[Vergil does not bother with responding to Dante's remark about their father. Dante has certainly said worse about the man, and Vergil defending him never seems to change Dante's perspective. Vergil also thinks Dante knows better than to assume their father was so easily defeated. Regardless of his feelings of hatred and anger, and whatever other vitriol he launches towards the devil, Dante knew Sparda was more than capable to take on most filth from the Underworld even without his full strength and power available to him. He was too smart to be bested easily, as every good warrior ought to be. So, Vergil just lets it be as his gaze drifts again from the Yamato to somewhere else in the apartment, to whatever meaningless spot on the wall or floor he can look at first. Once again, he's willing to let the silence sit and be, not trying to reach for further discussion of Sparda lest that result in a fight, nor trying to change the subject to something more pleasant.]
[What Dante says next...]
[Vergil looks to the divider, eyes wide in their confusion. Although Dante does not immediately claim responsibility for what happened, Vergil can hear the conclusion already in those first few slow words. Vergil swallows thickly as he swings his legs back down to the floor, sliding Paradise Lost from his lap to the cushion beside him. Unsteadily, Vergil rises to his feet in that additional stretch of silence, as without his awareness, he holds his next breath until Dante speaks again. Vergil feels almost immediately winded, Dante's words striking at him like a firm punch to his gut. His exhale is thin and weak, but still he steps forward.]
[Nothing Dante says sounds unfamiliar to him. How many nights after that day had Vergil laid awake believing that if he had just been a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, his mother and brother would still be alive? How often did he think that if he had just tolerated Dante's nonsense a little better, been a kinder brother to him, he would not find himself alone? Vergil is all too familiar with that guilt, that shame, and that self-loathing at a perceived flaw being the source of all the harm and misery that has followed him ever since. It drove Vergil to never experience that feeling of helplessness again. He sought more and more power to protect himself, to never allow himself that dependency upon another person to save him whenever he might need it. And so that he would never feel that grief again either.]
[But even in recognizing the sentiment Dante expresses... Vergil does not understand hearing it come from Dante. His brother makes light of so many things, brushing them aside and choosing to deal with life as it comes, not as he predicts it might. He's affable and kind in ways that Vergil never has been, and he surrounds himself with people who care for him. He's had a place to call home and people to fill his life with for decades. Barring the vitriol reserved for Sparda, Vergil has never once heard his brother speak of that day, and certainly not on his perceived role in it.]
[Had Vergil's decisions that day really...?]
[Vergil sits on the edge of the bed nearest to Dante. Taking it by the neck, he plucks the bottle away from his brother and sets it on the nightstand. Vergil looks at it where it sits for a moment or two before he looks at his brother. The look in Vergil's eyes is a hard one, but it is not because he carries any sort of anger towards Dante in this moment, nor is his intent to push Dante to either cease some annoying behavior or go away if he's unable to help himself. Rather instead, that furrow in his brow is the only thing keeping the tears that have formed in the edges of his vision, blurring the sight of Dante for Vergil, from falling as every breath he draws now feels like it might shake them loose. Leaning forward, Vergil pulls Dante towards himself in a tight embrace. Unlike the hug he offered Dante in the woods, nothing about this one feels tenuous. It is not a brief expression of some affection, some appreciation for his brother that is otherwise hard for Vergil to speak. It's firmer than that. Protective in the way one of Vergil's hands comes to cradle the back of his brother's head while the other at his back fists itself in the fabric of his coat.]
It wasn't your fault. [Vergil doesn't bother with offering the rationalizations for why it was not Dante's fault. He knows well enough himself firsthand how little that matters, how little that changes. Hell, Vergil would even be willing to bet that him declaring it not to be Dante's fault or responsibility will change nothing. But he says it anyway because his brother is hurting, and he is carrying a weight that should not be his to carry alone.] It was never your fault.
[A hand reaches out to Vergil in the dark as he falls. In reality, he rejected it, slashing across his brother's hand to prevent any grip from forming on any part of him. But in his dreams, Vergil desperately reaches back for it. He tries again and again each dream, but the ground gives way beneath him too quickly. His hand simply passes through as though he were little more than a spirit. Or something pulls him away before his grip can be firm enough. But again and again, he is never able to take Dante's hand.]
[Neither of them can undo the past. The past, no matter how much they may wish it were otherwise, is immutable. But they have now. They have tomorrow.]
[Vergil holds his brother a little tighter. He cannot bring himself to say the words right now, but with each pulse of his own heart, he promises Dante again and again.]
cw: mentions of death & complicated bereavement
[What Dante says next...]
[Vergil looks to the divider, eyes wide in their confusion. Although Dante does not immediately claim responsibility for what happened, Vergil can hear the conclusion already in those first few slow words. Vergil swallows thickly as he swings his legs back down to the floor, sliding Paradise Lost from his lap to the cushion beside him. Unsteadily, Vergil rises to his feet in that additional stretch of silence, as without his awareness, he holds his next breath until Dante speaks again. Vergil feels almost immediately winded, Dante's words striking at him like a firm punch to his gut. His exhale is thin and weak, but still he steps forward.]
[Nothing Dante says sounds unfamiliar to him. How many nights after that day had Vergil laid awake believing that if he had just been a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, his mother and brother would still be alive? How often did he think that if he had just tolerated Dante's nonsense a little better, been a kinder brother to him, he would not find himself alone? Vergil is all too familiar with that guilt, that shame, and that self-loathing at a perceived flaw being the source of all the harm and misery that has followed him ever since. It drove Vergil to never experience that feeling of helplessness again. He sought more and more power to protect himself, to never allow himself that dependency upon another person to save him whenever he might need it. And so that he would never feel that grief again either.]
[But even in recognizing the sentiment Dante expresses... Vergil does not understand hearing it come from Dante. His brother makes light of so many things, brushing them aside and choosing to deal with life as it comes, not as he predicts it might. He's affable and kind in ways that Vergil never has been, and he surrounds himself with people who care for him. He's had a place to call home and people to fill his life with for decades. Barring the vitriol reserved for Sparda, Vergil has never once heard his brother speak of that day, and certainly not on his perceived role in it.]
[Had Vergil's decisions that day really...?]
[Vergil sits on the edge of the bed nearest to Dante. Taking it by the neck, he plucks the bottle away from his brother and sets it on the nightstand. Vergil looks at it where it sits for a moment or two before he looks at his brother. The look in Vergil's eyes is a hard one, but it is not because he carries any sort of anger towards Dante in this moment, nor is his intent to push Dante to either cease some annoying behavior or go away if he's unable to help himself. Rather instead, that furrow in his brow is the only thing keeping the tears that have formed in the edges of his vision, blurring the sight of Dante for Vergil, from falling as every breath he draws now feels like it might shake them loose. Leaning forward, Vergil pulls Dante towards himself in a tight embrace. Unlike the hug he offered Dante in the woods, nothing about this one feels tenuous. It is not a brief expression of some affection, some appreciation for his brother that is otherwise hard for Vergil to speak. It's firmer than that. Protective in the way one of Vergil's hands comes to cradle the back of his brother's head while the other at his back fists itself in the fabric of his coat.]
It wasn't your fault. [Vergil doesn't bother with offering the rationalizations for why it was not Dante's fault. He knows well enough himself firsthand how little that matters, how little that changes. Hell, Vergil would even be willing to bet that him declaring it not to be Dante's fault or responsibility will change nothing. But he says it anyway because his brother is hurting, and he is carrying a weight that should not be his to carry alone.] It was never your fault.
[A hand reaches out to Vergil in the dark as he falls. In reality, he rejected it, slashing across his brother's hand to prevent any grip from forming on any part of him. But in his dreams, Vergil desperately reaches back for it. He tries again and again each dream, but the ground gives way beneath him too quickly. His hand simply passes through as though he were little more than a spirit. Or something pulls him away before his grip can be firm enough. But again and again, he is never able to take Dante's hand.]
[Neither of them can undo the past. The past, no matter how much they may wish it were otherwise, is immutable. But they have now. They have tomorrow.]
[Vergil holds his brother a little tighter. He cannot bring himself to say the words right now, but with each pulse of his own heart, he promises Dante again and again.]
[I will never leave you alone again, brother.]