Title: Devil May Cry 5
Author: Superior Firepower (AKA Haliaetus and POC)
Rating: M. The games are rated M, after all….
Disclaimer: Capcom owns DMC, not us. Though we can always wish, right?...
Pairings: What else but the twinsies? X3 VxD, LxOC, possible TxLu
Warnings:…uhmm…..where to begin? Twincest, language, graphic violence, blood and gore, amazingly cool peoples, dark themes, demonness, alcohol abuse and usage, beasties, yaoi, probable lemons in the future, did we mention really cool peoples?
A/N: THIS FIC MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Actually, on second thought, it does contain spoilers for every game except 4, since we're kinda pretending 4 didn't happen, so deal with it. Also, if you haven't played through three, some of this won't make sense, but that's why there's a spoilers warning, after all.
This takes place just after DMC2. Yanno, right after Dante says that everlasting line about going all the way to Hell and drives off dramatically on his motorcycle.
Since there are so many loop holes and unanswered questions, the DMC fans get to fill a lot in. People will disagree, but this is the way we're doing it: - Dante and Vergil are about 25 years old. (It was the youngest we could make them and still keep to the basic storyline throughout the games.) - Dante has taken to alcohol as a crutch for his emotional issues. (No explanation needed, if you've played the games. Otherwise, figure it out as you read.) - Vergil still doesn't have all of his memory back. (After he was defeated as Nelo Angelo, he ended up back in Hell as himself, but didn't have any memory. So he's slowly been gaining those back.)
Mission 1: See You In Hell…
"Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company." - Mark Twain
Dante stared straight ahead as he drove the motorcycle through Hell.
It was really getting dull.
After all, the scenery actually hadn't been changing much. Barren landscape after barren landscape. The sky was pretty much the only thing that changed and he wasn't looking at it much.
He really just wanted to go home. Pretty simple. Take a shower and go to bed, be generally comfortable. Order some pizza, have a couple beers. He kinda missed humans too. After ugly demon mugs being the only thing to look at for a while, he wished for a human one. Hell, he even missed Lady.
Stopping short, Dante looked at that last thought incredulously. Dante…dude…you really know things are bad when you miss that woman.
He grit his teeth and leaned his head on the handlebars. God dammit. This wasn't the greatest idea I've had, definitely. But what other choice did I have?
A rustling, clanking sound came from his right. Blearily, Dante raised his head and stared at the approaching pack of Abysses.
He cursed fluently under his breath and pulled out his trusty Ebony and Ivory. These guys were friggin' annoying. Almost bored, Dante methodically shot each one as they lumbered towards him.
He wasn't entirely sure how many hours he'd been driving randomly through Hell. He estimated that it'd been at least 10 hours, though. But the wounds he'd gotten throughout the last couple of days were starting to bug him. While he could normally heal quite fast, he'd been fighting a lot of big ugly badasses. And the major wounds had started to add up.
That plus intense hunger and fatigue (lack of sleep for so long was never fun) and the absence of alcohol in his system did not make for a happy Dante. In fact, he was feeling rather shitty and generally pissed off with everything. And the shakes. He'd been getting the shakes off and on for a little while now. He'd had a small canteen with some vodka init hidden away in his coat, but that was long gone.
He felt he rather had a right to feel pissed, what with saving the world (AGAIN!) and putting his sorry ass on the line. And no one would probably ever know of it. AND there was a distinct possibility of never getting out of Hell and back home.
He was not happy in the slightest.
Dante started the motorcycle again and revved forward, his teeth rattling in his head as he ran over one of the dead monsters. After driving a bit longer, he realized that he really needed to stop and get some rest after he almost crashed the bike twice. Falling asleep at the handlebars was not the way he planned on dying.
He fully planned to on going out of the world the same way he came in: kicking, screaming, and covered in someone else's blood.
So Dante turned off the ignition and lay the bike down on it's side so he could lean against it when he sat. He placed his twin semiautomatics in easy reach, next to Ebony, Ivory, Rebellion, and the collection of other weapons he had collected along the last journey. Including the lovely missile launcher, which was set up against the motorcycle next to Dante.
If he heard anything suspicious, his senses would wake him up and he could grab any of the many weapons he had.
After all, he'd only be taking a…little…catnap...Just a…little…
He was asleep within seconds. And while his mind wanted to continue to stay alert, his body knew that it was as fatigued as the rest of him, and forced it into slumber as well.
Slowly coming to a stop, Vergil raised his head to the ever-changing sky of the demon realm. With an expression of mixed regret and longing, cultivated over the years he'd spent wandering this realm, he sighed slightly and took a deep breath to brace himself and took a deep breath to brace himself for continuing his wanderings.
Frowning, he took another breath, trying to catch scent he'd detected. There! Very faint, but still there—the sharp tang of fresh blood.
Figuring that anything was worth investigating in his current bored state, Vergil quickly redirected himself. He set off at a quick pace, wondering vaguely who or what was bleeding.
A few minutes later, he crested a rise and the view spread in front of him, causing him to stop short. The remains of several Abysses, blown almost out of recognition, were strewn across the ground. Around them, their blood was spread a good distance, soaking into the ground.
Walking closer, a glint in the steady light caught his eye. Stooping to pick the object up, Vergil peered at it with growing interest. It was a bullet casing, the likes of which he'd seen used with only two guns in his life. Ebony and Ivory.
Dante…
What was his brother doing here? The last time he'd seen him – several years ago in the demon realm – the other man had been had been about to return to the human realm. Looking around, Vergil caught side of the unmistakable tracks of a motorcycle, Dante's preferred form of transportation.
Almost without thinking about it, Vergil began to follow the clear tire tracks. A vague idea had formed in his mind, giving him a purpose. If Dante was here, he was going to find him.
Some time later – he was no longer aware of the passage of time in this timeless place – he saw an object in the distance. Picking up the pace, he was nearly running by the time he got close enough to make out the motorcycle and the figure leaning against it. Coming to a quick halt, he approached his twin hesitantly, unsure of how his presence would be received.
Dante didn't react as Vergil came within six feet of him. Suddenly worried about the way the demon hunter was lolling against the bike, Vergil slowly reached out to brush silver hair away from Dante's face, his fingertips trailing along the other's cheek as did so. Dante sighed almost inaudibly, leaning slightly into the touch.
Not dead, then, Vergil thought, ignoring the rush of relief. Just asleep and no wonder. Carefully, Vergil ran his eyes and hands over his brother, mentally cataloguing each wound and bruise he came across.
Finished, he rocked back onto his heels, regarding his brother as he thought.
Braking, Vergil stopped the bike in front of the cave entrance, automatically reaching back to steady his brother's comatose form where it rested against his back. He kicked the stand down and carefully dismounted, pulling Dante into his arms as he did so. Hoisting his brother into a more comfortable position, Vergil strode into the cave, leaving the bike outside.
The interior matched the stark, rocky outside. The gray rock was interrupted only by a rough wooden table and a low bed with a thin, brown woolen blanket spread over it in a semblance of neatness.
Gently, with care for the numerous wounds on Dante's body, Vergil laid him on the bed, taking a moment to pull the long, red trenchcoat and well-worn combat boots off. Standing there, holding the boots in one hand and the coat in the other, the half-demon realized something that threw him for a loop.
He'd missed Dante.
He'd missed sparring with him, both physically and verbally. Missed his brother's constant presence and his temper. Hell, he'd even missed being caught up in his twin's schemes.
But, he reminded himself sharply, there were still gaps in his memory. Mundus had done something to him, made him forget, and now he was slowly piecing together again who and what he was.
He could remember his teenage years, but the time before his twelfth birthday was still hazy. At eighteen, there was another gap—only a year this time. The attempt to bring the demon realm to the human one, the actual confrontation with first Dante, then Arkham, was clear in his mind, as was his decision afterwards to face Mundus. It was after that that he had another missing section, up until he'd found himself wandering the demon realm five years ago.
Shaking his head, he focused again on the here and now. The coat was folded neatly and set next to the bed, on the floor, the boots next to it. Pulling off his own coat, Vergil stuck a hand into a pocket, pulling out a lighter, some cigarettes and a flask of brandy.
Tossing his coat onto the wooden table, he set the flask next to it and took the lighter and a cigarette outside. Dante wouldn't wake up for a little while—their demon blood helped them heal faster than humans did, but it wasn't instantaneous—and he had to think about some things. Namely, how his brother had gotten here and what exactly had happened in those gaps in his memories.
He wasn't so concerned with his early years; he'd been with his family as a teenager, so nothing bad had happened at that time. It was that year between his leaving Dante and when they'd met again at Temen-ni-gru, as well as the time after his defeat at the hands of Mundus, that worried him the most. Lighting up the cigarette and taking a deep drag, he let the smoke out in a long breath, watching it dissipate absently as his mind wandered.
A library, an oily voice interrupting…blood and his reflection in eyes shining with madness…grin as twisted as the mind behind it mind and greedy words asking something of him…
The cigarette dropped to the ground, still burning, as Vergil clutched his head, the memory narrowing the gap in his mind. He'd met Arkham in that library, reading up on the known ways to open a gate to the demon realm. The human man—part devil, by that time and already going mad from his inability to control it—had wanted to know more about the legend of Sparda and his sons. They had come to an agreement that day, Arkham giving Vergil what resources he could to help the half-demon to achieve his goal.
To think that he'd—that they'd all—been played by the man a year later. Arkham had only wanted Sparda's power for himself and had even managed to get his hands on the Force Edge before Dante and Vergil had stopped him. It had been a close call, though, even with Arkham out of the picture, since Dante had refused to give up his half of the amulet when they'd fought. The last he'd seen of his brother had been as he stood on the cliff edge, hand outstretched and bleeding from Yamato's cut. As far as he knew, Dante had returned to the human realm to resume whatever life he'd carved out for himself in that world.
Sighing, Vergil bent to pick up the fallen cigarette, knocking the ash off the end before sticking it back into the corner of his mouth. His head still throbbed lightly, but not as bad as that first pang, and he was used to it by now. The past five years had been marked by many such occurrences as his memory had rebuilt itself.
When another twenty minutes and two more cigarettes had passed without any more memories joining the most recent, Vergil sighed again, dropped his current cigarette onto the ground and smashed it under his heel as he turned to walk back into the cave. Dante should be waking soon and he wanted to be there when he did.
Dante groaned as he shifted, his mind swimming up through layers of sleep to struggle into consciousness once more; his subconscious didn't mess around when it knew sleep was top priority. Damn. He'd probably have bike imprints from leaning on the motorcycle for so long.
Except, whatever he was laying on didn't feel like the unyielding metal of the motorbike he'd "borrowed" from that warehouse.
Opening his eyes felt like a Herculean task and he nearly gave up before they finally opened just enough for him to see a fuzzy expanse of brown. A short movement of his hand told him the brown was actually cotton, probably woven into a blanket, since the rest of his body seemed to be lying on the same thing.
Now, just where did the brown cotton blanket come from and how had he gotten on it? Another struggle with his stiff and unresponsive body resulted in slightly wider eyes and a new position—laying on his stomach wasn't very conducive to finding out where he was, but on his side was a bit better.
Not brown this time. Blue, Dante decided, trying to make his brain work at a more normal pace. Was it another blanket? It looked about the right shape, but then what was the gold trimming…Dante's mind ground to a stop as he stared at the coat draped over the table in front of him.
No way. No way in hell. There was no fucking way Vergil was here.
Closing his eyes, Dante quickly ran his usual litany through his mind, same as he'd done for the past five years—too bad he didn't have any alcohol here to accompany it.
Vergil is dead, Mundus had gotten to him and brainwashed him, then I killed him or Mundus did, but either way, he'd dead and he's not coming back, no one can come back from the dead, not even him. He is dead. Dead and gone and—
"You're awake already?"
No! Anything but that! Bad enough I ran out of the vodka, I don't need to start hallucinating on top of everything else!
"With the amount of injuries you'd sustained, I was sure you'd be asleep for a while longer. Still, they're definitely looking better. Here, it might be better if you lay on your back now."
Hands, strong hands, helped him roll onto his back. Dante kept his eyes tightly shut, not wanting to admit to the reality. A hallucination. That's all it is. Just a dream. He's dead…Vergil…is…
"Come on, Dante, I know you're awake. You might as well open your eyes. You've already slept the day away, so there's no reason you can't at least open your eyes."
The words reminded Dante of earlier days, when Vergil would come into his room to wake him up, often tipping him out of the bed without saying a word. The older twin had usually been up for several hours by that time, while Dante slept in as late as he could. Frowning, Dante banished the memory. But the voice was right; he was awake, so he might as well open his eyes and face the day.
Slowly, he cracked one eye open, then the other. His own face met his eyes, a small smirk playing about full lips as amusement and annoyance warred in his mirror image's silver-blue eyes.
"Good morning, sleepy head," Vergil said.