A/N: OK – Dedicated to J

Yeah DMC belongs to Capcom... lucky things!

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"DANTE!" Vergil leapt from the chair with a start. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was in an even worse state than it was last night. He looked around wildly spinning. The room was disorganised and grey. Noises came from the rubble collected around the door frame. Vergil drew his sword in a flash and slashed a rat in two without even thinking. He looked down in horror, what if it had been a human? Ok he didn't like them but he didn't want to kill them, well sometimes, but he was better now.

He looked around dazed and confused. What had just happened? The sun was streaming in the window and the birds were singing.

A dream, he muttered to himself, it was all a dream. Dante was not a corpse in doorway about to shoot him. Yes his mother and father were gone, but it was not like that, it was harsher and certainly rawer than what had happened in his dream. They had been much younger as well, his mind had been playing tricks on him.

He sank back into the chair with a cloud of dust coming out of it making him blink. He rubbed his chin. Ow, he needed to see to these scratches on his face. He turned to go up the stairs and thought better of it – he didn't want to be in the bathroom right now. At least there was not so much blood down here as there was upstairs. It was not the idea of the blood that disgusted him. Demon blood was just rank, but he had gotten used to the smell. It was his brother's blood that disturbed him. There was an underlying smell of fear and desperation as well which made him feel even guiltier. It was not his fault he told himself sternly. It's not like he would have been able to prevent it. Could he?

He shook his head and immediately felt dizzy. Woah, lack of food. He hadn't eaten for at least a day. Normally a day or two without food wouldn't faze him. But then he remembered all the damage he had incurred just before leaving Asia. Being half demon he had amazing stamina and healing abilities, but he still needed food to fuel them. His muscles didn't ache as much as they had done, but his cheek throbbed. Maybe it was something in that which was causing him to feel groggy.

He went into the kitchen and was greeted by a frightening cheery scene. The table was there just as in his dream, with a table cloth and the table was set for breakfast. With the sun coming in through the large windows he was almost transported back in time. He looked to the left almost expecting him to see his mother standing over the stove cooking up pancakes or waffles; all three of the Sparda males loved big breakfasts, normally because they would have been out the night before on business. He remembered hunting with his father and brother when he was training them. Even at that young and age they had been deadly, and they had managed to gather a lot of money. Although the building was little more than a house with the front room converted to a shop they had a large fund hidden away in property, bonds and shares. There were many properties that belonged to the name of Sparda.

They had castles in remote villages where his father would take them on holiday and they would rejoice fighting demons in the snow. Mostly they loved being able to be normal boys for once. Their mother had a great aim with a snowball and she was normally the winner. He smiled to himself. How had a beautiful creature like her, so delicate but strong, been able to tame the great Dark Knight himself? Especially when Sparda would have been able to kill her without even thinking about it.

Alas the kitchen was deserted. But a pan was on the stove. He walked over and found the charred remains of a waffle. He frowned. Was this here yesterday? He didn't remember checking the kitchen. Then he realised there was a layer of ash and dust over everything. This had been the last time someone was alive in this place.

Vergil was shocked. The attack must have come in the early hours, just when Dante would have been dancing around the kitchen cooking. Dante loved cooking for them; he had a sweeter tooth and was happy being domestic. Vergil was happy just sitting with the paper drinking coffee. A mirror image of his mother and father, she would cook, he would drink tea.

The morning paper was on the side of the table. He picked it up and then fell backwards into a chair with shock. This had happened less than a week ago. The date on the day's paper shouted it out loud and clear. He could almost head Dante cursing him for postponing his flights. He had sent him an email saying he needed a few more weeks and would be back soon. Dante had replied why even bother coming back? You obviously didn't want to stay in the first place. No 'See ya, Bro'. No 'You're missing out on all the big ones'. Just 'Don't bother to come back'.

Vergil had stayed even longer; he was scared of Dante rejecting him. After all this time Dante had started to hate him it seemed. He had taken him back in after he had come back from hell. He had looked after him. They had gone to the castle and chilled out in the snow just like when they were kids. There was hardly a bad word said to him. But Vergil hadn't been able to take it. He had wanted Dante to hate him. He deserved it after all; he had tried to kill him and had scorned being saved when there was the chance for it. But Dante, dear loving Dante, had put that all to one side to look after him. And he repaid him by telling him he was leaving to better himself and he didn't know when he would be back. Dante had argued with him telling him to stay. They had fought here, in the kitchen like the stubborn devils they were until Vergil had just picked up his bag and sword and left. He hadn't even said goodbye. Pretty much all of his emails had gone unanswered. That was very unlike Dante. When they were apart they kept in touch. Often their work would send them to various places and they wouldn't be fighting the same battles all the time. They would email and text each other to let the other know where they would be, and normally whose turn it would be to get the take out.

Dante was a pizza lover, Vergil would get Chinese. It was a set tradition. Vergil fished his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. He had not used it in months. The welcome message flashed up, he allowed himself a smile. Dante was always messing about with the phones and this last message was 'Smile if you think I'm sexy'. Vergil was not one for smiling, but when he thought of Dante it was hard not to. He was the day, Vergil the night. This time the message almost brought a tear to his eye.

The phone beeped signifying low battery. Vergil looked for the charger in the drawer and plugged it in. He was still amazed that the kitchen had survived the massacre. He opened the fridge and found a loaf of bread, some butter and some jam. The bread was a little stale, but toasting it and it would be fine. He dusted off the toaster and popped the bread in. Ok not exactly breakfast of kings, but it was a start. He looked in the cupboard and found his mothers old mirror. She would often do her makeup in the kitchen. She said it had the best light, and she was not about the fight for the bathroom with the boys. Vergil was not vain, but he was a perfectionist. His hair had to be done just do. Dante was vain though. He loved the fact they were good looking and had not inherited more of their father gruesome features.

This was another fact that surprised him about his mother. She knew he was a devil. And she knew what his true face looked like. Yet it had not frightened her away. And his father was a very polite gentleman, not one to turn away a gentle lady. She had stolen his heart from the first sight. Little know to his father she had felt the same way. They had 'courted' as they so lovingly put it for ages before they gave themselves to each other. Dante said it's called dating now, they would just laugh it off and his father would say, back in his day it was just called mating!

He grimaced when he looked in the mirror. He needed a wash. He needed a shave. And oh my those cuts were worse than before! He gingerly touched them and managed to extract a long worm like thing from each. He put them on the table. What the hell were they? There were three in all and as he watched them they started to whither and die. Maybe the hell child had laid some spore in him. He shrugged and cleaned his cuts the best he could. They still stung but after finding half a bottle of some vodka and bathing his cute in it they started to heal. Very slowly.

POP.

The toast was ready. His stomach growled and protested until he had finished the entire loaf. He ran his hands through his hair and thought to himself 'Now what?' He drank his coffee and opened the paper to see what had been happening in the world. He knew he should get a bath, and he figured he would use the teleporter to go to the castle and get cleaned up.

The castle was where most of the grateful demons and people stayed. By grateful it meant who where indebted to the Sparda family for one thing or another. His father never requested them to stay, but they liked to live on the grounds, they were a harmless bunch and they knew they were safe. The castle was guarded by many warriors that his father knew and had served with, there were many magical barriers surrounding them protecting them from the outside world. Life, if you was a good natured demon was good there. They helped out on the grounds, tending to the gardens, generally running the castle. There was always clean sheets on the beds and a good chef in the kitchen.

The world a week ago was no more interesting than it was yesterday in the paper he had picked up.

He closed the paper and made his way into the front office. Something was not quite right out here. The sky seemed to have gotten darker and the air seemed heavy almost to thick to breathe. Vergil looked out the front door. Something was coming. And it was big and it was angry. Vergil smelt its anger and wrath from where he was. There was nothing in the immediate street though, maybe it was behind the shop.

He grabbed his coat and sword and climbed up to the roof. The sky became darker. This must be a strong one. Only some of them are able to change the environment around them.

The tower loomed in the background. It sent shivers down Vergil's spine. He remembered the power that he had used to open it up and what it had felt like to him. He had liked it. This was now a role reversal. It was him standing to defend the shop again hell's finest instead of Dante. This had not been his thing for a while. Vergil frowned. He wasn't able to get a track on the demons location. It was masking its presence reasonably well. That was not always a good thing. Either it was one big one with lots of power, or it was many little ones joining forces and creating a large presence.

He jumped down from the shop and moved silently in the direction the creature seemed to be taking. It was bobbing about all over the place, it seemed to be trying to draw him away. Vergil was much wiser and knew a trap when he sensed rather than saw one. He stopped at the entrance to the alley way that was emitting the most dark force that he could get a reading from and drew his sword.

The creature came flying out from the alley with an almighty scream and Vergil's blade cut through the air with a singing sound. It was as sharp as the white hot adrenaline that now coursed through his veins during battle. He knew it was his demon counterpart trying to escape but he kept it in check.

This demon, creature, thing, whatever it was, was good. It was fast. It almost knew his moves before he had made them. He was struggling with the battle and he was starting to think he might not prevail. He slashed at it again and struck down hard, the blade vibrated along his arm and down to his bones. The thing was tough, it had a thick armour. Normally Dante would have shot the things defences down by now, but Vergil did not have guns, guns were beneath him. He said the words and blue swords appeared and shot towards the demon. Vergil smirked, it looked startled, it hadn't expected this.

The demon vanished, leaving him panting a little. He wasn't out of shape, he must have just been low on energy, he should go shopping for more food later. He bent down and picked up a shard of material that had come off of the demon when one of this swords had struck it. It was thick and black, like tar almost, but hard. He sniffed it, eurgh, this demon smelt worse than him. At least it was damageable, just tough.

He jumped back to the roof of the shop and surveyed the surrounding. Everything else was quite. Maybe it was just a random attack, maybe it was planned. Maybe it would come back. It didn't matter if it did. He would kill it. Just like he always did, after all, who else would?