it's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall (closed + open)

[antimetabole]

WHO: Vergil + others
WHEN: Between missions 12 & 13
WHERE: Various locations
WHAT: Some emotional talks. Some yeeting of children. It's a little bit of everything.
NOTES\WARNINGS: No open prompts this go around I LIED one open prompt as of yet, but if you are wanting something particular, feel free to slap down a starter or request one. I will match prose vs. brackets because it doesn't matter to me. There will be discussions pertaining to complex family dynamics (particularly between siblings) that may also further include topics such as loss/death of parents and/or siblings, assumed fratricide (of the accidental variety), and grief pertaining to aforementioned losses. Warnings will be in headers, but will update this as able to/needed!

↪ kyoko
↪ mizu
↪ dante
↪ open

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[antimetabole]

Vergil does not know what to say, and so he opts to say nothing at all even as his gaze narrows over his brother's shoulder. For all the weight Vergil has felt in light of his own decisions and their consequences, he has never once heard Dante give voice to his own. What Dante says feels wrong from start to finish. Vergil ran away in a childish tantrum, but Dante was the one who pushed him over the edge. They were just children, but Dante should have known better. Vergil acquired only enough strength to protect himself and did not make more of an effort to find his brother, but Dante ran and hid himself away. They barely had a chance to survive, but what Dante did wasn't enough. Vergil chose to fall into Hell and forbade Dante to follow him, but Dante chose to listen and let Vergil go. Dante should have known what would become of Vergil and pushed harder.

It feels almost like absolution for Vergil, but an absolution that is misshapen by not being driven not by forgiveness, but rather by guilt Dante bears for his own decisions. Thus, Vergil does not know what to do with it. All he knows is that he does not like it, and it feels like any expression of that is likely to put this whole affair into a tailspin once more. Vergil purses his lips as he tries to find something to say, but he's empty-handed no matter how much he turns it over and over and over again in his head. Whatever he might say about the consequences of his choices being simply that—his consequences for his choices—wouldn't be something Dante could receive any better than Vergil could were their positions reversed. (He does not imagine Dante would become argumentative in an angry way, but under what circumstances would Dante agree with him?) But Vergil also refuses to forgive something that does not feel it is up to Dante to bear responsibility for it, and cannot help but feel a degree of cruelty in not offering forgiveness. And all this while the matter of what became of Vergil after they parted—the thoughts and memories of that still far too close to the surface right now already as it is—making it all the more challenging to find the right words.

Releasing Dante, Vergil separates from him. His silence is visibly not a cold shoulder as he takes that step back. The furrow in Vergil's brow, the avoidance of Dante's eyes, is Vergil withdrawing into his own mind, wrestling with what Dante has said rather than his temper getting the better of him.

[nowfeaturing]

Vergil draws back and Dante lets him, feeling the change in his brother's posture and realising it's not ire or irritation that's necessitating the distance. His twin's never been big on physical displays of affection; Dante himself feels awkward when they go on for too long so the fact they've lasted as long as this is a miracle.

But he doesn't want to lose the connection, even if he feels what he does next is pushing his luck.

He puts his hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezes once, a last affectionate gesture to soften the hard feelings that have existed between them since they quarreled (he hopes), and takes a step away to give Vergil his space.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he offers, suspecting Vergil might appreciate a little alone time. "Then I'm gonna help you in the kitchen 'cuz whatever you're doing over there smells damn good and I want in on the action. If that's okay with you."

[antimetabole]

Once in a blue moon, it would seem that Dante's luck isn't entirely terrible. The hand to Vergil's shoulder doesn't get brushed aside, nor does Vergil tense and throw a sudden glare even if it draws Vergil's eyes back to Dante. It's...a welcomed form of contact. Reassuring in its own way even if that wasn't the intention behind the gesture. Vergil does not go looking for more when it ends, but he is appreciative of it all the same.

"Yes," Vergil says, his voice thinner and quieter than he intends for it to be. Swiping at an eye to push aside the last of the emotions that spilled out just moments ago, he clears his throat before lightly folding his arms. His voice is stronger when he speaks again, but the sheepishness in which he speaks makes what he says sound more like a confession than anything else. "It is for you, anyways. I... I know you don't remember it, but I learned to make pizza from scratch in that other world. I spent weeks trying to get to the sauce and crust to your preferences."

Vergil is, indeed, a little pink and finding somewhere else to look far more interesting than sparing a glance at Dante to gauge his reaction. It was one thing to just do the task of perfecting a pizza recipe for his brother, and it's entirely another thing to acknowledge doing it. Especially when a good portion of that process involved reading endless books on the matter of how to perfect the sauce and crust by way of measurements, ingredients, and techniques, and some involved private testing that Vergil did not subject anyone but himself to eating until he felt he had something presentable.

[nowfeaturing]

It's a very, very rare occasion that finds Dante lost for words. This just so happens to be one of them.

Dante's not a cook. Never found the time, never had the set up to cook something genuinely good and nutritious; for all the front that he'd put up in his days as Tony, the evenings when he'd wrangled an invite to Grue's for dinner and been fed Jessica's doria had been something he'd genuinely enjoyed. It wasn't so much the food, it was being part of a family again, watching the interplay between the sisters and their father, eating rice gratin dish with them and knowing that care and effort had been put into the meal beyond looking at a take out menu and deciding on a what to get. He still remembers cooking with their mother, eying up opportunities to sneak a taste or lick the bowl when she was baking, often battling Vergil for the rights to the wooden spoon. He's not a cook but he knows the effort involved. He's taken to getting out of his seat after dinner on instinct now to take care of the dishes when Nero's cooked for them. It's his way of showing his appreciation.

Vergil has learned to cook. For him. His brother's been looking out for him, and has felt like that's been his job his whole life going by their conversation today.

Maybe it's time Dante started repaying that favor.

It's what he'd felt he'd been doing with Nero from the moment he'd left Yamato with him in Fortuna. Sure he'd kept his distance, felt it was necessary to in order to keep his nephew's existence on the down-low from any other forces that wanted a piece of his father's legacy. It was better to shoulder that burden on his own than to offload it onto a teenager who'd never asked for it, who had no idea he even had a place in that mythology Dante had grown up in the shadow of. It was protecting the last piece of his brother the only way he knew how. Nero had made it pretty obvious to him that it hadn't been the best way to support him, knowing what he knows now about the kid's yearning for family, but he'd done it with the best of intentions.

And now he's standing here, patching things up with his brother who's making him pizza.

It's a strange feeling when his eyes begin to water.

"That-" damn it, the lump in his throat's back. "That sounds great. Thank you."

Feeling exposed and uncertain, he takes a second to compose himself, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand to disguise the fact that he's wiping the corner of his eye.

"You're gonna have to show me how to do that."

[antimetabole]

Back in Folkmore, Vergil made the sauce and dough in batches, and freezing them so that it was minimal effort on Dante's part to make the pizza for himself anytime. All he had to do was roll out the dough, add the sauce, and then put whatever toppings he liked it wanted. Vergil kept the supply of sauce and dough going, and Dante kept making the occasional pie. Vergil could tell Dante was appreciative because he occasionally tried his hand at making meals he thought Vergil might like, or brought around snacks for him to try, but they never really talked about it. Vergil never openly acknowledged it to be something he did for Dante, and Dante never said a direct word of gratitude. It just became a rhythm of their lives. Comforting regardless of it being left unspoken.

But they're speaking of it now, and Dante is tearing up from the swell of emotion. He's asking to be further part of it even if it doesn't come out like a question. Vergil nods a little.

"If that is something you would like," he says, trying to not look too pleased with the prospect. Vergil never minded how things were between them in Folkmore. But this is the first time in a very long time that Vergil can think of where it felt like they were in step with one another.

It's not really Vergil's preference, but Nero has certainly worn him down plenty that it doesn't feel so unnatural to step closer to his brother that it prevents Vergil from doing so. The embrace Vergil pulls Dante and his barely contained tears into is a little hesitant at first. He's clearly testing the waters without Dante to be the one bulldozing ahead and rolling the dice. But it's alright in the end, and Vergil relaxes a little. He's quiet for a moment longer before he speaks.

"I promised you this once before, but I will promise it to you again. I'm where I should have always been. I'm with you." Vergil holds onto Dante a little bit tighter. He knows it doesn't make up for all the years they lost. Nothing can reclaim that time. But they have now. They have the future. And Vergil intends to do everything in his power to protect it. "I won't leave you again, little brother. I promise."