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Dante's personal Hell	By : BluewolfEthan Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 2408 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Nothing mine of the Devil May Cry series. All characters and the world belongs to Capcom. No profit made out of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Dante's personal Hell
...
Important babbling:
...
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,
romance (I guess that'll be the list)
Pairing: Vergil/Dante
Warnings: general one � Yaoi. All other you
have read) NC hardens considerably throughout the story.
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.
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.
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
...
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?
I'm now halfway through the whole fic, so if you wanna get to the yaoi and yamminess don't forget to tell me your opinion on my scribblings! I'll be uploading a chap every 3 weeks or faster if i get like 10 reviews for the latest chap)
See ya in chap 02,
Ethan
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Dante's personal Hell