Author's Note: This was written in response to this meme: Write a drabble (100 words or more) based on your current default icon. No changing it! Just write it as it comes; no beta-reading or mulling it over. Any fandom or no fandom at all.
Vergil had stood, being finished with both his coffee and the paper, and had been moving to place his cup in the sink, when movement in the kitchen doorway caught his attention. It was no surprise, really, to find Dante standing there, leaned slightly against the wide doorframe, one bare foot scratching at the other, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. His face was hidden behind his shaggy mass of tangled white hair, though judging from body language and twinly vibes alone, Vergil could tell he was wibbling; and, no doubt, wibbling hard, though he had no idea as to why. He hadn't even spoken to Dante that morning, and so it certainly wasn't his fault. Unless, of course, Dante was wibbling because he hadn't. He, honestly, would put very little in the way of immature whining past his little brother, after all.
"Dante." The coffee cup was placed silently back on the surface of the table, next to the neatly folded paper, as Vergil turned to face him fully, unconsciously pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. Dante stirred slightly, but said nothing, and Vergil frowned; not in a 'I'm concerned about my little brother' sort of way, but more in annoyance, because the vibes jangled along his own nerves, as though the feelings were his own, and he'd always hated that. "Dante. Stop lurking and say something, or shoo. I'm busy."
Dante shuffled into the kitchen, saying nothing, and instead silently making his way to Vergil, his face as long as Vergil had honestly ever seen it. Of course, that proved the wibbling theory right, and Vergil inwardly rolled his eyes, because as far as he could see it, there was nothing for the brat to wibble over. Well. There was, of course, the high possibility that he'd discovered his filthy pornography stash missing, as Vergil had done away with that with much glee and fire the day before while Dante had been out, but honestly. Wasn't wibbling overreacting? He'd expected anger and attempted bloodshed over that, not sniffles and shuffles.
When he reached Vergil (and coming well into Vergil's personal space, and Dante very well knew that was a no-no), one hand tangled in the front of his shirt, the other in his sleeve as though to hold him in place, and Dante rested his empty, shaggy little head against his brother's shoulder, pressing his face against Vergil's neck and snuffling there, like a child. Normally, that would have been cause to brain the idiot and leave him bleeding on the floor, but the audacity of such a thing happening, without a word or a smartassed comment being said, left him stunned a moment, allowing Dante to rest there as he pleased.
It was an odd sensation, as Dante never came to him for comfort, and Vergil never offered it, even in the worst of times, which made the situation more than a little surreal.
He found himself staring blankly at the opposite wall as Dante clung, before his eyes focused on the calendar hung there, for God only knew what reason, because it wasn't as though Dante ever spared it a glance, being as unconcerned with keeping up with the days as he was with everything else, and he found himself automatically searching for the current date.
When he had, it took a moment for things to connect, as he rarely thought about her, being her least favorite, but when it did, everything concerning Dante's behavior became clarion. The anniversary of that night had crept up faster than Vergil had imagined possible, and while her death was, honestly, the last thing he himself ever had nightmares of, he carried his own scars from it. Some were physical, like the one along his right forearm that Dante's fingers had found, the flesh raised in a thin, pale, straight line; the reason he often wore long sleeves, as it made him physically ill to see it. It was nothing but a reminder of what weakness had left him with, and why he wouldn't allow himself to be that way again. Some were mental; what Dante called 'being full of the crazy', but that was Dante's opinion, and it amounted to a lot of nothing, in the end.
Coincidentally, it was the first anniversary of the world turning on its head that they had been together as a unit once more, since it had happened.
That was why Vergil allowed Dante to stay where he was, though he made no move himself to offer support or comfort beyond what Dante had taken for himself forcefully (though, in retrospect, not forcefully at all). He supposed that was the difference that night had made in them, though as far as Vergil's memory would allow for, they'd always been encouraged to be their own individuals (and he had his thoughts on that, as well, and no doubt part of his underlying bitterness at their mother sprang from those thoughts, but for the moment he kept them to himself); Dante was weak. He was human. He needed support, even for that, and it was something that had happened years ago. Vergil had forgotten about it altogether, as it wasn't the anniversary of her death to him. It was the marking of his taking the path he still wandered on.
Several moments later, Dante pulled back, his hands dropping from Vergil's shirt as he reached up and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, eyes downcast, as though he didn't want to meet Vergil's gaze; Vergil supposed, in some disconnected way, he could understand. Or perhaps Dante didn't want to be reminded of the 'unfeeling monster' he considered his brother had become. Vergil couldn't honestly say.
There was another beat, before Dante reached out and braced his hands on Vergil's shoulders, before leaning close. It wasn't one of his usual loud, sloppy, and wet smacks on the cheek, that he did to irritate the hell out of Vergil while they were in public with one another; instead, it was more of brush of his lips against Vergil's cheekbone, and barely a touch at all, before he pulled back completely, moment of weakness over as he turned and started for the door. His back had straightened, his shoulders squared, as though that surreal moment in time had never transpired, and Vergil blinked after him a moment before straightening himself, carefully tugging down the sleeves of his shirt.
"Dante."
Dante paused once more in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. All traces of the vulnerability was wiped from his face, replaced by the usual mischeivious good humor that it wore more frequently, his eyes slanted sharply as though something offensive and sharp-tongued was hanging there, waiting to be said. "Yeah."
It surprised Vergil, if he were to be honest; that complete flip flopping of mood that proved his brother was not nearly as stable in his own mind as Dante wished to believe he was. And he was left grasping for something to say, to beat Dante to the punch. "I burned your porn."
"I know." A smile started across Dante's face, his lips pulling back to reveal his fangs. "That's okay. I had some of your research notes mixed with it." A slap was given to the doorframe, and Dante disappeared from view. Vergil could hear him, whistling something or other, as he tromped around in the direction of the stairs, and for several long moments, he just stared at the empty doorway, at a loss for words, before giving an unwilling and snorted chuckle, pressing his hands to his face.
One day, he was truly going to brutalize the boy. In ways Dante had never, ever imagined. And especially for both stealing and then tricking Vergil into burning his own research. But the peaceful surreality of the moments before lingered, and he found himself unable to do so, at least at that very moment, and shrugged it off, moving once more to place the dirty cup in the sink.
For the day, he'd let Dante have that. He just hoped his little brother realized that, come the next morning, Vergil wouldn't be nearly so forgiving.
At the time, my default icon was a snippet of Errorwork's doujin, and it was just Dante leaning on Vergil for comfort, and Vergil looking shocked out of his head that Dante had done such a thing. So there you go: A moment of twinly sap.