Three Epitaphs

Summary: Dante and Vergil decide to spend mothers day honoring the woman who gave everything to save them. In the process, they come to terms with their loss and take the opportunity to get a few things off their chest that have been bothering them for decades. Notes: To be honest, I’ve been wanting to write this fic for years. I just didn’t see how it was feasible until DMC5 came out. This also takes in my AU, but that literally doesn't affect the story at all so I have no idea why I mentioned it. Let me know what you think! (See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text: “Father, father, where are you going O do not walk so fast. Speak father, speak to your little boy Or else I shall be lost, The night was dark no father was there The child was wet with dew. The mire was deep, & the child did weep And away the vapor flew.” The Little Boy Lost -William Blake, Songs of Innocence. Reconciliation. Convalescence. Rapprochement. Closure.

If anyone had asked the Sons of Sparda the meaning of those words during their youth, they would have probably given them a sideways look (or disemboweled them, depending on which one you asked) and continued fighting, steadfast in their own motivations. But now… they were far from the same people they had been back then. During their lifetimes, they had overcome impossible odds, stood victorious in the most bloody of battles, and persevered over the most potent of evils, but it went without saying that the most difficult battle they had ever faced was each other.

Which was why the situation they found themselves in was so truly unfathomable.

It had all started when they had returned from the underworld. The duo had made short work of the Qliphoth, only extending their little tour of hell to capitalize on the consequence-free battle environment. After all, it had been years since they had conversed through the medium of battle, especially in a friendly capacity. What had felt like a week or two at the time turned out to be several months by the time they finally returned to the mortal realm. And naturally, Lady and Trish still hadn’t come to a decision as to who was going to take up residence at the Devil May Cry headquarters. Morrison didn’t care either way, as long as the rent was being paid. There had been quite a seen when Dante had returned, especially with Vergil in tow. They arrived right in the middle of quite the debate between the girls and Morrison over what they were going to do in the face of Dante’s continued absence. While all parties involved were happy to see one another (well, except Vergil) the girls were naturally quite worried over the idea of Vergil staying around, although Trish and Morrison opted to just trust Dante’s judgment and stay out of it. Lady was a bit more… vocal about her concerns, and it actually surprised Dante that all his older twin did in the face of her sever verbal assault was fold his arms and give her a tired dismissive look. He wasn’t honestly sure if Vergil had simply mellowed out a bit with age, he didn’t care enough about what she was saying to get upset, or if he was simply too tired from their ordeal to really be bothered. Knowing Vergil, it was probably a calculated mixture of all three. After that, things had more or less calmed down. Vergil had literally nowhere else to go, so he Dante had invited him to stay. He begrudgingly agreed, but it didn’t take a keen intellect to realize that Vergil was simply being sagacious and sarcastic and actually wanted to stay around. He kept his reasons for this to himself, but that wasn’t something Dante cared much about. He was just happy to finally have his brother around. Naturally, it was going to take a lot of adjusting, but for the first time in what felt like centuries, neither of them dreaded the idea of being in the same room. They had even agreed to try and improve their relationship with one another. And that was precisely how they had ended up here. It had started to rain that morning. Due to the festivities, the streets were crowded, and the traffic had somehow managed to be even worse than it normally was. In Capulet City, everything was loud and brash and vibrant. Everything was so alive. But out here, in the outskirts of town, it was quiet. Haunting. Lifeless. A thick fog had rolled in right after the storm, replacing the torrential downpour that drenched the countryside earlier that day. The highlands were adorned with towering oak and pine trees and the well-manicured foliage that lined the walking paths provided a bit of much-needed color. The pair of twins had been walking for about an hour and a half, despite the fact that their destination wasn’t really that far away. It was mostly due to Vergil’s insistence on dragging his feet. He had agreed to come here at his younger twins behest, but, to say the least, he wasn’t thrilled. In fact, he was a total wreck. He was just concealing it very well. Or so he thought. Dante wasn’t buying it for a second. While Dante was considering saying something to Vergil to break the uncomfortable silence (since he hadn’t spoken since they’d left that morning), they arrived at their destination. It was an ornate wrought iron gate that blocked entry to a small courtyard where a huge weeping willow tree stood. As he opened the gate and passed through the threshold, Vergil stopped dead in his tracks and lingered at the entrance. Dante turned around, already knowing -and half expecting- that this would happen. It had been a herculean task to get Vergil to come here today. To say that his elder twin had some reservations would be hilariously inadequate. “You know, I didn’t think you’d come all the way here just to wait at the gate.” Vergil glanced down at the ground for a moment and then back up at Dante, his face completely pale. For a moment, an emotion he was totally unfamiliar with flashed across his older brother’s face: worry. Vergil looked immeasurably... tired. It was as if being here drained the very life from his body. Dante raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, silently taking in the situation. “Umm… you okay?” Vergil shrugged uncomfortably. “... I do not belong here, Dante.” Dante sighed and gave Vergil a firm but gentle pat on the shoulder. Somehow he just knew his older brother was going to say that. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. As far as Dante was concerned, there was no reason he shouldn’t be here. “What makes you think that? And don’t say your weak because if you do, so help me, I will pick you up throw you over this fence, Vergil. Come on. Were already here. Backing down isn’t going to solve anything. This is something you really need to do.” Vergil exhaled, releasing a long, agonized sigh that was closer to being a pained hiss than anything else and, after a long pause, pressed forward. He found himself at a loss for words, mentally grasping at straws, so he decided to simply say nothing and suffer in silence. It may not be the best method, (and it was a habit that he had resolved to break) but it was one that he had cultivated during his unwilling servitude to Mundus, and old habits die hard. Very hard. But, Vergil wasn’t one for half measures or for taking the easy road, and neither was Dante. So they approached the weeping willow tree. Together. As they both stood at the base of the ancient willow tree, the gravity of their current situation began to weigh down on them. Not only were they doing something this important together for a change, but it was the first time they had stood united in this spot in their entire lives. It was questionable as to who this affected more, but Dante was the first to break the tension since Vergil was too crippled by his own emotions to even begin to process the situation and try to formulate words. “Hey, guys… So, I brought Vergil to visit this time. Turns out he’s not dead after all!” Vergil closed his eyes for a moment and then glanced over at the tombstones. While their mother’s grave contained her remains, their father’s simply stood in his memory. Through his countless years of research, Vergil had never been able to find out what fate had befallen their father Sparda, a fact that weighed heavily on him. But what caught Vergil’s eye was the presence of a third headstone. “... Dante… Did you...“ Dante followed Vergil’s gaze and looked down, shaking his head as if doing so would somehow rid him of his negative memories. “ Yea, I… I had that made right after I… After you… you know, after our last fight on...” “Mallet Island.” Vergil finished the sentence as his voice trailed off, his mind clearly trying to repress the unpleasant memories Dante had just caused to resurface. They had no place here, ruining this moment. It had never once crossed Vergil’s mind that his brother would do something like this in his memory. How had he overlooked Dante’s grief for so long? He hadn’t considered that Dante had ever mourned him in the first place, let alone how it had affected him. “Why did you do this for me?” “Well, I mean, this was all I could do” Dante gestured towards the grave “I couldn’t bring you back, even though I wanted to. And it was my fault in the first place so-” Vergil held up his hand and closed his eyes, stopping Dante mid-sentence. He was hearing absolutely none of this. “Your fault? Are you daft, brother? I fail to see how my enslavement was your doing. I was the one who chose to stay behind...” Vergil was livid at this point, but his rage, for the first time in a very long time, was not aimed at his twin. No, he was furious with himself. Had he indirectly lead Dante into thinking that the events that had taken place on that accursed island were his doing? Just how many years had his younger brother spent blaming himself for the inevitability of his fate? “If anything, you liberated me from that nightmare. I didn’t ask to become that… the creature I became. No, that unfortunate situation could only have ended the way it had. And, in retrospect, perhaps it may have been deserved.” Dante did a double take, shocked at Vergil’s thinly veiled anger at his self-blame complex. If there was one thing the two of them had in common, it was their inability to forgive themselves for literally anything, especially when it came to matters of family. But to hear Vergil acquit him of the very thing that had haunted him for so many years of his life… there were no words for something like that. “... You didn’t have that coming, Vergil. No one has that coming. I made Mundus pay though.” Vergil turned slightly away from his brother at the mention of that name, staring intently at the tombstone that bore his name. He reached out and ran his hand over it, taking a moment to appreciate what the creation of this plaque hand meant to his twin. He then glanced over the two adjacent graves that bore the inscriptions of their parents names. The creation of this monolith was a gesture of mourning from a person who had lost everything. Perhaps they had been unified in their sense of solidarity, the gravity of the aftermath of so many personal losses setting in. If he had been in Dante’s shoes, the loss of everyone he held dear would have been an immeasurable weigh that he highly doubted he could overcome. Perhaps, this was the culmination of Dante’s inner strength. For all the power Vergil had hoarded over the years, none of it had made him capable of coping and healing from the loss of his family. The ability to get up each day and continue living in the face of such crippling loneliness and pain was his brother’s true source strength. A form of power that he couldn’t help but respect. The true measure of the strength of their humanity. Dante was strong in ways he could scarcely imagine. He admired that. At that moment, his words as Urizen came echoing forth from the deepest part of his subconscious. “How… How can you be so powerful?! You’ve never lost anything!” His eyes wandered over the three gravestones yet again, the gravity of his words sinking in. How had he been so truly bling; so unfeeling and ignorant? “... I was wrong. What I said to you before during our battle at the summit of the Qliphoth. It was foolish.” Dante let slip a strained snicker. “Oh really?! No shit, Sherlock!” Vergil threw him a glare, repressing the smile that almost dared make itself know. Dante certainly did have a way with words at times. “Have you no manners, brother? You know how our mother feels about using that kind of language. Don’t be so indignant, Dante.” Vergil sighed, gently shaking his head. “You lost me. I see that now. It amazes me that I failed to comprehend that.” Dante let out a long sigh and clapped his foolish elder twin on the shoulder, taking him slightly off guard (though he would never admit that) with the suddenness of the physical contact. “No, you idiot. You still don’t get it! I thought you were the smart one.” Vergil gazed over his shoulder, utterly at a loss. “We lost each other. It’s not about you or me as individuals. Were twins, Vergil. That’s been the problem since day one. Were the sons of Sparda. Don’t you see that we're stronger together? We don’t get a damn thing done when we're at each other’s throats. I’ve been trying to get that through your thick skull for decades! This isn’t about you or me. It’s about both of us. It’s kinda like our mother’s amulet. Were meant to work together.” Vergil stared at Dante, his face pale and completely void of emotion. His loss had truly forced his younger brother to become more mature. The person he had known at Temen Ni Gru would never have said anything that profound. Well, at least not to his face. He hadn’t been in a talking mood. Neither of them had been despite it being the very thing they needed to do most. Vergil looked over at Eva’s grave, quietly acknowledging something. Sure, Dante was in crippling debt with two friends who had seemingly made it their life’s goal to keep him there, a long-suffering handler who was probably at his wits end, and a nephew who had an unfortunate (although highly entertaining) habit of getting himself into impossibly messy situations but, somehow, he had cobbled together some semblance of happiness. Of family. Vergil was proud of Dante. He’d probably never admit that, but still. His eyes traveled to their mother’s grave as he and Dante placed the flowers they had brought earlier that day on the stone pedestal at the base of the inscription. If not for the circumstance of the purchase, Dante would have laughed hysterically at how utterly dead inside Vergil looked standing in a florist shop, attempting to pick out a suitable bouquet of blue and white roses. That, and he was more than a little certain that the cashier, a lovely raven-haired girl in her early thirties with pretty blue eyes, had developed a crush on his older twin. It was probably for the best that he keep Vergil away from her, lest he wind up with another niece or nephew. With the flowers in place, Dante stood up. Vergil stayed kneeled down, his eyes not leaving his mother’s grave. How long had it been since he had been here? Had he ever been here before? There were parts of his youth that he had trouble recalling, be it that he had repressed them or that his torment as Nelo Angelo had overridden them. Dante placed his hand on his shoulder and used his head to gesture towards the gate. He didn’t have to speak. Vergil understood the gesture. I’ll see you at the gate when you are ready. Take your time. Vergil nodded, his eyes not leaving the grave. Words could not express how much he missed their parents. Vergil smiled sadly, allowing himself for the first time in what felt like a lifetime to feel something. For a moment, he finally allowed himself to properly grieve their loss. For so long, he associated his emotions with weakness. They were something to be repressed so that they could not control him and distract him from his sinister purpose. But now, he knew that wasn’t the case. He missed his mother Eva and his father Sparda more than the English language could put to words, but that wasn’t something that made him weaker. And he was not alone in his grief. He had his brother. He’d always had Dante, he was just too blind to see that. Vergil stood up and removed his hand from the grave. He cast a glance between the three graves. He was alive, but he could leave the person he’d once been here and become something more. He felt that he owed that to Dante. It was the least he could do to atone for the endless suffering that he had caused his younger twin. “Happy Mother’s Day, mother. I’m not going anywhere this time. Sorry I took so long.” With that, Vergil turned an headed for the gate. They had been here long enough. It was time to move on. Maybe on the way back, they could stop by that place that sold the strawberry sundaes Dante never stopped talking about so he could judge their worth for himself. It was a vastly superior alternative to going to Bobby’s Cellar or Love Planet, after all. This was not the day to contend with undesirables. “The little boy lost in the lonely fen, Led by the wandering light, Began to cry, but God, ever nigh, Appeared like his father, in white. He kissed the child, and by the hand led, And to his mother brought, Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale, Her little boy weeping sought.” The Little Boy Found. -William Blake, Songs of Innocence.

Notes: Writing all these V fics has forced me to find a William Blake quote for literally every story. Please kill me before I die from over analyzing every little detail.