped merely an inch away from my face, hovering. It was like you were not quite sure I would let you touch me. And my heart fell, my hatred burned, fiercer than ever.

Smiling in what I hoped encouraging way, I took your hand in mine and put it on my cheek. Blood smeared my cheek, a contrast to my stark white hair. But it did not matter. Nothing did but you. I closed my eyes and leaned on your fading warmth, hoping this moment would last when I knew it would not.

You smiled then, at peace finally. Thank you, you mouthed.

For what?! I wanted to yell. Instead, I tried to smile at you. My lips barely twitched upwards.

Your hand went to my head then, your thumb moving back and forth. My eyes widened as I realized what you were trying to do: ruffling my hair, as if to soothe me.

I choked on a hysterical laugh. There you were, dying and you tried to comfort me.

"I'm fine," I told you.

You said nothing but your gaze on me was steady. Your way of saying you did not believe me.

"I will be," I amended, trying to smile to reassure you. It came as more of a grimace.

You looked at me for another moment before nodding decisively. You believed me. Your eyes started to droop and panic clawed my heart, gripping it in a tight grip.

Don't go! the words were on the tip of my tongue.

I did not want to let you go. Not anytime soon. Not ever, if I could help it. I just found you back, not exactly safe and sound but alive. And I did not care if I had to exhaust my supply of healing stars, I would save you. I swore I would.

But I could tell you were tired. After all, you had gone through too much already, shouldered too many responsibilities for who knew how long. And the least I could do was to let you rest.

So I merely watched as you closed your eyes, your body starting to fade. And once you were gone, there Yamato lay, in pieces.

"Yamato was broken. And maybe, so were you. Not crazy or blood-thirsty or power-hungry, just broken. Because when you fell, I was not there to catch you."

Because when I gave you a helping hand, you were too proud to take it.

End.

A/N:

The first draft of this story is so different from the one published here. The main idea totally changed. Maybe, just maybe, I'll revise that first draft and publish it. That's a big if though. Lol.

FYI: Still need to send my Bat stories to my beta. Still procrastinating btw...

Disclaimer: Nope, me no own.

Last but not least, thanks you for all of you who have faved/followed my stories/myself. And many thanks to you, reviewers.

Aster out~