It was dark. There wasn't much of a sunset, and the ruins of the castle only barely stood out against the horizon. Nelo Angelo might have noticed this, if he hadn't been Nelo Angelo in the first place. But he was, and his master had commanded that he wait inside this mirror for the devil hunter to appear, and he did so without questioning it.

There were times, and they came more frequently now, where Nelo Angelo had moments of clarity. Where he almost remembered what life was like before he served his master. He knew the most basic of things, occasionally, like the fact that his real name wasn't anything resembling what he went by. He'd had a family once. He hadn't always been alone.

And then the control that his master had over his mind would slip back into place, and he'd forget until the next time.

It was easy to assume this man's identity and float out of the mirror looking like a reflection. To watch the man's face go from confused amusement to a cocky smirk as Nelo Angelo led him out to the courtyard to fight. The lord had said the red clothed devil hunter must die, and his throat was bare beneath the knight's hand...

...and from beneath his vest slipped a red pendant, and a name which had been on the tip of his tongue, but that didn't belong to him.

Dante.

"dante!" he heard in his mind, through a fog, "dante! let's play king arthur!"

"'kay! you wanna be king arthur this time?"

twin boys, white hair and bright blue eyes, running around a cardboard sword stuck between two rocks. they were laughing. one held a book in his hands, probably pilfered from their father's library. "nope. i wanna be merlin."

"but he's crusty and old and boring!"

"and he's -smart.- i think i wanna be smart more than anything."

Pain shot through his mind, forcing Nelo Angelo to drop his prize as his mouth opened in a scream-

-and Vergil woke up in bed, a cold sweat covering his body and making the sheets stick to his legs. He hadn't made a sound, but he was breathing harshly, and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

"I am not Nelo Angelo," he said, very quietly, to the ceiling. "My name is Vergil, son of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, and no one controls me. I have a brother who is not dead and a nephew who relies on my competence."

A quick glance out the window told him that the sun had just risen not long ago, which meant that the others in the household—Dorian and Dante—would be up soon. He got up, stepping into the closet to choose his clothing for the day and then headed to take a shower.

Humiliating, that he had to chant that mantra to himself after nightmares. Humiliating that he had the nightmares in the first place, really. It had been sixteen years. He fit perfectly well into human society. He had a well-paying job that he sometimes enjoyed doing and ran a household by himself. He had raised his nephew from nearly infancy. He should not be having nightmares.

By the time he descended the stairs, the cold sweat had been washed away and nobody would ever look at him and think that he suffered from the occasional nightmare. Maybe there was something that had triggered the episode—maybe it was his discussion with Dante from the night before.

He only hoped that his brother had enough sense not to mention Nelo Angelo in front of Dorian. The boy didn't know anything about his uncle's past as one of the 'bad guys,' and Vergil intended to keep it that way for as long as he could. No sense in Dorian pulling a Dante and throwing a fit about it.

Nothing at all has changed, Vergil reminded himself firmly, and turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. It was Dorian, dressed and with his shoes on, though he was walking a bit slowly. "Good morning, Uncle Vergil."

"Good morning," Vergil replied, surprised to see his nephew up and about. "Are you going out today?"

"Dan—um, my father said he was going to teach me how to shoot his guns today." Dorian smiled, quickly. "After breakfast. It sounds fun... right?"

Vergil hated guns. That was the one thing he'd never adjusted to after the whole Hell thing. But he wasn't blind, and he could see the boy's grasp for his approval. So he carefully hid his disapproval for the weaponry behind a tight smile.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself. Your father is a good marksman, so you'll have a good teacher."

"You think so?" Dorian replied. He brightened. "I guess it's okay then? I'm not still supposed to be in bed or anything, right?"

"You're old enough to know your limits, Dorian." He meant it as a warning as well as a compliment. Vergil knew exactly how his nephew handled pain—like his father did. Which meant, of course, he'd ignore it until he couldn't anymore and then spend twice as long recuperating from what should have been a minor injury.

Vergil would ignore the fact that he did the same thing.

"Yes, Uncle Vergil." Dorian was silent for a few minutes, taking his seat at the table across from Vergil, who watched him idly. "So my father—he's good with guns?"

"You shouldn't tell him I said so," Vergil said, a small teasing smile flickering over his lips. "It'll make him even more difficult to deal with."

Dorian grinned back, just as Dante strolled into the room. "Shouldn't tell who what?" he asked as he dropped into a chair. "You know it's not nice to keep secrets."

"Sometimes keeping the secret is the better alternative, Brother."

"Well, fine," Dante huffed, though Vergil could tell that his twin was only teasing. "Keep your secrets... and I have a few of my own that I won't bother telling."

"Step one?" Dante asked an hour later. He stood outside, slightly behind his son.

"Identify the target?" Dorian replied. He held Ebony in his right hand, pointed safely toward the ground as it hung at his side. He couldn't help but be a little nervous; he'd barely even seen a gun before, much less held one.

Dante grinned and shook his head. "Step one: make sure your weapon is loaded. You're not going to get anywhere if you don't have the muscle to back it up. Assuming you have that, then yeah, you move on to the fun stuff like identifying your target."

It was the first time Dorian had seen his father acting so seriously, more like Uncle Vergil than himself. Even when he'd been talking to Dorian for the first time, when they didn't know anything at all about each other, Dante always had some wisecrack to throw into the conversation—either to piss Dorian off or to lighten the mood. Or both.

"So do you have it?" his father asked, and Dorian looked up.

"Huh?"

"Your target. Focus, kid. Verg would have your ass and mine if he thought you were 'wielding a potentially hazardous piece of weaponry without devoting the mentality to proper training,'" Dante said, throwing his voice into a perfect imitation of Dorian's uncle.

Dorian grinned, feeling himself relax. That was more like the Dante he'd seen in the past couple of days. "Sorry," he replied. "It won't happen again." He waved his free hand at a target they'd rigged. "There's the target."

"Good. Now you aim like this—don't hold your arm so stiffly, kid. It's a gun, not a live snake. Widen your stance a little. Line the target up in your sights, right down the middle. Once you have it, you can fire. Since your target's not moving, and since you're just starting, take your time. We're not going anywhere."

Dorian tried to concentrate on the target, but he couldn't seem to get his hand to hold still. Sighing, he lowered Ebony again and looked up at his father. "Can I watch you do it once?" he asked.

Smooth as butter, Dante lifted his arm, aimed Ivory at the target and then fired. The bullet hit dead-center. Uncle Vergil hadn't been lying about how good his father was at this.

And if Dante could do it, Dorian definitely could. He took a few deep breaths, and then held the last one, mimicking his father's stance and lining the target up in his sights. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger; the shot went wide and the unexpected recoil made him stumble a little. He hadn't been expecting that.

Dante caught him around the shoulders to steady him, and Dorian was surprised to hear his father laughing. "Easy, kid," he chuckled. "Sorry, I guess I forgot to mention there'd be a little kick."

"I really hate you," Dorian growled, but he didn't mean it. Now that the shock had worn off, and now that he realized everything was okay, a familiar exhilaration was catching up to him—he'd felt like this the first time he'd held a bokutou. It sucked at first, but it might actually be a lot of fun.

The only difference was that Ebony was a real weapon and not a wooden replica, and if he got hit by it, it'd do a lot more than just leave a bruise. There wasn't any first step, nothing he could do to feel like he'd earned the right to hold the gun. It just happened.

Dorian was surprised to find that he was grinning widely, and that Dante was grinning back, apparently not disappointed in his failure at all. "Again," his father said, nodding toward the target. "Tighten your grip a little this time. Keep your eyes open when you fire. And breathe."

Dorian tried it again. He wasn't as nervous the second time around, and he was prepared for the recoil. He actually managed to hit the target, though his shot wasn't anywhere near as good as his father's.

"Good," his father praised, "but do you trust that shot to save your life? Again."

Dante was worse than his uncle, Dorian decided after he'd been told "again" for about the eightieth time. He had no idea how long they'd been at it, but he wasn't ready to quit yet. His father had plenty of ammo sitting beside them and he was actually having fun, his nervousness completely gone by then.

"Having a good time?" he heard, and he jumped.

"Uncle Vergil!" Dorian gasped, spinning around to see his uncle standing next to his father. He grinned. "Yeah, it's a lot of fun... but my father's a bigger slave driver than you are. I don't think he's gonna let me quit until he's satisfied."

"Or until somebody comes to lure him away with sandwiches?" Vergil replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's lunchtime, if you want to come inside and rest a bit."

"Why don't you ever shoot guns, Uncle Vergil?" Dorian asked.

Dante started laughing. "He can't handle the fact that I'm better than him," he replied, nudging Vergil with his elbow. "He probably thinks his training was inadequate!"

"I don't think anything that stupid," Vergil argued. "Anyway, we learned on the same guns, and with the same teacher. I just prefer my sword, Dorian. It's... better suited to my fighting style."

"You learned with the same guns? These?" Dorian asked, holding Ebony up. "Who taught you?"

Dante chuckled. "Your grandpa taught us, of course," he replied. "And not those guns. I made those after he died. He had his own."

"Luce and Ombra," Vergil added. "They might as well have been these guns. My brother's not very original, I think."

"At least I'm not scared to use them," Dante taunted. "Neither is Dorian. I guess it's a damn good thing he takes after me and not you, huh? Otherwise, he'd be missing out."

"Are you gonna let him talk to you like that, Uncle Vergil?" Dorian asked, watching the exchange between the two men with interest.

"One shot, Verg. With me, for old times sake? Otherwise I'm holding the kid hostage and he's never gonna get any lunch."

Vergil smirked. "I have no doubt that Dorian can take care of himself... unlike you."

"Verrrrr-gilllll!"

Vergil snorted. "Some example you're setting. Fine, one shot and one only. Dorian, may I have that, please?"

Dante brightened, and Dorian was all too happy to hand Ebony over to his uncle and step out of the way. Both brothers aimed at the target, neither looking at each other, but they moved perfectly in sync. Like this, they were nearly identical, and Dorian realized that being twins meant more than just looking like each other and sharing a birthday.

"Jackpot," the twins said in unison, and fired. Both hit dead center and Dante laughed.

"You still got it, Verg."

Vergil huffed as he handed the gun back and turned to Dorian. "I'm not sure which is bigger, Dorian—your father's ego, or his mouth."

"Ouch!"

I'm very sorry it's taken me this long to update this! I've been sick, and concentrating on anything at all with a plotline hasn't exactly been on the top of my priority list. So as a result, this is rather shorter than I wanted it to be, but I suppose it will do.

I realize there's a lot of weapon-geekery in this chapter. Sorry about that. It'll get interesting again, I promise. Also, quick note: I realize that Dante's guns in the game are magic, and that he never has to reload or make sure he's doing okay on ammo, but that's not realistic. I also realize that I made Dante teach Dorian a proper stance for shooting. Despite the fact that he's Dante and he's not exactly the model that should be followed, I figure he's probably good enough to know what he -should- be doing. It's always better to learn the right way and build off of that, after all!

I hope you all enjoy this!