There are some things a person cannot forget, like a feeling that cuts straight to the quick and leaves them floundering for air. Dante knows that feeling all too well—knows that it hurts worse than any blade through the heart—and sometimes he wishes he could forget it. Sometimes he wishes that he could just drown it out like he does his thoughts, but it stays. It remains, much like the scars on his left palm, a constant reminder of his ultimate failure. The very same failure that resulted in those scars.
Dante had been young. He had been far too stubborn. No, stubborn is not the right word. Foolish. He had been far too foolish and angry and full of hatred towards anything and anyone that reminded him that he was a half-demon, and it had cost him dearly. It had cost him his brother. His…
Seeing Nero had been quite the shock. It had made that feeling, that aching hurt, sharper, and so much more profound that Dante had thought that it would eat him alive from the inside. It had not but that did not change anything except to leave Dante wondering. Did Vergil know that he had left behind a son? It seems so unlike his twin, the Vergil that he recalls, and yet there is no other way to explain it. Dante had never bedded a woman, could not find it within himself to bed anyone for that matter, so Nero has to be Vergil's. He has to be and knowing that hurts so much more because Vergil…
Dante tries to not think about what he and Vergil should have had had Dante actually stopped and listened to his own damn instincts when he had awakened. Dante tries to not think that Vergil might have stayed for him or that Vergil might have let Dante go with him. Sparda had often told them that they were stronger together than they were apart on the rare occasions that he was home with them. Maybe then Vergil would not have fallen to Mundus…
Dante closes his eyes and breathes in sharply. He holds the air in until his lungs start to protest for more and then he lets it all out before taking another, shallower breath. Sitting here stewing in what-ifs and maybes does not change a damn thing. It does not give him Vergil back, especially when Vergil is dead…slain by Dante's own hands. Dante's second greatest failure.
"I'd give anything to make things right." The words come out softly. A tremulous whisper spoken only to the quiet darkness of Devil May Cry's dusty and deserted lobby. Dante would never, ever speak them otherwise. Lady might understand but she still holds something of a grudge towards Vergil for Temen-ni-gru and Trish… Trish is a demon. Trish does not understand. She probably never will.
Dante sighs softly and cracks open his eyes as he leans back in his chair. The same old dusty and deserted lobby, dark because there is no power—no money to pay the bills—and darker still because it is the middle of the night, greets his gaze. Dante has little need for lights anyways, his sight quickly adjusts to the near pitch blackness, and he sees everything with perfect clarity. If only he had seen with such perfect clarity twenty years ago…
"C'mon, man. There's no changin' the past," Dante mutters to himself. "It's stupid ta think that ya can." Stupid, like sitting in the dark and talking to himself. Christ, he needs to get out and do something. This is not healthy and he knows it. Dante knows it very well and yet… all he thinks about is Vergil and what could have been—what should have been.
Dante forces himself up out of his chair and paces around the side of his desk. Rebellion heeds his silent call and flashes onto his back while he grabs Ebony and Ivory from where he had set them aside earlier. He makes his way past his desk and across the lobby, hoping that there is something lurking somewhere in the city that he can kill.
There is not.
It is not very surprising but it is frustrating.
Frustrating enough that Dante takes a swing at the Divinity Statue he happens to find. Rebellion vibrates hard in his hand as her blade bounces off of the hourglass held aloft by the lion-headed goddess of space and time with a resounding clang. It is bad enough that his entire arm feels like it is going numb, and he trots his teeth as he tries to get the vibrating to stop, his grip on Rebellion tightening.
It takes several minutes for it to stop and Dante's left scowling, more at his own stupidity than at the Divinity Statue. He turns on his heel, no longer interested in finding something to kill, and heads back to Devil May Cry. Behind him, the statue's eyes glow for a few seconds before it silently crumbles into a cloud of glittering dust that briefly swirls in the air then trails after Dante.