Fan Fiction ❯ Brother Never Cry ❯ Chapter Two: Ripples Through The Deep ( Chapter 2 )

Brother Never Cry

Summary: An account of how Vergil was led into darkness and how Dante came to set up Devil May Cry. Set one year before DMC 3.

A Word From The Author: Thanks to everybody who reviewed.

Morwen (Devils That Cry): Thanks for the encouragement. My only worry is that I won't be able to update as regularly as could be desired. I don't have much free time.

Laylah: Unfortunately you'll be waiting for a while.

Kireiko: I'll keep that in mind.

Rikku142: Yeah, you're right. In any case I only have DMC3 to base this fic on. I only have a rough idea what DMC1 and 2 are about. And cookies to you for the advice.

Zeroray: No, and if some of my ideas are similar to yours, it's not intentional. In any case, one has only to look at Dante's apartment in DMC3 to know that he's a lazy ass. I simply assumed Vergil was neat from the way he dressed. And, as the story unfolds, you'll see that, from what I have read from your fic, it'll take a very different path from yours.

Kalina Ann: Sure, thanks! Presenting to you…

Sessol: Likewise, I'm not sure what to say to you that I have already told previous reviewers. Same, I suppose. Stay tuned and review and I'll write more.

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A Word From The Author: Um, right. Could anybody tell me when Sparda sealed the gate to the demon world? This information does not seem to be in DMC3.

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no claim to any of the canon characters i.e. Eva, Sparda, Dante, and Vergil, who all belong to Capcom. I am not making money off this fic.

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Chapter Two: Ripples Through The Deep

It had been uncomfortably humid when Dante had first left, but as he headed down the avenue a cold wind began to blow, sweeping his white hair from his eyes with an icy hand. Glad for the windbreaker, he tugged it close and walked faster. He was already slightly overdue for his date with his girlfriend, Hermissa, and she was an absolute stickler for time. If it wasn't for her die-for looks…he smirked.

The park was usually crowded, but today it was unusually deserted save for a tramp curled up on a bench, several children throwing a Frisbee around, and the usual early morning joggers. Dante stepped through the ornate arch that served as the park's entrance and shivered a little as the wind brushed cold fingers over his neck. The prickling sensation made him feel as though he was being watched. Dismissing it, he scanned the area for his girlfriend.

She was there, standing beside the lake and gazing at the lone swan sitting serenely on the gray waters. She was wearing a tank top underneath a black jacket, tight jeans that hugged her slim legs, and a deeply annoyed expression. Dante paused to admire her figure, then sped up and lightly rested his hands on her shoulders. “Hi, babe.”

“You're late,” she stated without looking, sounding pissed off, but as he started to gently caress her neck with his fingers, she sighed and rested her head against him. She always forgave him.

“But I'm here for you, always,” he answered cheerfully. Stopping in his administrations, he sat down behind her, putting his arms around Hermissa so that her head lolled onto his chest, spilling luxurious brown hair over his shoulders. Obligingly she turned her head so he could kiss her. “Forgiven?”

She sulked against his lips. “That's cheating.” A moment later, though, her mouth relaxed in a smile. “Oh, fine.”

“That's my girl.” Dante released her and both of them stood up. Hermissa tossed one last crust of bread to the swan, which snatched it out of the water greedily. She entwined her fingers with his and kissed his cheek. “What time is the movie again?”

“Ten. We've got plenty time of time left for each other.” Dante said with a meaningful wink.

Hermissa punched him lightly in the ribs with her free hand. “Idiot. I thought we would walk around the park. I don't know where everyone has gone to, but it's a perfect opportunity to take a private stroll about without some pighead walking in.”

`Sure. Why not?” Dante shrugged noncommittally. “At least it kills time.”

The couple walked off, and as soon as they were out of sight the tramp on the bench sat up, yawned, and shuffled away in the opposite direction. One of the children failed to catch the Frisbee in time and it whizzed right over his head, landing at the tramp's feet. The boy ran over to save the missile. “I'm sorry, mister!” he called out. As he bent down, he looked up at the tramp's face, shaded by the wide-brimmed hat and half-concealed by the upturned collar of his longcoat. The boy gasped audibly. The man snarled something unintelligible and kicked the Frisbee away before leaving.

The boy's friends caught up with him. “What's it? What'd you see?” They asked eagerly, crowding around him.

He was pale. “His eyes were red…”

“Big deal,” said one kid.

The boy shook his head, “No…whatever he was…he wasn't human…”

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Among the humans, they mingled. Those that were humanoid enough to pass for one…from a distance.

And if anyone came closer to investigate…it would be too late for those curious souls anyway.

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Vergil was using the computer. It was ostensibly theirs, his and his brother's, but Dante hogged the computer jealously when he wasn't chatting on the telephone, using the PS-2 or watching TV and watching pizza. With Dante out of the house, Vergil was able to log on and check his email, do some research. His mother had often smilingly complained that he was being too much of a hermit, cooped up in his room all the time, subtly warning Vergil to go and get some friends. Vergil was aware that, though he shared his brother's looks, he did not share his natural charisma. He did not resent it, however, with his typical open-minded philosophy. Well, maybe a little, but it didn't hurt his relationship with his brother. He was able to accept their differences; where he sought control, Dante looked for the unexpected. He knew, with all the certainty of a person ignorant of the greater workings of Fate, that he and his brother would be friends forever.

Eva was in the living room. To say that she was well preserved would be an understatement. She had been born in the Middle Ages, but now her long hair was still a glorious gold, her eyes still alert and vibrant. She had been changed, both genetically and mentally, ever since she had come into contact with the forbidden fire that was Sparda. Mating with him. Bearing his children. She was alive when her family and those she had known were dust. She never regretted her choice; she had two loving sons and the cherished memory of a devoted husband who had given his life for humankind. But sometimes, she felt sadness. Like now, stronger than ever. She sat on the sofa, gazed at the ceiling, and closed her eyes. And thought about how tired she was. How good it would be to rest.

Dante, in the park, thought of nothing more important than his date. His was a flighty, wild soul, rarely serious even in the most solemn of times, and he seldom gave his attention to the more important things in the world. But lately the demon activity was catching his interest, though it would not fully claim his full concentration until much later. He was growing more aware, more so than his brother, that the normalcy could not last forever. That someday both of them would have to embrace their demon heritage, not shun it. Because they could not escape it forever. But for now, he let himself be normal.

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The sky had finally burst, shedding its burden upon the populace, who were needless to say not too happy about it, when Dante and Hermissa emerged hours later from the mall. They had been holding hands and deeply engrossed in an animated discussion over the newly released film, but as the first fat drops fell from the sky Dante cursed, interrupting himself.

“I hate rain,” he stated, unsuccessfully brushing his already sodden hair from his eyes. The wet hair simply flopped back into place again.

“Relax,” Hermissa teased him. “It doesn't hurt your looks…much.”

He smiled at her. “Wait until you see yourself.”

She shivered; with a gentlemanly gesture he placed an arm around her and pulled her close, a move that didn't do much for her already soaked clothes. She glanced back. “Wanna go back in?”

Dante started to reply, then his eyes narrowed, zeroing in. Through the rain that obscured his vision like a mist something had moved. Normally this would not have alarmed him, but suddenly his senses were overcome with the rancid stench of—

“Do you hear anything?” he asked softly.

She listened; the rain poured down upon their heads, a constant drumming that erased all sounds from the ears. Human ears, that was. Dante was not surprised when Hermissa shook her head, her eyes full of questions. “Does it matter? Let's go back inside, Dante. I'm cold and there's nothing out here.”

 

The sense of foreboding grew stronger. Dante shook with the intensity. Whatever it was, he could not expose Hermissa to it. Filled suddenly with bravado—the kind that usually got foolhardy, would-be heroes killed, he turned to Hermissa. “Look, sweetheart, you do just that. There's something I need to take care of.”

She was suspicious. “In the middle of such horrible weather? Dante, what are you thinking?”

He gave her a gentle push, evading the question. “I'll see you in the morning.”

She went, and he blew out a breath, dislodging the wet strands from his face for only an instant. He acted on impulse, which was always one of his faults. He claimed to want to want to do something about the demons…what kind of demon hunter was he if he didn't catch one whenever he found one?

Demon hunter. He liked that. The romanticism of the new title completely overrode whatever shreds of common sense that had been ringing alarm bells in his mind in the first place. He was overconfident; and it blinded him to the danger. Perhaps the first encounter was good for him in the long run, to help deflate his ego.

What he had seen, down the street, was a vague human outline being dragged into an alley, what he had heard was a faint, weak scream, accompanied by the unmistakable aroma that surrounded demons. Alone and unarmed save for childish confidence, he loped over and went inside, without even bothering to check the area out.

Sparda did it. So could he.

He stared ahead, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was no sight nor sound of the human victim. Then he realized…

The darkness was looking back.

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Vergil was half-asleep already, at the terminal, his head pillowed on his arm. Yawning mightily, he shut off the computer and gazed idly outside, wondering how his twin would be able to get home in the storm.

 

Then his mind, and subsequently grogginess, was shattered by the urgent mind-voice of his brother, tense with fear. Vergil sat up, sleep forgotten. Dante was never afraid. Never.

 

Vergil! You have to help me!

 

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Author's Ending Note: At least this chapter was longer. Hope you readers are satisfied with it. Basically a pretty lousy attempt at a cliffhanger. Considering we know that Dante is still alive a year later, it's a pretty good guess he'll survive this one. Ah well, I was just trying to show that he wasn't always the suave, experienced demon hunter; he had to be young and naïve once right? Right? Please review and tell me what you think.

 

Dante (loftily): I've always been suave and experienced.

 

Author: Oh, shut up. Who was asking you anyway?

 

Signing off. (sounds of arguing fade into the distance)

 

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