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Babbling
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Warnings: too sweet?
Betad by the greates of all - Nimlinven
LOL PPL IM BACk
Update surprise muzufukuz. Too surprised myself to say something. 0_0
Thanks for being there, if there is still anyone alive
'Dialogue'
"Thoughts"
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Chap 35
Takes two to tango
Dante woke up, but didn't open his eyes. The warm rays of sun were touching his cheek and elbow. He groped around for the blanket, but found something made of leather, which was without any doubt Vergil's coat. The fresh smell of pines and winter - the undeniable silent evidence of his older twin's presence - was all over the place, so Dante pulled the coat over his shoulders and for some time just enjoyed the warmth, lulled by the coziness and morning calm.
Vergil was not right there with him, but for once Dante knew not to worry: the asshole would have never left without his damn coat. It was a family thing. If the coat was left on the bed for him to find, it must have been Vergil's way to try to be more – Dante didn't find the word, but he knew that Vergil at least tried to be considerate, tried to make the link between them work, and he definitely appreciated the gesture. Finally it was not only him who tried to fix the shattered relationship, to return back to the old days when it was the two of them against the world, not against one another – and for a change, it felt nice.
When he decided he had his fair share of morning pointless lying around, Dante threw his twin's coat off and sat upright, lazily rubbing his eyes. By the angle of the sun rays, it was still pretty early in the morning. At least by Dante's standards – it was still before lunchtime.
Dante yawned and slid from the bed. The towel he had on after shower the day before had been lost long ago somewhere on the floor, so Dante buried himself in the wardrobe in a poor attempt to find some clean jeans - and after some thorough search he did find a pair of black ones, which he threw over his shoulder and marched into the bathroom.
The bath had a very uneven and a very damaged edge, which made Dante smile, not really at the memory, more at the fact that his life was getting a familiar kind of mess because of Vergil being nearby. At least, there were no glass and ceramic splinters on the floor anymore: the self-centered asshole must have had the decency to clean up.
After a quick refreshing shower Dante was still yawning, but at least his brain started to function. Unlike his twin, he had always had troubles waking up. He could kill for Vergil's briskness and liveliness, which the older Sparda somehow possessed at 6 AM, the mystery Dante could never unravel.
The devil hunter shook his head, spreading little drops of water around, wet hair falling into his eyes, left the bedroom and ran down the stairs into the lobby.
In the mess of paper, broken shelves, pieces of furniture and glass splinters there were demons, clad in dark torn robes, slowly struggling through the lobby of Devil Never Cry towards Dante, sharp scythes swinging through the air. In the middle of all that, unnoticed by the intruders, on the part of the purple couch which had not been ripped open, lay the Wishmaster. He was sound asleep, face in the pillow, ass up, one hand hanging down.
'Seriously,' Dante squinted, scratched his back and sighted.
The demons, being the lower stupid beings, hardly a threat to Dante even in his weakened state, were slowly moving towards him, led by the tasty smell of a human. One of them swung its scythe and cut through the back of the couch. The Wishmaster just snored.
'Seriously?' Dante threw his hands in the air. As if a Verginator attack the previous day didn't ruin his shop enough. With a huge inhale the devil hunter filled his lungs with air and shouted:
'Vergil!'
Nothing happened.
'Tsk,' with an unhappy grimace Dante showed a decently angry fuck towards the roof – the only place where his stupid brother could have been not to hear him calling.
Ignoring the demons, Dante went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, gulped it down and stomped upstairs, leaving the mess and the demons behind. The old wooden door to the roof was not locked, so Dante kicked it open and as joyfully as his morning state allowed threw himself into a gust of cool fresh air.
In the middle of the vast, golden and azure sky Vergil, clad in his blue trousers and high shoes, was dancing with Yamato, peacefully slicing through the wind with grace and such easiness that it became mesmerizing. The blows Vergil was practicing were swift and momentary, and there was hardly another swordsman in the two worlds, who could make them linger like he did. The blade was cutting through the air so slowly it seemed unreal. All the movements of his legs, hips, shoulders, elbows, hands, fingers passed one after the other in a strict succession forming a perfect never-ending smooth motion, that made Dante forget whatever reason made him go up to the roof.
Vergil finished another turn, the tip of the blade finished another flourish and suddenly the motion withered away into complete stillness. The older Sparda straightened up, walked to the brick roof fence, snatched the scabbard and sheathed Yamato.
'Hey,' he turned to Dante with a self-satisfied smile. 'Morning. You woke up early.'
'Hey,' Dante answered automatically. It took him a couple of seconds to shake off the delusion. It's been a while since he saw his twin practice, so to cover up for his momentary confusion Dante went straight to the point. 'The's a bunch of demons in my wrecked lobby. Wrecked by you. So I thought you might go clean up. The demons, and the lobby.'
'What, you can't even handle a few low-lives?' Vergil sat onto the fence, enjoying the morning breeze tousling his hair.
'Of course I can,' the devil hunter nearly pouted. 'Even if I am human, it doesn't mean I can't kill a demon.'
'But this is exactly what it means,' the older Sparda said and his expression was quite serious.
'Come here, you jerk, I'll show you!' Dante felt cut to the heart. He walked over to his twin and hit the fucker in the face.
Somehow, the body didn't react as fast as it used to. Dante was expecting it, to some extent, but the gap between his present and past power turned out to be gigantic. His eyes were as sharp as before, so he saw his own movement as if in slow motion, an awkward struggle of a newborn child, predictable, stupid, easy.
His fist hit Vergil's palm and pain instantly shot through his nerves all the way from knuckles to the shoulder. It was evident that Vergil could block such a punch with his eyes closed, but the realization still hurt, even more than the physical impact.
'Ow,' Dante bit his lip and looked at his twin. Vergil had simply caught his hand, he hadn't even moved from the place where he had been sitting.
Even if he didn't show it, Vergil himself was shocked by how easy it was to overpower Dante now. He still foolishly hoped that the next hit would come harder, but deep inside knew that his hope was vain. So Vergil silently accepted the change, however unpleasant and unwanted it was, and now he had to make Dante accept it. Before they made any decisions on what to do next, he needed Dante to start to care about himself, he needed Dante to survive, he needed Dante to live. Even if it meant being harsh, Vergil had to make him face the reality.
'That was quite weak I should tell you,' the older Sparda informed his younger brother with a great deal of concern.
'Fuck off,' Dante stepped back, squeezing his hurt hand. He expected weakness, but admitting it in front of Vergil was not something he would do. He still had his dignity. Dante was the one who didn't give up till the very end, so he tried again with a surprise attack. His fist connected, and for a moment Dante was feeling the same old demon hunter, who didn't have to watch his back every second, but the happiness lasted no more than for a blink of an eye, because it was again the older Sparda's palm: Vergil caught his hand again.
Dante was getting angry. Irritated. He had to get to his brother, so he went on hitting his older twin pretty much like a punching bag, not holding back, letting his hands fly with as much force as he could master.
The damn jackass caught every one of them, not even breaking a sweat.
In a couple of minutes Dante became tired, so he stepped back, breathing heavily, bending forward with his hands against his knees.
'Phew,' the devil hunter finally let out. 'Maybe, it's become a little harder.'
'You didn't make it even once,' Vergil told him simply, and it was still not a sneer, the older Sparda was truly troubled by such a result.
'Damn…' Dante had to face the fact that he was a fucking human. But he still could carry out his plans regardless, so he stood up resolutely. 'Whatever. I've got guns. I'm still going with you to the Demon world.'
'Well, you may be able to kill a couple of demons if you are armed,' admitted Vergil, 'but how am I supposed to protect your fragile body?'
'My body is not fucking fragile!' Dante pointed his finger at his brother in complete outrage.
The older Sparda looked back at him, waiting for acceptance stage, but it didn't come. Dante was stuck on denial.
'Alright, come on, hit me then.' Dante spread his arms wide open, encouraging Vergil to act. 'Do you think I can't hold a bloody punch from a demon?'
Vergil took in how Dante stood proudly and impudently in the middle of the roof, clad only in some old jeans, open as the vast blue sky above him, wild and angry, the perfectly interwoven muscles and tendons hard under light skin. His chest all in small pearly water drops was rising up with every breath, the wind caressed his messy wet hair and with shiny azure eyes piercing right through, to Vergil he seemed like the Dante he had always known - stupid, but determined and strong. Like that Dante who could come out into the rain of bullets not batting an eyelid, who could disregard a sword in his chest, who played with death for breakfast. But Vergil knew better.
Vergil knew – for Dante now every strike of a sword promised suffering and pain, every bullet was a messenger of sure death, every careless step could mean the end. What surprised Vergil was that he didn't care. He still saw Dante, without the demon powers, yes, but strong, determined and stupid, and he still wanted him. Power, demonic energy, the legacy of their father, that he so fervently pursued his whole life? Vergil didn't even bother to think about those things. He still had respect for Dante, maybe even more that ever.
Vergil would have tried to say that yes, he thought that Dante wouldn't survive even one blow from a demon now, but it was his younger brother he was speaking about, so using words – whichever those would be - was useless. Dante learned from experience only and Vergil had no other way but to agree:
'Fine. I'll do it. And I won't hold back.'
'Well, don't. That's the point,' Dante nodded and before he could see it, everything happened.
Vergil didn't want to hit his younger twin. Now that he had seen the change, Vergil didn't want Dante to go to the Demon world; he didn't want anybody to hurt him; he didn't want to be the one to hurt Dante. But there was no other way to make the stubborn moron be more careful, no other way to make him understand the frailty of his life.
"Better me than anyone else." Vergil swiftly stood up from the fence, closed the distance in one stride and hit Dante in the chest, slightly lower than his heart. He thought the ribs would stop him if something went wrong.
The touch felt uncommonly soft, almost like hitting a pillow, that's when the first seed of true fear sprout in the older Sparda's heart. His hand hit the skin easily, painting it with a dark violet bruise, but didn't stop. Dante's hurt skin exploded around Vergil's fingers in bright sprays of blood and let the punch in. A couple of ribs on the way didn't stop him as Vergil expected. On the contrary, they cracked like dry sticks, cleaved into splinters and went through flesh.
Vergil eyed in horror as his hand went through his twin's body, plunging in till the wrist, ripping muscles like old cloth.
"No," was all Vergil could think, petrified by fear. His heart stopped dead in his chest, eyes snapped wide open in shock and disbelief, and the world shattered around him, leaving black void in the middle of which was Dante, his human shell torn by non other than Vergil himself.
"Please, no!" Regret was bitter as acid on his tong. Even through the terror Vergil could feel how warm his brother's body was, how hot was the dripping liquid blood.
"No!" Vergil never wanted to harm Dante, let alone kill him in such a stupid quarrel. They didn't even fight properly. How could he? Why hadn't he stopped?
Vergil had to do something immediately. Heal Dante, before it was too late. Fix what he had done, act quickly, stop the time if he could.
Every moment suddenly became extremely important. Vergil pulled his fist back. Slick with blood, his hand slid out of the devil hunter's body through the muscles and tendons, opening up a big ugly hole in Dante's chest, but giving Vergil the freedom to move.
Vergil could have torn his own body apart if it helped Dante, but he knew it wouldn't – even ripping his own chest and neck would have not produced enough blood immediately, instead it would have made Dante sad, so if Vergil could avoid that – he would.
Before Dante could even process what was going on, before the blood could poor down from the open wound, before his twin could fall down, Vergil ran. Not feeling his own body, not feeling anything at all except for the freezing fear inside, he dove into the open door from the roof, ran through the corridors pushing himself off the walls with bloodied hands; flew down the stairs, two, three, four at a time, heartbeat pulsing in his head unbearably loud, inexorably marking the moments; as if he was deaf, blind and mute, Vergil leaped through the lobby and into the kitchen going for his only goal.
Vergil couldn't spot the fridge handle immediately, so he thrust his fingers covered by blue stains into the black metal door and ripped it open. The blood was there, so Vergil bent down, grabbed as many black plastic bags with vital cobalt liquid as he could and threw himself towards the door.
In the pulsing, suffocating silence of fear the older Sparda ran back upstairs, through a white haze of corridors, up the ashy stairs. Clutching at the door frame, he burst onto the roof, where under the dark violet and rusty-red sky Dante was still standing, a tall black figure in white jeans, wavering, as if in a heatwave.
Momentarily Vergil was behind his twin. Nails sharpening, he ripped through the plastic bags and squished them, rich blue liquid pouring all over Dante's back and sides.
"Please, heal him!" Vergil almost prayed, throwing the used packages away and catching his twin, one hand across the chest, holding Dante up, the other smearing the cobalt cold blood onto the wound. Vergil's heart beat once, twice and the blood started to disappear, sucked into Dante's body. "Please, fix him!"
Everything ended as abruptly as it had started. Dante coughed in surprise, and fell back into Vergil's embrace. The low dark sky rose high and shone blue, turned translucent with the golden sun rays. Dante's black skin averted to its natural colour, and the cobalt blood stains over Dante's back and Vergil's chest that were getting smaller and smaller regained their redness – and finally disappeared. Vergil could again hear the wind and the sounds of the morning city.
'What?' Dante whispered, hanging helplessly in his twin's arms. He saw Vergil going for a punch just one moment ago, but in a blink of an eye his older brother was behind him, apparently holding his suddenly helpless limp body. What the hell happened, Dante had no idea, but his head was somehow dizzy.
The ugly wound on Dante's side was gone: the bones had been restructured, the muscles had stretched over, the skin was almost done regenerating.
'Dante,' Vergil sighed with relief, tightened his embrace around the devil hunter's chest. 'Do not ever scare me like that again, you bloody brainless idiot of a fucker!'
'What happened?' Dante asked hoarsely.
"I thought I… killed you," Vergil wanted to say, but instead just asked:
'How are you feeling, does it hurt?' Adrenaline was still rushing in his veins, the leftover sediment of fear, and his body started shaking uncontrollably in delayed shock. It still seemed to Vergil that Dante was in danger, even though he felt the warm body in his embrace, even though Dante was breathing just fine and looking in awe down at his chest and stomach but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
'Nah, 'm fine. Just my side is itching and I'm kinda tired.' Dante didn't seem to fully grasp the graveness of the situation he found himself in. But he did feel the shaking in his older brother's hands so he turned around and stared inquiringly at his twin.
Vergil couldn't calm down, like being there with Dante was not enough, like he didn't have enough power to protect his twin, like a lingering feeling of inevitable death was hiding in Dante's face, that was now looking up at him.
"Should have never listened to you," Vergil scolded himself. "I start thinking I am even more of an idiot than you are. All I tried was to prevent you from being hurt, and the first thing I do is injure you again. Again!.."
And Vergil understood why he still felt like Dante was in danger. Of course, it was true, and the shadow of that danger was on his twin's face, and it was his own shadow.
'Me…' Vergil shuddered involuntarily. 'Its me. I couldn't control my own emotions, couldn't control this power I have now… the danger is myself'.
Well, the thought had occurred to him before. Many times he had come to a conclusion that Dante would be better off without him. Vergil knew he behaved like a total dick more often than he was ready to admit and had offended Dante more than he deserved, but these last days… a lot of things have changed and to his utmost surprise, Dante himself preferred him close despite all good reason. For that, Vergil was willing to try to be more honest, more fair, more… Vergil tried to be better.
Vergil did his best, yet he realized clearly that he still had a rather burning desire for Dante, the dirty, sinful desire that he could barely restrain simply because he didn't want to hold it in. All Vergil wanted to let go and claim what he needed – but he couldn't. Dante didn't want him, and Vergil was suffocating without the touch, was burning from inside out without a way to release his desire. He was afraid to lose it one day, he feared that he would hurt his twin, take him against his will, but then Dante let him in. Despite all odds, without any reasoning, Dante let him stay, let him hold his hand, let him touch his skin and lips, and Vergil realized he could probably get by these crumbs.
Vergil had hope. Dante was stubborn, blind, stupid, bound by the human idea of what a man should be like, bound by habits and what was familiar, but Vergil had not given up. It's been just several days since he had come from a Demon world, thrown out like a broken doll – to be picked up by his brother, and now it seemed like over this short period of time their life, his and Dante's, had been turned upside down. Vergil believed that if he stayed with Dante, if they kept on together, maybe things would settle down.
Maybe, Dante would let him be by his side and it would become their new habit. Or maybe, his own passion would dissipate over the years and he would be able to be the older brother Dante had always dreamed of. One way or the other, the time would pass and they could work it out together, as long as he could hold Dante's hand.
Vergil looked down at his hands, the same ones that were covered in Dante's blood just moments ago. Those hands were on Dante's chest, and Vergil didn't know when would be the next time he miscalculated his strength and accidentally broke his twin.
'Moron,' Vergil said angrily and curtly, and stepped back, releasing Dante from his hug as fast as possible, almost jerking his own hands off him. Just when everything was getting better, things changed again, stripping Vergil of the ability he craved so much – to touch his brother. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He didn't want to take that risk. 'Any longer and the wound would have been fatal! Don't you have any sense of self-preservation at all?' He was saying bullshit to cover for the fear that gripped him again.
'What wound?' Surprised, Dante inspected his body again, awkwardly wriggling around, throwing his hands up and stretching. Finding nothing strange yet again, turned to the older Sparda in utter confusion.
'You don't remember?' Vergil quirked an eyebrow. 'I hit you, just as you wanted, you idiot. And you would have died, so I ran downstairs, took some of my blood from the fridge and smeared it over your wound.' Dante was not supposed to know what exactly happened, not supposed to worry about his brother's power. Vergil could guard him from that, so details were not so important, and the older Sparda kept his regrets and fears to himself.
'Whoah, that's a lot of action for a moment in time.' Dante didn't know what surprised and angered him more – the fact that Vergil was so strong that almost got him in one shot or the fact that his older brother had fed him the blood yet again or the fact that there was blood in the fridge, or everything altogether. He was not happy with how the morning progressed anyway, but Vergil was there and they could work out a plan, as long as he didn't kill his brother in the process.
Dante looked at the torn plastic bags, once filled with blood, but now lying on the floor, sighed, and throwing the old wooden door open started going back downstairs. Vergil followed silently, intently staring at his brother's broad back, as if his stare could fix Dante in place and save him from all the dangers in the world.
'It was strange though', said Vergil thoughfully, recollecting his own actions. 'For a moment it seemed that the world had changed its colours.'
'Quicksilver,' Dante guessed. 'You must be getting all the powers I gave you.'
It sounded innocent and light, and Dante obviously wasn't much bothered with what had happened, but Vergil almost stumbled. He remembered what Dante called 'giving' and it left him wondering how his younger brother could even stand him in the same room, let alone touch him. Sometimes Dante's frivolity was a blessing that helped them both get over the darkest of things.
Vergil stepped off the last stair and walked on along the corridor with a serious intention of apologizing properly. He knew that the Ultimate Gift made Dante back into a man, but there was more to it, and he never truly understood what Dante was thinking about, going for such drastic measures. But one way or the other it all happened – The Gift, and what was after. Vergil owed Dante a lot of serious apologies for trying to leave him behind, for not trusting enough, for not saving him from the imprisonment in the hospital, for being selfish, rude, and a bastard altogether.
But Dante was walking along the narrow corridor oblivious to Vergil's thoughts and feelings.
'Day,' Vergil called him softly and held out his hand to touch his twin's shoulder, but his fingers froze in the air, not reaching Dante. What happened on the roof flashed before Vergil's eyes – the blood, the awful hollow wound in his twin's body – and Vergil couldn't touch him, not now, not anymore.
'Quicksilver, you know,' Dante went on, apparently not hearing his older brother. 'That thing that stops the time. You'll learn to control it. As well as Nevan's lightning and the Doppelganger… Hey, you have the Doppel now-…' Realization dawned on Dante and he turned around midstep, surprising Vergil who almost walked right into him, but quickly swayed back.
'What?' Vergil looked confused, he was not really listening. He was more worried about how to protect his brother from wrecking his body again. 'All that matters not. I am strong enough as it is and I am not going to bother with minor miscontrol until I see you completely healed and rested.'
'What?' As always, it took Dante several seconds to decipher what his wordy brother was implying. Vergil was not focused on how to control his newly acquired power, and that seemed odd until Dante realized that the fucker was more fixed on the idea of torturing him. 'No! I am not fucking sitting in bed another day!' Dante protested immediately. 'See?' He waved his hands around and spun on the spot for better effect. 'I'm fine! Can move just fine!'
'You sure?' Vergil eyed him with suspicion. He was aware, however, that Dante didn't see most of what happened which explained the devil hunter's typical empty-headed attitude. Vergil, though, admitted that he could have been over reacting himself because of fear.
'Sure! I'm fine. Stop sulking more than you usually do, your face is so dark it could grow mould any second now.' Dante smacked his twin on the back of his head. 'How much blood didja give me? I'm feeling too healthy.'
'There were 7, maybe 8 packs…' Yes, Vergil would agree, with such an amount his brother could be fine.
'Sev-… the fucking fridge!' Dante looked at Vergil with big round eyes, then wordlessly stomped out in silent rage. The shithead had wrecked yet another thing in his agency – and none other than the holy fridge.
'Shit, Dante!' Vergil called, but his twin didn't listen and didn't stop. The steps ran down the stairs, then something was thrown across the lobby, then there was silence.
Dante was stopped on his way to the kitchen and now was taking in the scenery of the lobby. When he first saw it that day it was a wreck, with demons around and a Wishmaster on the couch. Now it was still a wreck, but all over the place were huge splashes of dark demon blood, as if the lower ones that used to be there exploded on the spot. The purple couch was also empty. It had a greenish-bluish jelly where the Wishmaster used to lay.
'Ew,' Dante turned away from the site and marched into the kitchen. The fridge was covered in bloody handprints and turned inside-out. 'Verge, seriously, first the lobby, now the kitchen, too? What next, my bedroom?'
Walking down the stairs and into the lobby Vergil knew all too well that the true scandal was going to break out slightly later, when Dante would look into the fridge, so he didn't deign that with an answer. He was passing by half of Dante's desk that lay upside down with only one cracked leg sticking up, when the front door of Devil Never Cry flung open and a tall naked blond woman accusingly screamed at him:
'Watch out where you unleash your blasted power you freak!'
Vergil froze mid-step.
'Who the hell are you?' Dante stuck his head out from the kitchen.
'Bastards, why do I even bother with you two,' the blonde cavalierly spat at them, walked up to the purple couch and put on the black flip-flops. 'I'm the Wishmaster.'
'What happened?' Vergil asked pensively. He wanted to laugh and he really wanted to know what happened, but he was not going to show any of that.
'You, you retarded piece of-...!' Hate and other boiling emotions drowned the Wishmaster and he didn't finish. 'Because of you I have no dick! I was sleeping soundly here, never harmed anyone, and the next thing I know you wipe me out along with those lower demons! Have you ever heard of such a thing as control? Did you really have to unload your whole bloody aura onto a dozen of lows? I was just sleeping here, and you ruined my last male shell for nothing!'
Vergil didn't even notice he had done such a thing. He was too preoccupied with more important problems, such as a dying Dante. But seeing the Wishmaster suffer so much made him smile kindly.
'Serves you right!' Dante hailed spitefully and with great satisfaction. 'Endure that you motherfucker, now it's your turn to have no cock!'
'Hey, no fair!' the Wishmaster turned to the devil hunter, 'That was involuntarily!'
"That's right, because of him Dante was a woman!" Vergil remembered, and rage that he had thought was gone rose from the depth of his heart.
With a sloppy splash the blonde exploded into green jelly, smeared away from the Dark Knight.
'I like that,' Vergil shook his head with approval.
'The f-…' Dante stared at him from the kitchen. 'You! You clean that up! Hear me?' And before the older Sparda could invent a witty answer, he opened the crashed fridge door. 'Holy crap…'
Dante kept gaping at the shelves inside. At the sides there were bags with ice smoking with cold white steam, while the center was all occupied by packs of blood. They were like in a cheap movie, those donor bags he could see in а hospital, but with no marks. Tens, dozens of packs on each shelf. All full.
'What. Is. This?' he finally mouthed, slapped the fridge door close so hard that all the glass in the kitchen jingled, and turned to his older twin. 'Answer before I kill you.'
Vergil considered lying, avoiding any direct answer and ignoring the question, but none of the listed means ever got him far with Dante, so disregarding the consequences – regarding those also resulted in the effect opposite to the expected one quite often – Vergil informed his twin calmly:
'That is my blood. I needed some reserve in case…'
'In case what?' Dante was seriously shouting. True, the older Sparda expected him to be unhappy about his little stock, but Dante was overreacting. 'Are you out of your mind? Do not fucking go crippling yourself in my agency! If you want to cut off your arm or pluck out your bloody eyes – fine, be my guest, like I care! You would do that even if I begged you not to, you stubborn crazy fucking jerk! But don't do that in front of me in my blastered home! Do you-…'
'Shut the fuck up!' Vergil roared, overlaying his twin's bullshit. He was angry himself now since Dante couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that the whole blood-taking thing did no physical harm and that very stock that Dante was so agitated about saved him earlier. 'I did that because it was needed for you!'
Dante closed his mouth and stared at his older twin, frowning. Dante was furious at Vergil harming himself, Vergil was enraged by Dante not healing his weakened body properly. Both were quite surprised to find out the other was caring enough to start screaming.
'Are you mad?' Vergil asked, sighing in defeat. After all his objective was to be nice not to start more fights.
'Absolutely,' Dante pursed his lips and imitated a hateful glare, even though he didn't feel any of his initial fury anymore. Maybe just some general familiar irritation at his brother for doing something stupid.
Vergil felt the shift and suddenly laned against the doorframe and smiled smugly at his twin, giving out a laidback and friendly aura.
'I tried my best,' he proudly explained, as if expecting praise for fucking up his own brother.
'I'll kill you,' Dante whispered in outrage. That fucking smug face with slightly disheveled hair, bright daring eyes, sharp cheek-bones and pursed cherry lips needed a good old punch. It asked for it, it begged for it. So Dante leaped over, circling his arms around his older brother's waist and successfully pulled Vergil to the floor. A flock of papers rose up around them, something cracked, something shattered, Vergil's head hit the leg of a broken chair, Dante's arm scratched against a splinter.
The older Sparda didn't put much effort into resisting, he was just helplessly shielding himself with his arms from a rather angry Dante, who straddled him and tried to pommel him into the ground. Dante's punches, even as Vergil let them fall, didn't do much damage apart from making him ticklish, but like this, simply letting his twin do whatever he wanted, Vergil could feel the weight of Dante on him, the radiating heat from where their bodies connected, and could stop thinking of how not to harm Dante.
It was refreshing, like their fights in old days, and Vergil suddenly felt so happy, that above all the noise they made while wriggling on the floor rose his clear loud laughter.
Dante was not that much furious anymore, but he continued the mess for the sake of the mess itself. His punches were light, his older brother was laughing below him with his eyes closed, half-heartedly trying to catch his hands and throw him off, failing miserably with yet another fit of laughter, that made both of them wriggle around.
The original idea of making his older brother suffer was not working, so Dante needed another strategy, which he found pretty quickly. Avoiding Vergil's arms, he snaked his hands into the older Sparda's hair and ruffled it, thoroughly tousling the long white strands that used to be combed back into proper bed hair fit for morning look.
Vergil gasped in shock at Dante's foul move, swiftly grasped his wrists, stopping the blasphemy and was ready to say everything he thought of such outrageous treachery, when the door of the agency opened yet again and an angry naked redhead girl walked in.
'Seriously, you, stop that!' She yelled, hitting the wall with her small fist. She seemed like eighteen or nineteen years old and looked ridiculous with her thin body and long hair in small curls like deranged bronze wire. Noticing the twins on the floor, who had stopped their fighting and looked at her expectantly, she explained: 'Not that as in lying on the floor one on the other, 'cause that's a nice show. Stop blowing my bodies up one after the other!'
'Oh, you again.' Vergil was the first to understand.
'You deserved that!' Said Dante, jerked his hands from the older Sparda's grip and sat up right, still on top of his twin.
'You'll never let it go, will ya?' The Wishmaster asked rethorically. He walked in with a very dissatisfied grimace and picked up his slippers from the middle of the wasted lobby. 'l'll be havin' breakfast if ya need me,' he said and disappeared in the kitchen, where immediately started to jingle with dishes and frying pans.
Vergil sighed in relief and relaxed on the floor, putting his hands down, since the fight was over.
'Hey, you okay?' Dante asked suddenly.
'Why?' Vergil even looked up at him to see what was wrong. When he traced Dante's worried stare he saw quite a big glass splinter sticking out of his left forearm. It was approximately the size of his palm and was stuck pretty deep. 'Oh, I didn't notice'.
'You didn't feel a fucking piece of glass stuck in your hand?' Asked Dante to make sure, and was cut off when Vergil grabbed the splinter with his fingers, took it out with a blank face and threw the thing to the side. The long gash on Vergil's forearm darkened to black, then slowly closed and disappeared completely in what Dante counted as about four seconds.
Vergil didn't seem to feel pain or be bothered by the wound or need much effort to cure himself. However, such handy skills usually could not be used too much or too often. Dante was interested in how far that could go. He could smell the sweet fragrance of some Vergil-bullying. Dante smiled.
Vergil was very much aware since the first days of his coherent life, that no good ever came after that kind of smile but he decided to play along. He had had enough fighting with Dante to last him another couple of lives, and for a change it was nice to just let himself be swayed by his brother's mood into some stupid game. And then again, Vergil tried not to lose any opportunities to stay with his twin, while fate allowed it.
'Tell me if… you know.' Dante said with a cunning smile.
Vergil raised his eyebrows, but his twin decided he had said enough.
'Close your eyes. It's a test.' Dante said and put his palm on his brother's face, successfully blocking Vergil's sight.
Vergil didn't mind. He obediently lay on the floor, quite enjoying the weight of his brother's body on his hips, the way Dante's knees were at his sides, the warm, slightly calloused fingers on his face.
Dante hummed in thought - definitely a bad sign so dangerously disregarded by the older Sparda - then shifted and Vergil started to feel. A touch on his chest, sure and quick, started almost at the shoulder, near the collarbone, and went down, drawing a line. Then up in a semicircle, then down in a full circle. Dante was writing something on his chest, in big letters, all the way from the collarbone down to the nipple level. It was not unpleasant, but Vergil couldn't make out the words.
The sensation was wet, and as far as the older Sparda could understand the only available paint that Dante could use in the lobby without standing up was the demon blood, splattered all over the place. Well, of course, the blood what was left on the options list after the older Vergil had mentally striken out saliva and other bodily liquids, the thought of which could lead to extremely vivid, extremely indecent and absolutely unnecessary ideas. So demon blood it was, that disgusting, filthy blood, half acid and half – a mixture of ashy death, sour regrets and sticky disgrace. And that nauseating slush Dante chose to write something on his chest? Vergil was going to do anything to make his twin regret that later.
'Are you writing something on my skin with your finger? Vergil asked in a silky sweet voice.
'Errr…' Dante halted for a second, then finished the last letter, which evidently was an 'E', judging by the three parallel horizontal lines, and offered a: 'Nope?' that carried absolutely no remorse.
Vergil threw his twins hand away from his face and lifted his head to have a look.
Dante had indeed been drawing, but not with a finger. He held a long splinter in his hand and the glass edge was definitely painted red. On Vergil's chest, slowly bleeding in dark red drips, were long uneven letters that said: 'Dante was here'.
'If you are so powerful now.' Dante said, shrugging his shoulders, like nothing ever happened. 'Heal that, showoff.'
Vergil let himself fall back onto the floor and laughed again. As if a small scratch could harm him. As if healing a couple of stupid letters could make Dante understand how much lead-heavy liquid power was flowing through his body with every move, every breath.
'What?' Dante folded his arms expectantly. If he was done estimating how weak he had become, he had yet to establish how strong his brother was. 'Where is your kickass regeneration now?'
'It's there just fine.' Vergil said, smiling. Dante's prank was so harmless to him it was almost endearing, and the older Sparda was not sure he wanted to get rid of the inscription.
In a strange way it helped him feel the connection, especially with the realizations the morning incident had brought up: if he could not trust himself to touch Dante, he could still trust Dante to touch himself. And with the newly found power overflowing his body, the idea of 'touch' could convey anything from light caress to punches to cuts and whatnot else there was. If Dante had something else to say – to write, to be more exact – Vergil didn't mind. And yes he was going to keep the inscription. It was proof that Dante wanted him close, but what was more important, what else could better scare away any cunt that tried to get close to Dante than Vergil showing up with a very clear statement of brotherly affection all over his chest.
'I think I'll keep this friendly reminder,' Vergil smiled to himself, wiping up a couple of dark red leaks from his ribs, before all of the spilt blood dissipated right back into his skin, pulled in by the demon energy.
Dante watched, slightly bewildered, how his twin almost healed himself again – the long gashes of the words that he had drawn so carefully on his brothers chest had stopped bleeding and closed up but left dark bruise-like lines, so that the lettering could still be very clearly seen. It was not very much like Vergil. The selfish jerk was well-known for hating it when his body was damaged, let alone violated by such rude statement, painted all over his skin – which was Dante's original idea, it was supposed to be offensive, it was a prank for fucks sake – but Vergil like it.
"Crazy fucker," Dante thought to himself and abandoned hope of getting to Vergil, at least for the next couple of hours. "Well, whatever. Still counts as my win." He decided and turned to the topic which was more important with all the recent events.
'You're no fun if I can't fuck you up,' Dante said with a fair share of sincere disappointment and stood up. 'Get up, I have questions,' he told Vergil and held out his hand.
The memory flashed before his eyes as if it all happened just seconds ago.
That time Vergil made several steps back, breathing heavily, and then – then he was falling. Falling to Hell. Dante shouted – almost shrieked – and rushed to catch his brother offering him a hand. In this simple gesture there was everything for Dante. He forgave Vergil for whatever sins the latter could have probably possibly committed, he forgave the pain and the hatred. He only wished his brother would not die.
The cold hollow glare of Vergil's eyes snapped Dante back to cruel reality and Yamato's blade cut through his hand. The sword tore his glove and the same moment something much sharper ripped through his heart, slicing it open. A great hole formed inside Dante's chest, one that he knew could never be filled. With that Vergil was gone and Dante's world shattered to dust.
Dante knew that was stupid, but he was not ready for the repetition of the past even on such small scale as now or for the possible sarcastic remarks.
Vergil looked up to the hand extended to him, but before the older Sparda had the chance to react Dante suddenly frowned and his hand faltered.
'Whatever,' Dante quickly turned around and carefully avoiding black demonblood puddles on the floor tried to walk away looking awfully busy with something he had yet to invent.
'Hey.' Vergil called immediately, making him freeze on the spot. One had to be blind and brainless not to notice that something went wrong, so Vergil acted before thinking: 'You shamelessly scarred my body that went untouched by blade and bullet for years, so have at least the decency to help me up!'
Of course, Vergil didn't need help. But Dante did, so Vergil supplied – a little bit of older brother's responsibility, even if delayed by a dozen years.
Dante eyed his brother in disbelief: his lean half-naked form spread on the floor, and was thankful that Vergil didn't look up. He was not sure he was ready to face his twin. It was an old wound that had always bled. But when Vergil became tired of waiting and put up his hand with an irritated:
'Do I have to lie here for another year or what?' Dante knew that the old wound had just become a scar that did not hurt anymore.
'Here,' Dante came back, grabbed his brother's fingers and with a smirk pulled Vergil up.
They awkwardly bumped foreheads, but just snickered, like they were five years old and had done something really prohibited.
There was some unclear swearing at the stairs to Devil Never Cry and when they turned to look, the door of the agency was opened by Nevan. Stray red locks falling in her face, the demoness walked in, her curvy pale figure clad only in a pair of black fishnet stockings on a belt and red shiny shoes. Judging by several big notes sticking from the garters of her right stocking, Nevan came straight from work.
'Vergil, sweetpie,' she purred, 'Did your mother not teach you to be nice to people and not crush the neighbourhood with your aura? Don't you know it is a bit disturbing when there is no air to breathe, especially for such a sensual woman as myself?'
Brought back to the reality where he had to deal with demons and protect Dante, Vergil immediately let go of his brother's hand. It was not safe touching his twin and he was going to avoid it as much as possible.
'Sorry, Nevan,' Dante answered when his brother did not deign the redhead with an answer. 'Come in.' The devil hunter smiled at the demoness, who seemed perfectly fine without clothes. 'Today must be naked womens' day. It's the third time already a naked chick walks into my door. Damn, it sounds better than it actually is!'
'Hm', Nevan looked around skeptically, noticing the mess of ruined furniture and demon blood, amidst which stood Dante, who was really happy to see her and still in one piece which was good news, and Vergil, who was absolutely not happy to see her and towered next to the devil hunter like a very angry mother hen over its chicken. 'Ease up, sourface,' she told him, walking over to the twins. ' I'm not here to fight.'
What Nevan really meant and what she hoped the stuck up older Sparda understood from her hint, was that she was not going to fight him over Dante. Well, she did like the devil hunter, that was true, but she had enough experience with men of all sorts to understand exactly what kind of shit was going on between the Sparda twins. Vergil, who had always been the hauty ice queen, had fallen, low and hard – he had fallen for Dante. That has been as clear as day to Nevan for quite some time now. Dante in his turn wanted an older brother that he always lacked, but was confused by the older twin's advances and now was torn between the urge to have a woman and the need to have Vergil. The fact that Vergil had been one of top priorities in the devil hunter's life was nothing new, so Nevan had no doubt that a woman or not – being more important in Dante's life than his older brother was simply impossible. But the demoness was fine with it. What she wanted was to use both twins before Dante made a decision, whichever it would be.
Vergil did not appreciate his twin's remark about women. Every time he could hear those typical Dante's jokes it made him uncomfortable like wet clothes on cold skin. He could not do anything about it, after all Dante was a grown up man now and Vergil had no right to restrain him. But Vergil wanted. Vergil wanted to wrap his arms around his twin and drag him father from the world, lock him up where nobody could get to him, neither women nor men. Vergil wanted to mark every bit of that body with kisses, bites and bruises, leaving no doubts that Dante is taken and not available to anyone, not ever. Vergil wanted to shove all the jokes about women back down Dante's throat, preferably with his own cock.
'Whatever,' Vergil told Nevan, when the heated wave of rage subsided. These mood swings must have been the result of his decision to let emotions roam free after strangling them for years.
'Dante, my devil boy,' Nevan addressed the devil hunter then. 'Could you look after your brother for me? It's hard to earn money when I have nothing to breathe. Who is gonna pay me? You? Spending my time on you two never got me paid, you know. Should I start charging for an hour?'
Dante wanted to say that he'd try, even though being human he could feel absolutely nothing of that demonic aura-thingies at all, but the small bell that was still at the door of Devil Never Cry rang again.
While he was still standing outside in front of an old run-down two-storey building with bright red neon letters, holding a gun case and a sword, Steve Larson was not feeling very comfortable with visiting the agency of those who killed monsters. Coming inside, he knew that feeling proved right. What he saw was a completely wrecked room filled with broken furniture and covered in pages from what looked like an ancient manuscript library torn apart; all over were random black splashes, which he recognized as demon's remains, and in the middle of this chaos stood two riled up white-haired twins and a tall red-haired lady in shoes and stockings. The lady was speaking with agitation.
'…who is gonna pay me? You? Spending my time on you two never got me paid, you know. Should I start charging for an hour?'
Steeve Larson heard the end of her speech, and it was suddenly very evident that the lady was of a rather specific occupation. For good measure, she took the thin pack of bills from her stocking and smacked one of the guys' face with it. The whitehead demon killer stayed silent and motionless.
Steeve had no idea what was going on, but his grandmother had raised him well, and even after so many years the habits and principles were stuck deep in his mind, so without further ado he dropped the case and the sword onto the floor, walked straight to the lady, took off his beige trenchcoat and quickly threw it over the girl's shoulders.
'Is this how you treat a lady?' Steeve inquired, furious, and faced the twins. They did look exactly the same, when both had messy hair and bewildered faces. Except for the one who got his face slapped had a bright scar all over his chest.
'Not my problem, I prefer cock,' Vergil said plainly and folded his arms. He was not going to push the matter of Nevan slapping his face with strip money, simply because he did cause her some inconvenience, even if it was involuntarily. And Dante would not appreciate that. Making a human detective suffer was a completely different story though.
'She's an old friend,' said Dante.
Nevan said nothing. She was eyeing this tall, nicely built guy in a black shirt and dark brown suit with his golden hair and medieval manners. That was a first since her decision to stay in the human world. Maybe the guy had a white car outside or whatever was valid instead of a white horse this century?
'Does not excuse you,' Steeve insisted, but this time not as emotionally, as before. After all, he was merely a human, while these two… he had no idea. 'I brought your gun and sword.' He nodded towards the door.
Vergil immediately went to get the lost ammunition. His dignity did not allow him to have a sword lying around on the floor, so he quickly snatched the gun case and the katana, sealed in its scabbard by the ugly police yellow tape, and disappeared into the depth of the agency, heading for the first floor storages.
'Thanks, detective,' Dante pat the guy on the shoulder as a friendly gesture.
'Detective?' Nevan look another evaluating look at him. Still a tall, pleasantly trained man with slightly unruly hair
'What was your name again?' Now that Dante was not tied up in an asylum, detective seemed rather nice, especially knowing that he had gone through a slaughter and was still around.
'Steeve Lar-… Just Steeve,' holding out his hand, he could not believe that he was ready to become friends with a man suspected in double murder. With a man that was guilty and killed more. 'I took care of the evidence, so the police should not haunt you.'
'Thanks, man,' Dante was pleasantly surprised and shook the offered hand with sincere gratitude. 'I would have offered you a seat, but as you see my beloved brother managed to destroy every piece of fur…'
A very loud screeching sound rang through the agency and becoming more and more high-pitched, started to get closer from the back rooms. Dante squinted, pained by the awful creak, Nevan closed her ears with her hands, and the stoic detective shrugged.
Vergil walked in with his gait as light as ever, completely disregarding the fact that with just two fingers he was pulling a quite big sofa right behind, upholstered in screamingly pink leather with a tight curvy pattern of bright blue teeny-tiny elephants. There was a white warm plaid on the sofa and a pillow. Most probably a fresh one stolen from the laundry corner that Dante had near the exit to the garage.
Ignoring the sound that the legs of the sofa made as he dragged it around, the pieces of broken furniture and glass piling up in front of the sofa, but not stopping him, Vergil effortlessly pulled the thing into the room and with a loud thud let it drop right next to his twin.
'Oh, very welcoming of y-…' Steeve started to say, assuming it was for the lady and the other guests, but Dante interrupted him by putting his hand on detective's chest to prevent him from any wrong moves.
'That's not for you,' Dante explained. 'My brother does things only for one person, and that is definitely not you…'
Vergil flinched. Maybe his efforts really started to pay off.
'Vergil does things only for Vergil.' Dante finished with a skeptical smile. 'It'll take time, but you'll get used to it. Experience speaking here.'
Vergil felt at the same time disappointed, angry with himself, offended and rightfully punished. It was a strong and strange mixture, and he had trouble finding the right words when detective saved him:
'Well, his chest says otherwise,' laughed Steeve, reading the bloody inscription. 'Whoever that Dante is'.
One point for the human from Vergil.
'Oh, I like you already,' Nevan joined the detective, laughing, and took his arm for support. 'You are going to fit right fine,' she told him with a charming red-lipped smile. 'If you live long enough.'
'Ha, ha.' Dante said in sepulchral voice and made a sour face at the laughing duo.
'Hey,' Vergil called him. Picking the plait up and putting the pillow in its place at the sofa's arm. Verbal humiliation of the uninvited guests was always fun, but he was here for his twin, not them. 'Rest some. If you want to come with me to the Demon world, I need you healthy.'
'Oh,' Dorian said contritely from the door, holding two plastic bags with groceries in his hands. A long French bread was sticking out of the left bag together with some lettuce. 'I have just washed the floors yesterday.'
'Oh, man,' Dante sympathetically threw his hands in the air.
'I do understand that my life was spared,' the demon continued speaking, eyeing the level of destruction in the lobby. 'And I do not deserve to be still breathing, not to speak of living in this house. But I will not clean this kind of mess unless you start paying me salary.'
'Don't worry,' Dante told him, holding his hand palm up in a reassuring gesture. 'Vergil will fix his shit. For once he will clean it himself. Right?'
'Lie down,' Vergil ordered instead on the answer.
'Yeah, mom,' Dante sighed. He did feel slightly tired, so didn't object to the idea and fell onto the sofa, facedown right into the pillow. The soft plait lay over his shoulders, carefully put there by his older brother.
'Now, go to sleep,' Vergil insisted, leaned down and kissed his twin on the temple.
Dante felt a soft touch of warm lips, and suddenly cozy dizziness fell all over him, draining any wish to speak or move, wrapping him a nice embrace of the welcoming sleep. The last thing the devil hunter heard was detective's whisper that asked Nevan:
'Who the hell is Dante?'
...endo chap 35...
Well… yeah. Please tell me what you think if you are still there?
Ethan