Surprise, surprise, I have another drabble out within a day. My Muses hate me, since they always give me ideas when I'm already stressed. After seeing the entire DmC reboot, some plot bunnies started popping up, and here's one that wouldn't stop bugging me until I wrote it today.

(I now have two companion pieces to this, What I'd like to say which is Dante's POV and What's Been Found is Lost which is Vergil's PoV on the events after the game.)

Characters © Capcom, Ninja Theory, etc.

Written by aReadingHeart.

Days and Nights

I can't believe it's been a month since that day. The day the rest of humanity lost the demon tyrant and woke up to the sick reality that there really were monsters living among them. The day I thought the three of us would celebrate freedom together. The day he betrayed us all.

I still can't see where Vergil started going wrong. Where or when he decided that we humans couldn't take care of ourselves and that he was needed as the benevolent ruler. Maybe that was his plan all along. Maybe he was just playing us; playing me. I trusted him, believed in his ideas for a future free from demons.

He saved me. Proved I wasn't insane. Taught me how to protect myself and fight back. Gave me a purpose, a goal in life. Was all of it a lie?! Was he always manipulating me, just because I was a psychic and could be used?

I don't know. Probably never will, since I doubt he'll just drop by for lunch for sentimental reasons. Did he ever really care? When that SWAT team was coming, and I was trapped, he was going to walk away. A logical decision given that he couldn't physically do anything. But Dante stepped in and tried to help, wouldn't leave without trying to keep me safe. He was the one shouting when they shot me and dragged me away, not Vergil. Not the man I had trusted with me life these past years. It's kind of ironic that the brother I initially thought was rude, crude, and selfish turned out to be the selfless one, the "hero". The protector.

And he hasn't given up, even after the world literally went to hell. We're still helping people, protecting them from demons. Managed to get a few other survivors from The Order together to re-start the network, so we could spread information people could use to protect themselves. We've been busy, each doing what we do best. Dante goes out and kills things, I research barriers, spells, anything that can give us an advantage, and patrol the neighborhood to check on supplies and wards.

The whole world's in chaos, governments in shambles, trying to figure out what to do about the demons. They're clearly a threat, but then there are some, like Phineas, who aren't really... It's too big to handle, too much is happening, I can't keep track of the bigger picture and the situation in the City. So I don't. I do what I can here, wherever we are; just taking one step at a time.

God, it's hard. Sometimes it's just so hard to get out of bed and start the same mind-numbing routine in this nightmare. Are we even making a difference? But he doesn't give up. And it must be painful for him. The responsibility. The world's in this mess because of what they did, and he's trying so hard to fix it, to make amends.

And Vergil's betrayal is still eating away at him. He tries to hide it, stay busy so he can't think about it, so he can't wonder if he could've done something to change what happened. He fights to save people, but also to stop thinking about What If's and Maybe's. I don't have that luxury, since my books aren't trying to kill me, I have too much time to think and over think. Too many nightmares following me during the day and coming back at night. At first, I tried drinking in the evening to see if that would stop it, but the nightmares kept coming and coming, and a hangover wouldn't let me work effectively, so I gave up.

We've basically turned into nomads, crashing at abandoned motels, warehouses, offices, clients' basements, any place that offered some shelter. Depending on how far away a job was, Dante might be gone for several days, and then I'll come home from my rounds to see him passed out on a couch or the floor, more often than not surrounded by empty whiskey bottles. Stupid Nephilim recovery. Stupid ability to fall asleep anywhere. In the morning, we swap info over breakfast, sometimes real food, other times crappy instant coffee and stale pop-tarts. He'll talk about movements of demon packs so we can warn people, sometimes mention some of the families that were saved. Other mornings he barely talks, usually after a night of heavy drinking, just snapping out minimal data and then shut up. I can practically feel his anger and sadness when that happens; when he doesn't make it in time and can only avenge.

Somehow, we manage to keep each other sane. I try to keep some semblance of normality with meals together, group laundry trips, small mundane things to bring some change of pace from his daily slaughter. And he helps chase away my nightmares when I wake up screaming again. There's nowhere for me to escape reality anymore, nowhere to run and hide. But with him by my side, I feel safe, at least for a little bit. Feel like maybe things aren't so hopeless, that the world will survive and that someday we can live without the fear of demon attacks.

I'm trusting you, Dante.