( 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. )
[The silence after Vergil finishes speaking is deafening. Silence rarely ever causes Vergil discomfort, but this one does. Even if Dante couldn't put his whole heart into it, even if he was still so incredibly cautious about what Vergil promises and what he asks for in return, Vergil would rather that than the silence that ensues. When Dante does speak, Vergil forgets to breathe for a few seconds with how tight and heavy his chest suddenly feels. If he was any less aware of his own body in space, he would think the bed and floor had all suddenly come out from beneath him.]
[Vergil hesitates to reach for the bottle on Dante's behalf. He doesn't have any desire to tacitly endorse Dante's drinking habits, and he sees no other possible interpretation for the action. (He couldn't even really claim to be turning a blind eye given a more active participation being requested of him.) But neither does he have a desire for an argument with Dante. Or perhaps not an argument, but bitter words that run the distinct risk of evolving into something angrier. Not when it seems the end result shall be the same. Dante will drink whether or not Vergil passes him the bottle.]
[Vergil's eyes go to the alcohol on the nightstand before he nudges Dante to sit up. Once Dante is supporting more of his weight instead of resting it so heavily against Vergil, the elder son of Sparda reaches and picks up the bottle. He does not hand it to Dante right away, however, staring at it in his hand for a moment. No small part of him wants to make off with it. Smash it. Pour it down the drain. Partially because he believes it's better for Dante, and partially because it becomes far too unsettling in its clarity that Vergil is a significant reason why his brother drinks. But just as it will make no difference if he passes it to him or not, neither will some form of destruction of the bottle. Dante will still drink.]
[Wordlessly, Vergil holds the bottle out toward Dante for him to take, his hold on him now loosening to allow him to sit up all the way to drink. He does not look at his little brother, more acutely aware of that wedge between them of shame and guilt and anger and sadness. Vergil held no delusions about the outcome of such a talk as the one they just had, but he wantedβ...]
[It doesn't matter. It just does not matter. His fingers ghost through as they always do or he simply falls short. The end result feels so much the same.]
[He lets it be for today. While Vergil refuses to give up altogether, he knows there's little point in trying any further today. It will just make the apartment feel too small, and promises feel more fragile than they really are. Privately, he hates it. He hates how close Dante is to him now while feeling far beyond his reach. But Vergil shores everything up and steels himself, schooling his expression as he follows Dante's lead in leaving the conversation where it is.]
( For a hot minute, he wonders if his brother is going to hand it back to him. He's not stupid. He knows V saw the bottles around the shop when he'd come to see him. Well over thirty littered throughout as he sat there at his desk, arms crossed, eyeing him and his supposed proposition for a job. While he doesn't know just how much Vergil remembers during V's short existence, he figures he knows enough, just as he knows enough of Urizen and all his tomfoolery done.
To his surprise, he's given the bottle β a little more upright now β and he offers his brother a lazy albeit incredibly faint smile as fingers brush over Vergil's in his taking the bottle back. Without much for hesitation, he takes a swig, head knocked back some as he does, licking over his lips with a pleased little ah after. Already he can feel it chasing away the sorrow, the heartache, the anger that flows through his blood, and he settles back into something more mellowed out despite how incredibly unhealthy chasing it all away with a drink can be.
Whatever. It's worked thus far.
Pulling the bottle away from his lips, he rests it there against his leg, eyes glazed over some before he's blinking it away and he glances over to his brother there at the question posed. Taking a moment, he tilts his head. Contemplates that. Then smiles brightly despite the tiredness there in his expression. Because of course he always puts on a show. )
[Vergil shoots Dante a look that should quite plainly answer his question, but he still provides an answer all the same.]
If you weren't holding an open bottle on my bed, I would have pushed you before you could even finish that question, [he says, withdrawing his remaining arm around Dante so that he can stand up. Tiredness from Dante is to be expected, but the smile on his face and his quickness to follow the change in subject signals to Vergil it's as good as time as any for him to return to his own space.] But fine. We can do pizza again tonight.
I owe you for the books, anyway. [Seeing as how the strawberries lasted all of five minutes... Vergil shakes his head a little as he steps away to return to his book on the couch.] Do yourself a favor and don't try to lie to me about where they came from, or I'm making Greek salads tonight instead.
( He's quiet as he watches his brother β as he listens to the way he agrees to the choice for pizza, yet again, for tonight's meal. He wonders if he merely puts up with it for the sake of him, wanting to play the role of the big brother so eagerly for him as he should have done for the past twentyβ thirty odd years or so. He doesn't fault him for it. He can't. Or else he might as well fault him for wanting to try and take on the role of Nero's father as he should have been throughout his life. He's trying. He knows this. Their past is simply a bitterness inside him that he has to force down at times and dig through the pain to find the sweetness still living there beneath it.
Vergil moves β intends to separate them and return to his book[s] which he matter-of-factly accuses the youngest son of Sparda of being responsible for. Despite the accusation being correct, he still won't admit to it. Instead, he reaches out before the elder son can slip away too far from him β fingers grasping at Vergil's wrist and he stares down to the floor. Quiet. Fingers of his other hand holding to the neck of the bottle resting there against his leg. )
The mind is it's own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
( A line from Vergil's dear Paradise Lost and one which, from how he'd been able to recite it so effortlessly and without the need for second thought, he's read a number of times before. He can relate to in ways he wishes he didn't.
Those fingers there at his brother's wrist grip tightly β a refusal to let him go just yet and he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. )
I read them all. A few times. Can't say they were anything I'd call a favorite of mine. But it was a way to be close to you. To fill the silence of your absence. Sometimes I could hear your voice when I did. Like you were right there. Reading out loud to me. Trying to bore me to death. Sometimes you did.
( Letting fingers slip from Vergil's wrist, they drop down to grip his brother's fingers instead, holding to them still tightly. )
I'm holding you to your word. ( I'm not going anywhere. ) I need you here. I've always needed you.
[Dante's fingers wrap around Vergil's wrist, and he comes to a stop only after a couple of steps down the length of the bed. Not very far at all when Dante recites Milton to him. Standing those few steps from Dante, Vergil does not look back to him. He merely stands and listens. Or does his best to listen, in any case. He's perhaps a little too focused on the hand on his wrist that keeps him in place without any great force or strength to provide his undivided attention to Dante.]
[He still does not admit to being the one to have secured these copies for Vergil, but he doesn't need to in order for it to be proven fact to Vergil. Not any more than he needs to recite lines from one of them for that matter. The gift itself would have been enough on its own, the specific editions reflecting his bookshelf from their childhood. What would truly drive it home were it still somehow unclear is the bittersweet means of staying connected to Vergil when he was gone. It lands more bitter than sweet to Vergil in this moment, having only just pushed everything as far from himself as he could to leave the conversation be. But that feels par for the course for the two of them wherein they begin to align only to find it rapidly not the case. Vergil pushes too hard. Dante plays too much. One or both of them falls out of step with the brief tandem, and it's not long after that at least one of them handles it poorly.]
[He tries not to be the one who does that now as he feels Dante's grip shift to his fingers as he wonders just how long he is to be a spectre to his brother and not the flesh and blood that he is here and now? He says he will hold Vergil to his word, and says that he needs him, but how hard it is not to feel it is all too little, too late when Dante must seek the bottle first. Their past is a complicated one, of course. Vergil is not without his empathy for the difficulty he knows Dante must face in trying to relinquish the past. But it seems so hard to have him not so largely in the past now that it feels almost insurmountable.]
[Dante's grip is tight, but Vergil is able to wriggle his fingers enough that he can adjust his hand within to hold his brother's hand in return. Vergil says nothing as he continues to stand there. Not aloud. His hold on Dante's hand, however, is perhaps the tightest he's ever held it in all their lives. Vergil's grip in return likely borders on painful, almost as though it were their shared grip alone that separated the line between one fate and another for him. A slight lessening of their grip on the other, and that would be it. Vergil says nothing with his own words or borrowed ones, not wanting to begin the conversation anew even as Dante seems to spark it back into life. But he grips Dante's hand against fears and insecurities and the grief and loneliness that have plagued Vergil for the majority of his lifeβthe parts of his life that were his own and not stolen from himβand he hopes Dante understands.]
( Despite the vice grip which his hand seems to be trapped within, he lets the pain shoot up his hand β lets it bleed into the depth of his soul and touch the devil within him to awaken. There's no sudden spike in demonic energy from him β not like earlier when his emotions had begun to flare up and he'd found it almost difficult to control them in the moment. Instead, it's a gradual wave that seems to roll off him and brush against his brother there and with that brush of demonic energy comes the red within his eyes, showing the devil beneath his human skin.
Scales roll over the back of his hand β stretch out to his fingers where claws appear and he keep his hold there on his brother's hand, some touching along the sides of his face. It's only a partial, if that, transformation β of his devil reaching out to its twin as much as he himself does to his brother. Because they share that, too. Red and blue. Fire and ice. Two devils who shared a womb together within a human mother from the moment they'd both been conceived with a mix of demonic and human blood. So different from any other demon they had ever come across. No one else like them. Not since Nero and even then, the things they have shared together, the way they have been in each other's life from the very instant they came into existence only to be ripped apart from one another at such a young age... for as much as Dante reaches out for his brother, so, too, does his devil reach out for its other half.
He swallows thickly β somehow feels even more vulnerable in this partial state. Knowing how Vergil's always felt about their demonic lineage and how he's viewed his little brother as weak for rejecting it orβnot allowing himself to fully accept or even love that part of himself with pride as Vergil always has. Even now, as he sits there, he's still very much human despite the demonic touches visible on him. But for as much as he needs his brother, so does his devil need its other half. When he speaks, it's with a slightly deeper tone β fangs there in his mouth. )
[It's not the spike from earlier. As such, Vergil does not anticipate that the rise in Dante's demonic energy will lead into some form of violence or otherwise lashing out. So, his own alertness at its presence is more out of curiosity than it is anything else. It is not like Dante to call upon his demonic energy like this. Not in a moment that is arguably more idle than anything else, and its presence registers as something more casual than driven by necessity. Vergil, however, in waiting to see what it is Dante intends to do, only looks to Dante when it is scales he feels in his hand instead of the softer human skin that was there only a moment ago whereupon he sees his brother in his partial transformation.]
[It is odd to see his brother mostly human but traces of the devil still prominent regardless of how few they may be compared to his human features. For Dante, his demonic heritage is a tool. It is one he resents almost as much as he resents their father, but it is a tool for him nonetheless. There is, however, no connection between Dante and that part of himself beyond that. It remains an insurmountable divide that, in a strange way, reflects the divide between brothers as well. Dante's resentments just seem to run too deep, and it's too difficult for Vergil to see it from his brother's perspective. The latter, however, seems far easier to mend and close to Vergil than the former. And the divide between brothers is not exactly anything Vergil would claim to be an easy task in the first place.]
[Still, Dante is here, and he reaches for his brother in more ways than just one. It counts for something.]
[The blue of Vergil's eyes brightens to a cyan rather than their softer grey-blue, his sclera darkening with the rise of his own demonic energy. It's neither the sharp spike of heated emotion from Dante a moment ago, nor is it the gradual rise. Instead, it's almost akin to the devil within Vergil stepping forward, as though it has always been there and only with attention being drawn to it does it step forward now. Vergil matches his brother in partial transformation, but to some extent it is more complete. His is not as much of a patchwork of scales and claws. Instead, from the elbow down, Vergil's arm and hand have transformed completely and glow with the same cyan of his eyes while grey scales form along his hairline and cheeks as well as along the sides and back of his neck.]
Together, [he says with a nod.]
[They have been in opposition to one another for far longer than they have not. And there is still some small instinct there for it even now. It would seem impossible not for there to be given how often it is they've clashed with one another, using their demonic powers and forms to wound and fight to bitter ends against one another. But the instinct is small and it is quiet, and there is no power struggle that lies between them now that would amplify it. In this moment, as devils and as men, they are merely brothers. Twins who balk at the thought of being alike and yet still reflect both the worst and best parts of one another, and need one another for that reason.]
[From now on, when one reaches for the other, he will be there. As hard as it may be to reach for or take hold after all their various hurts and wrongs, they will find a way to do it.]
( When Vergil's own devil steps forward, if even partly, he feels a rise in his back β defensive without even meaning to be. Given the years of being at odds with one another, it's more a kneejerk reaction than anything else, but. It's fleeting the moment he sees there is no threat to be concerned with, no fight to suddenly erupt between them. Just two partly changed devils who share human blood within them.
Bright red eyes watch the other devil's face β quiet in the way his gaze sweeps over his brother's arm and the power he can feel gently radiating off him. It's familiar enough β one he's met time and time again when facing his brother. It simply feels different than usual given the circumstances... given the fact that they are not at each other's throats. To be wearing his demonic skin as he is, even just barely as he is, it has him feel some sort of way about it and with the way Vergil looks to him, he doesn't hold it for very long. Because with Dante, it's always a matter of holding it β controlling it rather than simply letting it be.
Fire gently rolls over him and the scales disappear from his face and hand, as do the claws and the red burning there in his eyes. He ducks his head some β lets himself take a breath, then smiles lazily up to his brother before he's letting his hand slip away from him. )
You're a sap. Anyone ever tell you that?
( A bit of lightheartedness so as to go back to feeling like himself and tuck the devil away again. )
[Vergil's own demonic features do not linger much further past Dante's, leaving behind human skin and grey-blue eyes as his demonic power is withdrawn back within himself. He rolls his neck a little as Dante releases his hand, Vergil's hand coming back down more properly to his side with nothing holding onto it. At the comment, Vergil scoffs and decides to play along.]
You're one to talk being as big of a crybaby as you are.
[Reaching over, Vergil places his hand on top of Dante's head. He musses that mop of white and gray and only takes his hand back after he's given a light, playful shove to Dante's head to push it down again.]
Head shoved down, he leans off the bed some and snaps his teeth a few times, pretending to bite at his dear big brother before he flops back against the bed, resting back on his hands with a heavy sigh. )
Youβre lucky Iβm too tired to tackle your ass to the ground and make you say uncle.
Now who is starting to slow down in his old age? [he asks as he starts to step away again, rolling his eyes with a light smile. As he goes, Vergil lifts and tugs one of Dante's legs off the bed.] And get your boots off my bed.
[He fully anticipates Dante will just put his leg back up the moment he's on the other side of the divider, but still. Vergil sleeps there. Occasionally Nero does, too. He doesn't want dirty boots on his blankets, and things have returned to a place where he can more comfortably scold Dante for it.]
[Not that Vergil says anything about it one way or another when he returns with his book and settles in beside Dante until he needs to get up and get dinner squared away before Nero gets home, accommodating Dante when his little brother inevitably begins to restlessly sprawl and flops onto him, limbs akimbo as always.]
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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
[Vergil hesitates to reach for the bottle on Dante's behalf. He doesn't have any desire to tacitly endorse Dante's drinking habits, and he sees no other possible interpretation for the action. (He couldn't even really claim to be turning a blind eye given a more active participation being requested of him.) But neither does he have a desire for an argument with Dante. Or perhaps not an argument, but bitter words that run the distinct risk of evolving into something angrier. Not when it seems the end result shall be the same. Dante will drink whether or not Vergil passes him the bottle.]
[Vergil's eyes go to the alcohol on the nightstand before he nudges Dante to sit up. Once Dante is supporting more of his weight instead of resting it so heavily against Vergil, the elder son of Sparda reaches and picks up the bottle. He does not hand it to Dante right away, however, staring at it in his hand for a moment. No small part of him wants to make off with it. Smash it. Pour it down the drain. Partially because he believes it's better for Dante, and partially because it becomes far too unsettling in its clarity that Vergil is a significant reason why his brother drinks. But just as it will make no difference if he passes it to him or not, neither will some form of destruction of the bottle. Dante will still drink.]
[Wordlessly, Vergil holds the bottle out toward Dante for him to take, his hold on him now loosening to allow him to sit up all the way to drink. He does not look at his little brother, more acutely aware of that wedge between them of shame and guilt and anger and sadness. Vergil held no delusions about the outcome of such a talk as the one they just had, but he wantedβ...]
[It doesn't matter. It just does not matter. His fingers ghost through as they always do or he simply falls short. The end result feels so much the same.]
[He lets it be for today. While Vergil refuses to give up altogether, he knows there's little point in trying any further today. It will just make the apartment feel too small, and promises feel more fragile than they really are. Privately, he hates it. He hates how close Dante is to him now while feeling far beyond his reach. But Vergil shores everything up and steels himself, schooling his expression as he follows Dante's lead in leaving the conversation where it is.]
What do you want for dinner?
cw: gentle mentions of alcoholism
To his surprise, he's given the bottle β a little more upright now β and he offers his brother a lazy albeit incredibly faint smile as fingers brush over Vergil's in his taking the bottle back. Without much for hesitation, he takes a swig, head knocked back some as he does, licking over his lips with a pleased little ah after. Already he can feel it chasing away the sorrow, the heartache, the anger that flows through his blood, and he settles back into something more mellowed out despite how incredibly unhealthy chasing it all away with a drink can be.
Whatever. It's worked thus far.
Pulling the bottle away from his lips, he rests it there against his leg, eyes glazed over some before he's blinking it away and he glances over to his brother there at the question posed. Taking a moment, he tilts his head. Contemplates that. Then smiles brightly despite the tiredness there in his expression. Because of course he always puts on a show. )
How mad are you gonna be if I say pizza?
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If you weren't holding an open bottle on my bed, I would have pushed you before you could even finish that question, [he says, withdrawing his remaining arm around Dante so that he can stand up. Tiredness from Dante is to be expected, but the smile on his face and his quickness to follow the change in subject signals to Vergil it's as good as time as any for him to return to his own space.] But fine. We can do pizza again tonight.
I owe you for the books, anyway. [Seeing as how the strawberries lasted all of five minutes... Vergil shakes his head a little as he steps away to return to his book on the couch.] Do yourself a favor and don't try to lie to me about where they came from, or I'm making Greek salads tonight instead.
[Truly no good deed goes unpunished.]
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Vergil moves β intends to separate them and return to his book[s] which he matter-of-factly accuses the youngest son of Sparda of being responsible for. Despite the accusation being correct, he still won't admit to it. Instead, he reaches out before the elder son can slip away too far from him β fingers grasping at Vergil's wrist and he stares down to the floor. Quiet. Fingers of his other hand holding to the neck of the bottle resting there against his leg. )
The mind is it's own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
( A line from Vergil's dear Paradise Lost and one which, from how he'd been able to recite it so effortlessly and without the need for second thought, he's read a number of times before. He can relate to in ways he wishes he didn't.
Those fingers there at his brother's wrist grip tightly β a refusal to let him go just yet and he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. )
I read them all. A few times. Can't say they were anything I'd call a favorite of mine. But it was a way to be close to you. To fill the silence of your absence. Sometimes I could hear your voice when I did. Like you were right there. Reading out loud to me. Trying to bore me to death. Sometimes you did.
( Letting fingers slip from Vergil's wrist, they drop down to grip his brother's fingers instead, holding to them still tightly. )
I'm holding you to your word. ( I'm not going anywhere. ) I need you here. I've always needed you.
cw: references to alcoholism and enslavement
[He still does not admit to being the one to have secured these copies for Vergil, but he doesn't need to in order for it to be proven fact to Vergil. Not any more than he needs to recite lines from one of them for that matter. The gift itself would have been enough on its own, the specific editions reflecting his bookshelf from their childhood. What would truly drive it home were it still somehow unclear is the bittersweet means of staying connected to Vergil when he was gone. It lands more bitter than sweet to Vergil in this moment, having only just pushed everything as far from himself as he could to leave the conversation be. But that feels par for the course for the two of them wherein they begin to align only to find it rapidly not the case. Vergil pushes too hard. Dante plays too much. One or both of them falls out of step with the brief tandem, and it's not long after that at least one of them handles it poorly.]
[He tries not to be the one who does that now as he feels Dante's grip shift to his fingers as he wonders just how long he is to be a spectre to his brother and not the flesh and blood that he is here and now? He says he will hold Vergil to his word, and says that he needs him, but how hard it is not to feel it is all too little, too late when Dante must seek the bottle first. Their past is a complicated one, of course. Vergil is not without his empathy for the difficulty he knows Dante must face in trying to relinquish the past. But it seems so hard to have him not so largely in the past now that it feels almost insurmountable.]
[Dante's grip is tight, but Vergil is able to wriggle his fingers enough that he can adjust his hand within to hold his brother's hand in return. Vergil says nothing as he continues to stand there. Not aloud. His hold on Dante's hand, however, is perhaps the tightest he's ever held it in all their lives. Vergil's grip in return likely borders on painful, almost as though it were their shared grip alone that separated the line between one fate and another for him. A slight lessening of their grip on the other, and that would be it. Vergil says nothing with his own words or borrowed ones, not wanting to begin the conversation anew even as Dante seems to spark it back into life. But he grips Dante's hand against fears and insecurities and the grief and loneliness that have plagued Vergil for the majority of his lifeβthe parts of his life that were his own and not stolen from himβand he hopes Dante understands.]
cw: gentle demonic transformation
Scales roll over the back of his hand β stretch out to his fingers where claws appear and he keep his hold there on his brother's hand, some touching along the sides of his face. It's only a partial, if that, transformation β of his devil reaching out to its twin as much as he himself does to his brother. Because they share that, too. Red and blue. Fire and ice. Two devils who shared a womb together within a human mother from the moment they'd both been conceived with a mix of demonic and human blood. So different from any other demon they had ever come across. No one else like them. Not since Nero and even then, the things they have shared together, the way they have been in each other's life from the very instant they came into existence only to be ripped apart from one another at such a young age... for as much as Dante reaches out for his brother, so, too, does his devil reach out for its other half.
He swallows thickly β somehow feels even more vulnerable in this partial state. Knowing how Vergil's always felt about their demonic lineage and how he's viewed his little brother as weak for rejecting it orβnot allowing himself to fully accept or even love that part of himself with pride as Vergil always has. Even now, as he sits there, he's still very much human despite the demonic touches visible on him. But for as much as he needs his brother, so does his devil need its other half. When he speaks, it's with a slightly deeper tone β fangs there in his mouth. )
Together.
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[It is odd to see his brother mostly human but traces of the devil still prominent regardless of how few they may be compared to his human features. For Dante, his demonic heritage is a tool. It is one he resents almost as much as he resents their father, but it is a tool for him nonetheless. There is, however, no connection between Dante and that part of himself beyond that. It remains an insurmountable divide that, in a strange way, reflects the divide between brothers as well. Dante's resentments just seem to run too deep, and it's too difficult for Vergil to see it from his brother's perspective. The latter, however, seems far easier to mend and close to Vergil than the former. And the divide between brothers is not exactly anything Vergil would claim to be an easy task in the first place.]
[Still, Dante is here, and he reaches for his brother in more ways than just one. It counts for something.]
[The blue of Vergil's eyes brightens to a cyan rather than their softer grey-blue, his sclera darkening with the rise of his own demonic energy. It's neither the sharp spike of heated emotion from Dante a moment ago, nor is it the gradual rise. Instead, it's almost akin to the devil within Vergil stepping forward, as though it has always been there and only with attention being drawn to it does it step forward now. Vergil matches his brother in partial transformation, but to some extent it is more complete. His is not as much of a patchwork of scales and claws. Instead, from the elbow down, Vergil's arm and hand have transformed completely and glow with the same cyan of his eyes while grey scales form along his hairline and cheeks as well as along the sides and back of his neck.]
Together, [he says with a nod.]
[They have been in opposition to one another for far longer than they have not. And there is still some small instinct there for it even now. It would seem impossible not for there to be given how often it is they've clashed with one another, using their demonic powers and forms to wound and fight to bitter ends against one another. But the instinct is small and it is quiet, and there is no power struggle that lies between them now that would amplify it. In this moment, as devils and as men, they are merely brothers. Twins who balk at the thought of being alike and yet still reflect both the worst and best parts of one another, and need one another for that reason.]
[From now on, when one reaches for the other, he will be there. As hard as it may be to reach for or take hold after all their various hurts and wrongs, they will find a way to do it.]
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Bright red eyes watch the other devil's face β quiet in the way his gaze sweeps over his brother's arm and the power he can feel gently radiating off him. It's familiar enough β one he's met time and time again when facing his brother. It simply feels different than usual given the circumstances... given the fact that they are not at each other's throats. To be wearing his demonic skin as he is, even just barely as he is, it has him feel some sort of way about it and with the way Vergil looks to him, he doesn't hold it for very long. Because with Dante, it's always a matter of holding it β controlling it rather than simply letting it be.
Fire gently rolls over him and the scales disappear from his face and hand, as do the claws and the red burning there in his eyes. He ducks his head some β lets himself take a breath, then smiles lazily up to his brother before he's letting his hand slip away from him. )
You're a sap. Anyone ever tell you that?
( A bit of lightheartedness so as to go back to feeling like himself and tuck the devil away again. )
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You're one to talk being as big of a crybaby as you are.
[Reaching over, Vergil places his hand on top of Dante's head. He musses that mop of white and gray and only takes his hand back after he's given a light, playful shove to Dante's head to push it down again.]
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Head shoved down, he leans off the bed some and snaps his teeth a few times, pretending to bite at his dear big brother before he flops back against the bed, resting back on his hands with a heavy sigh. )
Youβre lucky Iβm too tired to tackle your ass to the ground and make you say uncle.
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[He fully anticipates Dante will just put his leg back up the moment he's on the other side of the divider, but still. Vergil sleeps there. Occasionally Nero does, too. He doesn't want dirty boots on his blankets, and things have returned to a place where he can more comfortably scold Dante for it.]
[Not that Vergil says anything about it one way or another when he returns with his book and settles in beside Dante until he needs to get up and get dinner squared away before Nero gets home, accommodating Dante when his little brother inevitably begins to restlessly sprawl and flops onto him, limbs akimbo as always.]