I can count the number of times I have truly been terrified on one hand and still have digits left over, including the rather harrowing experience of having to reveal all of my mistakes to father just now. This would be the fourth time that fear has gripped me so thoroughly, but it does not even come close to the second and third times. Dante, my little brother, my beloved, my heart and soul, is the only one capable of invoking a fear in me that is so utterly consuming that I would do anything to keep him safe, yet I have failed in that. I have failed so miserably, and still he doesn't seem to be shaken by it. He has always been so unflappable, even a bit cheeky, in the face of his trials, and through it all he maintains that smile.
So why do I have this feeling of unease that settles like a weight upon my heart as I walk away from Dante's bedroom? What is it that I'm missing? Back atop the Qliphoth he had given that very same smile, yet there had been tears in his eyes. Even as we crossed blades those tears had been present, glimmering like diamond dust in the early morning light, but just now—since we ended up here—there had been no trace of them. He had been angry, and then that fleeting glimpse of anguish right before father had intervened. Could I have imagined them back on the Qliphoth? A trick of the light perhaps?
No. I could not be mistaken in this, not with how closely we had gotten while fighting. Close enough that I could smell them, faint whispers of salt, their scent unique from that of sweat or basal tears. They had been real and now I am pondering as to why they were there in the first place. For what reason would my little brother have to cry? And why the sudden turn around? He had been set in coming with me, to keep an eye on me, and now there's no point?
I pause in the middle of the hallway and turn to look back at the tightly shut door to Dante's bedroom with a frown. Even if he doesn't wish to talk there are things that I still have to say to him, things that need to be said. I will not let there be any misunderstandings between us, though the extent of my feelings should have been clear with my outburst. Should it bear repeating then I shall repeat it for as long as is necessary, even if that means for the rest of our days. For today, however, he shall get whatever space he needs.
It is our seventh birthday, yet again, and to cause a scene, especially in front of mother, would be inconceivably bad. There would be questions, and with father having expressly forbidding us to reveal anything about our situation to mother… I dare not think of the consequences that would lie in wait for us if we ever burdened her with this knowledge. Then again there would be consequences for hiding this from her, and while I can understand why father would want to keep it from her, doing so would only create more problems. From what I recall, mother was-is a demonologist and very adept at warding, so telling her of what is to come would be beneficial.
"Later," I murmur, giving Dante's bedroom door a parting glance, and head for my own bedroom that is a few scant feet ahead of me. It is unchanged from my memories, something I hadn't stopped to take in when I had realized that we had been separated and had rushed to find my brother. I don't bother to look around even now, finding it unnecessary, and head over to the dresser standing in the corner of the room. All of my clothes are far simpler than what I have come to favor but they shall suffice for now until I can see to my own wardrobe.
Within minutes I have made myself presentable, leaving me with far too much time and very little to do until the party starts. I resist the urge to go check on Dante, instead deciding to go see if mother needs any help finishing up the preparations. The hallways are perfect, my recall even more so, and I try to not picture in my mind what they will become in a year's time should we be unable to repel Mundus' attack on our home. There's no sense in dwelling on the past is what Dante had told me, something easier said than done when we've been thrown into our past. There may not be a way to undo whatever had brought us here but I'll be damned if I let things go on as they did before.
"Vergil! You shouldn't be in here yet!" Mother admonishes with just one glance in my direction as I enter the dining room. It takes her a few seconds to fully stop what she is doing and she looks at me again, her lips pursing. Human as she is, her instincts are as sharp as Yamato's edge and I have no doubt that she can feel that something is wrong. "Sweetie?"
How is a seven year old supposed to speak? The moment I open my mouth it will be obvious that I am mentally different from my appearance, but with my decision made to tell her should it even matter? I would rather wait until the festivities are over but then it will always seem like there is never a good time to tell her. "There is something you need to know and it is better if you find out now."
Mother's disappointment is far different from father's. It cuts deeper, and while it doesn't evoke the same flavor of fear within me, I feel all the more horrible for laying nearly everything bare before her. The only thing I felt that should be left unsaid are my feelings for my twin, despite knowing that she has studied demons extensively and would perhaps understand. It is not out of a sense of shame that I do so, for I am not ashamed of my feelings towards Dante, just that I find it unimportant to tell her in light of everything else.
She takes a moment to wipe under her eyes with a handkerchief, her mascara smearing and staining the once pristine white cloth along with her tears, before she draws herself up in the chair she is seated in, her shoulders squaring. Her undeniable strength shines through even now, eyes alight with a grim determination that doesn't quite swallow up her grief. I can see how it pains her to know that we are so changed, so different from the little boys that she had left to their own devices not even a few hours ago. "I need a moment to process this."
I give a slight dip of my head in acknowledgement and let my attention drift to the unfinished party decorations. "I'll take care of the decorations." Mother doesn't say anything in response, her expression tightening almost imperceptibly as I slide off of my chair and start placing them from memory. It is a simple task that I nearly finish by the time my senses prickle as Dante enters the dining room.
"So you told her anyways," my brother states accusingly with one look at mother. The weight of his gaze is heavy as it settles on me and I pause to return his stare. "Well, that makes things easier," he says after a beat with a flash of one of his usual devil-may-care smirks. "Cuz you're a shit liar."
Mother inhales sharply at the expletive while I give him an unimpressed scowl and place the very last of the decorations. I will lie, if absolutely necessary, but never to Dante and certainly not to mother and father. "I find lying distasteful, little brother, and you would do well to curb your language."
"I see that we need to go over proper etiquette again." Mother's voice is frighteningly soft and calm as she speaks, and I can't help the shiver I give in remembrance of how creative she can be with her punishments. "Both of you will attend lessons."
"That would be for the best," father intones flatly as he strides into the dining room and looks directly at me. For a second his irises turn a bright, glowing crimson, his mouth settling into a deep scowl. "You went against my instruction, Vergil."
"And I would do so again if it means staving off Mundus' attack on our next birthday." It takes a great deal of effort to maintain a calm, cool air as I return father's gaze—my instincts clamoring at me to yield to him—but after a few seconds he gives a heavy sigh.
"I intended to tell you once I had assessed their skills tomorrow," he explains as he shifts his gaze to mother, only to flinch at the look she has leveled on him. It is a strange and curious thing to watch father, a demon of legend, cower at the mere look of a human woman, but then mother is not an ordinary human woman.
"We will discuss why you decided to wait to tell me later, Sparda," mother states in that same calm, soft tone, at which father gives another flinch. "For now, let us at least enjoy tonight as much as possible."
I don't know how enjoyable it can be for any of us, the knowledge of what lies ahead is surely a weight that will be on all of our minds. Even Dante's, as much as he doesn't want to dwell on the past, made obvious by the most minuscule of shifts in his expressions. There's flashes of something in his eyes, here and gone far too quick for me to get a read on him, and when he catches me watching him an easy smile curls his lips.