A/N: Thanks to all readers, suscribers and reviewers. Your encouragment means alot.

So another chapter in our saga... a product of many edits and deletions. Tell me what you think.

Chapter 10: Push 'Til It Hurts

Little time passed before the paramedics had arrived and collected the fair-haired devil onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Malina followed and resolved herself to stay by his side, no matter what. It was a short ride to the hospital, but in that span, she watched them dress what wounds they could, begin an IV drip, administer oxygen via a plastic mask, and attach electrodes to his now bare chest. She continued to watch even when she felt a little squeamish. Still, Malina held on to his limp hand.

Vergil was no longer bleeding profusely, but his near-fatal wound still hadn't yet begun to heal. They arrived at the emergency bay and Vergil was quickly taken inside. At the door she was greeted by a cop. He called himself Johnson. It almost seemed to her that she was ambushed and forced to leave her unlikely savior's side.

He escorted the disheveled girl to a small waiting room adjacent to the triage area. He brought her to a chair across from a table and another seat that he took as his own. There was a small box of doughnuts that centered the table. He motioned for her to help herself. At his signal, Malina began to wolf down the contents of the entire box. How long had she gone without food? Her cheeks were filled with the sweet stuff. She normally didn't eat doughnuts and she detested the cream filled ones; but as they say, hunger makes the best spice.

Johnson casually slid a soda across the grey plastic table. She immediately guzzled it. When he was sure that she was close to having her fill, Johnson spoke up, making sure not to use words that would rile her up. "So, Malina… is it? How have you been?" She ignored him, concentrating more on the food. Another well-dressed, detective quietly entered the room and sat in the far corner. He seemed much older than Johnson, but allowed the younger detective lead this investigation and remained silent. "You have been missing for quite sometime," Johnson continued, "where have you been?"

"Around," she said munching on a chocolate frosted donut, "hiding,"

"From whom?" he raised an auburn eyebrow.

She stopped eating as if she snapped to her senses. "How's Vergil… I-i-is he okay?"

"The doctors are with him. They'll let us know if something comes up," continued on to press her for information, "How do you know Vergil?"

"I didn't, at first. But he still saved me… from a fate worse than Hell itself."

He saved me… it echoed in Johnson's head. From what? He could clearly remember what her "savior" looked like when he was wheeled into the hospital. He wore only the blue pajama pants and his torso was almost completely wrapped in white gauze, with crimson barely peeking through it. Some blood was speckled on his face and was also painted on the inside of his oxygen mask. He was impossibly pale, a far cry from the many photos he had seen. He honestly looked like he had died on arrival.

Johnson continued his questions, "What do you mean by that?"

"He sacrificed himself to take down a murderer," she bared all with the cryptic tone of a mental patient, "The one that killed Sister Aurora."

He leaned in to listen, "Yes?"

"She called herself queen once and then Arinna on this mortal plane."

Johnson was eager to hear more but just then received a page. It alerted him to the fact that Vergil maybe moved to surgery soon. He walked over to his partner and whispered to him. The short conversation ended with the other detective taking over the questioning. This was his cue to check on his suspect before he had the chance to die before questioning. He made his way down the hall to the trauma room. He was stopped by a female doctor before he could reach the threshold.

"Excuse me sir, this patient cannot have any visitors at this time."

"I'm Carl Johnson of the MPD," he paused as he flashed his ID, "and I just want to ask this guy some questions."

"He's far too sedated to answer any questions," the doctor said, trying to lead the officer back down the hall.

"Well... Maybe you can help me. Is there anything you can tell me about the injuries he has sustained?"

The doctor felt a little apprehensive about releasing any information to the detective and Johnson saw it. "Com'on… please. This could really help in a kidnapping and murder case... Just at least his current condition," Johnson said the latter with his best "convincing" smile. The doctor held off for a few more seconds, but gave in.

"First off, it's a miracle that this man has survived such massive blood loss. He has a near-fatal wound to the chest that seems to exit to the back."

"A through and through… a bullet," Johnson question as he jotted notes down on a black book he kept in his breast pocket.

"No… the wound was deep and the edges were clean, like a cut done with long, sharp instrument… I'm thinking that it was possibly run through... with a sword."

Johnson was a little taken aback that the doctor could make such an astute guess as to what the assault weapon could have been, but nonetheless, the doctor continued, "That's not the half it… the damnest thing is that although his status is critical, he seems to be healing on his own, rather rapidly. His early prognosis is good. Given a week he should be breathing better, if not on his own and possibly out of the door by then."

"Well, that's good."

"From what I understand, he came here with a girl. We need to do a physical exam on her and maybe a psych consult. I want to make sure she's okay and that we are not dealing with a Stockholm syndrome-type situation."

"Umm… sure. She is the waiting area with my partner."

"Thank you," the doctor said before walking towards the small lounge area the detective had mentioned. Johnson was left alone just before the threshold of the room that currently housed Vergil. What are you hiding? What are your secrets? His thoughts surfaced as he gazed into the dimly lit room. He quickly poured of his notes and thought back to the profiling he had done on Vergil and his younger brother. What makes you different from any other case? More thoughts flashed across his mind. Vergil is a well-reserved man who was much stronger than what he seemed; an accomplished swordsman. Who solves their problems with swords anymore? There was once a female detective that commented, "If the twins' family was borne of wealth, then Dante seems to be the rebel of it all and Vergil is like a chivalrous knight, fighting to uphold some kind of honor."

No one knew of their family. Any files that were kept on the twins, reported that they were orphaned at a rather young age. They had some small run-ins with the law, but nothing serious. As they got older, they were sent to live in separate group homes. They were once records of their late teenage years, but they were stricken and thrown out, thought to be the rantings of a madman. They held tales of a large stone tower that broke through the middle of the city and that Vergil was at fault for raising it.

Johnson snapped back to reality and resolved himself to know why records, including birth records, on his suspect were so few and far between. He wanted to know why whatever files that existed about him, painted him as a great and mighty legend of fairy tales.

Again, he glanced back into the room at the man who seemed larger than life, now reduced to mortal proportions. Had he not known the man's true age, he'd ventured to say that he had a younger brother in college about the same age. If not known…

A nurse excused herself before passing between Johnson and the doorway. She was an older, but fairly attractive brunette dressed in bubbly pink scrubs that were more suited for the pediatrics ward. She quietly regarded her patient, "My, you are looking much better now. There's even some color returning to your face." She continued on to draw a blood sample, taking vitals and ended her visit by writing some notes on a clip board. Before she could turn to leave, there was a massive hand on her shoulder. She gasped and jumped a little. She turned to see Johnson towering just behind her.

"You scared me… you should know better than to sneak up on people."

"My apologies, ma'am. I just wanted to see how Vergil was doing, his companion, Malina asked about him."

"You mean the girl in the waiting area? It's not hard to see why a sweet girl like her would choose to hang out with a nice young man as him." She said that with the knowingness of someone more than a simple acquaintance. He cocked his head to the side, almost to question her without words.

"Do you already know Vergil?"

"More or less… I met Vergil and Dante about two years ago. Along with some colleagues, they ran a private investigation firm, looking into the rather – unusual cases not solved by traditional resources."

"So… were they vigilantes?"

"No. They simply took care of some strange cases. At any rate, I only learned of Dante through a local club show and of Vergil later on, through a case of mistaken identity. Ah… how Dante's voice could make any woman swoon. I have been to many of his shows and never had I seen Vergil there. He said that he preferred serenity and solitude at times. This made him seem a little unsociable, but he is truly a gentleman, like a man from a long forgotten time."

"You sound as if you have known him intimately."

"Heavens, no. A handsome boy as he? I am sure that he was only being polite to me. No… I am probably old enough to be his mother." If you only knew, Johnson thought the words but did not speak them.

The nurse reached down and stroked Vergil's ivory hair. "I don't why, but looking at him just makes me think of those old legends of Sparda."

"Sparda?"

"I am not surprised that you do not know of him," the nurse said, "not may people remember or believe in these old myths and legends. One of the most memorable stories of Sparda began about two thousand years ago when demons roamed the earth. It is said that despite being a demon knight, he took pity on the humans and single handedly took on the demons and defeated them. So that the humans would never have to worry about demons again, he sealed the demons and his powers away in a whole other world. He became a mortal man and fell in love with a mortal woman. The story also goes that before he died, he and the woman bore twin boys. Some even say that they carry on his legacy today, walking and blending among the humans that they must care for."

Johnson asked, "So, this man here reminds you of a demon warrior from long ago?"

"Like I said, I don't know why, but he does. I think that it maybe because Sparda's story is much like his; a story of tragedy and of sacrifice. I had the chance to speak to Malina before her examination and she says that Vergil saved her from an attacker. It seems that his whole life, his family was a damned tragedy. He once confided in me that he lost his father at an early age and all he knew from him were photos and whatever stories his mother told him. He never told me this part, but rumor has it that his mother was killed in a robbery gone wrong, that he and Dante watched the whole thing. As time went on, they were split up. They had spent so many years apart that they became like bitter strangers. They eventually reconciled but no sooner did that happen, Dante's wife passed away and then so did he. In his lifetime, he experienced more than his fair share of tragedy, the loss of his entire family."

The nurse glanced down at her watch to see that she had been in that room for more than twenty minutes. "And here I am, being a Chatty Cathy. I have my rounds and it seems that Vergil is not going to need surgery, but they are going to take him upstairs in a moment –" Her voice trailed off as she began to gently usher the detective away from the room.

Realizing that is was time for him to go, Johnson turned and shook her hand saying, "Thank you for your time Ms. –"

"You can call me Abby," the nurse said as she collected her blood samples and left.

Johnson made his way back to the lounge. In the time spent with the doctor and then the nurse, Malina had been physically examined and she was in the midst of talk with a psychiatrist. Johnson strode up to a vending machine and let out a deep sigh and he brushed his hair back. He injected his coins into the machine and watched as paper cup dropped down and filled with the caffeinated russet liquid. He grabbed his drink and sat on one of the adequately comfortable seats. He sipped it slowly as he began the television mounted high up on a nearby wall. Some idiotic cartoon show where some animal character just got hit over the head with an oversized rubber mallet. The program was probably put on to calm down whatever child that had to spend any time here in the ER. Johnson couldn't help but to close his eyes and rub the bridge of his nose.

He felt the presence of another body sit next to him. "So, how is he?"

Johnson turned to answer his partner's question. He let out a sigh and said, "He won't be saying anything for a while. He's alive, if that's what you mean."

"Good to hear, I guess."

Johnson looked up to see his partner's eyes were glossy, as if he were outside of his mind. "Ralph," Johnson questioned.

"No, not Ralph," his lips moved but the voice was not of his own.

"Who are you?"

"You needn't worry about that… I have come to convince you to drop this case."

"Drop the case? Have you gone crazy? Whatever act you're playing at Ralph, stop it!"

"It seems that I need to try harder," Ralph grasped Johnson's wrist, "close your eyes and see."

Suddenly, Johnson's eyelids were getting heavier and his grip on his coffee cup was getting limp. His head dropped back and his eyes closed. Moments later he jumped up from a similar position, only he was facing himself. "Wha— what's going on," Johnson practically demanded as he looked around himself. "Calm down, will ya," a voice came from beside him. He looked to his left to see a man dressed in a red t-shirt and blue jeans. His arms were outstretched on the backs of the chairs and his head tilted back and to the left with his eyes closed. The thing that freaked him out most was that he was not there before.

"Ya'know, maybe if you weren't so high-strung, you'd probably live longer."

He noticed that the man sitting next to him had that unmistakable tuft of white hair. "Wait you're his brother, aren't you… you're Dante."

"Uh huh."

"Does this mean that I'm –" Before Johnson could begin hyperventilating, Dante with his eyes still closed, cut him off by saying, "No… you are still alive. In fact, to everyone else, you appear to be asleep." He watched his body taking slow and even breaths, confirming Dante's statement.

"What about Ralph," Johnson's attention turned to his partner who was slumped against his chair.

"What about Ralph? He's fine… think of him as sleeping too. He won't remember anything, but you will."

"Why do you need me? Have you come to take me away?" Johnson's voice was becoming increasingly panicked.

"No… Geez! I hate repeating myself!" Dante squeezed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Is he really that dense? "I think I feel a headache coming on."

Dante hopped up from his seat and said, "Listen carefully, Carl, if you continue to pursue this case you'll only succeed in opening Pandora's Box. For now you are curious about the girl and my family history. Soon you'll keep digging and digging and it will never end. You'll drive yourself mad and end up like Arkham."

"Arkham? Where have I heard that name before?"

"Never mind that, just know that he became obsessed and now he's in hell."

Johnson honestly didn't know what to say. His mind couldn't wrap around the fact that he was being visited by a ghost in broad daylight. Low guitar riffs quietly played. They grew louder as Dante fished his Sidekick out of his pocket and flipped it open. He began instant messing. Again, Johnson was slightly amazed that Dante still appeared to be in his early twenties. Johnson mused to himself that Dante reminded him of one of those teenagers he saw on his morning commutes, texting away on their phones. No. He was really more like a gorgeous Baroque angel dressed in urban wares.

Dante finished with his phone and dropped it in his pocket. He grabbed Johnson by the wrist and said "Let's go." There was a flash of bright white light and they were outside and somewhere up high. It was still too bright to open his eyes, but Johnson was sure of their newly gained height due to a terrible gust of wind. Johnson slowly regained his vision to see that they were now standing on the edge of a rooftop. He looked up to see Dante's platinum hair flapping wildly in the wind.

He regained some of his confidence as he asked, shouting to be heard over the wind, "So tell me Dante, was it a ritual gone wrong that did you in?"

"Not really. You could say that it worked," he answered honestly.

"I hadn't taken you for man of rites and procedure. If anything, it seems to be a bit much just to off yourself."

"You're right, I'm not. But you and I both know that you don't believe anything in those reports."

"So you are okay with people believing that you committed suicide?"

"And what makes you believe otherwise? It's not like I care what the living has to say about me."

"You do. You make believe otherwise. I believe that you either had help... or that you were murdered. When you grabbed your cell phone and my arm, you used your right hand. Based the photos, reports, and even your brother's statements, I just don't see how you could have done it. If memory serves, there were cuts on your left and right forearms. Also your right hand had at least second degree burns, according to the photos… You wouldn't have been able to grip the knife properly. No, you didn't do it… even the angle of the knife would have been wrong. It looked more like someone else did it." Johnson remained lost in his thoughts, speaking them aloud until he managed to say, "And those symbols on the floor--"

Dante had to stop him there, "Keep pushin' 'til hurts, huh? Is that what you're gonna do?! That's the type of thinkin' that will only drive you crazy. Just let it all go."

"How can you say that? I would not want my name to go down in flames when I die."

"A name is but a name. For some it will go down in the annals history to be either famous or infamous... and I am neither. When I left my body behind, so too was the name and everything else that associated me with the world of the living. It is not to say that I do not miss them... I do, but the dead simply do not concern themselves with such things. You'll see when your day comes."

"But you still brush it off like it was all for nothing. There's a poor, traumatized girl mixed up in all this and your brother is fighting for his life."

Dante only smiled and crouch on the edge, perched like a bird ready to take flight. He said, "I haven't cast a blind eye. I know what is going on. I only follow the 'Grand Design,' I am not its architect, nor do I know what's in store for everyone... But I do know enough to plan ahead for the task at hand. Malina maybe traumatized from this whole experience, but she's a good kid and she's gonna get help to get through this. As for Vergil, he wasn't meant to die today; in fact he has quite some time ahead of him. That's how it goes; our lineage wouldn't allow one to die so easily." Dante said the latter without thinking and hoped that Johnson was still too dazed to catch on.

"I have a feeling that Malina that was there the night you died. And I also think that your brother defended her from whoever orchestrated your murder. This same person also killed a Wiccian priestess by the name of Aurora with a sword." Dante seethed slightly at the mention his fallen friend's name.

"You think too much," Dante retorted.

"I have reason to believe that –"

"I know well enough, I was there... remember?"

"Then what has you up in arms? Why bring me here?"

"Malina and Vergil have been through enough, so why compound it? As for you, I feel that in all your searches for answers about us, you'll never find any. You will die an old and unhappy man. The worst thing is that your children and their children will be caught up in that never-ending cycle. I know that you crave information and I hope that what I tell you will satisfy your hunger. What I say must never leave this rooftop. If you mention it anywhere, at anytime, I swear I will strike you down where you stand."

Johnson shakily sat next to Dante with ears trained on what was going to be said. "I can't believe that I'm gonna say this," Dante said looking down at the cars below, "This is a secret that I have kept since I was little. I can't imagine what it could do to Vergil if you knew."

Dante took a deep breath and said, "A nurse named Abby already gave you details earlier, about a demon knight named Sparda."

"Yeah. She said that your brother reminds her of Sparda. What's that got to do with an old myth?"

"There's a reason why she was reminded of him. It wasn't a myth. Like she said, Sparda and a human had twins, Vergil and me. Whatever records that you may have read about Temen-Ni-Gru, that castle on Mallet, Fortuna, and even Dumary Island were true. Vergil and I weren't exactly born humans, but we made it our job to protect them. Our mother tried her hardest to raise us well. We were taught not to fight, unless it was in a spar. When we started exhibit some demonic powers, we were home schooled for fear of what we could do to other children. For years, Vergil was my only friend. You ask why there are no records about us... They are there, but they are just too unbelievable. I mean... would you believe police reports about a man who consistently gets arrested only to disappear in police custody?"

Johnson tried hard to digest Dante's words, but they were too unfathomable. "Demons... do ... not... exist."

"Oh, they do and I once was one. How do you explain why your men could not tail Vergil for even a second, without him noticing? Or what about Vergil himself? He sustained injuries that would have killed a normal man. Not only is he alive, but he is healing himself. I'm pretty sure that if you shot him in the head now, he still wouldn't die... but you'd probably only succeed in making him very angry. I'd possess you now so that you would see, but I would only scare you farther. Most people will only believe what they see. But you have seen... may be forgotten?"

Dante spoke the latter slowly and Johnson fell, hypnotized into the spell of his clear blue eyes. Johnson's mind flashed far back into long repressed years.

He was a boy now, trapped in between a wall and a wave of advancing flames. His face and clothes were covered in soot now and his lungs were convulsing in his chest, yearning for air. Hot orange and red tongues licked at him. His life was being threatened by not only the fire, but a grotesque beast covered in a tough, brown and purple hide. It spread its claws and massive jaw ready to enjoy his fast. It already finished off a woman, a family friend that offered to watch young Carl as his parents went to the theatre. It was already known that she was a child of Wicca that exhibited very little power. Still she burned sage for protection and scryed for demons to help those in her craft. Scrying... She was still holding her crystal when the boy watched her ripped limb from limb. Thank goodness she was longer alive when it happened. The demon stepped closer, but halted in his stride. Three shots rang out and the beast crumpled to the floor with its black blood seeping into the floor boards.

Carl could hardly believe it... he was saved. "You okay kid," a voice asked. He more surprised to see that the voice originated just in front of him. The owner of the voice crouched down to meet eye level with the boy. "Hey, kid!" He could not muster a single word. He could only stare at the man that saved him. He wore loosely fitting combat boots with loose and worn, tan leather pants tucked into them. The only top he wore was a long red leather trench coat. The most eye-catching thing about the man was his snow white hair that was illuminated in the fire. "Uh... kid blink twice if you can hear me." He looked into the man's crystalline eyes and obeyed.

Johnson blinked again and snapped back to reality. "It was you... you were there that night. You saved my life." Dante didn't answer, only looked away. "I don't know why I didn't see it before. The answer was right in front of my eyes, the entire time." Johnson's words were wistful.

Dante stood up standing on the edge, staring at the cars criss-crossing the streets below. "You know now–" Dante's voice trailed off. Johnson also brought himself to his feet. "You breathe a word of this to anyone –?" Dante's voice was a little more forceful this time a he gripped the man's shoulder.

"N-No."

"Good." Dante's expression softened as he said it.

Before Johnson knew it, he was tumbling down the side of the building, falling towards the street below. He screamed as he realized that he was going to collide with a car just beneath him. Then everything went black. Not even fade to black or darkness encroaching, just cut to black.

Not my proudest of achievements, but I did accomplish something... I have been dancing around this fic for a long time. I do have an ending, but its taking longer than expected. Constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.