( Vergil pulls away and he lets him, chuckling around a strawberry as he lazes there on the couch still. )
Hey, I think it's great you're still staying active in your old age. Making sure everything still works like it should.
( Waggling his eyebrows at that, he pops another couple of strawberries in his mouth and... welp. That's that. No more strawberries. Didn't take long at all for him to just devour them. As expected, really. Bowl in hand, he gets himself up off the couch and rounds it to head back for the kitchen area, not before giving a couple pats to Vergil's shoulder though. )
Also, how's anyone supposed to get ahold of you when you don't even use the relic thing we've got here?
[It's only for a brief moment, but Vergil contemplates whether or not Paradise Lost would be left with a dent in its cover if he were to use it against his brother. Most likely it would be with that thick skull of Dante's coming into contact with it. So, Vergil says nothing to Dante's comments even if the ambient temperature of the room feels a bit warmer and he reads the same line two or three times before being able to move on. When Dante gets up, Vergil lifts his book enough to let Dante have his leg back and rests it back in his own lap. The hand patting his shoulder still ends up swatted at, however, as Dante strides into the kitchen to take care of the dish.]
[Most irritating little brother to ever walk the earth, indeed.]
The farthest I ever tend to go from anywhere in Epiphany by choice is Mizu's cabin in Wintermute. [And by Vergil's estimation, it shouldn't take the Relic to connect with Vergil in Epiphany. Vergil only goes to a few limited spots after all.] And he uses his Relic, so you could just as easily call him if you needed me.
( It's asked with a scoff and shake of his head as he looks around for where to put the bowl and opts for... the sink. Yeah. That's where that's going. )
What if you guys are in the middle of going at it and I interrupt or something? Do you think I want to be subjected to such indecency from my big brother?
[The sound that emits from Vergil in his exasperation sounds somewhere between a sputter and a choking cough, but ultimately results in no recognizable speech sounds. Looking over to Dante in the kitchen, Vergil's free hand is thrown up a little as he furiously shakes his head. Vergil's hand curls into a fist and he drops it down on the pages in his lap as he squeezes his eyes shut, not even sure where to begin with any of this.]
Dante... [He audibly huffs as he opens his eyes again, his gaze more towards the ceiling than at his brother at present.] Going along with your false assumption that I am only ever at Mizu's for the purposes of sex, what difference would it make calling his Relic versus mine in an emergency in that circumstance?
[That is not even addressing the fact that neither Mizu nor Vergil would ever just answer while still in the middle of something like that in the first place. Even without the need to protect Mizu's secret, they would still separate and there would be nothing to witness. That's just a matter of common decency.]
[Nor is it addressing the fact Vergil's Relic is missing, so the point is ultimately moot to begin with.]
( Waving a hand at his brother, boots scuff against the flooring as he lazily saunters his way over to his little stash of things. )
Look, you don't even need to worry. Something happens? I'll take care of it.
( Just like always.
Stopping there at his little pile, he reaches for the new bottle he'd brought in with him, grabbing it by the neck with the tips of his fingers before he turns back to look to his brother. )
[Vergil watches Dante return from the kitchen to his pile, reaching for the latest bottle. He doesn't say anything, but his silence still is accompanied by a heavy weight of wanting to say something all the same. But it's not anger that has Vergil so quiet, but rather an uncertainty. An anxiety that sits in the pit of his stomach as he weighs his options and mulls it over. He sets his tea down on the floor nearby to the couch and slowly closes the book in his lap again, hands resting on the cover just so that his fingers curl over the top of it, but he lingers in his indecision to say something or not.]
[On an extremely basic level, what Dante is suggesting does not sit well with Vergil. A life worth living, to him, is one that he should always wish to protect and fight for. To ask Vergil to live his life, but allow someone elseβeven his own brotherβto be the one to ensure there is no threat to it is simply antithetical to Vergil even without that endless drive for power. No matter how much Vergil has craved to be loved and to be protected, he could never idly stand by if those he has chosen to love, chosen to care for are in any sort of danger. Regardless of the temporary nature of this life he has managed to start to eke out for himself here in Folkmore... It is Vergil's, and that makes it his to protect with everything he has.]
[But far deeper and greater than that basic principle is the way Dante says it. Just live your life here. It sits poorly with Vergil. It's as though despite being perfectly within reach, Dante is hundreds of miles away. Just live your life here. As though Dante is not a part of it let alone an important part of it. Glaring at a spot on the floor, Vergil purses his lips. This is why he's left in indecision.]
[Short of more literally drilling it into his skull, while she was alive, Eva never let Vergil forget that his responsibility as the eldest was to look after his little brother. At the time, he resented it, of course. What child wouldn't? Especially when taking into consideration they were twins, and no matter whatever reassurances could be offered, they were still expected more than regular siblings to share in all things with each other. So, not only was Vergil being asked to share when he did not want to, make concessions on his quiet to appease his little brother, he was also asked to take responsibility for Dante. But then Eva died. Eva died and the Yamato protected him, and those events shaped so much of his life by themselves, but Eva was not the only person that Vergil mourned, the only person he lost and led him to swear off ever allowing someone that sort of closeness to him ever again.]
[He thought Dante had been taken from him, too. That he had been too weak. That his selfish, childish aggravation with Dante that day had...]
[Vergil knows he's failed Dante as a brother more than he hasn't, and that even when excluding times when he was not entirely himself, he'd plainly resented it. But that's not what Vergil wants. Deep in his heart, he's never wanted to be alone or without his brother even with all their differences, and their inability to truly resolve any of them between one another. For as much as Dante drives him insane... He will always been Vergil's little brother. And he wants things to be different, to be better between them.]
I have been looking at some of the houses in the area. This is working for now, [he says with a vague gesture of his hand to what used to be just his apartment,] but you could use more clothes than the ones you own already and there isn't enough room in here for storage like that. I also wouldn't mind having my own room again on the off-chance Mizu feels brave enough to weather your nonsense for a night or two. And I don't know what Nero's plans are, but I was thinking regardless of whether he chooses to stay or go, having a bed available to him rather than sleeping on this thing would be preferred.
[Vergil is looking anywhere but at Dante as he says any of this. Even if he's learned from his mistake in the woods that day of pressing too much of an interest or otherwise protest to Dante's assertions, there's still a degree to which he doesn't know how Dante will take this. If he will agree to it or not. Vergil supposes it doesn't really...matter. It's not as though they won't still see each other. It will just take more effort than it does now to make that happen, that's all. But it bruised before, and Vergil doesn't want something like this, something that he's trying to say without perhaps saying it directly, to potentially spark an argument.]
There aren't many, but there are a few three bedrooms that seem as though they should suffice. You could... [He clears his throat and tries again, more firmly.] You could come with me tomorrow to see which ones you prefer.
( He honestly hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd gone off and said what he had. He meant it. Means it. If anything were to happen to either Vergil or Nero, he would be there to take care of it β take care of them in whatever ways he needed to. In the years since the trauma of their childhood, he's always shouldered the responsibility of needing to take care of things. At first, he hated it. Hated the fact that it was him having to clean up after and take care of his old man's messes he'd left behind for him.
But he did it. Over and over and over again until it was pretty much all he knew. It hurt sometimes β ripped his heart out and left him crying on the floor of his office after losing Vergil again. He's mourned his brother three times in his life and each time, it's damn nearly killed him. He still doesn't know how he survived each time. Because he never got over it, no. He survived. Just as he did that day back at their old home in Redgrave. Getting over it would imply he still doesn't hurt from it β still doesn't have wounds that bleed when he thinks too much about it. But he does. All over his heart and they still hurt like a bitch when they're torn open by unexpected force.
He takes a sort of pride in what does, sure. Keeping the human realm safe... it's given him a sort of purpose in life. Even if it's tiring some days and he's left wondering if it'll ever really end. So he doesn't even really think twice about offering to handle whatever might happen here or in their lives. It's... what he does. What he's done for years even when he thinks he can barely get through it. So to see the reaction from his brother there when he says what he does, it has him pause in the twisting of the cap off his bottle and he stares over to him when he goes on about looking for some place else. Somewhere bigger.
For a moment, he's quiet. Eyes roaming their gaze around the place with hands stilled on the bottle. He's not about to disagree that a bigger place would be nicer for them, but. After learning about Mizu and Vergil's wandering off some nightsβ not to mention Nero being here and the both of them knowing who they are to one another... he figured this was all temporary until he found some place for himself. So for that to not be the case as he'd assumed... he stands there. Silent. A little unsure how to respond to that, especially the part about looking at places together.
Teeth gently press into his bottom lip, gaze dropping down to the bottle he holds. Serious conversations between them have usually led to an argument at some point in them, often due to their being at odds with one another β differing points of views. This, however, isn't necessarily the case and it's why he's not sure what to say. Vergil is trying. He can see that. It's what he's always wanted his brother to do and yet, the moment he does, he's left unsure with how to react to it. At least for a moment.
In the silence that falls over them, there's a sort of tempered contentment there as he'd had when he was a child and Vergil finally gave in to wanting to play with him. The smile that touches his lips faint and hidden before he finds it within him to finally say something. )
So you wanna play house with me, huh? You do the cooking, I do the dishes. We take turns taking the trash out. Socks on the doorknobs as a courtesy to each other.
( Good way to break any tension there with throwing in a nonchalance about it all. Shrug of his shoulders, he holds his arms out at his sides some. )
Alright. But on one condition. ( To which he smiles. ) I want a jukebox.
[Vergil finally looks up at Dante when he speaks, wrinkling his nose a little at how Dante phrases it and how cavalier as always he is about it. It's only because he knows that's his brother's way that Vergil doesn't provide some sort of critical remark for it.]
[Well, not exactly.]
[The moment Dante agrees to it, something in Vergil lights up and warms immediately. Dante's nonchalance and jokes do nothing to dampen it or the smile that not only curves Vergil's lips, but reaches his eyes. He didn't hold an expectation either way what Dante's answer would be, but the answer he receives leaves him pleased. No... No, not pleased. Happy.]
[It's a strange, funny feeling.]
Fine. But it's off after midnight. One, at the absolute latest. [He looks back down at the book in his lap briefly before looking at Dante again.] And you are doing the dishes if you're expecting me to cook. It's the least you can do considering the mess I'm sure you and that woman [Trish; don't think Vergil hasn't noticed the fridge becoming emptier a little faster than anticipated] are going to make in the rest of the house.
( It takes him a second to realize he's talking about Trish and when he does, he blows out a sigh as he finally goes about twisting that cap off the bottle he's holding. )
Her name is Trish not that woman. Jesus, Verge.
( Shake of his head, he takes a swig and licks over his lips as he wanders around the room a little. )
And before you get any ideas, I'm not banging her. ( He points to his brother while holding the bottle, feeling the need to just Get That Out There just in case. ) She's my friend and we've been through shit together.
[Vergil visibly shudders when Dante denies having any relations with Trish, expression scrunching like he just bit into something unpleasant. Setting aside the circumstances of Trish's path crossing with either son of Sparda, she was made to look like their mother. The furthest thing from Vergil's mind was the idea that anything was happening between Dante and Trish, and now he really wishes Dante hadn't said anything because that was not a thought he needed. Ever.]
I figured as much...? [The question in his tone is really only an unspoken question as to why Dante thinks that's what Vergil would conclude. He shakes his head as he extends his legs on the couch since Dante has taken to mildly wandering rather than sitting back down. He is still frowning in disgust though. Gross.] She isn't over here as often as she is for Nero's sake and certainly not for mine, in any case. I assumed that after...
[Vergil trails off, not really sure how to put it in a succinct way that doesn't feel as though they're about to tread into thoughts and memories neither one of them is liable to want to remember. He lets it be, returning to the point.]
I assumed the two of you must have remained close based on how often she is here. [He pauses a moment before adding,] I'm glad you have a friend here with you at least. Unfortunate that Lady could not also be here.
[He bothered to remember her name at least. Well. It's less a matter that he did or did not remember Trish's name, and just more what baggage comes with her existence for Vergil. Lady does not come with that, so she's a touch easier for Vergil to talk about even if he certainly couldn't claim to know her any better than he knows Trish.]
( Whatever!! He's just making sure it's out there.
Vergil stops himself before he goes on to say what he knows he was going to around that time and it has him slow in his steps β take another swig of his drink even. He just so happens to be near the bathroom when doing so and he stares into it for a long moment, silent, before he looks back over to the other son of Sparda there on the couch. )
Yeah, well. I'm a friendly sort of guy, what can I say?
( Lazy shrug of his shoulders, he wanders about a little more before he goes around behind the little divider Vergil bothered to setup there to give them all some privacy and... drops himself down to his brother's bed with an oof. Yeah. He's absolutely sprawling himself out on it with his drink. )
[Vergil doesn't know exactly what to say to that, and he supposes that's likely part of the point. Dante isn't exactly an open book about most things, but when it comes to everything that happened with Mundus and Mallet Island... Vergil doesn't fault him for wanting the conversation to stop. He lets it go and says nothing for a long moment. Even after hearing Dante flop on his bed, Vergil says nothing. Not even a remark about keeping his boots off the bed or barking at him to be mindful of his drink. The silence this time feels less companionable than it did before. Heavier and suffocating almost when he thinks about it.]
[Vergil looks down at the book in his lap fishing for something to say, but comes up short. He folds his arms uncomfortably before slowly looking back up towards the balcony again. The silence stretches on for a moment or two longer before Vergil finally breaks it with a huff that almost borders on a laugh.]
You know, [he says, looking over in the direction of his bed,] I don't even know where my Relic is anymore. I left it in the nightstand, but it wasn't there when I looked after everything returned to normal.
( He lets the silence fall between them β lets his gaze linger on the bottle he rests there against his leg. Heβs lounging there on the bed β a leg propped up which means boot on the bed and his back pressed against the pillow or two heβs propped up as a means to give him some support with the headboard. Heβsβ¦ almost uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment, even as he hears Vergil toss a conversation starter his way and he sighs as he tips his head back and looks to the ceiling. )
Do you think dadβs dead?
( He realizes itβs a bit of a one-eighty swerve from what theyβd been talking about but, he adds: )
Nero asked me about him. I didnβt really know what to say.
( Huff on his lips, he looks to his bottle again. )
I mean heβd have to be, right? Unless heβs just that much of an asshole to ditch his family.
Edited 2024-11-03 04:44 (UTC)
cw: talk of death, child abandonment, attempted child murder
[Saying that Vergil didn't expect that question feels like more than a little bit of an understatement. He tried to lighten the mood by throwing Dante an easy thing to get on Vergil's case about. Something to easily distract from the parts of their lives that neither one of them really want to think about. The silence that follows is a little troubling, but Vergil's prepared to take it as a sign he should stop while he's ahead. Dante moved himself into a space where Vergil can't see him, and he isn't taking the easy bait. That's more than enough to signal that Vergil should let him be and busy himself instead with reading or perhaps starting dinner so it will be ready by the time Nero returns home. His expression is nearly faded entirely when Dante throws him a curveball though in asking about their father, another topic that neither one of them are particularly good in talking about with the other without it devolving into an argument.]
[Swallowing thickly, he answers quietly and softly,] Yes.
[Vergil doesn't know if he should say more or not. He wishes he could see Dante now to gauge it better, but... Then again, would Dante even listen to him regardless of his mood? Any other time the matter of Sparda comes up, Dante is quick to dismiss what Vergil has to say. Vergil's not stupid. He knows Dante thinks it is nothing but blind hero worship, but that's not it for Vergil. He could never blindly hero worship anyone, not even their father. Vergil knows their father was strong. And he loved them and their mother more than anything in the world. But Vergil also knows he wasn't there when they needed him. Something took him away from them. Vergil's certain their mother knew why he left even if she never told Vergil and Dante. Why else would she never speak anything of him as being anything less than the noble knight of his legend when she could have just as easily not said anything at all? Whatever her feelings about the chance he might not return or whatever heartbreak and grief she felt when he did not, she clearly understood their father's reason for leaving and implicitly condoned it one way or another.]
I know you hate him, Dante, but he... [Vergil looks away from the divider towards the Yamato where Vergil left it propped near the front door. Speak father, speak to your little boy, or else I shall be lost. Vergil continues, although not with exactly what he was about to say.] If he was alive, he would have returned to us.
[And to his mother brought, who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale, her little boy weeping sought.]
[Eva would still be alive. They would not have been separated, believing the other to have succumbed to the same attack that claimed their mother's life. Perhaps Vergil could have grown to be kinder, gentler than he is now. Dante would have fewer reasons to drink and be less insistent on handling matters on his own. Brothers would not be at great odds with one another, locked in battle after battle to the death. Nero would have grown up with a father. So much would and could be different if Sparda lived and they were together again.]
Or we would have found a trace of him by now.
[Assuming that Dante's most unkind, ungenerous thoughts of Sparda were true, and he had simply just not been there, abandoning them thoughtlessly. Somewhere in all of Vergil's searching for claiming his power would have proven some evidence he was still alive, somewhere out there. Surely he would have intervened with Temen-ni-gru being raised once more if not to stop his sons from their contests of strength then at least to protect his beloved humanity from the consequences of reopening the portal that he sealed. If something as extreme as that could not stir him to action, Vergil's only conclusion is, as it has been for years upon years, that their father is dead.]
cw: continued mentions of death, depression, childhood trauma
( He's trying to be careful with this conversation here. He knows how he and his brother differ in their opinions and views of their father, but. Nero had asked about his grandfather and the youngest son of Sparda hadn't wanted to not say anything when he had, so. The old man is on his mind as of late, especially with two generations of Sparda's bloodline being under one roof currently. That his bloodlineβ his family had, in fact, survived and finally found each other.
What would he think if he could see them now? What would their mother think if she could see them together like this? It's a depressing thought, more concerning her and, how like he'd said to Nero, she had deserved so much better than the hand the cards had dealt her that day. Maybe if he hadn't been such a little brat to his brother, Vergil wouldn't have run off to get away from his annoying little brother and she wouldn't have left to go look for him... she wouldn't have been killed and he wouldn't continuously have nightmares of her screams over the years while he hid, trembling and scared in a closet. That's his fault and he carries that with him every day.
But he should have been there. Sparda should have been there and he's never quite forgiven their old man for just leaving them when he was supposed to protect them. They're his sons β they carry his demonic blood in their veins, but they were kids at the time and there was too many of them. Yet no matter how many times he tries to tell himself that, he still can't help but feel the guilt for what had happened all because he wanted his brother's attention. He shouldn't feel that. Sparda should, for not being there for them. But how's a guy or demon supposed to feel that if he was already dead at the time?
He stares to the bottle there resting at his leg β listens to Vergil's thoughts on whether or not their father might somehow still be alive after all this time, and he huffs before he brings the bottle up to his lips, pausing. )
So much for being the legendary dark knight, huh? Wonder what punk demon took him out.
( Sparda had disappeared before Mundus struck. That was the whole reason why Mundus struck. The demon had caught wind of Sparda's sudden disappearance and saw it as an opportune moment to send his lackeys after the dark knight's family. Had it been Mundus who had finally exacted his revenge of their old man, the demon would have gloated about it, he's for damn sure about that.
There's the possibility maybe he'd ended up trapped somewhere. Portals to the underworld are a dime a dozen if you know how to open them and Sparda was known to open and close a few in his time. But Vergil's right. If that were the case, they would have heard something about that, he figures. Rumors or legends of him stepping into some portal somewhere at some point. He doesn't go searching the world for traces of his old man, but. He keeps an ear to the ground for anything pertaining to him. He always has and he's always come up with next to nothing but stories he'd already heard before. The Order of the Sword had really been the closest thing to anything "new" regarding him, even if that had more been a trap for him than anything else.
He takes a long swig of his drink β licks over his lips as he rests it against his leg again and he falls silent as pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes falling shut. )
I shouldn't have bothered you that day... ( The words are slow and soft to leave him, as if he's unsure if he should even say them to begin with, but. Damn that kid of Vergil's. ) ...mom went looking for you because I wouldn't leave you alone. ( Again, there's a stretch of silence and he lets go a shaky breath as he his hand drops away from his face. ) That's my fault. You leaving, mom looking for you... that's my fault.
( And so it all goes back to whether or not Vergil would really want his brother to live with him again. Why he'd been so unsure when the offer was made. Live your life here where he doesn't have to be a thorn in his side like back then. )
[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.]
[I will never leave you alone again, brother.]
cw: still mentions of depression and survivor's guilt
( He doesn't know why he said what he said β doesn't know why they're having this conversation to begin with... except he does. Nero. The kid had been the one to ask about Sparda, about Eva, wanting to know about his family and while it's valid and understandable he'd want to know when he's gone his whole life wondering that, it's still painful for the youngest son of Sparda, despite the nonchalance he carries with him. He imagines, to an extent, it's the same for Vergil, just that their heartaches, while similar, are also so very different from one another. Just like them. Because of Nero's curiosity, it'd been on his mind, though β brought up old feelings and guilt, especially with Vergil very much alive and here with him now.
Very much making his way over to him there on the bed.
When his brother goes and takes the bottle from him, he lets him β eyes him for a moment, only to see it set aside; he never did peg Vergil for much of a drinker. He doesn't know what he expects or what Vergil is likely to say, if anything at all to that. He'd made his smartass comment about their father just moments prior to his own admission to his guilt surrounding their mother and that day, so it would almost be remiss for him to not say something about that. Big brother who respects their father and all.
But there's nothing to come concerning their father or the comment he'd made. Not even a look of disdain there in matching blue eyes when he lifts his gaze up to meet his brother's. Instead, there's something else there in the hardness of them β something that confuses him for a moment... and then he's being pulled into an embrace and held in a way he hasn't been held in a very, very long time.
He sits there, dumbfounded, but. Like the words he'd spilled before regarding that day and his guilt, he finds himself doing something he's not sure why he is and, reaches up to grasp at the back of Vergil's clothing with a hand. Tight. As if scared to let go and have this all be a dream he's dreamt a hundred or so times before.
When the words come, he's left there in silence β left in the tight embrace his brother keeps him within and he sits there with those words, with the reassurance his brother tries to give him. He drops his head β presses his face down to Vergil's shoulder and just... stays like that, hand still holding at his brother's back. Reminiscent of days when they were children and he'd come sidle up to his brother after having a bad dream or the thunder being a bit too loud for him. Hiding beneath the sheets and within his brother's arms, knowing he was safe there. Knowing he wouldn't let anything hurt him.
Except he is hurt β has been hurting for years and Vergil wasn't there to protect him. Wasn't there to reassure him that things would be ok. That he would be ok. It's why he's not. Ok. Because he'd lost his other half that day years ago due to his driving him away with refusing to let him be for a little while. He'd lost him that day. Lost him when they'd found each other again and, like his books, he chose the Underworld over wanting to be with him. Lost him to the demon fuck Mundus who had stripped his brother of everything he ever was and made him a puppet. A puppet he had to put down and, again, had to watch leave him because of his actions.
He can't let him know how much it hurts. Can't let him know the number of nights he'd spend on the floor instead of on the couch. Laying there. Bottle empty. Staring across the room with tears in his eyes and replaying over and over and over again how he should have done things differently. How he should have tried harder or searched for him when he'd fallen into the Underworld.
So when he finally finds it within him to speak, it's soft β pathetic almost, as if he were a child again, tucked in against his big brother beneath the sheets of their bed. )
[It seems foolish after a moment of thought, but hearing Dante admit so plainly to having missed Vergil takes the elder son of Sparda by surprise. Had it only been that decade from when they both left behind the burning rubble of their childhood and assumed themselves the sole survivor, it would not come as all that much surprise because Vergil had missed Dante then, too. For all that he swore to himself that he would never allow himself such vulnerabilities and weaknesses again, he still missed his brother. For weeks and months after the attack, when Vergil settled in for the night, he would pretend Dante was there beside him. It was, of course, a means of soothing his own anxieties by projecting them onto Dante instead of accepting them as his own, but Vergil was always left with that feeling of loneliness afterward when he was staring into the dark instead of at matching blue eyes. He still remembers thinking on some nights that he would have given anything, even the Yamato itself, to have his brother there with him instead. Or in weaker moments, on worse nights, he wished it had been him instead, or if that weren't possible, that they both died that day. Because they were not supposed to be separated like that. They shared a womb, and just hours apart, they came into the world together. One of them was not supposed to grow up while the other remained a child forever. Even Vergil knew that at such a young age.]
[But that was before everything that came to follow.]
[It feels to Vergil that Dante should not miss him. Not particularly. Not acutely. Not to any great measure beyond an old loss that one has had time to sit and come to terms with. The odds that they have been at with one another, the resolve that Dante had to find within himself to do whatever it took to stop Vergil... Vergil would have thought somewhere amid all that, it would have burned it out of Dante. That there could be no more love, no grace, no hope, nothing left for Vergil but resentment and anger at what Vergil pushed Dante to do again and again. He was prepared that day atop the Qliphoth, wasn't he? To end it. Once and for all. For there to be no more chances, no more opportunities for Vergil to cause mayhem in all the ways he had before. That's all it should have been by then.]
[He squeezes his eyes shut, but it's already too late. The tears slip from his eyes, falling the short distance to Dante's shoulder. The first in years. Decades, really...]
I missed you, too.
[Not in the same ways. Their positions and perspectives on their conflict with one another have always been different. And there had been that stretch of years when Mundus carved and rent every trace of what made Vergil who he is until there was nothing but a mindless, hollow shell left behind. But the words are true. The ache of years lost and wasted still resonates beneath them all the same.]
[Vergil loosens his hold and sits back.]
Look at me. [He holds his brother's face in one hand while the other rests at his shoulder, waiting until he has Dante's eyes before he continues.] We are in this together. Not as the sons of Sparda, but as Dante and Vergil.
[As brothers. As they always should have been.]
Nothing is going to get in the way of that, Dante. [Vergil shakes his head slightly as he gives a squeeze to Dante's shoulder.] Not anymore.
( Look at me, Vergil says and, like the little brother listening to his big brother, he does.
This is different. So different from anything they've ever said or done with one another to the point where some part of him almost wants to fiddle and fidget away from it all. He doesn't β it takes everything within him to not. To keep the sass and sarcasm from spilling out of him β to keep himself from twisting away and reaching for his bottle with a lazy little smile on his lips. All things that feel kneejerk for him to do in response to feeling this exposed and this vulnerable. But he doesn't, even if some part of him so very badly wants to, he doesn't because it doesn't feel right to do. Not when Vergil is here with him like this. Not when he's saying what he is, looking to him with such conviction in those eyes that are far from the glassy blue he'd come to be so familiar with during so many of their interactions with one another in the past.
Those words twist something up within him β have him feel a plethora of emotions that threaten to drown him right then and there on the bed. Words that almost feel too late, in a way. That he wishes had been said and realized so many years ago. They dredge up moments from their childhood β of a young Dante dropped to his knees, whining after his brother taking his leave back to the house after he'd finished playing with him. Finished too soon, in young Dante's opinion, staring down to the ground with a pout on his lips. But Vergil would come back β would grab his little brother by the wrist and drag him along with him, mumbling how they need to stick together and to stop dragging his feet as he goes. Together. A word that punches the youngest son of Sparda right in the center of his chest and sends cracks of heartache throughout his entire being.
That's how they should have been. Together. That's all he ever wanted. To be together with his brother. Maybe it was too much for Vergil to want β maybe he was too much at that age for his brother to want together as he did, but that feeling never stopped for him. No matter how often they would end up at odds with one another or he would have to strike his big brother down. He always wanted them to be together.
He breaks his silence with a puff of laughter from his lips, soft and hollow without any real amusement in it, and he ducks his head down some, licking over his lips as he stares to Vergil's vest. )
Didn't know you were such a sap, bro.
( Lips quirk into a half-smile but his eyes do anything but. He can feel those emotions swimming around within them, threatening to spill in ways he won't be able to hold back. So he takes a second β sinks his teeth so bloody hard down into his bottom lip before he finally looks up to his brother, eyes shining with the threat of that dam he's holding together to break. )
Why didn't you take my hand? ( Even as he asks, his voice is soft, nearly breathless. ) I reached for you, Iβ ( Sucking in a breath, he curls a hand into a fist and thumps it square in the center of Vergil's chest. It lacks any real punch to it, but. It's still firm and it stays there as he stares to it. ) Why didn't you take my hand?
( You left me alone, he can't bring himself to say. )
[As Dante ducks his head, Vergil lets the hand at Dante's face drop down to his own lap. The weak joke doesn't provoke a reaction out of Vergil. He doesn't try to reiterate his sentiment or scold Dante for seemingly dismissing it with a display of his usual cavalier attitude even if some part of him does lightly bristle at it because there's a part of him that worries this is where it's proven to be too little, too late. Perhaps no amount of missing Vergil is enough to make up for the passage of time without one another, for all the times Vergil has pushed his brother away in anger and frustration and in his own stubborn convictions. Instead, he just sits in his silence, meeting his brother's watery gaze wishing that were enough to know exactly what is going through his mind.]
[Dante doesn't leave him in the dark for long on that matter. His voice is thin and weak in a way Vergil's never heard before. Not even when Dante bit back tears and repeatedly insisted he wasn't about to cry because he hadn't cried when he got those bumps and scrapes while nearly crushing the bones in Vergil's hand while their mother cleaned up them up had he sounded so small and desperate. It's antithetical to who Dante is, as Vergil knows him to be. The light fist to Vergil's chest does nothing to help, but Vergil supposes it's not meant to do anything more than distract from what they both know to be true: Vergil cannot say anything that will do anything to ease this hurt. Whatever he says will only make it worse. It does not matter if he speaks the truth, if he deflects, or if he outright lies. Even silence shall not bring Dante relief.]
[Beneath Dante's fist, Vergil's heart pounds. It pounds and pounds and pounds so loudly in Vergil's head, it's all he can really hear as he looks at his brother, futilely wishing that he had something he could offer, something that could ease the pain from the ugly reality. But he has nothing. Nothing that can make it better. Vergil's hand flies up from his lap to grip tightly at Dante's fist in a silent desperation as he shakes his head slightly. For a moment, it seems likely that's all there is to be. Silence. But Vergil tries to works his jaw, and his lips part for a moment in an aborted attempt to speak until he finally manages to push something out.]
...I'm sorry, Dante. Iβ... [His voice cracks, and he stops himself. He swallows thickly, and softly repeats his apology.] I'm so sorry...
[He isn't trying to avoid the question in the end. If Dante were to ask again, he would acquiesce. And he would try, to the best of his ability, to explain his reasonsβboth what he believed at the time and what he knows to be true nowβfor not taking Dante's hand that day. But he knows the reasons aren't good enough. Nothing ever could be a good enough reason for why he did what he did. Not in Dante's eyes. Hell, he isn't even certain they're good enough in his own now with the benefit of hindsight being what it is.]
[He wants to cast his gaze aside. The shame and guilt welling up within him sets every nerve-ending in his body to pull on that instinct, but he stays exactly as he is.]
[He owes Dante that much. Well... He owes him more than that. Far, far more than that. But Dante does not deserve cowardice from him right now.]
( Vergil offers him an apology and he doesn't know how to take it. This conversation β these memories... they pull out various things he's buried deep, deep, deep within him and has refused to revisit around another living person. It wouldn't do any good, he's told himself. What's done is done. The past can't be changed. No matter how many times he wishes it could. So he tries to keep it in. Tries to push it all back down to where he normally does beneath every heartache, every moment of guilt and failure he's ever felt in his life.
And then, it comes out. Spilling from him in an eruption of fiery sorrow. )
It was supposed to be you and me. I would have fought with you. I would have helped you take down that bastard and what he did to mom. To us. That's how it was supposed to be. You and me. Together. Not me having to put you down. Not me having to be the only one left to chase. You and me.
( He feels like he's a kid again. Swinging his wooden sword around and yelling at his brother for how unfair it is that he won't play with him. Trying to list all the reasons why he should and hoping that one of them might get through to him. It's selfish of him to do. Selfish of him to say. But he does. Just like back then. In his upset.
There's a sudden spike in demonic energy from him then and he thumps that fist at Vergil's chest again, a little harder than the last time, grinding his teeth against each other as eyes flash with red and fire. It takes everything within him to reel back the anger he can feel running through his veins β making the air around them grow hot with the familiar threat of his demonic skin to spill over human flesh and take control in the moment.
The devil within him snarls at its twin beneath flesh and bone but... he relents. The fire dims. Doesn't give in. Hangs his head there with that fist pressing firm against Vergil's chest, and then he trembles some. Not out of anger, not out of fear that Vergil might pull away, but out of an uncontrollable sadness that still sits there deep within him, like his devil. One he can taste with the blood on his tongue. When he speaks, it's after he takes a second to swallow β after he crumples forward and presses himself against his brother. )
I would have given anything to have you back with me.
( Almost. To follow in his big brother's footsteps... he couldn't. He knows he couldn't. No matter how much some part of him wanted to. No matter how much he missed him. No matter how he loved him. He couldn't walk the path Vergil had chosen.
Shoulders slumping, fingers go limp and unfurl from the fist he'd so tightly held. )
Please don't leave again. I'm right here. I've always been right here, Vergil.
[As it all spills from Dante, Vergil's hands fall away from Dante. The hand at Dante's fist darts away quickly, almost as though he touched something scalding hot. The hand at his shoulder is slower to fall, but it rests just as uselessly at Vergil's side as the other. As Dante continues on, Vergil looks beyond his brother, past his shoulder and to his pillows and headboard. Demonic energy from Dante spikes and the heat of it radiates off him in waves at that barely contained anger, but all Vergil can feel is a sudden chill, a coldness that runs deeper than just his blood but down to the very marrow of his bones. Vergil sways slightly as there's a harder thump at his chest, and although he expects and waits for more, for worse to follow, he does not brace himself. Because there it is, he thinks. There is that anger and that resentment Vergil long since stoked after burning out whatever else there was, and he knows if he braces himself for it, he will respond in kind, and Vergil does not know what that will ultimately result in or amount to beyond that it will be everything he did not intend. And maybe that will fix it in its own way. Maybe if Dante can release that anger into Vergil, no longer bottling it up or drowning it with liquor bottle after liquor bottle, he might start to heal. With or without Vergil, he just might.]
[He starts a little when Dante presses against him, flinching as though it were a sudden strike despite it being nothing of the sort. Bringing his eyes back into focus, Vergil looks down at his little brother. His tired, sad, lonely, scared little brother. The numbness has not fully left Vergil, but he's cognizant of how heavy Dante feels against him now as he goes limp. He forces himself to remain upright, and subsequently keep Dante the same, but he feels frozen to the spot where he sits. Somehow, Vergil's hands find their way to Dante's upper arms, squeezing them tighter than he necessarily means to hold onto them.]
[Part of him, he would be ashamed to admit, wants to push Dante away. It is not the child that always resented and attempted to shirk his responsibilities to his brother that wants to do it, however. It's a part ruled by guilt and shame, not anger and resentment. Vergil was supposed to take care of Dante. He was supposed to look after him, and keep him out of trouble. He was supposed to protect him from harm both real and imaginary. And yet, he's only ever really managed to do the opposite. It is one thing, Vergil finds, to recognize his shortcomings and failures as a brother. He is not unaware that he has failed Dante time and time again, and that it was always his decision to run from his brother from they were children until they found one another at the cusp of their adulthood. It was still his decision as V to lie and obfuscate the truth to his brother when asking for help because he was too afraid of what Dante might do if he knew with no exclusivity to the worst outcome in that scenario. It is another to feel them made manifest like this. To feel what happens when someone loves him so fiercely that they've dashed themselves upon the rocks again and again and again in what some might consider a fit of madness in believing that something different might happen. If perhaps just this time...]
[There is no explanation that will ever seem reasonable for his decisions. That much remains true. But Vergil realizes now the reason he didn't provide one isn't just because he was afraid of inciting his brother's anger in making it worse. No, he was perhaps more afraid of Dante's empathy. That even as it killed him to know that Vergil deluded himself into thinking he was choosing power above all else to protect himself when in reality it was simply because he was so goddamn afraid... That Dante could offer any semblance of understanding or forgiveness anywhere amid whatever else it might spark in Dante would certainly be his undoing.]
You've always been such a crybaby...
[Vergil's voice is soft and gentle, not at all truly chiding Dante or even dismissing his feelings here and now. If anything, it's the exact opposite as Vergil comes to wrap his arms around Dante just as before with one hand at his back and the other cradling his head.]
[There is nothing Vergil can do about the past. No explanation makes it reasonable. No apology undoes the harm he's inflicted. The regrets he holds over his decisions are simply ones that he will have to carry with him until his dying breath just as Dante has learned to walk with the wounds and scars he carries. The only thing he can do, the only thing they can do now is stay on this path together now that they're on it with one another again.]
[So, it is more seriously that he promises,]
I'm not going anywhere, Dante. I'm done running away. My place is with you.
( It's something he needs to hear β something they both need to hear β and while it may not be his admission to the depths of heartache he's lived with over the years from that day at their home and the decisions Vergil has made along the way, it's... something. For now. Maybe it's all either brother needs for the moment... to be reassured of the other's need for them.
So he remains there against his brother β listens to the gentle reassurances he offers him with hands to his head and back. Protective. Like when they were kids. He's quiet, like back then. Searches for the beat of his brother's heart and sinks into the gentle rise and fall of his chest with every slow breath. Just like back then. A forgotten comfort that's become so familiar again.
There's conviction in those words. He can hear it, despite the gentleness in which he gives them, and he knows his brother is capable of following through with his word when he gives it β when he sets his mind to it and decides that's simply how it's going to be. He knows that he means it and that he intends to see it through, but. To simply forget the years of guilt and failures he's carried with him... the heartache and anger and depression he tends to wade through because of how broken he feels inside... gentle reassurances are not enough to heal those scars that still very much bleed for him.
But it's a start, at least.
There's a breath on his lips then β soft. Blue eyes having fallen shut as he lays there against Vergil without any signs of intending to move. He's still cooling down β still making sure his devil is in check and quiet behind warm flesh before he even thinks to gently let his eyes flutter open, staring across the room from where he's lazing against his brother. )
You promise?
( You promise? He remembers asking his brother when they were kids and he'd been lazing against him much like this beneath the sheets of their bed, scared from the nightmares he'd had and Vergil reassuring him that nothing would happen to him β that he would keep him safe while he closes his eyes. )
[Two words spoken without hesitation. Vergil is not a fool, and knows the weight of that promise, and that it goes far deeper than his promises as a child to not let the monsters in the closet get to his little brother. The history that lays between them is messier, uglier, and far more unkind than whatever beast Dante's overactive imagination conjured in his sleep when they were little. But unlike the battles that came before, Vergil knows this will be something worth fighting for. All that he's done to claw and scrape his way out of his lowest point simply cannot be for nothing.]
So, no more talk of living my life as though you are not part of it. Do you understand me? I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. I won't let you.
[He does not say it aloud, not so directly, but Vergil knows he cannot do this without Dante. Undoubtedly, Vergil has come a long way on his own, but what has been presented to Vergil in this place has not truly pushed nor challenged him in ways he knows he will be with Dante and Nero both. There is so much farther he could have gone, he will go with the pair of them, and with Dante especially.]
[For all their differences and the hardships and lost time, Dante remains the person who knows Vergil best. Who understands him when Vergil hasn't even said a word, and predicts what he will do before he's even thought to do it. He has also always driven Vergil to be better, stronger. Most often, it has been out of an unspoken competition, a need to be the superior of the two that comes with being the eldest. But there have been times where that was not the case. When they were little and Vergil was capable of occasionally making the better choices to protect Dante rather than push him away. For all his complaints of how annoying Dante was, he did not want Dante to turn to anyone else for protection and reassurances.]
[Now? Vergil knows he has more or less lost that responsibility. Some of that a result of his choices, and some of that simply being the natural consequence of time continuing to march forward as Dante grew up. So, Vergil does not seek that. But he would like to be the person Dante knows he can rely upon. That when he needs Vergil, he will be there. Not gone. Not taken. Not far beyond his reach. There. He would like for there to be more than just their hurt and grief and trauma as something shared between them, that makes them know their bond is truly unbreakable and real.]
You know I hate repeating myself, but I will make an exception to get through that thick skull of yours. [Vergil makes a fist and lightly bumps it on the crown of Dante's head, not remotely hard enough for it to hurt.] I will say it as many times as you need me to that I'm not going anywhere.
[He frames it lightly, stepping around their history in a way that he believes will feel more comfortable for Dante than what comes naturally to Vergil to avoid digging further at the vulnerability Dante has displayed here, but he means it. As many times as Dante needs to be told, Vergil will make the promise again and again and again.]
( He feels exhausted from this and it's just barely the tip of the iceberg that holds Dante's locked up regrets, failures, and emotions he's carried for years on his own. There are so. many. things. he wants to say. So many things that are screaming at him from within β demanding to be let out and freed after so many years of being locked up and suppressed again, and again, and again. So many things the boy covered in tears and blood, cowering in the dark corner of a closet wants to say β wants to scream and cry at his brother. But he doesn't. He can't. Because that would be admitting the very real pain he still carries with him and that his wounds, which one would think are mostly scars, still bleed time and time again beneath his skin.
Bleed onto a devil beneath the skin which he still doesn't entirely admit to either.
So he blows out a sigh at the gentle bop to his head β at the words his brother offers him for reassurance there and in the silence he lets follow those words, he turns his head some then, cheek pressing to Vergil's chest. )
Pass me the bottle.
( The one Vergil had taken from him and set aside to sit and have this conversation together. )
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Hey, I think it's great you're still staying active in your old age. Making sure everything still works like it should.
( Waggling his eyebrows at that, he pops another couple of strawberries in his mouth and... welp. That's that. No more strawberries. Didn't take long at all for him to just devour them. As expected, really. Bowl in hand, he gets himself up off the couch and rounds it to head back for the kitchen area, not before giving a couple pats to Vergil's shoulder though. )
Also, how's anyone supposed to get ahold of you when you don't even use the relic thing we've got here?
( Riddle him that, Vergil. )
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[Most irritating little brother to ever walk the earth, indeed.]
The farthest I ever tend to go from anywhere in Epiphany by choice is Mizu's cabin in Wintermute. [And by Vergil's estimation, it shouldn't take the Relic to connect with Vergil in Epiphany. Vergil only goes to a few limited spots after all.] And he uses his Relic, so you could just as easily call him if you needed me.
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( It's asked with a scoff and shake of his head as he looks around for where to put the bowl and opts for... the sink. Yeah. That's where that's going. )
What if you guys are in the middle of going at it and I interrupt or something? Do you think I want to be subjected to such indecency from my big brother?
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Dante... [He audibly huffs as he opens his eyes again, his gaze more towards the ceiling than at his brother at present.] Going along with your false assumption that I am only ever at Mizu's for the purposes of sex, what difference would it make calling his Relic versus mine in an emergency in that circumstance?
[That is not even addressing the fact that neither Mizu nor Vergil would ever just answer while still in the middle of something like that in the first place. Even without the need to protect Mizu's secret, they would still separate and there would be nothing to witness. That's just a matter of common decency.]
[Nor is it addressing the fact Vergil's Relic is missing, so the point is ultimately moot to begin with.]
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Look, you don't even need to worry. Something happens? I'll take care of it.
( Just like always.
Stopping there at his little pile, he reaches for the new bottle he'd brought in with him, grabbing it by the neck with the tips of his fingers before he turns back to look to his brother. )
I got you, bro. Just live your life here.
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[On an extremely basic level, what Dante is suggesting does not sit well with Vergil. A life worth living, to him, is one that he should always wish to protect and fight for. To ask Vergil to live his life, but allow someone elseβeven his own brotherβto be the one to ensure there is no threat to it is simply antithetical to Vergil even without that endless drive for power. No matter how much Vergil has craved to be loved and to be protected, he could never idly stand by if those he has chosen to love, chosen to care for are in any sort of danger. Regardless of the temporary nature of this life he has managed to start to eke out for himself here in Folkmore... It is Vergil's, and that makes it his to protect with everything he has.]
[But far deeper and greater than that basic principle is the way Dante says it. Just live your life here. It sits poorly with Vergil. It's as though despite being perfectly within reach, Dante is hundreds of miles away. Just live your life here. As though Dante is not a part of it let alone an important part of it. Glaring at a spot on the floor, Vergil purses his lips. This is why he's left in indecision.]
[Short of more literally drilling it into his skull, while she was alive, Eva never let Vergil forget that his responsibility as the eldest was to look after his little brother. At the time, he resented it, of course. What child wouldn't? Especially when taking into consideration they were twins, and no matter whatever reassurances could be offered, they were still expected more than regular siblings to share in all things with each other. So, not only was Vergil being asked to share when he did not want to, make concessions on his quiet to appease his little brother, he was also asked to take responsibility for Dante. But then Eva died. Eva died and the Yamato protected him, and those events shaped so much of his life by themselves, but Eva was not the only person that Vergil mourned, the only person he lost and led him to swear off ever allowing someone that sort of closeness to him ever again.]
[He thought Dante had been taken from him, too. That he had been too weak. That his selfish, childish aggravation with Dante that day had...]
[Vergil knows he's failed Dante as a brother more than he hasn't, and that even when excluding times when he was not entirely himself, he'd plainly resented it. But that's not what Vergil wants. Deep in his heart, he's never wanted to be alone or without his brother even with all their differences, and their inability to truly resolve any of them between one another. For as much as Dante drives him insane... He will always been Vergil's little brother. And he wants things to be different, to be better between them.]
I have been looking at some of the houses in the area. This is working for now, [he says with a vague gesture of his hand to what used to be just his apartment,] but you could use more clothes than the ones you own already and there isn't enough room in here for storage like that. I also wouldn't mind having my own room again on the off-chance Mizu feels brave enough to weather your nonsense for a night or two. And I don't know what Nero's plans are, but I was thinking regardless of whether he chooses to stay or go, having a bed available to him rather than sleeping on this thing would be preferred.
[Vergil is looking anywhere but at Dante as he says any of this. Even if he's learned from his mistake in the woods that day of pressing too much of an interest or otherwise protest to Dante's assertions, there's still a degree to which he doesn't know how Dante will take this. If he will agree to it or not. Vergil supposes it doesn't really...matter. It's not as though they won't still see each other. It will just take more effort than it does now to make that happen, that's all. But it bruised before, and Vergil doesn't want something like this, something that he's trying to say without perhaps saying it directly, to potentially spark an argument.]
There aren't many, but there are a few three bedrooms that seem as though they should suffice. You could... [He clears his throat and tries again, more firmly.] You could come with me tomorrow to see which ones you prefer.
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But he did it. Over and over and over again until it was pretty much all he knew. It hurt sometimes β ripped his heart out and left him crying on the floor of his office after losing Vergil again. He's mourned his brother three times in his life and each time, it's damn nearly killed him. He still doesn't know how he survived each time. Because he never got over it, no. He survived. Just as he did that day back at their old home in Redgrave. Getting over it would imply he still doesn't hurt from it β still doesn't have wounds that bleed when he thinks too much about it. But he does. All over his heart and they still hurt like a bitch when they're torn open by unexpected force.
He takes a sort of pride in what does, sure. Keeping the human realm safe... it's given him a sort of purpose in life. Even if it's tiring some days and he's left wondering if it'll ever really end. So he doesn't even really think twice about offering to handle whatever might happen here or in their lives. It's... what he does. What he's done for years even when he thinks he can barely get through it. So to see the reaction from his brother there when he says what he does, it has him pause in the twisting of the cap off his bottle and he stares over to him when he goes on about looking for some place else. Somewhere bigger.
For a moment, he's quiet. Eyes roaming their gaze around the place with hands stilled on the bottle. He's not about to disagree that a bigger place would be nicer for them, but. After learning about Mizu and Vergil's wandering off some nightsβ not to mention Nero being here and the both of them knowing who they are to one another... he figured this was all temporary until he found some place for himself. So for that to not be the case as he'd assumed... he stands there. Silent. A little unsure how to respond to that, especially the part about looking at places together.
Teeth gently press into his bottom lip, gaze dropping down to the bottle he holds. Serious conversations between them have usually led to an argument at some point in them, often due to their being at odds with one another β differing points of views. This, however, isn't necessarily the case and it's why he's not sure what to say. Vergil is trying. He can see that. It's what he's always wanted his brother to do and yet, the moment he does, he's left unsure with how to react to it. At least for a moment.
In the silence that falls over them, there's a sort of tempered contentment there as he'd had when he was a child and Vergil finally gave in to wanting to play with him. The smile that touches his lips faint and hidden before he finds it within him to finally say something. )
So you wanna play house with me, huh? You do the cooking, I do the dishes. We take turns taking the trash out. Socks on the doorknobs as a courtesy to each other.
( Good way to break any tension there with throwing in a nonchalance about it all. Shrug of his shoulders, he holds his arms out at his sides some. )
Alright. But on one condition. ( To which he smiles. ) I want a jukebox.
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[Well, not exactly.]
[The moment Dante agrees to it, something in Vergil lights up and warms immediately. Dante's nonchalance and jokes do nothing to dampen it or the smile that not only curves Vergil's lips, but reaches his eyes. He didn't hold an expectation either way what Dante's answer would be, but the answer he receives leaves him pleased. No... No, not pleased. Happy.]
[It's a strange, funny feeling.]
Fine. But it's off after midnight. One, at the absolute latest. [He looks back down at the book in his lap briefly before looking at Dante again.] And you are doing the dishes if you're expecting me to cook. It's the least you can do considering the mess I'm sure you and that woman [Trish; don't think Vergil hasn't noticed the fridge becoming emptier a little faster than anticipated] are going to make in the rest of the house.
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Her name is Trish not that woman. Jesus, Verge.
( Shake of his head, he takes a swig and licks over his lips as he wanders around the room a little. )
And before you get any ideas, I'm not banging her. ( He points to his brother while holding the bottle, feeling the need to just Get That Out There just in case. ) She's my friend and we've been through shit together.
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I figured as much...? [The question in his tone is really only an unspoken question as to why Dante thinks that's what Vergil would conclude. He shakes his head as he extends his legs on the couch since Dante has taken to mildly wandering rather than sitting back down. He is still frowning in disgust though. Gross.] She isn't over here as often as she is for Nero's sake and certainly not for mine, in any case. I assumed that after...
[Vergil trails off, not really sure how to put it in a succinct way that doesn't feel as though they're about to tread into thoughts and memories neither one of them is liable to want to remember. He lets it be, returning to the point.]
I assumed the two of you must have remained close based on how often she is here. [He pauses a moment before adding,] I'm glad you have a friend here with you at least. Unfortunate that Lady could not also be here.
[He bothered to remember her name at least. Well. It's less a matter that he did or did not remember Trish's name, and just more what baggage comes with her existence for Vergil. Lady does not come with that, so she's a touch easier for Vergil to talk about even if he certainly couldn't claim to know her any better than he knows Trish.]
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Vergil stops himself before he goes on to say what he knows he was going to around that time and it has him slow in his steps β take another swig of his drink even. He just so happens to be near the bathroom when doing so and he stares into it for a long moment, silent, before he looks back over to the other son of Sparda there on the couch. )
Yeah, well. I'm a friendly sort of guy, what can I say?
( Lazy shrug of his shoulders, he wanders about a little more before he goes around behind the little divider Vergil bothered to setup there to give them all some privacy and... drops himself down to his brother's bed with an oof. Yeah. He's absolutely sprawling himself out on it with his drink. )
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[Vergil looks down at the book in his lap fishing for something to say, but comes up short. He folds his arms uncomfortably before slowly looking back up towards the balcony again. The silence stretches on for a moment or two longer before Vergil finally breaks it with a huff that almost borders on a laugh.]
You know, [he says, looking over in the direction of his bed,] I don't even know where my Relic is anymore. I left it in the nightstand, but it wasn't there when I looked after everything returned to normal.
cw: talk of death
Do you think dadβs dead?
( He realizes itβs a bit of a one-eighty swerve from what theyβd been talking about but, he adds: )
Nero asked me about him. I didnβt really know what to say.
( Huff on his lips, he looks to his bottle again. )
I mean heβd have to be, right? Unless heβs just that much of an asshole to ditch his family.
cw: talk of death, child abandonment, attempted child murder
[Swallowing thickly, he answers quietly and softly,] Yes.
[Vergil doesn't know if he should say more or not. He wishes he could see Dante now to gauge it better, but... Then again, would Dante even listen to him regardless of his mood? Any other time the matter of Sparda comes up, Dante is quick to dismiss what Vergil has to say. Vergil's not stupid. He knows Dante thinks it is nothing but blind hero worship, but that's not it for Vergil. He could never blindly hero worship anyone, not even their father. Vergil knows their father was strong. And he loved them and their mother more than anything in the world. But Vergil also knows he wasn't there when they needed him. Something took him away from them. Vergil's certain their mother knew why he left even if she never told Vergil and Dante. Why else would she never speak anything of him as being anything less than the noble knight of his legend when she could have just as easily not said anything at all? Whatever her feelings about the chance he might not return or whatever heartbreak and grief she felt when he did not, she clearly understood their father's reason for leaving and implicitly condoned it one way or another.]
I know you hate him, Dante, but he... [Vergil looks away from the divider towards the Yamato where Vergil left it propped near the front door. Speak father, speak to your little boy, or else I shall be lost. Vergil continues, although not with exactly what he was about to say.] If he was alive, he would have returned to us.
[And to his mother brought, who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale, her little boy weeping sought.]
[Eva would still be alive. They would not have been separated, believing the other to have succumbed to the same attack that claimed their mother's life. Perhaps Vergil could have grown to be kinder, gentler than he is now. Dante would have fewer reasons to drink and be less insistent on handling matters on his own. Brothers would not be at great odds with one another, locked in battle after battle to the death. Nero would have grown up with a father. So much would and could be different if Sparda lived and they were together again.]
Or we would have found a trace of him by now.
[Assuming that Dante's most unkind, ungenerous thoughts of Sparda were true, and he had simply just not been there, abandoning them thoughtlessly. Somewhere in all of Vergil's searching for claiming his power would have proven some evidence he was still alive, somewhere out there. Surely he would have intervened with Temen-ni-gru being raised once more if not to stop his sons from their contests of strength then at least to protect his beloved humanity from the consequences of reopening the portal that he sealed. If something as extreme as that could not stir him to action, Vergil's only conclusion is, as it has been for years upon years, that their father is dead.]
cw: continued mentions of death, depression, childhood trauma
What would he think if he could see them now? What would their mother think if she could see them together like this? It's a depressing thought, more concerning her and, how like he'd said to Nero, she had deserved so much better than the hand the cards had dealt her that day. Maybe if he hadn't been such a little brat to his brother, Vergil wouldn't have run off to get away from his annoying little brother and she wouldn't have left to go look for him... she wouldn't have been killed and he wouldn't continuously have nightmares of her screams over the years while he hid, trembling and scared in a closet. That's his fault and he carries that with him every day.
But he should have been there. Sparda should have been there and he's never quite forgiven their old man for just leaving them when he was supposed to protect them. They're his sons β they carry his demonic blood in their veins, but they were kids at the time and there was too many of them. Yet no matter how many times he tries to tell himself that, he still can't help but feel the guilt for what had happened all because he wanted his brother's attention. He shouldn't feel that. Sparda should, for not being there for them. But how's a guy or demon supposed to feel that if he was already dead at the time?
He stares to the bottle there resting at his leg β listens to Vergil's thoughts on whether or not their father might somehow still be alive after all this time, and he huffs before he brings the bottle up to his lips, pausing. )
So much for being the legendary dark knight, huh? Wonder what punk demon took him out.
( Sparda had disappeared before Mundus struck. That was the whole reason why Mundus struck. The demon had caught wind of Sparda's sudden disappearance and saw it as an opportune moment to send his lackeys after the dark knight's family. Had it been Mundus who had finally exacted his revenge of their old man, the demon would have gloated about it, he's for damn sure about that.
There's the possibility maybe he'd ended up trapped somewhere. Portals to the underworld are a dime a dozen if you know how to open them and Sparda was known to open and close a few in his time. But Vergil's right. If that were the case, they would have heard something about that, he figures. Rumors or legends of him stepping into some portal somewhere at some point. He doesn't go searching the world for traces of his old man, but. He keeps an ear to the ground for anything pertaining to him. He always has and he's always come up with next to nothing but stories he'd already heard before. The Order of the Sword had really been the closest thing to anything "new" regarding him, even if that had more been a trap for him than anything else.
He takes a long swig of his drink β licks over his lips as he rests it against his leg again and he falls silent as pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes falling shut. )
I shouldn't have bothered you that day... ( The words are slow and soft to leave him, as if he's unsure if he should even say them to begin with, but. Damn that kid of Vergil's. ) ...mom went looking for you because I wouldn't leave you alone. ( Again, there's a stretch of silence and he lets go a shaky breath as he his hand drops away from his face. ) That's my fault. You leaving, mom looking for you... that's my fault.
( And so it all goes back to whether or not Vergil would really want his brother to live with him again. Why he'd been so unsure when the offer was made. Live your life here where he doesn't have to be a thorn in his side like back then. )
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.]
cw: still mentions of depression and survivor's guilt
Very much making his way over to him there on the bed.
When his brother goes and takes the bottle from him, he lets him β eyes him for a moment, only to see it set aside; he never did peg Vergil for much of a drinker. He doesn't know what he expects or what Vergil is likely to say, if anything at all to that. He'd made his smartass comment about their father just moments prior to his own admission to his guilt surrounding their mother and that day, so it would almost be remiss for him to not say something about that. Big brother who respects their father and all.
But there's nothing to come concerning their father or the comment he'd made. Not even a look of disdain there in matching blue eyes when he lifts his gaze up to meet his brother's. Instead, there's something else there in the hardness of them β something that confuses him for a moment... and then he's being pulled into an embrace and held in a way he hasn't been held in a very, very long time.
He sits there, dumbfounded, but. Like the words he'd spilled before regarding that day and his guilt, he finds himself doing something he's not sure why he is and, reaches up to grasp at the back of Vergil's clothing with a hand. Tight. As if scared to let go and have this all be a dream he's dreamt a hundred or so times before.
When the words come, he's left there in silence β left in the tight embrace his brother keeps him within and he sits there with those words, with the reassurance his brother tries to give him. He drops his head β presses his face down to Vergil's shoulder and just... stays like that, hand still holding at his brother's back. Reminiscent of days when they were children and he'd come sidle up to his brother after having a bad dream or the thunder being a bit too loud for him. Hiding beneath the sheets and within his brother's arms, knowing he was safe there. Knowing he wouldn't let anything hurt him.
Except he is hurt β has been hurting for years and Vergil wasn't there to protect him. Wasn't there to reassure him that things would be ok. That he would be ok. It's why he's not. Ok. Because he'd lost his other half that day years ago due to his driving him away with refusing to let him be for a little while. He'd lost him that day. Lost him when they'd found each other again and, like his books, he chose the Underworld over wanting to be with him. Lost him to the demon fuck Mundus who had stripped his brother of everything he ever was and made him a puppet. A puppet he had to put down and, again, had to watch leave him because of his actions.
He can't let him know how much it hurts. Can't let him know the number of nights he'd spend on the floor instead of on the couch. Laying there. Bottle empty. Staring across the room with tears in his eyes and replaying over and over and over again how he should have done things differently. How he should have tried harder or searched for him when he'd fallen into the Underworld.
So when he finally finds it within him to speak, it's soft β pathetic almost, as if he were a child again, tucked in against his big brother beneath the sheets of their bed. )
I missed you.
cw: child death mention, grief
[But that was before everything that came to follow.]
[It feels to Vergil that Dante should not miss him. Not particularly. Not acutely. Not to any great measure beyond an old loss that one has had time to sit and come to terms with. The odds that they have been at with one another, the resolve that Dante had to find within himself to do whatever it took to stop Vergil... Vergil would have thought somewhere amid all that, it would have burned it out of Dante. That there could be no more love, no grace, no hope, nothing left for Vergil but resentment and anger at what Vergil pushed Dante to do again and again. He was prepared that day atop the Qliphoth, wasn't he? To end it. Once and for all. For there to be no more chances, no more opportunities for Vergil to cause mayhem in all the ways he had before. That's all it should have been by then.]
[He squeezes his eyes shut, but it's already too late. The tears slip from his eyes, falling the short distance to Dante's shoulder. The first in years. Decades, really...]
I missed you, too.
[Not in the same ways. Their positions and perspectives on their conflict with one another have always been different. And there had been that stretch of years when Mundus carved and rent every trace of what made Vergil who he is until there was nothing but a mindless, hollow shell left behind. But the words are true. The ache of years lost and wasted still resonates beneath them all the same.]
[Vergil loosens his hold and sits back.]
Look at me. [He holds his brother's face in one hand while the other rests at his shoulder, waiting until he has Dante's eyes before he continues.] We are in this together. Not as the sons of Sparda, but as Dante and Vergil.
[As brothers. As they always should have been.]
Nothing is going to get in the way of that, Dante. [Vergil shakes his head slightly as he gives a squeeze to Dante's shoulder.] Not anymore.
cw: mentions of grief
This is different. So different from anything they've ever said or done with one another to the point where some part of him almost wants to fiddle and fidget away from it all. He doesn't β it takes everything within him to not. To keep the sass and sarcasm from spilling out of him β to keep himself from twisting away and reaching for his bottle with a lazy little smile on his lips. All things that feel kneejerk for him to do in response to feeling this exposed and this vulnerable. But he doesn't, even if some part of him so very badly wants to, he doesn't because it doesn't feel right to do. Not when Vergil is here with him like this. Not when he's saying what he is, looking to him with such conviction in those eyes that are far from the glassy blue he'd come to be so familiar with during so many of their interactions with one another in the past.
Those words twist something up within him β have him feel a plethora of emotions that threaten to drown him right then and there on the bed. Words that almost feel too late, in a way. That he wishes had been said and realized so many years ago. They dredge up moments from their childhood β of a young Dante dropped to his knees, whining after his brother taking his leave back to the house after he'd finished playing with him. Finished too soon, in young Dante's opinion, staring down to the ground with a pout on his lips. But Vergil would come back β would grab his little brother by the wrist and drag him along with him, mumbling how they need to stick together and to stop dragging his feet as he goes. Together. A word that punches the youngest son of Sparda right in the center of his chest and sends cracks of heartache throughout his entire being.
That's how they should have been. Together. That's all he ever wanted. To be together with his brother. Maybe it was too much for Vergil to want β maybe he was too much at that age for his brother to want together as he did, but that feeling never stopped for him. No matter how often they would end up at odds with one another or he would have to strike his big brother down. He always wanted them to be together.
He breaks his silence with a puff of laughter from his lips, soft and hollow without any real amusement in it, and he ducks his head down some, licking over his lips as he stares to Vergil's vest. )
Didn't know you were such a sap, bro.
( Lips quirk into a half-smile but his eyes do anything but. He can feel those emotions swimming around within them, threatening to spill in ways he won't be able to hold back. So he takes a second β sinks his teeth so bloody hard down into his bottom lip before he finally looks up to his brother, eyes shining with the threat of that dam he's holding together to break. )
Why didn't you take my hand? ( Even as he asks, his voice is soft, nearly breathless. ) I reached for you, Iβ ( Sucking in a breath, he curls a hand into a fist and thumps it square in the center of Vergil's chest. It lacks any real punch to it, but. It's still firm and it stays there as he stares to it. ) Why didn't you take my hand?
( You left me alone, he can't bring himself to say. )
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[Dante doesn't leave him in the dark for long on that matter. His voice is thin and weak in a way Vergil's never heard before. Not even when Dante bit back tears and repeatedly insisted he wasn't about to cry because he hadn't cried when he got those bumps and scrapes while nearly crushing the bones in Vergil's hand while their mother cleaned up them up had he sounded so small and desperate. It's antithetical to who Dante is, as Vergil knows him to be. The light fist to Vergil's chest does nothing to help, but Vergil supposes it's not meant to do anything more than distract from what they both know to be true: Vergil cannot say anything that will do anything to ease this hurt. Whatever he says will only make it worse. It does not matter if he speaks the truth, if he deflects, or if he outright lies. Even silence shall not bring Dante relief.]
[Beneath Dante's fist, Vergil's heart pounds. It pounds and pounds and pounds so loudly in Vergil's head, it's all he can really hear as he looks at his brother, futilely wishing that he had something he could offer, something that could ease the pain from the ugly reality. But he has nothing. Nothing that can make it better. Vergil's hand flies up from his lap to grip tightly at Dante's fist in a silent desperation as he shakes his head slightly. For a moment, it seems likely that's all there is to be. Silence. But Vergil tries to works his jaw, and his lips part for a moment in an aborted attempt to speak until he finally manages to push something out.]
...I'm sorry, Dante. Iβ... [His voice cracks, and he stops himself. He swallows thickly, and softly repeats his apology.] I'm so sorry...
[He isn't trying to avoid the question in the end. If Dante were to ask again, he would acquiesce. And he would try, to the best of his ability, to explain his reasonsβboth what he believed at the time and what he knows to be true nowβfor not taking Dante's hand that day. But he knows the reasons aren't good enough. Nothing ever could be a good enough reason for why he did what he did. Not in Dante's eyes. Hell, he isn't even certain they're good enough in his own now with the benefit of hindsight being what it is.]
[He wants to cast his gaze aside. The shame and guilt welling up within him sets every nerve-ending in his body to pull on that instinct, but he stays exactly as he is.]
[He owes Dante that much. Well... He owes him more than that. Far, far more than that. But Dante does not deserve cowardice from him right now.]
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And then, it comes out. Spilling from him in an eruption of fiery sorrow. )
It was supposed to be you and me. I would have fought with you. I would have helped you take down that bastard and what he did to mom. To us. That's how it was supposed to be. You and me. Together. Not me having to put you down. Not me having to be the only one left to chase. You and me.
( He feels like he's a kid again. Swinging his wooden sword around and yelling at his brother for how unfair it is that he won't play with him. Trying to list all the reasons why he should and hoping that one of them might get through to him. It's selfish of him to do. Selfish of him to say. But he does. Just like back then. In his upset.
There's a sudden spike in demonic energy from him then and he thumps that fist at Vergil's chest again, a little harder than the last time, grinding his teeth against each other as eyes flash with red and fire. It takes everything within him to reel back the anger he can feel running through his veins β making the air around them grow hot with the familiar threat of his demonic skin to spill over human flesh and take control in the moment.
The devil within him snarls at its twin beneath flesh and bone but... he relents. The fire dims. Doesn't give in. Hangs his head there with that fist pressing firm against Vergil's chest, and then he trembles some. Not out of anger, not out of fear that Vergil might pull away, but out of an uncontrollable sadness that still sits there deep within him, like his devil. One he can taste with the blood on his tongue. When he speaks, it's after he takes a second to swallow β after he crumples forward and presses himself against his brother. )
I would have given anything to have you back with me.
( Almost. To follow in his big brother's footsteps... he couldn't. He knows he couldn't. No matter how much some part of him wanted to. No matter how much he missed him. No matter how he loved him. He couldn't walk the path Vergil had chosen.
Shoulders slumping, fingers go limp and unfurl from the fist he'd so tightly held. )
Please don't leave again. I'm right here. I've always been right here, Vergil.
( With his hand out for him to take. )
cw: allusion to alcoholism
[He starts a little when Dante presses against him, flinching as though it were a sudden strike despite it being nothing of the sort. Bringing his eyes back into focus, Vergil looks down at his little brother. His tired, sad, lonely, scared little brother. The numbness has not fully left Vergil, but he's cognizant of how heavy Dante feels against him now as he goes limp. He forces himself to remain upright, and subsequently keep Dante the same, but he feels frozen to the spot where he sits. Somehow, Vergil's hands find their way to Dante's upper arms, squeezing them tighter than he necessarily means to hold onto them.]
[Part of him, he would be ashamed to admit, wants to push Dante away. It is not the child that always resented and attempted to shirk his responsibilities to his brother that wants to do it, however. It's a part ruled by guilt and shame, not anger and resentment. Vergil was supposed to take care of Dante. He was supposed to look after him, and keep him out of trouble. He was supposed to protect him from harm both real and imaginary. And yet, he's only ever really managed to do the opposite. It is one thing, Vergil finds, to recognize his shortcomings and failures as a brother. He is not unaware that he has failed Dante time and time again, and that it was always his decision to run from his brother from they were children until they found one another at the cusp of their adulthood. It was still his decision as V to lie and obfuscate the truth to his brother when asking for help because he was too afraid of what Dante might do if he knew with no exclusivity to the worst outcome in that scenario. It is another to feel them made manifest like this. To feel what happens when someone loves him so fiercely that they've dashed themselves upon the rocks again and again and again in what some might consider a fit of madness in believing that something different might happen. If perhaps just this time...]
[There is no explanation that will ever seem reasonable for his decisions. That much remains true. But Vergil realizes now the reason he didn't provide one isn't just because he was afraid of inciting his brother's anger in making it worse. No, he was perhaps more afraid of Dante's empathy. That even as it killed him to know that Vergil deluded himself into thinking he was choosing power above all else to protect himself when in reality it was simply because he was so goddamn afraid... That Dante could offer any semblance of understanding or forgiveness anywhere amid whatever else it might spark in Dante would certainly be his undoing.]
You've always been such a crybaby...
[Vergil's voice is soft and gentle, not at all truly chiding Dante or even dismissing his feelings here and now. If anything, it's the exact opposite as Vergil comes to wrap his arms around Dante just as before with one hand at his back and the other cradling his head.]
[There is nothing Vergil can do about the past. No explanation makes it reasonable. No apology undoes the harm he's inflicted. The regrets he holds over his decisions are simply ones that he will have to carry with him until his dying breath just as Dante has learned to walk with the wounds and scars he carries. The only thing he can do, the only thing they can do now is stay on this path together now that they're on it with one another again.]
[So, it is more seriously that he promises,]
I'm not going anywhere, Dante. I'm done running away. My place is with you.
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So he remains there against his brother β listens to the gentle reassurances he offers him with hands to his head and back. Protective. Like when they were kids. He's quiet, like back then. Searches for the beat of his brother's heart and sinks into the gentle rise and fall of his chest with every slow breath. Just like back then. A forgotten comfort that's become so familiar again.
There's conviction in those words. He can hear it, despite the gentleness in which he gives them, and he knows his brother is capable of following through with his word when he gives it β when he sets his mind to it and decides that's simply how it's going to be. He knows that he means it and that he intends to see it through, but. To simply forget the years of guilt and failures he's carried with him... the heartache and anger and depression he tends to wade through because of how broken he feels inside... gentle reassurances are not enough to heal those scars that still very much bleed for him.
But it's a start, at least.
There's a breath on his lips then β soft. Blue eyes having fallen shut as he lays there against Vergil without any signs of intending to move. He's still cooling down β still making sure his devil is in check and quiet behind warm flesh before he even thinks to gently let his eyes flutter open, staring across the room from where he's lazing against his brother. )
You promise?
( You promise? He remembers asking his brother when they were kids and he'd been lazing against him much like this beneath the sheets of their bed, scared from the nightmares he'd had and Vergil reassuring him that nothing would happen to him β that he would keep him safe while he closes his eyes. )
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[Two words spoken without hesitation. Vergil is not a fool, and knows the weight of that promise, and that it goes far deeper than his promises as a child to not let the monsters in the closet get to his little brother. The history that lays between them is messier, uglier, and far more unkind than whatever beast Dante's overactive imagination conjured in his sleep when they were little. But unlike the battles that came before, Vergil knows this will be something worth fighting for. All that he's done to claw and scrape his way out of his lowest point simply cannot be for nothing.]
So, no more talk of living my life as though you are not part of it. Do you understand me? I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. I won't let you.
[He does not say it aloud, not so directly, but Vergil knows he cannot do this without Dante. Undoubtedly, Vergil has come a long way on his own, but what has been presented to Vergil in this place has not truly pushed nor challenged him in ways he knows he will be with Dante and Nero both. There is so much farther he could have gone, he will go with the pair of them, and with Dante especially.]
[For all their differences and the hardships and lost time, Dante remains the person who knows Vergil best. Who understands him when Vergil hasn't even said a word, and predicts what he will do before he's even thought to do it. He has also always driven Vergil to be better, stronger. Most often, it has been out of an unspoken competition, a need to be the superior of the two that comes with being the eldest. But there have been times where that was not the case. When they were little and Vergil was capable of occasionally making the better choices to protect Dante rather than push him away. For all his complaints of how annoying Dante was, he did not want Dante to turn to anyone else for protection and reassurances.]
[Now? Vergil knows he has more or less lost that responsibility. Some of that a result of his choices, and some of that simply being the natural consequence of time continuing to march forward as Dante grew up. So, Vergil does not seek that. But he would like to be the person Dante knows he can rely upon. That when he needs Vergil, he will be there. Not gone. Not taken. Not far beyond his reach. There. He would like for there to be more than just their hurt and grief and trauma as something shared between them, that makes them know their bond is truly unbreakable and real.]
You know I hate repeating myself, but I will make an exception to get through that thick skull of yours. [Vergil makes a fist and lightly bumps it on the crown of Dante's head, not remotely hard enough for it to hurt.] I will say it as many times as you need me to that I'm not going anywhere.
[He frames it lightly, stepping around their history in a way that he believes will feel more comfortable for Dante than what comes naturally to Vergil to avoid digging further at the vulnerability Dante has displayed here, but he means it. As many times as Dante needs to be told, Vergil will make the promise again and again and again.]
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Bleed onto a devil beneath the skin which he still doesn't entirely admit to either.
So he blows out a sigh at the gentle bop to his head β at the words his brother offers him for reassurance there and in the silence he lets follow those words, he turns his head some then, cheek pressing to Vergil's chest. )
Pass me the bottle.
( The one Vergil had taken from him and set aside to sit and have this conversation together. )
cw: allusion to alcoholism
cw: gentle mentions of alcoholism
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cw: references to alcoholism and enslavement
cw: gentle demonic transformation
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