Dante's personal Hell

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Important babbling:

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Fandom: Devil May Cry

Author: Ethan

Beta: chap 01 - Lady Luce, Chap02 and further on – Tora-Katana, and the word almighty

Betad over: Nimlinven, thanks for the marvelous detail and logic and general check! *kiss*

Genre: angst, drama, action, fluff (I guess that'll be the list)

Pairing: Vergil/Dante

Rating: PG to NC17

Warnings: Yaoi!, slight AU cause I had to fill in what capcom haven't yet. (alternative storyline not anymore?), OOC… You know, every Dante in every DMC is somehow OOC from the others. So this is just my version of him, I tried staying close to dmc3.

Disclaimer: not mine T_T, Capcom lucky but lazy guys.

Внимание! Теперь Личный Ад Данте на фикбуке. 0_0 приветствуем русскую версию!

FULL SUMMARY, or rather WHAT TO EXPECT(skip if lazy): this gets rather angsty sometimes with suicidal themes but i tried to dilute it with humour, and it always ends with the best things possible. My objective was to make them all suffer and then present Dante and Vergil with a pink - nope, rather black leather-y - happy end. its a joke, no serious bdsm here for now. my characters can have mental breakdowns and get their bodies into bloody mess, that they really tend to do. No matter who fucks whom, it is Vergil/Dante and none other, believe me! other-way fucks (there are few) are used for angst (what else, really?). and there is Angst with an A! not just 'i should go die', but i really tried to dig deep and explain things like vergil's craving for power, dante's run for vergil at the end of dmc3, all family issues... it is hell, but i tried to make this story as closely based on the original, as possible. what else... i am a hungry-for-reviews hamster. feed me?

NOTES: Storyline: I disregard DMC 4 and 2, 2 for not having Verge, 4 – for Nero. Until Capcom tells us who the hell he is. So forget there was such thing as the 4 game. I LUV Dante from part 3. Well, he's smokin' hot anywhere, but for YAOI – my choice is definitely the DMC3 punk. Or you can imagine him somehow slightly more mature (which makes a dmc1 Dante pop up in my head...). I hope he does mature as the story goes =P So, to save him his teenage-ness and youth, timeline: the events of DMC3 are considered to fit within a week, DMC1 takes place in a month after defeating Arkham and also is crammed in 1 week (seems possible to me). Approx 2 month after the end of DMC1 the fic starts. (and forget anime series. hell, I am into the original GAMES here.)

The story is only closely based on the original, small details may be twisted and a little bit different.

ANGST IN THE BEGINNING ENDS QUICKLY! – was written here. DON'T BELIEVE. But humour IS introduced.

"italic" – thoughts

'' - dialogue

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Chap 01

A bolt from the blue

As soon as Dante woke up, a hangover struck him at full force. Along came the horrible thirst. And his neck hurt like hell. Falling asleep on the goddamn purple couch was never a good idea.

He slowly sat up. The floor was covered with empty bottles tossed aside and paper wrappings left from fast food. It had been weeks since anybody tried to clean up the mess that still bore the name of 'Devil Never Cry'.

Weeks since the last mission. And now - no money, no work, no motivation whatsoever.

Clad in old worn-out jeans and a baggy blue shirt covered in oil stains and paint, Dante walked at a wavering gait to the back premises and then to the bathroom. He turned the tap on, took several slow greedy gulps of the cold water and, glaring at the mirror, he lazily started to scrape his cheeks with a razor. Man, he hated going unshaven. But well, shaving was as far as he got with taking care of himself. The tub was still left untouched; he did not even bother with a shower, the feel of hot water on his shoulders long forgotten. And never mind greasy uncut hair, the perpetual stink of alcohol and dark circles under his eyes. Nothing bothered Dante.

He did not care.

Dante sat on the edge of the tub and sighed. Time was said to be able to heal but he did not believe this crap. Every second of that damned day was imprinted in his memory, a stigma ever burning.

The image stood in front of his eyes as if it all happened just seconds ago.

Breathing heavily Vergil made several steps back and then – then he was falling. Falling to Hell. Dante shouted – almost shrieked – and rushed to catch his brother offering him a hand. In this simple gesture there was everything for Dante. He forgave Vergil for whatever sins the latter could have probably possibly committed, he forgave the pain and the hatred. He only wished his brother would not die.

The cold hollow glare of Vergil's eyes snapped Dante back to cruel reality and Yamato's blade cut through his hand. The sword tore his glove and the same moment something much sharper ripped through his heart, slicing it open. A great hole formed inside Dante's chest, one that he knew could never be filled. And with that Vergil was gone.

Dante's world shattered to dust.

There had never been a time like this. He had always known what was the right thing to do, had always known how to deal with his mistakes. This time he knew nothing. Vergil hated him, hated him for real, and Dante was lost. He never before considered all the brawls and quarrels he had with his brother to be true. Wasn't that a kind of a ritual among them, just a spiteful game for two?

That day Vergil showed him the truth: all Dante did was wrong. Insignificant misunderstandings and trivial squabbles – that was what Dante saw. But his brother had always been serious. When they met at the top of the tower, Vergil had already been lost for Dante, he did not want to listen anymore.

Sighing on the edge of the tub, Dante looked at his wrists. Numerous light scars covered his skin. It was on such days, while feeling stupid, unnecessary and useless, that Dante let himself drown in self-pity and slit his wrists. For several hours he would sit on the bathroom floor and watch crimson slowly spread over the tiles, wishing to cease to exist. Of course, he did not really want to die. The physical pain, however, helped him get over sorrow and anger. Dizzy from blood loss, Dante would imagine what Vergil would possibly say if he died. Maybe, just maybe, his brother would stop doing stupid things to get 'power'. Maybe Vergil would see that there is no other heir and no obstacle to get whatever it was he wanted. Would he be relieved?

However, later Dante would always stand up, bandage the wounds and let them heal. He could not let himself die; he had to make sure Vergil was fine. Until then, however, Dante could stay at his old place, with no money, no food, no nothing, and drag out the remainder of his miserable existence. No one would really care.

Dante stood up and went back to the couch. He had a bad feeling, and his intuition proved to be useful again. There was a knock at the door and without further warning, a female figure entered the former agency.

'Holy shit!' exclaimed Lady. She waved a hand in front of her nose as if it could exorcise the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. 'What a hellhole! How does he live in here…' She actually did not finish as she noticed Dante himself, sitting awkwardly on the couch as there was no other place free of litter in the room.

Lady was astonished. It was true people were saying that the agency closed up, but to see Dante like this… she was not prepared. He was all skin and bone, in dirty clothes, sordid and pitiful. But worst of all he looked lost and desperate.

'Hey there,' she called, lowering her sunglasses. 'How's it goin'?'

Dante did not answer. He just stared at her with dusk dull eyes as if not understanding her at all.

'Well… What happened?' Lady asked, troubled.

'Reminiscing,' slowly mouthed Dante. Why did he even bother answering?

'Now about what? Demons trying to occupy the human world? That morbid brother of yours?'

'Don't you dare talk in this way about my brother, bitch!' Dante snapped. He was now standing tall in front of her, fists clenched and rage evident in his eyes. 'Don't. You. Dare.'

Lady somehow managed to get out: 'Chill, Dante.' And he was gone back to amoeba state, falling clumsily back on the couch.

'If you don't want anything just leave'.

'Oh, right. Those signs started to appear around your place. Thought you might know what these letters mean.'

Lady walked up to Dante and gave him some photos.

He sat up abruptly. His intuition was never wrong and this time the signals earlier proved to be the beginning of some great trouble.

In the pictures Lady gave him the bloody lines on the walls read:

'brother, here

brother help me

deliver me brother

help

save

brother…'

'What is it?' Lady asked.

How was he supposed to answer such a question? 'It is my goddamn brother sending me love letters from Hell so that I go rescue him and then it all turns out to be a trap so that those stupid demons can jail me in the ninth circle?' There was no proof it was Vergil.

'Nothing serious really,' Dante said but he could not hide the trembling in his voice. 'Someone from down there is asking for help.'

'The blood?'

'Belongs to the one asking; that is to a demon. There should be no murders.'

'True, there are none. But why is a demon asking for help? This sounds ridiculous. Apart from that you look bloody freaked out. What have you not told me?'

'That is…' Dante mustered as much courage as he could being down and broken and all, and continued. 'It asks for help from some nameless 'brother''

'Oh. Maybe you should go have a look at the blood. Check if it matches yours.'

'Leave me alone,' snapped Dante back quite rudely. Lady knew better then comment further on the issue of blood relatives, so she put the copies of the photos on the floor near the couch and left.

Before closing the door she looked around Devil Never Cry once more. The devil arms were dusty and almost all covered with rust stains. There were spider webs in every corner. The room was a mess but an even greater mess was the man on the couch. Nothing mattered to him; only a mask of his devil-may-care attitude remained. The devil however, apparently did not care.

Lady did not want to know what exactly happened but she was absolutely sure of one thing: one stupid pride-obsessed devil had killed the strongest man ever. Killed Dante on the inside.

...

This stupid case of Lady's brought up too much.

Dante was trying to put on his old ruined red all-stars. He had not laced up any footwear for a very long time so it took him a while. Finally, avoiding the rubbish, he reached the door and went outside.

The moon was hiding behind the clouds and rain was pouring down, hissing as if in eternal pain. Not bothering to get some warmer clothes, Dante stepped into the rain and started walking. Water was cold and somehow soothing. It answered his need of physical suffering.

The demonic signs should be about a block away.

Dante was shivering from cold and all wet, when he finally got to the narrow side street where on the bricks was a dark brownish inscription. It was the one meaning 'deliver me brother'. Nervously Dante took a sip of whiskey he was clever enough to take with him. Then he slowly touched the dried up blood, that the rain would probably soon slowly wipe away.

And cursed. The line of blood under his fingers disappeared, absorbed by his skin and by the warmth in his heart Dante knew it belonged to Vergil.

His brother was alive, which was always good news. Considering how often they met. Dante slowly sat down on the pavement and smiled involuntary. After all, his brother survived. How was he? Was he at least a little bit human? Fighting Nelo Angelo again did not seem like an experience Dante could suffer through one more time. Did Vergil remember him?

What was he supposed to do? Dante got used to the thought that Vergil would never want to see him again. Got used to being hated. To being forgotten and forsaken. It took a while but he managed to deal with it. And now… Vergil asking for his fuckin' help? Even if it is not him… then some bastard had to be strong enough to get Vergil's blood. Then his brother would still need help. Shit.

Dante smashed the bottle at the wall and cut his hand on one of the splinters. Then he slowly wrote the letters of the language of his father, the letters he thought he would never ever remember:

'What do you need?' he finished the dark signs, blood mixed with streams of water running down the dirty wall. That should have been enough. Since the writing appeared in the human world already it meant that the enchantment had been done to make a connection. So his answer should have already showed up on some surface in the Demon world. Dante waited for a couple of minutes and was on the point of leaving for the agency when someone started to write back.

'Mato,' said the blurry letters through the rainwater that tried to wash them away.

'I don't fuckin' have it!' Dante hit the wall with his fist. 'You idiot you took it with you!'

'Now of all times! Whoever you are,' he threatened the inscriptions. 'You shall not have it. If you want the blade that much, come find it.'

Dante swung around, cold, wet and enraged, and rushed out of the narrow street.

...

Dante could not sleep. He tried to think of where Yamato could really be. About 6 am it struck him. He rushed up the stairs to the bedroom. Former bedroom, one could say, as now he practically lived on the couch, which was his bed, his work-space and his resting place.

The former bedroom space at the moment was used for good old things like photo albums, antique books, maps and ancient devil arms that were valuable but no longer of use. That thing must have been there as well.

Dante slammed the door wide open and crushed everything in his way; he crawled under his former bed. There, among other filthy boxes and rags, all covered in dust and dirt, was a long velvet case with a golden cord around it. Not believing his eyes, Dante cautiously took the case downstairs. In one big swing he wiped everything from his table: the litter, the magazines, the telephone even; and put the case right in the center, as if it were a treasure.

Well, it was a treasure of sorts. Slowly Dante undid the cord and opened the case. There lay Yamato. A perfect sword in a perfect sheath. Dark blue as a winter's night, hiding the blade colder than ice and faster than the wind.

The request made sense now. But how did Yamato get in there?

Dante remembered. That day was extremely hot, the day he got the case.

An old lady, all trembling from age, stopped with her cart near the agency and for the whole day was selling inoperative devil mechanisms as toys to children. He did not like it at first. But then seeing that the machines were truly broken and harmless it seemed fine. In the evening, when the old lady had most of her precious items sold out, Dante brought her some strawberry ice-cream. He did not mind sharing.

'Thank you m'boy', the lady lisped. 'Are you new here? Haven't seen your place before.' She asked, eyeing him cunningly.

'A couple o'years since I started working here. Does it bother you?'

'Would you really care what an old hag like me would say? Come on, boy. Better tell me, are you by any chance familiar with my toys? You seem like one of those who never give up the game of Humans and Devils.'

Dante was surprised she knew of the Demon world. That meant she understood what exactly she was selling. He had no choice but to guess for how long the old lady had traveled between the worlds.

'Yeah, I am still playing. A Devil at the Humans' side.'

'That's nice', she replied. 'And you seem to have the looks of a youngster I knew once. Sparda was his name, I believe.'

'You knew my father?'

'Father? Oh, m'boy, that clears up a lot. Here, let me give you something that should belong to you. But never open it unless… well, you know the procedure; unless the world falls apart and a great war breaks out… or something of sorts happens.' That said, the old lady rolled up the sleeves of her dark robe, revealing her wrists with numerous bracelets and talismans, and went searching in her knapsack. Having found nothing, she cursed – and that was the first time Dante heard someone curse so colourfully and in such a twisted manner – and finally she brought a case from the cart. She found it behind her shabby bags.

'Here, I'll give you a secret ace to hide up your sleeve. Have it.'

'What…' Dante tried to ask, but she insisted he left all the questions for the right time.

He liked the old hag from back then so he did never open the case. He put it under the bed as it was a valuable thing that had some connection with his father and there it stayed covered with dust until this morning.

But why Yamato? Did Vergil order the old merchant to bring it to him?

...

It was 10 in the morning. Dante way lying on the couch in a lazy-ass manner and in his hands was the blade. The sheath was lying in the case that was left on the table, and Dante was studying how the rays of light reflected on the fine steel. He still had not decided if he should inform the 'other side' that he did have the sword.

'Are ya there ya sonuvabitch?' yelled Trish kicking the door wide open. She spotted what had the appearance of the remnants of the man she called Dante. 'So I see Lady was right about you needing some hard training. Stand up!' She strode up to Dante and grabbed him by the wrist trying to get him on his feet.

'Woah, chill out, Trish. What on earth is the matter anyway? I am not going anywhere.'

'You bloody are. Today's the Dooms Day. Now get yourself together, we are going to the hospital.'

'Why the hell?' asked Dante angrily. There was no force in this world that could make him move anywhere, even if a new apocalypse was starting.

'Your brother is there.'

Well, maybe there was one.

It took Dante a moment to process the information and calculate that there was only one hospital where a demon could be and only one doctor who would take in a demon like Vergil. In a flash Dante grabbed Ebony and Ivory, fixed them in their holsters that he still wore under the shirt out of habit and then dashed out of the agency. He was definitely going for the motorcycle in front of Devil Never Cry, Trish noted, troubled. Her motorcycle.

'I am driving. If you want to go with me, hurry.' Starting the engine, Dante informed her, his face dead serious. Trish wisely chose not to complain and not to stay in the way of this walking killing machine which Dante was at the moment. As soon as she sat behind the devil hunter, the bike darted off with the speed she was not aware it possessed.

...

Driving through the streets, not paying any attention to traffic-lights, Dante was confused and scared. Why is Vergil here? Who did this to his brother and what exactly did they do? Is he alright? Is he… Dante just hoped Vergil lived though whatever he got himself into.

In the hospital Trish hardly kept up with the flying figure of the demon hunter, flawlessly rushing through the poorly lit up shabby halls. In an instant, she noticed, all the grace and elegance had come back to Dante, his skinny frame like the one of a demigod swooping down the corridors to catch a fallen angel. …maybe she should be a little less graphic in her descriptions. But the change in Dante was obvious.

He rushed downstairs, brushing by the old nurses who did not pay him any attention. Dante was the only figure full of life inside the cement walls painted by the damp patches, a strange appearance on the gloomy underground floor. Finally he made the last turn and it was the dead end. Near a small window – the only one on the whole floor, a person in the stained white doctor's smock stood.

'Schneider!' called Dante. Seeing him the doctor let go of his cigarette and stared.

'Get back to earth this very moment or I'll kill ya!' groaned Dante. 'How is he?!'

The doctor came to and tried to explain: 'I-I thought it was you, Dante, so I tried to patch him up…'

'How is he?!'

'Something like on the brink of dying.'

Dante fought the urge to throw everything away and find Vergil, be by his side and help. But he needed to stay sober and think clear. As clear as he could.

'Whadda hell happened?' Dante grasped the doctor by the collar and looking him right in the eye he hissed: 'Now you tell me properly.'

'When he was delivered about 80 percent of his skin was burned, he lacked an arm and one of his lungs was heavily damaged. Because of the dirt and ashes we had to remove several muscles. I thought it was you, so all the internal organs are still untouched, though there had been some requests from the black market.'

'Thanks for that,' said Dante, but it sounded more like a threat. 'So?'

'Now he is unconscious, no one would be able to stand this pain anyway. We did not have any identity confirmation and also there is no explanation as to why he is in this state. We can not get him artificial skin. And the chances of him regenerating his skin are practically zero.'

Dante let go of the doctor and frantically searched for a brilliant idea to save Vergil. He was definitely not letting his brother die.

'Where is he?'

'Here,' Schneider made a vague gesture towards an inconspicuous door at the very end of the dirty corridor.

'You know how to deal with a blood loss, right doc? Get prepared. In a couple of minutes I will be knocked out cold,' warned Dante and disappeared in the room.

Trish sighed. 'He was like a living corpse throughout the last two months. And then I go and mention his brother being in danger and he is all raving and kicking ass.'

'Is that his brother? Cause he seriously might die.'

'You underestimate those devils, Schneider. I have seen much worse things. But did you really have to tell him about Vergil's chances of getting better being about zero? You scared the shit out of Dante.'

'Regard that as revenge. This asshole scared the shit out of me. First, I thought it was him dying. Then I thought he'd kill me just 'cause he was upset.'

'Well, these are the perks of your job.'

'Yeah, and mind you, I don't get paid for it.'

'No wonder your service is shit. Hope at least you wash your hands and scalpels.'

'You better not bet on it,' Schneider bent down, picked up the butt of his cigarette and threw it into the ashtray on the window. 'I'll prepare the blood. Be right back.'

'Okay, because I am not going in there.' Trish looked at the closed door and sat on the battered bench in the corner. How the hell did Dante's life turn out this way? Everything was a mess.

...

As soon as Dante entered, he felt his legs almost give way. All around the room was tubing and a person way lying on a bed, his whole body covered with cloth. Shuddering, Dante approached the person and tore the cloth from his face. It really was Vergil's face, even if there was only half of it there.

'What did you do?' Dante asked almost hysterically.

Wasting no time, the demon hunter found a scalpel inside one of the drawers of the bedside table. He hastily stripped off his shirt and threw it away, then sat on the bed and lifted Vergil's head, holding him firmly, bringing his brother's lips close to his chest.

'I never did this. I just hope it works.'

Dante put the scalpel against the hollow of his throat and cut deep along the collar-bone up to his shoulder. Somewhere along the way he must have ripped through an artery, as the thick scarlet liquid began to flow down fast, covering Vergil's face. It was absorbed almost instantly by the hungry cells of his twin's demonic body.

'It does work,' Dante somehow calmed down. The blood was pouring down luxuriously in wide streams. The heartbeat indicator manifested, that Vergil's heart was beating faster with every second and eventually got up to the needed number of beats a minute. That is, for a devil.

Vergil would live. Freed from fear and panic, Dante felt sadness and guilt wash over him. He should have been there when it happened. He should have prevented Vergil from being hurt. Instead of basking in self-pity he should have stayed by his brother's side, fuck all Vergil's 'I hate you brother' stuff. He could have managed all that.

Vergil's locks were still snow-white; the skin was still aristocratically pale. The only eye Vergil now had was closed. It seemed like the demon had a hard day and trying to fall asleep, but could not stop thinking about something worrisome.

Dante tenderly took Vergil's hand. The new skin had just started to cover the tissues. Regardless he intertwined their fingers.

'Do not be troubled,' Dante ensured his brother. 'I will protect you like I should have done from the very beginning. Promise, I will take care of you. I swear on this blood carrying my life to you.'

Feeling tired, Dante leaned to the side against the back of the bed. 'Do you remember, brother,' he whispered, 'it was me who would doze off with my head in your lap. I guess you have already forgotten, huh? Sorry now I am so tired… Believe me, you will be okay. I will just close my eyes for a second… just for a second…'

...

When Dante woke up he was faced with a cold glare. Vergil was lying still in his lap. The room around was hell: corpses and blood all over the place. Bones stuck up from the torn flesh. It was dark and only some light came from the broken old lamp on the bedside table.

Dante felt hot tears run down his cheeks.

'Stop it, please… I know you can stop it…' he hugged Vergil and clung to him for dear life. 'Please, don't…' But it was already too late: his brother's body started to disintegrate to molecules and evaporate into crimson mist, leaving heavy red dew around. With every centimeter of Vergil's body disappearing Dante felt desperation grow, his heart ice cold and lead fear filling his lungs. He was muttering pleas. Dante recklessly begged, begged for Vergil not to leave him.

When just his head was left in Dante's hands, Vergil said idly: 'Foolishness, Dante. Foolishness. Can ruin everything.' And the last remnants of his brother shattered down in red and white rain of tissues and bone dust.

Dante sat quietly. He slowly embraced himself, looking straight but seeing nothing. Then suddenly bending down under the weight of the loss - he screamed.

Screamed out of emptiness.

Screamed out of vainless.

Just screamed.

Next, everything stopped. His heart broke, quiet literally, in his chest - the sphere of pain burst and eternal torment oozed from under his ribs. Dante fell and absently perceived that he was lying in the blood. It splashed and welcomed him. He drowned.

But the pain never left. Never.

... endo chap01 ...

Next: The mood lightens up considerably, Vergil switches on. Is he polite and good? WTF?

Don't forget to tell me your opinion on my scribblings!

See ya in chap 02,

Ethan