Chapter Text
"But suddenly she saw her hands and thought with a clarity as simple as it was dazzling, 'These hands belong to me. These my hands.' Next she felt a knocking at her chest and discovered something else new: her own heartbeat."
Toni Morrison, Beloved
Being whole is…uncomfortably glorious.
Vergil can’t breathe, because he can take a deep breath. He can barely stand, because his legs will hold him. His arms ache because they are uninjured. He wants to shred himself apart just to feel normal.
Sometimes he speaks under his breath to hear his own voice. His voice. His legs, his arms, his, his, his. Vergil Sparda, son of Sparda and Eva, brother of Dante, father of Nero. No armor but his scales and wits.
Vergil, V's voice tells him, firm and quick, We are Vergil. Our name is Vergil.
Vergil heaves more corrupted sludge. Vergil, his name his Vergil, this is his body, this is his voice.
Mother did not leave us, V continues, We are her son. Vergil. She named us Vergil. She did not leave us.
"I would never," Mother whispers at his side. She's petting his hair. He doesn't know how long she's been there. "You're okay, sweetheart. You can breathe. Your lungs belong to you."
Yes. Yes. His. Vergil's.
Crimson joy escapes his lips. Another hand touches his back. He almost thinks it's his, but no. It's the him outside of him.
"Yeah," Dante says, "You're Vergil. That's your name. You're with me, brother. Not goin' anywhere without me."
He kneels in Mother's shape. Vergil wants to scream at his twin for making her leave. Why does she always leave?
No, V snaps, She did not leave us!
"She didn't," Dante replies, "I promise."
We believe him, V says.
"You better."
Vergil breaks the surface. There's nothing but bile in the toilet. He's forgotten to eat again.
Dante cautiously pulls him close, in case the vomiting starts again. Cold sweat meets his neck. Vergil's whispers keep breathing into his shirt: "Vergil, Vergil, Vergil."
Heat boils the corruption away. For once, Vergil lets it, watching his fingers move on Dante's thigh. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie. Other hand. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie. Both at once. Left again. Right again. He is moving them, no one, nothing, else.
His lungs settle in his ribs. His heart chants unhindered. Dante's power is cradling him without locking him in. He is Vergil. Vergil Sparda.
Dante shuts the toilet lid and flushes. "C'mon. Let's brush your teeth. You need to eat something."
Vergil's stomach recoils. No. Not that. Don't make him.
"Vergil," Dante says softly, "You can have anything you want. It's your choice."
Choice. What a strange word.
When Vergil opens his eyes again, he is sitting on the office couch with a green smoothie. His mouth tastes minty, and his toes wiggle in his boots when he asks.
"Hey."
Vergil turns his head.
Nero shifts a bit. He's wearing a white shirt under a sweater Kyrie had made for him: dark blue and full of yarn pills. "You, uh...you with me?"
He smells like exhausted sweat and old thread. He smells like power. He smells like Vergil's son.
"Well, at least you're moving," Nero mutters, "I swear you didn't blink for thirty minutes straight."
Vergil blinks.
"I feel like you're making fun of me."
Blink.
Nero huffs. "You're such an asshole. Drink your smoothie, old man."
Without looking from his boy, Vergil puts the paper straw in his mouth. Dante puts way too much spinach in the mix. The fact that it's perfectly blended speaks to Nero's expertise. Fostering three young children does wonders for eyeballing measurements. If Vergil had stayed, would he have the same ability?
But no. He had jumped. Crashed. And the shadows devoured him slowly, so Mundus could thoroughly enjoy it. No, Vergil did not stay. No one stays.
"Stay with me. Hey."
Claws pinch Vergil's arm. His right arm. The distinction is important, though Vergil can't remember why.
Nero is here. When did he get here?
His son's face pinches. Father's used to do the same when Dante broke a bone. Vergil has broken many of Dante's bones.
"Father."
Yes, Father. So far away, farther than even Vergil was taken. Had Sparda screamed too?
Cold fills Vergil's mouth. He swallows. Perfectly blended. Nero must have made it.
Vergil blinks, and Nero is there.
"Yeah," Nero says, "I'm here." After a beat, he adds, "So are you."
Vergil supposes he is. His hands, his feet, his lungs, his heart, his name.
His smoothie. He takes another sip.
"You're Vergil," Nero whispers, eyes like blades, "You're my father. Got it?"
Vergil nods with his own head. Another sip.
Nero lets out a long breath, then tilts his head and drawls, "You're also squeezing too tight."
Vergil follows his cheeky pointing. Wrapped thrice around Nero's torso is an armored tail. When Vergil asks, its end twitches, confirming it's his. Because of Vergil's tail, Nero is pleasantly warm and protected. Vergil won't hurt him. Not again. Never again.
Ah. That's why. The right arm.
Nero pats the tail with The Arm. "You gonna let go, or...?"
Sip. Twitch. Yes, still Vergil's tail.
"How's he doing?" Dante, not far off. Kitchen?
"He won't let go!" Nero calls.
"Tough luck, kid."
"Gimme a break," Nero grumbles, "I'm not even going anywhere."
He says that, but when has anyone kept that promise?
Mother did not leave us, V reminds him.
Nero's brow furrows. "What was that?"
"Don't worry about it." Dante, closer. "Let 'im have his juice."
Sip. Dante plops on Vergil's other side, throwing his arms along the back of the couch. Sip. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie. Sip. Left, right, left, right, together.
"There's more if you want it," Nero says. "If you let me up, I can get it for you."
"Nope." Dante pops the 'p.' "I'll get it. You enjoy the snuggles."
Nero scowls. "If you call this a snuggle, you need therapy."
"Y'know, it's almost adorable how much you don't want me to know you're enjoying it."
"Shut up, Dante!"
Dante laughs. It rings genuine, a rarity. Vergil turns to watch it bounce in his throat. He focuses his ears to his brother's vocal chords, imagines their humming layers. He likes their buzzing better, for they belong to his kin. Would Dante mind if Vergil sits in his larynx a while?
When Vergil opens his eyes, the buzzing is soothing his forehead with Dante's welcoming chitter. Vergil's hands are empty. Left, right, left, right, together.
"Is he gonna be okay?" Nero asks quietly.
"Of course!" Dante replies, "He'll be kicking your ass soon."
"Kicking my ass?!"
We are safe, V says, soft with shock.
Dante rumbles with the abyss that will never have Vergil again. Vergil watches his hands shake, and the rumbling jumps higher, turns into an earthly avalanche. The air is thin where avalanches happen. But the winter sky is so bright with snow diamonds.
Vergil's hands still. He loosens his tail. A ragged voice says, "More." His voice.
Vergil. Vergil Sparda.
Nero makes a show of stretching. "Guess I'm gettin' it after all."
He will come back.
"Come on, big brother," Dante says, "Come back."
Vergil presses his ear to the buzzing, glowering when it stops. "Speak."
Dante snickers. "You want me to talk? You'll never hear the end of it."
Vergil digs claws into his side. "Speak."
"Okay, but you asked for it." Yes, he did. A choice. "You've been in and out for a couple hours, far as I know. I looked around when Nero was watchin' you, but I couldn't figure out possible triggers. Ugh, you're probably gonna deny the shit out of this. FoOlIsHnEsS, dAnTe. It's not a weakness, y'know. Fuck, Verge, we've been through so much shit."
"I keep telling you," Nero says, "You need therapy."
"And who's your doctor, huh? Yeah, that's what I thought."
Vergil takes his fresh cup. Its straw is bendy and sparkly. He hates it. He watches the smoothie race through it like an upside-down water slide.
Dante digs his chin into his hair. "That's it, drink your juice."
Curled around his cup, Vergil rasps, "I am not a child."
"Sure, bro."
Dante keeps talking nonsense. When Vergil moves his tail, Nero sits still.
"Her name is Dr. Hilaya," Nero says, "She's awesome."
Dante stiffens. "Well, shit."
"I'll ask her for some recommendations."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes. You want me to kick your ass about it?"
Vergil watches his hands flex on his cup. His hands.
"Father, you're up next."
Vergil's tail thwacks him. Foolish child.
"Ah," Dante murmurs, "There he is."