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Babbling

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Warnings: fluffy fluffiness wrapped in more fluffy fluffiness. Handjob.

Betad by Nimlinven

All hail Nim, the bloody mother of this fic!

'Dialogue'

"Thoughts"

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Chap 34

Sweet dreams

Under the warmth of the blanket Vergil felt calm and peaceful, until the pillow that had slipped from under his head lower into his embrace hit his ribcage none too gently. He growled, frowning, and cuddled up to it, trying to give it the right shape. The pillow resisted, though, and stroke him back, rather painfully, into his stomach and the next moment hit his nose, too rough and too hard for a pillow.

Vergil unwillingly opened his eyes and saw the back of his younger twin's head, which apparently almost broke his nose. It was dark around, the night still in full bloom.

'Uh, Dante, can't you at least sleep quietly?' Vergil let out in a hoarse whisper of his morning voice, but the younger twin didn't answer. He just moaned lightly on the verge of audibility and clutched at the bed sheets. Something disturbing sensed Vergil in those gestures, in how the moan didn't sound satisfied, in how white the knuckles on his twin's hand became.

'Dante?' Vergil shook the sleep off, hitched himself up on one elbow and touched his brother's shoulder. No response came. It could have been that Dante was fast asleep, but Vergil sensed trouble. It was intangible, yet it was there spilt in the night blue air of the bedroom. It was over the warm blanket and messed-up pillows. It was on Dante's shoulder in the form of a light, almost non-existent chill.

'Dante, come on. Wake up. Dante!' Vergil called, and finding no answer again he pulled his twin closer, turning him onto his back so that Vergil could see his face.

Something dark was smeared over the younger Sparda's face. It was also on the pillow, and some of it was on Dante's chest. Vergil dirtied his fingers while turning his twin and the dark something felt liquid and warm.

'Oh. No,' Vergil muttered to himself. He fought the sick urge to laugh: so many times he faced death, so many battles he had fought, but this was one of the rare times when he felt the real terror rise deep inside him; he could feel the ugly grimace of fear spread over his face. Foolish. Yet he could do nothing about it.

'Dante!' he called, quite loud this time. 'Wake up! You have to listen to me and wake up!' Vergil shook his twin's shoulders. 'Dante!'

He knew the chance of his twin really waking up was almost non-existent, yet he had to try. What kind of brother would he be if he didn't try everything when his twin was crying the Bloody Tears?

'Dante, hear me, please!' Vergil took the corner of the blanket and tried to wipe his younger brother's face with it. He had cleaned most of the blood away, when suddenly everything changed.

Dante's eyes snapped open and he screamed. At the top of his lungs, he let out a desperate howl that echoed through Devil Never Cry, and started to fight his way out of the bed.

Trish jerked on her bed, quickly threw the blanket away and stomped upstairs just as she was – wearing only her baggy green pajama trousers. "I'll kill that bastard, I bloody swear!"

The screams were ringing in Vergil's ears, yet like a constant heavy noise they faded into the background and didn't distract him. A strange kind of silence fell over the older Sparda, every sound was muted, and all he could hear was the beating of fear in his chest, desperation rising with every second.

Vergil struggled with his twin, pinning him to bed, but Dante found his way out yet again and again, fighting as if his life depended on it, nails scratching Vergil's arms and shoulders, leaving red traces. Dante's fingers pulled at the older Sparda's hair, tangled in the locks.

'Let go o'him!' Trish roared, kicking the door to Dante's bedroom open. She saw exactly what she was afraid to see. Vergil was straddling Dante, trying to push the resisting twin down.

'He wouldn't wake up!' not turning around, Vergil nervously shouted back at Trish, his voice cracking into an unnatural high pitch of panic.

'Fuck,' Trish diagnosed the situation, and leaned over at the doorframe. 'I'd rather prefer the rape suggestion coming true.'

Vergil finally caught his brother's hands and pinned them down to the bed sheets, but Dante was still thrashing around, looking straight ahead yet seeing nothing, trapped in the nightmare. Vergil gripped both Dante's wrists with one hand and covered the devil hunter's mouth with the other, muffling the screams.

Trish stayed where she was, motionless.

'Do something, bitch!' Vergil accused her, but she didn't budge. If a shouting Vergil couldn't wake the devil hunter up, she doubted anything else in the two worlds could.

'What?' Trish asked him grimly. 'I have no idea what in the hell is happening.'

'Oh, seems like a nightmare to me,' Azazel interrupted from behind Trish's shoulder. She started in surprise and in an unconscious gesture of self-defense kicked the demon into the opposite wall, letting a bolt of lightning through him in the process. The demon hit the corridor wall with his back and the bolt that was in his body dissipated with a white flash, burning a dark uneven trace on the oak panel.

'Hey,' Azazel coughed, rubbing his stomach with a very offended grimace and walked back to the bedroom door. 'Don't be so hostile. I come in peace.'

'I don't care how you got here,' Trish warned him, 'but get your sorry ass elsewhere, before I do it myself, kicking your lifeless body out of the agency. We have no time for you!'

'The door was open,' whined Azazel trying to justify his appearance in Devil Never Cry even though no one was listening to him: Dante was apparently insane, Vergil was busy trying to calm his struggling brother down and Trish was so obviously trying to think up a plan he could almost hear the gears working in her head. 'You din't think he could go to Hell and come back the same man, did you?'

Vergil noticed the newcomer and glared at the demon. Same jean shorts, same black flip-flips. Same ruffled short blond hair, sneaky smile and cunning eyes. Somehow, the Wishmaster irritated the Hell out of Vergil.

'Yes,' Vergil answered angrily and without any shred of doubt. 'He can! He is my brother and he – he can do that!'

The older Sparda turned back to his brother, and said slowly and dangerously, this time calm and sure, believing from the bottom of his heart that the younger twin will heed his words: 'Dante, wake up, you, or I'll tear your empty head off this weak human body! Wake up, brother!'

Without any evident reason Dante blinked, and when his eyes snapped open again he stilled and spotted Vergil. He was not screaming anymore, but his stare was somehow worried.

Vergil let go of his twin and sat back with a sigh of relief he didn't realize he was holding back, the panic finally passing.

'You real?' Dante asked squinting suspiciously, pursing his lips childishly.

'Yes, I am. What's with the stupid question?' Vergil was relieved and happy. He wanted to lean in and hug the moron, but instead he slapped the back of the idiot's head out of habit. The light feeling in his chest overwhelmed him so that he didn't really notice how he went on rambling: 'What the hell was this? You couldn't just sleep, could you? I had barely had any rest for the last days, and the first calm night you just had to…'

Dante pushed himself off the pillows, silently circled his arms around his twin's neck in a tight embrace and pulled the surprised Vergil down, successfully shutting him up with the unpredictability of the move and throwing the older Sparda onto the heap of bedsheets and limbs. Vergil obediently fell onto the bed, or rather, onto his younger brother, and didn't even give a sign of protest.

'Aaa-rright,' Trish threw her hands into the air. 'I'm out of here. And you two better not wake me up again or next time I'll bring a gun.' She turned around and faced the Wishmaster. 'You. You can take the couch in the lobby. But don't try anything stupid or I'll tell Vergil whose fault it was when his twin turned into a woman.'

'Nice boobs there,' The Wishmaster beamed at her innocently and walked downstairs.

Trish was far too sleepy to bother with a proper retort, she had her fair share of worry over Dante. But seriously, she should have stopped worrying, because since Vergil had come back it'd been more or less fine. Going crazy and turning his body into a bloody mess was not always what Dante did, yet she could write it off as collateral damage of adaptation. Now that the quarrel of the twin Sparda morons seemed over, she hoped they would work better together.

…

Trish closed the door and they were alone again in the blue dim light of the cloudy night.

'Now I need some sleep,' Vergil insisted, burying his face in the pillow, right next to his twin's shoulder. His hair spread over the pillow and some of the strands slid along Dante's face. The devil hunter sneezed and complained, grumbling:

'You are heavy.'

'Then let go of me and we will sleep properly,' Vergil offered, settling as comfortable as he could, straddling his twin and caught in the embrace of Dante's arms.

'No,' the younger Sparda cut off curtly, and Vergil mentally accepted his fate of not sleeping properly or getting into any comfortable position that night.

'Want to talk about what happened?' the older Sparda tried. He didn't want to force Dante, but his duty of the older brother insisted. And, well, he did worry.

'No,' an indifferent answer. Arms tightened around Vergil's shoulders, one hand went up and fingers gripped his hair. It was not pleasant, but he understood the need to grab onto something to feel real.

'As you wish,' Vergil said then, not to push the topic. Lying facedown was as comfortable as he could get, but had its drawbacks, the main one being the lack of air to breathe, so Vergil turned his head towards the younger twin, his nose right at Dante's ear. He was ready to say "Good night," when Dante talked.

'Just-… I can't sleep.'

'Oh, dear Lord of Netherworld, why not?' The older Sparda rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, his breath tickling Dante's ear and sending the devil hunter into giggles. There was no answer to his question, but that question was more rhetorical than anything else, so Vergil let it be.

'So what do we do then?' he asked sticking his hands under Dante's waist into the warmth between the bed sheets and the skin, slightly damp from nightmare sweat.

'Dunno. Tell me something,' Dante shrugged.

'What exactly?'

'Anything.' There was an awkward pause. Dante was deciding whether the damage of saying the thought out loud will be acceptable or not. 'As long as you keep talking it will be fine.'

'You've got to be kidding me,' Vergil pushed himself up on the elbows, and, towering over his younger twin, looked intently into his face.

'No kidding.' Dante tried to convince him. There was much more he could have said and wanted to say, but he didn't. Just stared stubbornly into Vergil's glowing azure eyes, like the stare could convey anything. It worked, though, the older Spada somehow understood both his desire to talk and unwillingness to say anything. Dante pleaded simply: 'I can't sleep now. Talk to me.'

'Not unless you let me lie down properly. I'm not your fucking plush bear.'

'Hey!' Dante opened his mouth in mock disbelief at how Vergil could ever think and even say such words to him, then threw the older Sparda off himself to the side.

Vergil snickered and rolled back to his pillow, shaped it properly, pulled the blanket up from their feet and lay down on his side, muttering: 'Come here' before dragging his twin closer and flat against his chest. Dante moved around a little bit, rested his head onto Vergil's pillow and leaned in, letting the older Sparda hold him by the waist.

The sensation was strange. Dante knew they were twins, their bodies identical, but too much time passed since they lay down like this, since he was not the one who was supposed to protect, since he could just curl up in the cozy feeling of care and rest. The feeling of how he fit perfectly against his brother calmed him down, and at the same time, irritated, because it seemed so unreal.

The sensation was strange. Vergil knew they were twins, their bodies identical, but too much time passed since they lay down like this, since it was not a small body of a female nuisance in his arms, since he knew that the person that rested in his embrace was his equal. The feeling of how his brother fit perfectly against him calmed him down, and at the same time, irritated, because it seemed so unreal.

'Let's see,' with a lot of effort Vergil suppressed a yawn, burying his face in his twin's hair. It was stifling in the room, and the usual fresh scent of Dante had turned into the smell of the heated air before the storm. 'What do you want to do tomorrow?'

'Um. Nothing?' Dante was surprised, he even turned around slightly. 'We are going to the Demon world, no?

'No, we are not,' Vergil stated very matter-of-fact-ly.

'Hey! We agreed to go there together, didn't we?' the devil hunter sounded offended. And Dante was sure he had the right to feel let down: for once, they had agreed on something and were planning on doing it together. Vergil could not walk out on him now.

'Your body is yet too fragile to fight with demons.' Vergil stated as if it was the most logical thing in the world, and with a hurried 'Let me finish!' he had to push Dante back to the pillow, when the younger Sparda turned to him to fight for his honour. 'Tomorrow, if you wish, I will prove to you that you need more rest before we discuss any possibility of going to the Demon world.'

'Fine, I accept your challenge.' Dante scowled and fell back down; Vergil's hand snaked around his waist again. 'Just like the old days?'

'Yes,' Vergil smiled complacently. 'Definitely. I'll kick your sorry ass.'

'Like hell you will!' Dante's elbow hit the older twin's stomach lightly.

'Really?' Sarcasm in Vergil's voice, normal level. 'Remember how many times you had won our mock battles on bamboo swords? You never did, you loser.'

'I am too good in real battle so I had to give you some consolation, right?' The game went on.

'Oh, su-u-u-re,' drawled Vergil, strangling his twin in the embrace. He lowered his head to speak right at Dante's ear. 'As if you could ever win. You wouldn't be able to, even if our father's sword was at stake.

You did get it the last time we fought at Temen-ni-gru,' the older Sparda added nonchalantly, as if he didn't care much for that fact, 'but I was weakened and lost because Arkham had mislead me.'

'Hmph! Let go, idiot!' Dante broke through his brother's tight hold on him and breathed heavily.

'Weakling,' Vergil teased and laughed out, letting go. He remembered how they fought at the top of the tower. And even if the reasons were messed up, it was a good fight. Most of their quarrels ended up in good fights. They fought fair yet adapted, used anything that would help them win the battle, yet never did anything foul.

He remembered how they used to fight: when they were annoyed and enraged, pushing their bodies to the limit to prove they were right; when they were lost and lonely, they fought to feel connected. Whatever happened, they fought to feel each other, to know that they were still there, still the same, the two of them. As if in the way their swords met, in the way their fists bruised flesh, there was more than words could convey, and they knew no other way to understand and accept each other.

He remembered vividly how at the top of Temen-Ni-Gru the heavy raindrops were falling down and pushed his wet hair onto his face, water flowed in streams down his face and neck, and back. He remembered Dante standing a mere step away, surprised and unbelieving when the blade of Yamato pierced instantly through his stomach. Dante's eyes then never looked down, his younger twin stared on into his eyes. Vergil could see the pain and shock in his expression; the paled lips opened when Dante exhaled and pupils dilated, a natural reaction to pain, pushing the azure irises into thin circles.

Vergil tore the sword out of his body in a swift motion and Dante was falling, still never averting his eyes. Unyielding, even in such a grave situation, rebellious even in defeat, that was the Dante he had always wanted. More than anything Vergil cherished those short moments when he could see his twin's true nature, and sometimes he thought he started all their fights just for the sake of seeing Dante like that, for the sake of reliving that connection.

Vergil turned away and walked on. He habitually threw the long white locks back, and walked, since the battle was over. He felt good, despite the leather coat heavy in the rain, despite his cold hands, despite any emotion he had had because of Dante's foolish rejection of their heritage. Vergil was sated, and almost happy, and he wanted the connection between him and his brother to stay. So when he sensed Dante trying to stand up, he turned back to his twin and ran.

Guided by the older Sparda's hand, Dante's sword went easily through his flesh and bone and with a ringing sound cut into the stone floor of the tower. His own sword, washed in his own blood - the necessary step each of them had to take on the way to adulthood. Vergil had done so years ago, but Dante didn't want to, so the older Sparda made the decision for his little brother. Even if Dante was against the legacy of their father, Vergil wanted him to survive, so without hesitation Rebellion was thrust deep into the younger Sparda's chest.

Dante would awaken, Vergil thought with strange satisfaction, and looked at his brother again, searching for the connection he longed for so much.

Dante lay on top of Temen-Ni-Gru, his power leaking out with a spreading red pool of blood. Rainwater was washing his naked chest and caressing his face, sudden drops on his eyelids and lips making Dante blink and shudder. He wouldn't move, but his eyes were staring at Vergil, unsure of what to feel. Pain? Regret? Fear? Hate? Vergil could see none of those emotions on his twin's face. It was just the two of them, Dante and Vergil, simple and clear. They just fought to know that there were still two of them.

Vergil couldn't get rid of the vision. Water sliding along the lines of Dante's body. The fresh smell of the storm, the smell of fresh blood. The heat lingering in his body after the battle. And the desire, the desire to possess and mark and violate. It was an obsession. Dante was an obsession.

'Its poking,' Dante's grave voice said.

'What?' Vergil's memories faded away, overtaken by hot, deep night reality. His obsession, the object of his desires, his twin was lying flat against him right in Vergil's embrace.

'Verge, its poking me.' Sneer, complaint and a pinch of worry.

'Oh, well.' No point denying the obvious.

'You promised to behave like my brother. This is not very brotherly.' Complaint. Unkept word more of an offence than the fact that Vergil was aroused.

'I'm not doing anything.'

'Yes you are!'

'That is involuntarily!' A ridiculous attempt to explain himself.

'Do something about it.' The most ridiculous request Vergil ever heard.

'I can't will it away.'

'You did last time.'

'Enduring is better than the heat it can bring later.'

'Then, go to the bathroom.' A fair and plain suggestion, so like Dante.

'And you will know exactly what I do and exactly what I think about. No, thank you.' Prideful even in such a situation, so like Vergil.

'Yeah, bad idea.'

'Yes. So I'll just stay like that.'

And so they stayed in the awkward silence. Two breaths and too much skin contact.

'It's disturbing.' Dante. Couldn't stay one minute without blabbering.

'Deal with it. If I can ignore it, you can.' If he could only just go to sleep already.

'Okay.'

'Okay.'

Awkward silence, two breaths and too much skin contact.

'What was I speaking about?' Dante. Never could keep his mouth shut.

'I forgot.' he wouldn't get any sleep anyway. Vergil accepted his fate. 'All I can think about now is…'

'Shut up! Just. Shut. The Hell. Up.' Vergil could smile at the obvious reaction.

'I'm silent.'

'Say something.' Dante. How predictably fast.

'Alright…' Low sexy murmur right into his ear. Teasing was one thing Vergil was perfect at.

'Something else!' Angry whisper.

'I haven't even started!' Mock offence, pursed lips, Vergil sighed.

Two breaths and too much skin contact. Minutes passed, and none of them dared to speak, trying not to ruin the calm, not to scare each other away. They just stared into the blue darkness of the night and breathed, slowly and evenly.

'Alright,' Vergil's murmur, soft and kind, finally broke the silence sometime later.

What came next, Dante hadn't heard for years since the times they shared one bed in their old home. Vergil started, low and gently, his voice a peaceful lulling wave in the night. Vergil started singing.

'Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,

Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,

Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Now you have come and my grief is removed,

Let me forget that so long you have roved.

Let me believe that you love as you loved,

Long, long ago, long, long ago.'

As Dante was taking in the slow melody in awe, he didn't even feel the demonic energy slowly crawl onto him from Vergil. With every moment he felt more relaxed, he closed his eyes and listened to the voice.

'Do you remember the paths where we met?

Promises made that we'll never forget

Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Yet to my love you have others preferred,

Others you gifted with love in each word.

Long, long ago, long, long ago.'

Vergil's power pushed Dante into slumber, and he could barely make out the words. He never could remember them, even as Vergil sang the song to him thousands of times as they were kids.

'Though side by side we as brothers were raised,

You by more eloquent lips have been praised,

Long, long ago, long, long ago.

But, by long absence your truth has been tried,

Now that you're here I listen with pride,

Blessed as I was when I sat by your side

Long, long ago, long ago.'

Dante was sniffing quietly in his arms when Vergil finished the lullaby. The older Sparda looked at his work fondly, very proud of himself for thinking of using his power to put the younger twin to sleep, smacked the moron on the temple and finally, too, closed his eyes and tried to rest.

'Sweet dreams.'

About a minute passed, Vergil could tell by the ticking of the clock in the far corner of the room. Then his patience exploded, he pushed the blanket onto Dante and sat up.

'Fuck this shit, bathroom.'

Vergil stomped downstairs.

In one of the empty guestrooms of the first floor where the velvety darkness of the night enveloped him Vergil stood in the bathroom in front of the two-meter high antique mirror in a carved black frame and frowned, hesitant.

'I can't believe I'm doing it,' he told the man behind the looking glass and sighed.

He had brought the damn mirror from the storage room which was more of a room for any shit that needed to be pushed into the far corner till better days. The mirror had stayed there under a dusty bedsheet, but he'd found it and miraculously taken through the corridor and to the bathroom. Somehow, he managed to make almost no noise. It would have been hard to explain what he was doing in the middle of the night with an antique mirror in hands in the back of the agency.

'I'm so not doing this,' Vergil tried to convince himself again, and stared at the man behind the mirror, who was cut by the cracks into a thousand small pieces. Those were bullet holes, he was sure, the three small round holes in the mirror that bloomed into three big buds of cracks. Who knew, what had happened in Devil Never Cry before he came.

The man behind the glass glared back. He looked strange to Vergil: almost perfect, yet there was no smile, no cockiness, and his hair was combed back. The face was the same as Dante's yet something was off, and Vergil knew even though he didn't want to admit it, that the man lacked strength. Not the physical one, and not the demonic power. The man behind the mirror had fought life and had lost the battle. But Dante, he had been fighting his whole life and was always the victor. There was no defeat on Dante's face.

"I wish I could…" Vergil absently wished, but the thought slipped away. He gave up all coherent thoughts and just let himself feel the peace.

The night was silent and calm. Vergil stepped from the bathroom rug onto the tiles, cool under his bare feet, light blue in the night light, and came closer to the mirror. He leaned against the wooden frame, fingers habitually caressing the intricate lines of the dark carving, tracing the crack lines on the broken glass.

Everything around was black, blue and white. The man in the mirror looked at him with his azure eyes, and his glare softened. He smiled in the corner of his iris lips and pushed the celeste locks down. The lines were right, yet not the ones. In the tall mirror Vergil could see the man, his whole figure, standing on the bathroom floor only in his pants. He could see every curve and angle of his body, his sky blue skin. He could see years of fights and days of training. He could see how he was holding his body, aware of everything around him, always ready to strike and to defend himself. Almost Dante, but just not yet.

The man from behind the mirror looked up and their eyes met. For a moment Vergil could see in his features something very much like adoration, but then it was just the face. The stubborn face with cunning eyes and a tricky smile.

Vergil snickered and closed his eyes to cherish the moment, satisfied. When he looked up again the man was still there, still smug and daring.

Vergil gave in and slipped down to his knees and then to the floor. He tilted his head and rested it against the frame of the mirror. The iris lips of the man behind the glass were close. If only the subtle difference would fade and that man would really turn to Dante. If only the cracks that welt his lips and cheeks, that flog across his bare chest and over his shoulders would skin over and the splinters would merge.

At that moment Vergil truly understood, once and forever, that whatever twisted feeling had tied him to Dante, it had gone through friendship, rivalry, hate and lust and had been purified into the finest of feelings, that rang through him with crystal bells of care and nothing cloud ever soil it.

All he saw was a mirror. That was the closest Vergil could get, so he resigned himself. He knew that what he was going to do was absolutely dirty, yet he was sure, that nothing could distort the clear feeling he had.

He unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down, the second time that night. Vergil silently swore to himself yet again never to suppress his desires, unless he had a flock of whores around.

He licked his dry lips, and the man behind the glass did the same. Arousal shot through Vergil, he bit his lip – a big mistake - and with all the willpower he had, he took his hard member out.

He had read before that demons, having not so many females who could bear a child, were supposed to be ready to reprocreate practically any time, but he never expected any time to have literal meaning.

Vergil took the hardened flesh in his hand and stroke languidly, then turned back to the man behind the glass. He was sitting down, relaxed and nonchalant, his hand moving slowly along his erect cock, chest rising evenly under the net of black cuts. He was looking at Vergil from under the messed-up celeste hair with challenge and a portion of curiosity, his moist lips glistening and half-open.

If there had been a difference, now it was almost smeared, and Vergil could almost believe it was Dante. He gasped at the wave of excitement and stroke himself fast and impatiently. His breath came uneven, he let his head fall down and in a couple of strokes he was done, the drops of cum falling onto the floor.

Vergil panted and looked up. From the splinters the man raised his head and gave him a dark glare of lust and madness, that made Vergil shiver. He blinked in surprise, and it was all gone, they were just sitting there together catching their breaths.

Vergil glared. She glared back at him.

He combed his wet hair back with his fingers and made a sip of water from the glass he was holding. She squinted at him, took the pack of orange juice from the kitchen table and made a gulp.

Vergil put the glass into the sink, still following her every movement from the corner of his eye. She was eyeing him, too, but stayed silent till he headed out of the kitchen. When he almost let, Trish suddenly asked:

'Why him?'

'What?' He turned around, confused by the question.

'You know what,' Trish sat onto the chair and folded her arms. She was wearing her pajama pants so her bare breasts were annoying Vergil, but the conversation bothered him more.

'Because I'm a narcisstic self-centered bastard?'

'Seriously?' Trish raised her eyebrows waiting for a proper answer.

'Oh, why, yes,' Vergil said without batting an eyelid. Then, noticing that sarcasm had no due effect, he gave her a tired look. 'No. Despite common beliefs, when I look at Dante I do not see myself. It works absolutely the other way round. I see him too much, so when I finally look into the mirror I see him, not myself.'

'Hm, interesting.' Apparently, Trish didn't believe a single word. 'Still, it doesn't answer my question.'

'I want power,' Vergil said, this time serious, but those words drew even more disbelief from the demoness.

For a split second the older Sparda was hesitating whether he should tell her, then came back into the kitchen and sat onto the chair across from Trish.

'True power,' he told her, as if he was teaching a child the rules of the world, 'is not just having power. It is ownership, but it's not so simple, not just possessing.

It is being able to use power. Not necessarily executing it, ever, but having the right to. True power is control, the ability to use it at any moment, and knowledge, that there will be no resistance, just compliance. True power brings the feeling like you can grasp the whole world. Like you can grasp heavens.

I want power over Dante. Even if I am the only one who truly understands it, it doesn't matter. Since I still feel it.'

'You are so bullshitting me.' Trish looked at him intently.

'I love him.'

With a loud slap Trish plastered her palm over her face.

...endo chap 34...

Who's your mommy? Yeah we did it in time!

So, um, tell us what you think? Drop me a line down there in reviews. more reviews - more pr0n!

damn you guys. over a hundred ppl the first day and only 3 had the decency of speaking back to me. Blah. wtf im burning my ass for here writing this shit. *angry*

I know I update like a bitch twice a year but uh, you remember, right? Better nothing than boring shit. So forgive me for that(

Half-demonChild17, well since it was a dream and half delirium there was no right narrative)

DerrickNathaniel, welcome to the fic! Here is your cherry-welcome-pie! I guess you were the person who got the most effect of chap 33 since you read it all in row XD now you know how I luv you readers)))

Barranca you wont believe but the 'Hell' in the title has NOTHING to do with angst in the fic. Yeah. You will learn in approximately chap 46 about that.)

ladysubaru83 now you know!

KiKa, damn, bitch, you are one of my favourite readers. I should dedicate one of the chaps to ya. I so damn love how you gimme feedback. Aght *pudding*. Now I hope after the tragedie of chap 33 you will enjoy the overdose of fluff))

Edge of the Sky you got a pm since you were the 1st review) so just enjoy!))))

Ethan