Side-stories and oneshots for "Bittersweet Symphony," which you can find on my profile. I doubt you have to read that to understand this, but it might help. Who knows.
I do not own Devil May Cry, Dante, or Vergil. Dorian is my character. I make no money off of this.
Vergil wasn't given to sentimentality. It was weakness, human, something more suited to his brother than himself.
Responsibility, though—that one he was all too familiar with. And so he told himself firmly that the squirming, wailing bundle was his now because he was responsible for its upbringing in the absence of its father and not because he felt sorry for it. He absolutely had not felt nostalgic as he passed by and caught the faint whiff that was so familar because he'd shared a crib with it. He did not feel any sympathy for the boy with no name and no family who'd care to claim him.
Responsibility, and that was all. This boy was a grandson of the legendary dark knight, and the son of a very powerful being in his own right. That meant that any chance this baby had to excel would be ruined by a dirty, backwoods human orphanage.
Vergil knew that he could probably find Dante if he wanted to. It had always been too easy to predict his moves, even without being his twin. On the other hand, Dante had a distinct advantage over him: he remembered what had happened the last time they'd met. Vergil's memory was nearly a blank slate—from age nineteen to nearly now being completely gone—and he wouldn't face Dante with that handicap.
For a week, he cared for the boy while he searched for a nurse. He knew he'd found her the minute he set eyes on the kindly old woman. She'd been the only candidate so far to even ask the child's name. Dorian, he'd said, because it was the first "D" name he thought of that wasn't already taken by someone else.
He hired the woman. Confident that Dorian was in good hands, he was gone the next morning.