Someone's going to fight me about this chapter, and I'll deserve it. This is definitely the worst the, er, manhandling will get because I couldn't pass up the opportunity to be terrible. Apologies.

I could never sleep through Dante storming up the stairs. His heavy footfalls rattled my desk and everything on it. For someone who complained each time Father pestered him about his nightly jaunts, Dante did little to keep them secret.

Any other night I would have rolled over and gone back to sleep. But when he'd left, a second set of lighter footsteps had followed. I did not hear them now.

Even more damning, a rolling fog of demonic pressure hit me as his steps grew louder. If I wanted any chance of getting sleep, I would have to involve myself in whatever trouble my brother had caused.

Slipping out of bed, I pulled on my boots to save my feet from the icy stone floor, grabbed Yamato, and headed out into the hall. I caught sight of Dante just as he reached the top of the stairs. He so rarely showed anger, but between the dark, heavy tinge of the demonic power pouring off him and his distant glare, it was clear that boy had done something to set my brother off again. Few had such a knack for that. I would have found it impressive if Dante weren't a mountain of trouble when angered.

The boy was a mess of limbs hanging on Dante's back, his face buried in Dante's shoulder. For his part, my brother seemed to have a knack for knocking the boy out cold.

"What did you do?" I asked.

His gaze shot up from boring a hole in the floor as he froze in place some ten paces away. "Oh, Vergil!" He put on the fakest mask of a smile I'd ever seen. And, hell, I couldn't remember the last time he'd casually called me Vergil. "Were you waiting up on me? I'm touched."

I raised a brow, staring at him in silence until his mask cracked and fell away. "The kid started coughing up blood," he said. "He didn't take a hit or anything. He just started hacking away like…" He punctuated his inability to think of a comparison with a shrug, the boy shifting at his back.

It was always a bad sign when Dante didn't have a mind to be clever.

The boy did appear ill, pale as the glow of his arm and wracked by unsteady gasps for air. Though concern tinged Dante's expression, his anger eschewed it, much like when Mother caught us fighting with Father's swords years ago. The boy must not have been quite at death's door if Dante had room to be angered.

"I don't know what to do," Dante admitted, the last thing I ever expected to hear him say. It felt like being drenched in icy water, and I couldn't hide my shock. "Do you think Lady would know what's wrong with him? Dad maybe?"

If we woke Lady at this hour, we would not come out of it in one piece. And Father… I didn't have the patience to even consider it.

"Slow down," I said, setting a quick pace towards him. "Unless the boy is dying, his healing should take care of things."

"But he said this happens every day."

"What?"

Dante shifted between his feet with a growl. "He said it's a side effect of something. Fuck, I don't know."

As I stopped in front of them and Dante's words caught up, I recalled something so obvious that I had to keep myself from smacking a hand to my forehead. Not wearing a proper holster, I held Yamato under one arm to free my hands. The dust that clung to the boy flared away in a puff as I yanked the boot from his foot.

"Uh, Verge-"

When I flipped it, paper packets about the size of coins rained down from the inside, falling into my awaiting hand. "I saw the girl give him something that he stuffed in his boot," I said. Though I didn't care to handle something that had touched that boy's foot, I flipped one of the packets between my fingers. Something shifted inside, like sand in an hourglass. "It appears to be a medicine packet."

"Then he's sick?" Dante asked.

"Perhaps." If that were the case, I couldn't see why he wouldn't show the symptoms until after receiving the medicine. "These packets could contain anything, though."

Letting the boy's leg fall, Dante reached out and snatched one away, holding it up as though there was enough light to help him see through the sealed paper. Despite the dim hall, the gleam of an idea appeared in his eyes. "Do you think Trish would know what it is?"

Through some force of willpower, I kept myself from scowling at the thought. "I suppose if anyone could, it would be her."

Dante returned the packet to my hand and hooked his arm back under the boy's leg just as the boy was beginning to slip. "Can you take those to her while I put the kid to bed?"

Being the one to tuck the boy in and wish him a good night sounded the preferable task, not that my pride was so weak as to admit that, especially to Dante. With the anxiety-tinged relief on his face, I couldn't bring myself to refuse his request. Dante did not ask for favors. He insisted on them.

The sooner the boy left and my brother returned to being obnoxious, the better.

"Very well," I said. "I suppose I am curious."

Dante nodded in thanks as he brushed past. I was content that was the extent of it. If he'd actually said "thank you," I would have needed to wake myself from a dream.

Trish's room was on the other side of the castle, up the tower opposite the one that held my library.

As far away as Father could get her.

Upon opening her door to find me, she greeted me with her usual purr. "Vergil, what a surprise. And don't you look cute in your night clothes? You should wear your hair down more." As she reached for my bangs, I leaned back from her grasp and combed my hair back into place with my fingers. Her snake's smile didn't falter when she let her hand fall. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked.

"I need to know what this is." I held up one of the packets between my fingers. Interest faded from her gaze as she eyed it, lips drawing to a frown.

"Well, that's paper, though I'm sure you mean what's inside it." Her arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe. "I know you think I'm some sorceress, but I'll need more information than that if I'm to have any chance of finding out its properties."

I thought nothing of the sort. She was a demon through and through, and while many humans in the castle marked her as a witch, I could see her "magic" for what it was. No matter the source, though, she managed results. As insulting as I found her presence, I could not deny her skill, and I needed to cooperate if I wanted answers.

"Dante's new pet started coughing up blood," I said. "We believe this to be the cause. Fortuna sent a rat who gave him several doses." Opening my palm, I showed her the rest.

Her smile returned along with the hungry look in her eyes. "Interesting. Fortuna's trying to kill its holy prince? Nero, right?"

Though I couldn't fathom why, I didn't like that she knew his name. Then again, I didn't much like anything about her. My skin crawled when she said my or Dante's names as well. That voice was not hers to use, our names not hers to say.

I buried all of that deep as she snatched a packet from my hand and ducked back into her room. She left the door open, showing the vast wall of shelves covered in bottles of every size and shape. Each one reflected the candlelight scattered around the room. She never seemed to sleep.

"Come on in," she said, and I followed despite my better judgment. Whatever hope I had that the conversation was finished fell away as she spoke once again. "You know, I haven't seen hide or tail of Dante all week. I hear he's rather enthralled with that prince. But you, I hear you hate this 'boy.'" Her hair fell around her in waves as she took a seat at her desk, where bottles and tubes covered the surface like a twisted forest of glass. "So what's all this 'we' about? What's this sudden interest, Vergil?"

Jamming myself in the empty corner opposite her, I decided I would need to have a talk with whoever was telling her these things. "Call it curiosity if you must," I said.

Her smile quirked in amusement, a slight tug at her lips that was far too familiar for my liking. I averted my gaze to her work, deft hands pouring a white powder from the packet. I'd reached my limit of seeing her face for the day.

"Did you really lose to him in chess?" she asked.

"I did not lose. We reached an impasse. A draw."

"That doesn't sound like a win to me, and it you didn't win…"

Dante arrived just in time to stop me from chewing off my tongue in an effort to keep quiet. "Trish!" he greeted. His lazy grin was back in place, all signs of upset stifled. "How's my favorite retainer? Find out anything?" Placing his hands on the back of her chair, he peered over her to examine her progress.

I would never understand his affections for her - that which had killed our mother given her form. Even Father struggled to look her in the eye, but that was nothing more than proof of his guilty conscience. Well, perhaps it was hypocritical of me to speak ill of him in that regard.

"Don't expect a miracle, Dante," she said. "At most, I may be able to narrow down some of its properties. I would need time to identify it completely. And I'll make sure to pass the news along to Lady that she's in second place."

"Oh, well now you're not my favorite anymore."

She chuckled as she dropped some opaque liquid into a sample of the powder. Apparently not getting the results she wanted, she drummed her fingers against the desk. "Are there any other hints you could give me so I can narrow the field? Any symptoms besides the blood?"

Before it could fully form, I pushed aside the idea that she should try the concoction herself to see its effects.

Dante rocked back on his heels, humming in thought. "Besides a general sour disposition, he was all clammy and zonked out not long after he started spewing blood like a fountain. He was shaking some too."

"And you believe he ingested this?" She gestured to the powder.

"As opposed to what? Snorting it? I didn't see him use it."

"I believe he ingested it a few hours ago," I said for my idiot brother, "after he spoke with father but before he spoke with us."

Dante held his chin between his thumb and forefinger, nodding in an effort to look like he was thinking hard about something for the first time in his life. "He didn't show any symptoms except a little coughing until we fought some demons. Wore him out quick."

"Oh," Trish said. Whatever the revelation, she was not happy about it, her voice distant, flat. Slamming her fist into the shelf at her side, she brought all the bottles to a cacophony of clinking together. One rolled out of place and fell into her open palm. After adding two drops of the innocuous, water-like substance it contained, she demanded Dante's hand. He offered it without question.

"Rude," was all he had to say when she sliced open his palm with a penknife. Just as his blood dripped into the mixture, the wound sealed.

Trish's chair creaked under her as she sat back, breathing a harsh sigh through her nose. "How was the prince when you left him? Stable?"

Dante's brows knit, the threat of worry burning in his eyes again. "Seemed to be. Why? What kind of medicine is it?"

"If he's lasted this long, he should be fine, but there's no plane of Hell where this is medicine. It's some of the purest poison I've ever seen. One dose would kill a human."

I wished she would have phrased it differently - softened her words, been vaguer perhaps. Lied. Yes, lying would have been preferable.

As things were, Dante's eyes burned redder than his coat. The boy's demonic energy overflowing was like a slap, but Dante's was a solid blow to the head. If we didn't calm him down, he was liable to shatter the castle down to its foundation.

"If you break anything, I'll give you something that won't heal," Trish said. "You're no good to the prince angry, and if you calm down, I can give you something that will help with his side effects."

As much as I loathed her, she was nothing if not a good retainer for my brother. My plan had been to run him through and pin him to the wall with Yamato until he wore himself out from blood loss. Her idea was much cleaner.

His rage dimmed from a rolling boil to a simmer, irises still tinged red around the edges. "I'm not angry," he said through gritted teeth.

"Right, and I'm not hellspawn," Trish muttered as she plucked bottles from her shelves. "Now someone explain to me why Fortuna tried to poison their prince."

"It could be an attempt to frame us," I said.

"No." Dante spoke with a gentleness to his tone that betrayed his hardened expression. "The kid said those things happened to him every day. He kept saying that. He said he was used to it."

"Then they've been trying to kill him for a while?" Trish suggested with uncertainty.

I shook my head as an ache began behind my temples. "No, surely they would have noticed by now that his body would fight off the poison. If they wanted him dead, they would have tried something else by now."

Silence cut in like an ax, only eased once Trish's concoction began boiling in a gentle rhythm. Fortuna rarely made logical steps, so I was starting to consider the possibility that trying to apply any reason to their decisions was a fool's game. Perhaps that was why Dante was the first to speak.

"The kid's healing was getting better," he said. "He wasn't taking that poison, so he was getting better. He told me those were 'side effects' because he thinks it's medicine."

"For what?" Trish asked. "Even partial devils hardly get sick."

My eyes seemed to open as I grasped an understanding. "It doesn't matter. He was raised in isolation, listening solely to the church. He'll do as he's told. If they say it's medicine, he will take it. And if his body is constantly fighting that poison, if he's constantly weakened-"

"So are his demonic powers," Dante finished. "He's probably never had to deal with his demon side at all until now."

"Well, aren't you two quite the detectives?" After pouring some unsettling black liquid in a vial, Trish corked the top and shook it to complete the odd ritual. "Guess this won't do him much good if they're going to put him right back on that poison regimen when he gets back."

The growl of Dante's devil side rattled his voice. "He's not going back."

Mischief tilted Trish's words like a key change in the middle of a song. "Oh? A few hours ago, I overheard your father telling Baul that he and his brother would be escorting Nero back to Fortuna at sunrise."

Oh, Hell.

My headache pounded behind my temples as Dante all-but goddamn triggered. We had about five seconds before my brother tried to kill Father, and Trish didn't seem to care enough to intervene this round.

Five.

"Dante, Father is trying to delay the war. He doesn't-"

"You said the war was inevitable, so what does it matter?"

Four.

"Don't twist my words around on me. Didn't you say there was always another chance?"

Three.

"Nero doesn't need to go back for that."

"What about him being our ally on that side?"

Two.

"He can't be our ally if we let those bastards kill him."

"Dante, listen-"

One.

"I'm done listening." He took a step toward the door.

"What if you went with him?"

As I rubbed my hand against my aching head, wondering what could have possessed me to suggest such a stupid, stupid idea, Dante stood stuck in time. Consideration replaced bloodlust, and I wished I'd stuck to the stabbing plan. When Dante became irrational, I swore it infected me. Seeing him enraged set off alarm bells in my head until I couldn't think straight. That had to be it. That was the reason I'd said such nonsense.

And because it worked, I dug my grave deeper. "You should go with him as an escort," I said. "You can see Fortuna and observe the people." Father would never allow it. Dante was too likely to kick off the war with some slip of the tongue.

But then again, Dante had that stupid ideal of there always being a chance things would work out in the end.

After a half-second of trying to hold onto that idea, I remembered how foolish it was and gave up. Yes, I was done with this. Dante could do as he pleased, but I would not be dragged into his follies any further.

"I don't think your father would approve," Trish said. "Sending your prince into enemy territory? Where have I heard that story before? Not sure it ends well."

Dante snorted like his irritable horse. "I'll let Dad know when I give a damn what he approves of. Fortuna is welcome to try capturing me. Sounds like a good time, actually."

Honestly, Fortuna capturing my brother sounded like a blessing.

"But you know Baul and Modeus wouldn't let you tag along," Trish said.

Of course they wouldn't. They were my retainers for a reason, even if I made little use of them. Loyal only to myself and Father, they would be quick to alert him if Dante tried to join them.

Whatever idea was behind the wicked grin on Dante's face, I didn't want to hear it. No, I was leaving. I was finished here. If he wanted to get himself killed, so be it.

I turned for the door only to hear "Then I'll just take him myself. I don't need them."

Damn my traitorous legs, I turned back. "No. You're a terrible negotiator, and you'll get lost on the way. If you really must do this, I will go with you."

I could only hope Father blamed Trish for this and not me. After all, it was her fault. She may have wanted us both dead. If so, she was well on her way to completing that mission.

"Wow, Verge," Dante said, grinning. "I didn't realize you cared about the kid so much."

"I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about you somehow destroying the kingdom I'm supposed to inherit."

"Aw, you're worried about me?" he crowed, hands pressed over his heart. I could not fathom what great sin I'd committed to end up with him as a brother.

"If we both come out of this alive, you're never allowed to ask anything of me again," I said. Though, at the rate things were going, I would be the one to kill him.

As he was unable to walk without waking the whole castle, I tasked him with giving the boy whatever suspicious antidote Trish had concocted, while I scavenged for travel equipment. The treaty, which I found in Father's study, showed our destination to be an old fort on Fortuna's east border. The trip would take about two days. I had hope we could return before Father did anything too rash. Having both heirs go into enemy territory was an ill-advised plan at best, but if the king attempted to follow, then we would truly show our stripes as a family of fools.

After I'd packed, dressed, and considered putting an end to this, I returned to the boy's room to find Dante had done a whole handful of nothing in all that time.

"It's not poison, kid! It'll help. Come on, when have I lied to you? Okay, maybe a few times, but- Look, can you start by letting go of my hand?"

Nero, with pupils so wide he couldn't have been lucid, seemed to have gotten the better of my brother. Dante had one arm around the boy's neck and the vial clutched tight in his hand despite glowing claws threatening to pry it away. My brother's other hand was locked between Nero's teeth. I saw no blood, but Nero appeared to have a solid grip on the joint below Dante's thumb.

"You certainly have a way with people," I said.

Dante's eyes gleamed with irritation despite his smile. "While I'm sure this hits whatever weird kinks you've got, Verge-"

"No."

"-could you take the antidote so he doesn't break it?"

As soon as I held up my hand, Dante flicked the vial into my grasp. Nero's reaction came much too late to rip it from the air. Though he did release Dante's wounded hand in the attempt, he also managed to duck out from Dante's grasp. We were getting nowhere fast.

"Boy," I said as he glared between us. "This is going to help with the side effects of that poison you took. If you won't drink it, you'll be weak far longer."

"I don't need anything," he said, even as he gripped his bed's headboard for support. His legs trembled beneath him. Each blink appeared to be a fight to keep the world in focus. "My medicine isn't poison. You're both crazy. What do you know?" His words drifted as though caught in a gale. "I need it."

"For what?" I asked.

I struggled to make out his words, dragged through a slur. "Credo says so. You're just trying to poison me."

"If we're going to go, we must go now," I said. "He will heal on his own time."

Dante's expression was caught between amusement and worry as the boy's devil hand scrubbed at his face like a tired child rubs his eyes. "I guess if there's no choice," Dante said.

Nero gave what he must have thought was a triumphant grin. "You can't fool me," he said through a spell of dry coughs. "I took three doses."

"You did what!?" Dante barked.

"I hadn't had it in like-" Nero squinted at his hand. "-six days. Seven? Had to catch up."

"It's a wonder you've made it this far in life," I said. With the dazed horror written across Dante's face, it was clear we weren't leaving until the boy received the antidote. I did not have the time, nor the patience, nor had I received decent sleep.

Pulling the cork, I hoped Trish had not, in-fact, cooked poison, before I knocked the contents into my mouth. I imagined drinking ink would taste similar: cold, dark, and bitter as a void. Nero's response time remained so slow that I needn't have warped in front of him, but I wanted that damned taste gone. As soon as I pinched his nose, his lips parted instinctively.

My other hand wrapped around his throat to ensure he swallowed because I did not touch my mouth to his just for him to spit out the antidote. For the first time, though, I found him cooperative. When I pulled back, his face had painted to a shade of pink.

"Alright, can we be off then?" I asked as I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth.

Dante wore an expression I'd never seen on him, his brows raised, his eyes dim. "Vergil, you can't go around kissing people."

Of all the people to lecture me. "It wasn't a kiss," I said.

"Look, I know you've never had one before, but that definitely fell into the category of a kiss."

"No, I just ensured he would drink the drug. Now we really must be going."

A rueful smile curled at Dante's lips. "Right, yeah, let's… God, when that kid's coherent, he's going to kill us both."

Though Nero was welcome to try, I couldn't find him to be much of a challenge when he was too busy gagging against the taste of the antidote.

Nah, he's gagging because you smooched him.

Oh, and I made a side tumblr dedicated to me yelling about my DMC writings into a void since none of my friends are into it. Feel free to follow/contact me at BlueThorneFics on there if you want to know about updates or you want to let me know I'm terrible. (I know.)

Special thanks to my reviewers for keeping me excited about this dumb fic.