Chapter Text
Pain ripped through Dante’s torso, starting in his stomach and crawling up. It pricked his insides as it climbed, coiling through his gastric system, sliding between his lungs, up his esophagus, and into his throat. The thorns grazed his tonsils, as Dante opened his mouth wide. From between his teeth, a branching briar emerged, extending beyond his stretched lips. At the end, a blue bud formed and bloomed into a dark blue rose. It innocuously bobbed, blood dripping off the petals.
Dante drew a deep breath through his nose, trying not to wince when his diaphragm was pricked by briars. Pinching the stalk between his thumbs and forefingers, he gave himself a mental count of three and pulled. He felt the sharp tug in his gut when the roots came loose. Dante experienced the sickly sensation of an object moving up his esophagus and gagged. Stomach acid burned his throat as he pulled the long vine and roots from his mouth. The long chord of briars bundled on his lap, glistening from blood and gastric fluids. He coughed, grabbed a cold whiskey from the table and took several swigs to cool his throat.
Nero watched in silent horror as Dante tossed the rose and briars into a bucket overflowing from previous arrivals hailing from his guts. The awful smell of blood, vomit, and gastric fluids made his nose wrinkle.
He had been in the middle of a job when Trish called to tell him something was wrong with Dante, but she wouldn’t give any details. She would only say Nero had to see it for himself. After finishing the job, he hurried over to Devil May Cry, imagining Dante suffering anything from severed limbs to flesh peeled away from muscle and bone, but not this!
When he could speak, he asked, “Where is it all coming from?”
Dante let out a long sigh as he pushed aside the bandage around his waist. Inflammation spread from a dime size hole in his stomach, inches above his navel. “From here.”
Nero had witnessed Dante get impaled on a sword and shrugged it off as if it was nothing more than a stubbed toe. Those of Sparda’s bloodline healed from nearly any injury, save for losing limbs. Nero couldn’t remember getting a bruise that lasted longer than an hour. So seeing a still angry puncture wound in Dante’s torso unnerved him.
“How long has this been goin’ on?” Nero said, examining the injury.
“Three days,” Dante muttered. “Three fucking days.”
“Shit,” Nero hissed under his breath. “What kind of demon did this?”
There was a long silence. Trish had been leaning against the desk with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, watching them. She looked at Dante, but he refused to meet her eyes.
“It happened on a job,” he grumbled.
“What job?” Nero asked.
“A job Dante never should have taken,” Trish said.
“We needed the money.”
“We always need money.” Trish sighed, pushing away the desk and walked towards the bucket of bloodied briars and roses. “Should I empty this out or are you about to upchuck more roses?”
Nero blinked. “Shit. How many times did you empty the bucket?”
“I lost count. I’ve been emptying it two or three times an hour since we got back.”
“Back from where?” Nero asked.
Again, there was a long silence. Dante cast a hard look at Trish, who shot him a look of her own. “He needs to know.”
“I said not to call him,” Dante growled.
“He’s your nephew. He needed to know.”
“Dammit, what happened!?” Nero said, getting frustrated. “What demon is powerful enough to curse you of all people?”
And yet again, there was a long silence, except it was Trish giving Dante a hard look with hands on hips and he was the one looking away, taking a sudden interest in the whiskey.
“Well? Should I tell him? Or do you want to do the honors?” Trish demanded.
“I’ll do it,” Dante muttered. He fixed Nero with a tired look. “Look, kid, this stays in this room. You don’t tell Lady, Nico, Kyrie, and sure as fuck, not Vergil.”
“I won’t,” Nero promised. Though that’s easier said than done. Nico stayed behind to handle needed repairs to the truck, but she would want a full report when he returned. And so would Kyrie.
“Morrison called last week with a job on this hidden island,” Dante said. “The client said there was an ancient demon waking up in an old castle that needed killing before it came to the mainland and start the apocalypse. You’ve heard the same spill before.”
Nero nodded. Every client believed their demon problem was an apocalyptic version. Clients exaggerated the danger either from ignorance or wanting to be taken seriously by a devil hunter. While demons were dangerous, most were local threats to property and population.
While Nero was willing to take on most jobs, veteran Dante was particular over what jobs he took. He preferred the more interesting ones and while a demon awakening on some hidden island did draw his interest, he didn’t feel up to taking a boat ride to do it.
“I was gonna turn down the job, but the client offered a quarter of a million.”
While hiring a demon hunter wasn’t cheap, this was still a considerable offer. However, Nero never heard of anyone shelling out this money for one demon. “And you didn’t think it was weird?”
“Hey, some people got money to throw around,” Dante muttered. “I figured the demon was sitting on valuable property and scaring off developers. Money was too good to turn down so I said I’ll take care of it. He gave me the coordinates and I took a boat out there.”
Nero heard some movement from the doors, but his attention remained on Dante, intent on the story. Behind him, Trish approached the doors, dread lining her face.
“And this island was different. It was. . .” Dante searched for the right words, but gave up. “It wasn’t like anywhere I’ve been and I’ve been to a lotta places. The client said the castle would be on sea cliffs, near the shore. It was easy enough to find, but it was surrounded by these giant ass thorns with blue roses like Sleeping Beauty’s castle from that movie.”
Then Dante suddenly went pale and grabbed the bucket and threw up rose petals. Nero grimaced as the scents of roses and vomit blended together into a sweet stench. As Dante spat out a petal, Nero realized they had a new arrival.
“Oh fuck,” Dante rasped. “What are you doin’ here? Who invited you!?”
“Your woman sent a summons,” Vergil said, cold eyes on Dante.
Nero swallowed as he stared at his father. Vergil stood like a statue; no movement was wasted on anything such as fidgeting or slouching. Nero was reminded of Credo’s posture, which was always formal, even at relaxed events like dinner or a festival; it was as if discipline was second nature to him.
Trish shot Vergil an offended look. “This ‘woman’ has a name. It’s Trish.”
Vergil’s eyes tracked immediately to Dante, pale and sweating on the couch, then to the bucket on the floor, the bloodstained towel, the scattered blue petals. For a long moment, he said nothing.
"Not exactly a demon problem," Dante said, with a humorless smile.
Vergil's expression didn't change. "No. This is worse."
"I didn't ask you to come."
"No." Vergil's gaze shifted to the wound in Dante's stomach, the torn fabric, the slow seep of blood. "You would have let it kill you rather than admit weakness."
"Hey, I'm sitting right here," Nero said, stepping forward. "And I'm not watching you two tear into each other again. We worked for this. Don't throw it away."
Cold blue eyes glanced at him, lingered for a moment, then looked away. Vergil ordered Dante. “Continue your story.”
Dante groaned, which had nothing to do with the pain in his guts. “Trish! Why did you call him!?”
“Dante, he’s your brother,” Trish said, exasperated. “I called him for the same reason I called Nero. They need to know when something happens to you.”
“Has Morrison gotten a hold of that client yet?” Dante growled. “Maybe that sonuvabitch knows how to remove this shit.”
“Morrison said he left a message with the client to contact us ASAP,” Trish said, hands on her hips. “Now quit stalling and tell them what happened or I will.”
“Fine!” Dante turned to his nephew and brother and spoke in a low, raspy voice, strained from hours of vomiting and being perforated by thorns. “I ug. . .went inside the castle and got cursed for a hundred years.”
Nero groaned, “I think you’re leaving out some parts in the story.”
Trish stood over Dante, glaring at him. “Dante, tell them.”
“Yeah, Dante, tell us about your fight with the demon,” Nero prompted.
Dante was usually willing to share stories about jobs before. Why was he being so hesitant?
The greatest demon hunter of all time sighed, “It wasn’t a demon.”
“Then. . .what was it?” Nero said.
“It was. . .” Dante mumbled something inaudible under his breath.
“What? I didn’t hear you.” Nero said, putting a hand to his ear.
Dante looked away, refusing to meet Nero or Vergil’s eyes as he said, “It was a. . .fairy princess.”
The deafening silence filled the office of Devil May Cry.
“A fairy princess. . .?” Nero said, still uncertain if he heard correctly. “You mean with wings and a wand?”
“She didn’t have a wand,” Dante grumbled, looking down at his stomach. “She had knife.”
“What did she look like?” Nero swallowed, bit his lower lip, looked away, and gripped his hands together.
This had to be a prank. A practical joke cooked up by both Dante and Trish, but even Dante wouldn’t put himself through the pain of growing briars in his intestines for a joke. The sickly stench lingered above the bucket, making Nero’s nose wrinkle.
Dante shot Nero a look that told him that any amusement towards his predicament would be regarded as the harshest of betrayals. “She wore a flowery dress and a crown, had butterfly wings, and rode on a unicorn.”
It was gathering inside him, but he held it back. Even in his stricken state, Dante would strangle him if he dared to laugh. But a question arose that he had to ask: “Did the unicorn. . .have rainbow hair?”
“No, you little jackass,” Dante said evenly. His eyes dared him to crack a smile.
Even saying it outside brought out a comical surrealism. Nero clenched his jaw, the corner of his cheek trembling as he struggled not to crack a smile. “And. . . what happened next?”
“We fought,” Dante muttered.
“You fought a fairy princess,” Nero said, his voice lilting as he held back the laugh. “And lost.”
“I didn’t lose,” Dante snapped. “I got cursed.”
“And. . .did she. . .how did she. . .do that?” Nero asked, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. “I mean. . .I. . .you’re you. . .you’ve killed Mundus and thousands of demons. So how. . .did she curse you?”
“She and the unicorn ganged up on me,” Dante muttered. “No one said those bastards could bite.”
“And. . .um. . .what did you do once she. . .cursed you,” Nero said, drawing slow breaths to ease the bubbling laughter in his chest.
Dante pointed at his stomach. “She got me here with that knife of hers. It did something and I’ve been puking rose bushes since. I made it back to the boat and made it back to the mainland. Should have stuck around to yell, ‘I don’t believe in fairies’ and see if she drops dead?”
Nero nearly lost it. Or would have if Vergil hadn’t spoken.
“You were in Avalon,” Vergil said without a trace of emotion.
Dante raised his eyes to Vergil, his jaw tightening. “Avalon? I don’t know. There weren't exactly any signs with the island’s name.”
“I’ll deal with the fairy,” Vergil said, turning towards the door.
“No way,” Dante growled. “I can handle it myself . . .” Then Dante gagged, bent double as more briars and thorns pierced through his throat.
“Sorry, Dante, but you’re in no condition to go,” Nero said, flinching as Dante retched into the bucket. “Vergil and I can go. . .”
Vergil cut him off. “I will go alone.”
“Like hell you are!” Nero said, rising to his feet. “You’re not leaving me behind again. . .”
Vergil unsheathed the Yamato with a long chime of metal leaving the scabbard. “I can move faster alone.”
“Wait! You don’t know where the island is!” Nero yelled.
“The woman gave me the coordinates.”
“Hey! The woman has a name!” Trish snapped. Under Dante's accusatory glare, she backpedaled. “He asked over the phone. I didn’t know we were keeping it a secret!”
Vergil turned away, ignoring Trish, Yamato already in hand.
"Wait-" Nero started, but Vergil cut the air with his blade, reality parting like a curtain. Blue light spilled through the tear in space.
Nero lunged. "Damn it, Vergil-!"
His fingers grazed empty air. The portal snapped shut with a sound like breaking glass, leaving nothing but the wall and the faint smell of ozone.
Nero's fist slammed into the plaster. "Son of a bitch."
He stood there, breathing hard, refusing to turn around. Didn't want to see Dante's face, or the pity there. Behind him, he heard Dante shift on the couch, the clink of the whiskey bottle against the table.
“Great,” Dante groaned. “He’s gonna start trouble again and I’m in no condition to stop him.”
“At least we have a name for that island. Avalon,” Trish sighed. “I can make some calls. Maybe there’s a Fairy Hunter out there?"
“Great, but make it anonymous. I don’t want anyone knowin’ about. . .this,” Dante waved a hand towards the bucket of thorns and roses.
“Right,” Trish muttered as she walked away towards the desk to make some calls.
Dante turned his gaze to Nero, who still stared at the spot where Vergil had stood moments earlier. “Don’t take it to heart, kid. Vergil’s a loner. Always has been. Ever since we were kids.”
“It’s been six months,” Nero said. “No phone calls or visits. Not even when I reach out.” His hand, part of the arm Vergil had torn off, curled into a tight fist. He turned away, jaw tight. "Doesn't matter. I don't need him. Went my whole life without a father, I can keep doing it."
Dante started to say something, but Nero cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Don't. Just... don't."
He grabbed his coat from the chair, needing to move, to be anywhere but here. The pity in Dante's eyes was worse than the closed portal. Worse than the empty air where his father's back had been.
“Trust me, I know how you feel,” Dante said. “After our mom died, I only saw him a few times before he was lost in the Underworld. . .the first time,” Dante sighed, flinching when his insides protested. “But give him some time. He had no idea he’s a dad until six months ago. He’s still. . .figuring things out.”
Nero yanked the door open. "I'm going home."
"Nero-"
"Tell me when he cares enough to stick around." The door slammed behind him, loud enough to rattle the empty bottles on the shelf.
Dante slumped back against the couch, closing his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered to the empty room. "He does that."