Chapter Text
Dante pushed open the door of their rented flat, shaking his head to send raindrops flying. Late October in Fortuna was soggy. Apparently the island's mountains did get snow in Winter, but the lowlands just got wet.
“If you must shake like a dog, do it outside!” Vergil called.
Dante chuckled and kicked off his boots, then managed to wiggle out of his "civilian" coat by switching the package he held from hand to hand. “At least I didn't drip all over your musty old books,” he called back, stepping out of the tiny entry hall and into the living room/kitchenette.
Their shared flat was small, only a single bedroom and bath, and therefore was barely big enough to fit them both, which was fine since they usually only slept here. It felt extra crowded today, though, because Vergil and Dante had both brought their homework back with them last night and Vergil had since turned the room into a maze of papers and tomes.
Dante rolled his eyes as he picked his way through the mess and into the tiled kitchen area, setting his package down on the counter, where it was promptly joined by the makings of a sandwich. Dante missed pizza, he could've picked up some, but wasn't craving it today like he usually did. Before the mess with the White Rabbit and DARKCOM, he has been like an addict, unable to go for more than a few days before he succumbed to the craving for his favorite artery-clogging comfort food. So it was weird how he hadn't had it more than twice in the month since he and Vergil had been reunited.
Setting the kettle to heat, he asked, “Read anything interesting? Or are you still… getting distracted?” He chuckled as he felt Vergil trying to set him on fire, luckily not with magic, just by glaring.
He grinned down at the bread he was spreading mayonnaise onto. It was the best mayonnaise he'd ever had. Fortuna was mostly self-sustaining, and so a lot of the food tended to come fresh from bakeries and markets, and Dante knew he was going to miss the quality when Morrison's real estate buddy found an appropriate shop in Red Grave or a surrounding city.
“I am actually taking a break from reading,” Vergil said loftily. “Which you would notice if you paid attention.”
Dante, first sandwich already half eaten and a second nearly made, looked over his shoulder and saw that Vergil's nose wasn't in a dusty book. Instead, his brother had settled sideways on the couch, a heap of pillows and blankets at his back, and his tablet resting on his drawn up knees.
“Still ‘ooks ‘ike yer readin’,” he said through his mouthful of sandwich, hiding how pleased he was to see Vergil, not only still in his fluffy PJ pants, but with the tablet Dante had bought him three weeks ago—hideously stickers and all. (It had been a joke, of course. Dante had got Vergil a tablet, along with the best protective screen cover and case he could find, and downloaded every free book of poetry, plays, and classics he could. Then he spent ten dollars at a quarter machine buying random stickers and slapping them on the case. Both the tablet purchase and stickers were acts of love, but Vergil only appreciated one of them.)
Vergil shot him another dirty look. “Don't talk with your mouth full, you barbarian. “
Dante resisted the urge to stick out his tongue, instead cramming in the last of the sandwich.
Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Vergil put one earphone back in and refocused his attention on the screen. Dante finished both his sandwiches, rescued the kettle before it started shrieking, and made himself a mug of hot cocoa, then started a cup of Vergil's fancy ass tea steeping, because he was a good, thoughtful brother like that.
“Dante?” Vergil said, word tilting up at the end like it did when he had a ‘weird earthling’ question.
“Hmm?” Dante replied, leaning back on the counter, eyes closed as he sipped his cocoa.
“What, precisely, are war crimes?”
Dante sprayed cocoa across the kitchenette.
Coughing, he swiped his sleeve across his mouth. When he'd caught his breath, he demanded, “The fuck, Verg?”
Vergil had raised an eyebrow at his reaction, but otherwise waited patiently for Dante to get ahold of himself and answer the question.
After a quick drink of water to buy himself another second to think, Dante cleared his throat. “Um, war crimes… geez, heavy stuff there.” He tapped his fingers on the counter, trying to figure out how to summarize such a huge topic. “After humans had two world wars, I think they realized how bad things could get if they didn't tap the brakes. So a bunch of governments decided on a list of things that are off the table for wars. Things like deliberately targeting civilians and hospitals, torturing people, keeping war prisoners in inhumane conditions, rape, killing medics, and um… enslaving civilian populations. That's the broad strokes. …I think.” Damn, he was not prepared for these types of questions. The only reason he knew that much was because he'd gotten drunk with a bunch of war vets once. Was this how parents felt when kids started asking tough questions?
Vergil snorted. “They will be greatly disappointed by the conduct of true demonkin during war, then, should Mundus find a way to invade.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that's the difference between demons and humans.” Dante grimaced. “Not that humans won't still do that shit during war, or outside of war, if they think they can get away with it.” He sipped from the remains of his cocoa. “I think it's mostly ‘cause everyone realized, Hey if I do this to my enemy, then my enemy sure as hell will do it right back, and I don't want that to happen to me! And so War's Golden Rules were applied. The official list is called the Geneva Conventions, if you want to look them up.”
“Perhaps.”
Dante finished the last of his cocoa. “What brought this up anyway?”
“Hm? Oh, your enemy Vice President Baines, DARKCOM, and the United States are being accused of committing them.”
The mug shattered on the tiles as Dante Tricked over to the couch, shoving Vergil to make room so he could get a look at the tablet screen. There on the screen was a solemn gathering of the world's religious leaders, the same ones who were holding that big conference in Switzerland. Dante recognized the current Pope, the Dalai Lama, and the Savior's Guide. The rest must be scholars and historian types, but all of them looked varying levels of serious and angry—and right at the podium, addressing the slathering crowd of reporters, was their very own Cardinal Charles-Philip with an extremely nervous looking Makain demon beside him.
“Holy fuck,” Dante whispered, impressed despite himself, “it hasn't even been a month. Chuck moved fast.”
“He did indeed,” Vergil agreed, then pushed at him. “You're still wet, Dante!”
“Relax. You’re salty as hell but you won't melt. Can you rewind this?”
Still irritated, Vergil sniffed, “I tried, but the video says it's live and won't.”
“Damn.” He pulled out the headphone cord so he could at least listen. Both he and Vergil stopped arguing and got comfortable. It was both incredibly disturbing and extremely satisfying to hear all the messed up shit DARKCOM was doing.
The evidence Vergil had given Charles-Phillip was shown, including the files on the facility Dante had been kept. He had to force back a shudder, glad that Vergil had stored all of Dante's… data on a different drive. The idea of people seeing him like that, vulnerable and more dead than alive…? Of strangers knowing about things he himself only remembered in nightmares and panic attacks? It made him want to hurl. So he focused on the other images, the ones from the concentration camps Vergil had liberated. At least then he wanted to puke for other reasons.
Of course, the reporters and diplomats demanded proof, and Dante couldn't suppress an evil cackle at the gleam in the cardinal's eye.
“He would make a good devil,” Vergil murmured, as Charles-Philip started showing MORE documents, more footage, more proof that demons weren't the only evil fuckers in this little dimension called Earth.
“You should tell him that the next time we see him,” chuckled Dante, though he didn't really feel like laughing. He had been the one to get the lion's share of this new evidence (Vergil not wanting anything to do with Makai or Makains unless it was related to research or killing Mundus), and it had taken every ounce of Dante's self-control not to try out his new powers on the wardens and scientists. Because even if he saved those Makains, where would they go? And if that hideous camp was destroyed like the camps Vergil had liberated under Mundus's command, then the evidence would go with them.
Being coldly rational did not suit Dante at all.
Knowing that there were still innocent people trapped like that made him sick. It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, taking that footage, stealing all that information, and not saving those poor people. There were children still there, still dying by inches under the eyes of their helpless parents. He'd come back from the mission and had another panic attack.
Physically, Vergil had been comforting, but emotionally… his words about there being no safe haven in Hell or on Earth for those Mundus had created to be Worthless still haunted Dante. He hoped his twin was wrong.
Dante glanced at the time on the screen and groaned. Rolling off the couch, he landed with a thud on top of a pile of notebooks. “I'm gonna have to finish the video later. Tick tock, time zones, and all that.”
Ambling into their bedroom, he quickly changed into his hunting gear and snagged something he'd been saving from his bag as he did. Taking both it and the package he'd picked up this morning in hand, he approached his brother again. Vergil had just resettled himself on the couch, and wasn't expecting Dante to drop a cake box in his lap.
“By the way, twin of mine: Happy Birthday.”
Vergil's head jerked up, eyes round as teacups. “W-What?”
Dante hid how his heart ached for his big brother by flipping the box open, revealing a cake done up half in chocolate and half in vanilla, with HAPPY 19TH BIRTHDAY piped in red and blue across the top.
“Dante…” Vergil murmured, his expression blank, but his eyes holding a storm.
“Relax, big brother,” Dante said, the sorrow easing into something more sweet than bitter. “I know you got plans already—so do I if you'll remember—which is why I also got you this!” Grinning now with real mischief, he pulled his present out from behind his back, waggling it in his brother's face. “That's right. Take it all in. The best present ever for your little study session.”
“Please stop saying it like that. Also, get your weird bottle out of my face. I assume it's alcohol of some sort,” drawled Vergil, setting the cake on the cushion beside him and taking the bottle. He opened it, then jerked back, eyes wide again. “Father's Blood! What is that?”
Dante spread his arms in a display of false innocence. “Remember a week ago when I went to Moscow for that job? Well, when I finished clearing it, the boys there wanted to take me drinking. Told ‘em I can't get drunk anymore and that was apparently offensive or somethin'.” He chuckled, remembering the pitying and horrified looks on the Russians’ faces. “Seems like one of them had a connection with a,” he made air quotes, “specialty vodka maker. They dragged me to this freaking huge brewery, went into a back room with a bunch of equipment, and did… somethin’. I'm kinda too scared to ask what. Anyway, they made two bottles of that concoction. I took a dozen shots and the next thing I remember I'm waking up in full Trigger on top of that crazy candy-looking palace.” He shuddered. “Still not sure where my shirt and socks went. Had all my other clothes, just… not those.”
Vergil looked at the bottle with respect and a touch of trepidation. “I see.”
“Yeah, highly recommend mixing it with something that doesn't taste like gasoline. And don't let Ivy have any of it! Pretty sure if a human drank it they'd just keel over and die on the spot.”
“Ivy?” Vergil repeated, torn between amusement and bafflement. “That isn't her name.”
“It isn't?” Dante scratched his head, then shrugged. “You sure?”
“Yes, Dante, I am very sure. Where on earth did you get Ivy?” He paused, then rolled his eyes. “Is it because she's an archivist? Good grief, Dante.”
“Ivy. Archivist. Whatever. I could just call her your girlfriend if you want.” Dante teased.
Vergil bristled. “She is not my girlfriend!”
“Yeah yeah.” Dante flapped a hand at him. He wasn't sure if Vergil realized that Ivy (he was just gonna stick with that name) absolutely had a thing for him— Or that Vergil liked her right back. It wasn’t like Vergil’d had the opportunity for teenage crushes or dating in Mundus's court, so how would he know what label to put on the emotion? But Dante knew the signs of a major crush when he saw one. Maybe getting them both tipsy would help.
“So what is on your agenda tonight?” Vergil asked, patently changing the subject.
Dante grinned and struck a dance pose. “Argentina, baby! Home of the world's sexiest tango!” Vergil rolled his eyes as Dante tangoed his way between their research material. “Gonna go dancing at Club Paraíso Caído after I finish.” Dante felt his happy grin turn sharkish. “That Arius guy is renting a room in the same building, so figured I'd nose around a bit.”
Vergil sat up straighter, eyes bright with sudden interest. “The billionaire occultist? The one searching for the Force Edge?”
“Gonna be honest with ya, Verg. I think all billionaires might be occultists, and pretty sure they're all wanting to add our stuff to their private collection too. But yeah, that guy.” Dante wrinkled his nose. “I'm pretty sure we can upgrade him from occultist to summoner/sorcerer. Got a whiff of his private helicopter when we were in Spain, and it reeked of blood and sulfur.”
Vergil grimaced. “Most likely then.”
Dante's distaste turned to mischief. “Hey, do you think if I locked him and Arkham in a room together, they'd fight?”
Now Vergil rolled his eyes. “They're sorcerers, Dante, not two spiders in a jar.”
“Okay, but am I wrong?”
After a moment of narrow eyed irritation, Vergil admitted, “I would bet heavily on only Arkham walking out alive.”
Dante rubbed his chin in thought, then nodded. “Yeah… I think you’re right. But I guess when I see Arius in person tonight I’ll also be able to tell who rates higher on my creepdar.” He shuddered, thinking about Arkham’s absolutely foul aura. He really hoped Arius wasn’t as gross or he’d throw up on the dancefloor and ruin any chances he had of tangoing the night away with a lovely lady.
His twin eyed his reaction, then asked carefully, “Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to come along? I’m not sure I care for the idea of you… provoking a sorcerer on your own. I wouldn’t like to see you sacrificed on some altar just so some jumped-up sapien can steal a smidgeon of your power.”
Waving him off, Dante said, “Naaah, I’ll be fine. I’ve been getting in and out of trouble just like this for years. Snooping around some asshole at a club is right in my skill set. Also, the word smidgeon is amazing, and we should use it more. It sounds like a type of dorky, demonic pigeon.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vergil drawled. “Do you want me to save the cake?”
Dante shrugged. “Honestly doesn’t matter to me. I can always get us more cake if your study partner wants a slice to go with the booze and books.” Vergil responded by throwing a pillow at him, which Dante caught and threw back. “I would like to trade you for Yamato, though, just in case I need to make a fast exit and I don’t have data or wifi.” Vergil’s tablet had the same encrypted messaging service as Dante’s burner phones, which was how they communicated, but it required data or wifi to work. “Like you said, can’t be too careful when there are assholes messing with infernal magic.”
From their places in the improvised sword rack, Yamato and Rebellion both buzzed, Yamato’s higher chime blending with Rebellion’s indignant growl.
Dante sighed, rolling his eyes. “Did the Yamato always act like this? Because the Rebellion never backsassed me before I unlocked my Trigger.”
“No,” Vergil said, raising his eyebrows at the swords. “She is definitely more active than she was in the underworld. Perhaps it is because they are in close proximity now? They are sister swords, even as we are twins. Resonating with each other may make them stronger.” He hummed thoughtfully. “It will be interesting to see the effect as we collect more devil arms. I wonder if Ebony and Ivory will begin to exhibit personalities as well.” He glanced at Dante’s twin pistols, as if expecting them to rattle in their holsters. They didn’t, much to Dante’s relief.
“They’re not as bonded to me as the Rebellion,” Dante pointed out. “I can’t put them in whatever pocket dimension devil arms go to. Not yet at least. Anyway, original question still stands: Can I borrow Yamato?”
Vergil considered, then reluctantly nodded. “Be careful with my sword,” he warned.
“Promise,” Dante said, crossing his heart. Going over to the stand, he picked up the Yamato. Despite the earlier backsass, she still sang to him in a voice like crystal, just as she would to any who shared blood with Vergil, and he smiled. “Thanks, sweetheart.” To his own blade, he said, “Keep an eye on the place would ya, doll?” The Rebellion hummed her agreement, though he could tell he'd need to take her out for some fun later to make up for leaving her now.
Still smiling, he checked the time again. Argentina was about five hours ahead, so it would be early afternoon there. Plenty of time to meet his contact, knock out the demon nest, then get into some fancy duds and do some snooping when the club opened. He might even make it back to Fortuna in time to catch a few hours of sleep during actual nighttime! How weird would that be?
Chuckling, he envisioned the location his contact was meeting him, and made two neat slashes in the air. It was harder for him than for Vergil, but Dante had strength to spare, and so space tore and folded for him nonetheless. “Well, I'm off! Enjoy your date!”
A pillow hit him in the head, almost knocking him through the portal. “Leave already! And try not to destroy the entire building!”
“It was one time!” he complained. Then, both as petty revenge and because it was his duty as an annoying little brother, he darted back to the couch to plant a loud kiss on top of Vergil's head and drag a finger through the cake's frosting. “See ya!” He was through the portal before any of Vergil's ethereal blades could skewer him.
He stepped through space to land in brilliant sunshine, a glorious breeze smelling of flowers, the sea, and city tugging at his hair and coat. He was on a hill overlooking Buenos Aires, and the view was gorgeous. He grinned, licking the frosting off his finger. Forget dreary Fortuna. This was the place to have a proper birthday bash!
Dante's smile had a lot of fang in it as he spotted his contact walking up to him, a car idling nearby. Well well, been awhile since a demon hired me.
The copse of purple trees at his back rustled, and his heartbeat sped up in anticipation. And he brought guests! How nice of him.
The only thing missing was a cake, good music, and some pretty girls. Well, he could get all of those later tonight. This would just be a warm up.
Drawing Yamato, he set his stance and crooked a finger at his soon to be victims. “Well, don't just stand there gawking! Let's get this party started!”
Caught, his contact didn't even try to pretend innocence. The demon shed its human skin and lunged, its friends joining in, leaping from the flowering trees with ear piercing shrieks.
Dante laughed and ran to meet them. Today was definitely going to be a good day.