Chapter Text
"Oh drunken gods of slaughter, You know I've always been your favorite daughter." Cassandra by Florence + The Machine
It started, like most things did for Dante, with a job.
Cultists had been making a ruckus in the decimated remains of Redgrave City. He and the rest of his motley crew took turns on who filled the jobs there, but somehow, this cult had escaped all of their notice.
Until it was too late.
Dante wasn't too sure what they were aiming for, but he knew it wasn't what they got. Raising demons and forming cults usually resulted in that, in his experience.
What they got, was this:
A Hell Gate they couldn't close.
A legion of demons bent on devouring humans pouring uninterrupted through it.
Dante, his family, and the cultists all trapped by a spell. Inside. With the demons.
Now, Dante and his family were all pretty hot shit, if he said so himself.
But even they had their limits.
The demons went for the cultists first. Unsurprising, really, considering the homing beacon they'd carved into their own foreheads.
Nero and Patty had been the first to jump into the fray, insults and kill counts shouted with glee. The older hunters had followed not far behind, and soon Dante lost himself to the rhythm of battle.
The slice of Vergil's Judgment Cut sang in his ears. The smoke from Lady's rocket launcher drifted to his nose, and the electrifying taste of Trish's lightning spurred him on. Patty's joyous laughter and Nero's snarky mouth made his blood sing in his veins.
But the Hell Gate wasn't closing.
Vergil was typically in charge of these things, wielder of the Yamato and all. He could hardly get close enough to even attempt it, the demon hoard was so thick. Slowly, they carved their way through, no end in sight, and something in the air made Dante's hair stand on end, made his inner demon anxious.
Something was wrong.
It wasn't just that they couldn't escape. The spell the cult had done to trap them all inside could be dealt with after they closed the Gate. It needed to be closed first, or the demons would escape with them. There were too many to prevent it, with no end to them in sight, so they'd decided to leave the spell in place until they were finished.
But something howled in Dante's hindbrain. He could feel his heartbeat heavily in his chest. The wrongness gnawed at him, it's teeth sharp and stinging, dug down into his marrow, a ringing that echoed in his ears. The Legendary Devil Hunter couldn't put his finger on why his instincts were screaming at him.
Then it happened.
It was inevitable, really. Lady was the only true mortal among them, what with Patty being blood adopted. Dante had offered, more than once, to link the two of them, boost her durability and senses, give her any kind of advantage. She had always refused. She'd never said why, but Dante could always guess.
The trauma of her father and his quest for power and strength had carved her up.
But that made her the most vulnerable. Claws and teeth and cruel, cruel mortality crashed down on The Walking Arsenal, and she did not rise again.
Trish's scream was one that would haunt his nightmares for however long he remained alive.
The breath was knocked out of him once he caught sight of what was left of her. Lady was his best friend. She was one of the most incredible people he'd ever met. She was his confidant, his sounding board, she helped him up every single time he'd fallen. She stopped him from killing himself time and time again, pleaded with him to take care of himself. He made sure she was patched up after every job, went with her to her Mother's grave, got drunk with her on the anniversary of Temen-Ni-Gru every year. He told her when she was being self destructive and listened as she cursed every single thing that had lead the two of them to that tower and tore her family apart. They grew up together, shared pizza and trauma and drinks and occasionally beds when they both needed human connection.
And now she was gone, gnawed to a bloody pulp before any of them could stop it.
Rage bubbled in his veins, his chest felt hollowed out, and a terrible feeling settled in his gut.
Dante Triggered and tore viciously into the closest demon.
It went on like that, for a time. He wasn't sure how long had passed. Teeth and claws and the swing of his sword and the bullets from his guns melted into one desperate blur of survivesurvivesurvive. But he would know the next scream that rang out over the din of battle anywhere.
Patty and he had a running gag that when he finally croaked, she would inherit everything. He'd had a little plaque made up for her eighteenth birthday that read Patty Lowell, Demon Hunter for the front door of the shop.
She'd cried when he was finally able to give it to her.
(When he told her she'd inherit everything, he failed to mention that when he died, she would inherit a good portion of his demonic power. He'd managed to configure the blood adoption so that it worked like a witch's bloodline. Transfer all his magic to her upon his death. The spell recognized his demonic half as magic, and would open the floodgates from his demonic core to her. Kinda like a devil arm, but it would integrate itself into her system. She would get a major power boost, Devil Sword Dante would recognize her as the next wielder, and she'd get the shop. It was a win-win, in his eyes.)
Now her curly blonde hair was matted down with blood, and through the throng of demons devouring her, he looked into his daughter's eyes for the last time.
Something in him shattered.
A keening noise echoed across the battlefield that Dante hardly recognized as himself.
Two of the most important people in his life, snuffed out in an instant.
Hate and rage and grief pulsed through him. It wasn't fair. He had finally cobbled all of his family back together. They were starting to get along, fall into a rhythm. Kyrie had enforced family dinners once a week. Nero and Vergil were speaking to one another regularly. Dante and Lady and Trish spent more time hanging out than they had the last few years, soaking in each other's presences after he and his twin had returned from their unplanned trip to Hell. Patty was getting the hang of demon hunting, had started going out on small jobs on her own and flourishing into the incredible woman they all knew she'd be.
It wasn't fair.
Dante blinked back into the moment when the ozone scent of Trish's lightening cut off.
She died with Lady's name on her lips.
He didn't know a person could lose so much in such a short time.
Desperately, he sought out his twin. Vergil, too, had triggered, and he could see the blue glow of Nero's triggered form not far off. Rage and grief mirrored back at the red twin in his brother's eyes. A deep growl tore from his chest, and Vergil answered in kind.
They knew what they had to do without a word.
Together they turned towards Nero, fought desperately towards the only family they had left.
Teeth and claws and acid fell upon him, but the Son of Sparda did not care. He had to reach his brother, his nephew. Needed to make sure they either made it out of here, or he died trying.
But his efforts weren't good enough. He was never good enough.
The blade came from behind. A golden spear that was as big around as his thigh set on a path that neither of the twins could intercept, and Nero could not see.
Dante could hear the tear of flesh and shatter of bone over the snarling mass around him. Could feel Vergil's scream reverberate in his bones.
Devils do cry, after all.
The spear slid into his chest so easily that it dug harshly in the ground, long enough that Nero was stuck on it. He stumbled, a noise of pain wheezed out of him as he jostled the shaft, and sagged like his strings were cut.
Vergil reached him before Dante did.
Both of their Devil Triggers had faded, and when Dante looked away from the demons he was killing, the sight of his stoic brother gently cradling his son's face as he breathed his last made his Trigger fade as well. He stumbled the last few feet to his broken family, and fell to his knees next to his crying twin.
The demons around them never stopped. The small clearing that Nero's death had allowed began to collapse, and Dante knew that death was what awaited them. He closed his eyes as he leaned tiredly against his big brother, forehead dug into his hip, one hand clutched in the tattered remains of Nero's pant leg.
But the pain of being violently dismembered never came.
When he opened his eyes, Dante thought he'd finally, finally lost his mind.
The hoard of demons around them had frozen mid attack. Long limbs and wicked blades halted in their path to carve into the Sons of Sparda.
But that wasn't what caught his attention.
Crouched where the golden spear pierced the ground, was a Goddess. Dante only knew Her as such because it was like all the divinity statues he had ever seen had come to life. A huge hourglass held aloft by strong arms, gleaming golden fur trailed down from the lioness's head, teeth as long as his hand curved wickedly out of Her snout, Her robes billowed around Her with an unfelt wind.
Her golden eyes bore into his very soul. He could not look away. It was as though he could see every moment that had ever happened and ever would happen, every grain of sand in Her hourglass a choice that lead them there, to that very moment. Threads woven together and torn apart and untangled and clipped short. Wind swirled the sands together, danced briefly into the forms of those he loved.
Lady shoved his face away with a mischievous grin. Morrison crowed in victory as he won yet another game of pool. Patty tied ribbons into his hair as he slept on the couch, eyes gleaming. Trish gently caressed his cheek as he lay drunk at his desk. Nero rolled his eyes as Dante told an incredibly embellished story of a recent hunt. Vergil and he lay on the couch, legs intertwined, peacefully asleep together for the first time in decades.
Sparda snatched a young Dante out of the air as he jumped gleefully off the top of a tree. Eva tapped his six-year-old nose with a finger covered in chocolate frosting. Nell shouted at him over another broken gun, cigarette dangling from her lips. Grue watched from the doorway as Dante distracted all three of his girls.
Tears spilled unbidden down his bloodstained cheeks.
Vergil shifted, held the Yamato out with wild abandon. "Who are you," he growled.
"I am the Watcher of Time." Her voice came from nowhere and everywhere, piercingly loud and startlingly silent. "And you, Vergil Sparda, are not who I seek."
Her words shook Dante from his mesmerized staring. He hadn't registered how badly he and his brother had been injured, but as he stumbled jerkily to his feet, the searing agony of torn flesh radiated down each of his limbs. His left arm was broken, and a set of claws had come dangerously close to his throat, instead tearing down from his right collarbone to his left breast. Acid had eaten away at the flesh of his back, exposed his ribcage to the heated air. Vergil fared no better, blood leaked from a slash that had nearly cut off his right ear, a broken leg trembled minutely, and there was still a dagger buried deep in his left side.
"You…" he breathed. Vergil tensed beside him, the white knuckled grip on his sword tightened impossibly further.
"Dante," She sighed, fondness and sorrow and hope etched into Her voice. "My Devoted One."
Confusion crinkled his bloodied brow. "What… what does that mean?"
The blue twin reached out and gripped him, and Dante hadn't even realized he'd stepped towards this impossible Goddess. He felt as though he was at the center of a hurricane, gravity pulled him into Her orbit, drew him in with a sense of home and joy and belonging.
But She repelled him, too. Grief and rage and horror and disgust dug greedily into his psyche, wrapped their cold fingers around his throat. Terror made his instincts scream at him to run. That She was not here to help, only to do further harm.
It was a dizzying miasma of emotions. Dante swayed further into his brother's grip.
Vergil's slick fingers grounded him as they tightened on his shoulder. A pained noise escaped when his thumb dug into exposed muscle.
The Watcher had Her eyes locked onto Dante. "It means that you are my most devoted follower, Son of Sparda." She shifted, readjusted the hourglass on her shoulders. "You and your family have been the only ones to worship me in the Ways of Old in millennia. You, most of all, have dedicated more time and brought more offerings than any other."
"Offerings?" The red twin shook his head slightly. "…you mean the orbs?"
"Yes."
Her words knocked the breath out of him. He stumbled and Vergil leaned more of his own weight against him as they held each other up.
"What is the purpose of showing yourself now?" The blue twin's eyes roamed the demons that stood frozen around them.
"I come with an offer." She tilted her head. "This cult has upset the Balance of the Universe. Their actions have caused what will become the end of this world." Dante's eyes fluttered shut, mouth a grim line. When he opened them again, She still had not taken Her heavy, piercing gaze off of him. "This was not meant to be. Only one of your family was meant to die here."
"Who?"
Her golden eyes shifted to his brother, and Dante took a breath, relief at no longer having Her full attention left him reeling.
"It matters not, in this moment. What's happened here must not come to pass."
Dread churned his gut. The Legendary Devil Hunter knew what his answer would be to Her offer, whatever it would be.
Vergil's arm had slid across Dante's shoulders, and in return he had hooked his own around his brother's waist.
"What are you getting at?"
The Watcher's knowing gaze locked back onto the younger twin. "The offerings you have given over the decades did not just earn you favor, My Devoted One. They allowed me to build up strength I would have otherwise lacked. They allowed me to give you this opportunity." She shifted the hourglass She held once more. Knelt lower, and slid the massive object from Her shoulders to rest on the broken ground. The sands within flowed downward with gravity, but it was by no means smoothly. As he watched, the sands hitched and stopped, reversed and sped up.
"What opportunity," he whispered.
"To prevent this moment, these deaths, from ever coming to pass. To rewrite this story. To rip the corruption out by its roots. To go back in Time."
Twin breaths caught.
Dante squeezed Vergil's hip. "What's the catch?"
She inclined Her golden head. "There are several, I shall not deceive you, My Devoted One. The first is that only you may make the journey and retain your memories. You are the last of Mine still standing, therefore you are the only one my strength may latch onto."
His chest tightened.
"The second is that I can only send you so far back. I am sorry, My Devoted One," and She really did sound apologetic, "but you cannot save everyone. I can only send you back to the first moment of reunification."
He felt himself nod. There was only one moment that truly mattered. "Temen-Ni-Gru."
"Yes," She breathed. "The third is that there are certain events that must stay the same, that must happen. The Qliphoth Tree must rise. The Fruit must be consumed." Her voice took on a tender, sad lilt. "Mundus must have his prisoner. Nelo Angelo must exist. The Emperor must be sealed."
FearangerragenonononotagainPLEASE— rose in his chest, heated where his heart had gone cold.
"However," She said, "these events must only involve a Son of Sparda. It matters not which."
"No. Absolutely not," his brother finally cut in.
But Dante already knew. He already knew his answer. Already knew the lengths he would go to in order to prevent his family from being slaughtered around him.
"Vergil."
The older twin shook his head violently, desperately, and spun to grip Dante by both shoulders, Yamato returned to her sheath at his side and broken leg buckling. "I will not allow you to take my place without a fight, little brother. You do not know the atrocities Mundus will subject you to."
A rueful smile crept onto Dante's face. "What more could he do to me? I've already lost everything in this moment, right here." He gripped his twin's wrists, broken bone grinding against itself. The pain barely registered. The lack of healing didn't matter. "We will die here, if I don't, brother. Nero will stay dead. Lady and Trish. Pa-" he inhaled sharply, "Patty. They all die here if I don't go back. Isn't that worth it? Saving the people we love?"
He looked into Vergil's eyes. There were burst blood vessels in the right one. Tears had cut clean tracks through the viscera splashed onto his cheeks. "Let me be selfish, just one more time."
"This isn't selfishness, this is madness!"
Dante yanked Vergil into a bone crushing hug, careful, so careful to avoid the blade still embedded in him. It was the only thing stopping the blue twin from bleeding out in his arms.
"Your family will be brought back together, Dante. This I can promise you." The Goddess sighed. "But the price you must pay will be great. The Universe must have balance, My Devoted One."
Dante scrutinized Her. Vergil wheezed blood out onto his shoulder.
Doubt ate at his insides. He's never been good enough before. Never been able to save those he loves when they really needed it. Always too late or too weak or just plain not enough. Maybe, if Vergil were in his place, he would succeed. His brother had always been the one with a plan, a drive, a reason. If Vergil were the one to pull everything together, and all Dante had to do was fall….
"How do you know I'll succeed?"
A smile contorted Her snout. "You're Dante, The Legendary Devil Hunter."
As if that was the answer to everything. Perhaps for this Goddess, it was.
His big brother's arms cradled him so gently. It had been decades since they held each other like this.
It would be decades more before they would again.
Vergil rose from where his face was buried in Dante's neck. Turned to face Her with a familiar look of stubbornness that the red twin had seen on their mother often as a child. "What if I use the connection of the Yamato to send an impression back with him? We are twins, surely I could send something back. Protection, an emotion, a warning. I can't—" his breath hitched. "I can't stand by and let him take my place without doing something. Please."
Dante jerked, and searched Vergil's face. He hadn't heard his brother say please since they were children. The older twin refused to look back at him, intent upon The Watcher, arm still wrapped around him as they stood hip to hip. She hummed, and Her free hand tapped Her chin. "Yes, an impression might work. But it must be strong. Rooted in emotion, in memory. A feeling or belief you can amplify in your younger self, that the Yamato can project."
Without hesitation, The Dark Slayer said, "the trust I have in Dante should do. If he breaks down the right barriers, then my younger self should listen to what he says."
Disbelief rattled through him. He squinted at his twin. Vergil turned back to him. "You know what truth will make me stop to listen to you. You need only to choose when to tell me."
A sharp inhale. "Brother—"
"Dante. If you are intent upon this path, I cannot stop you." The older twin gave a small, bitter smile. "I've never been able to dissuade you. That won't change now. But I ask one thing of you."
"Anything, Verge."
"Don't leave me alone again."
Tears dripped down his cheeks once more.
"I don't— I don't want to. I never wanted to."
His big brother hugged him tight. The scrape of fabric against his wounds forced fresh tears from his eyes. "I know, little brother. I know."
They stood like that, for a while. Soaking in the last moments they would see each other for years to come. Even then, Dante told himself, it would not be the same. They would be changed. Different. Maybe softer, maybe harder. More scarred. But, the possibilities. The implications. They nearly drove him mad.
Vergil would not be unmade, turned into a puppet against his will, forced to piece himself back together atom by atom for years before he split himself in two.
He would get to raise Nero.
Dante would not get to raise Patty.
But, surely, she would be better off, without his presence hanging over her life.
Right?
(He wouldn't get to stick her report cards on his fridge. No Saturday morning breakfast dates. No sundaes when they'd both had a bad day. Her tinkling laugh wouldn't echo through the shop when she watched her soap operas on his couch. He wouldn't be able to drape a blanket over her when she inevitably fell asleep. She wouldn't slip into Hell in order to try to save him. There would be no hugging or tears when he ripped Abigail and Sid apart and emerged victorious.
They would hardly know each other. But maybe. Maybe that was for the best. After all, he'd only ever brought pain to those he loved.)
Maybe the Savior Incident would never happen, with Vergil there. Certainly, it would be changed.
There would be so, so many changes.
A life Dante would hardly recognize.
But they would all live.
It was for the best. If Dante was the one to fall.
With a strength he didn't know he possessed, the younger twin drew away from his brother. "What do I have to do?"
The Watcher of Time smiled, Her wicked canines bared. "You need only take my hand. In order to send an impression back with you, however, Vergil must take the last leap. Create a burst of magic strong enough for you to latch onto, for you to draw back with you."
He felt his chest nearly cave in. He had hoped he wouldn't have to witness his brother's death again.
Acceptance settled fully into Vergil's face. He nodded. They faced each other still. The older twin grasped Dante's unbroken arm. Wrapped his hand around the hilt of the blade in his side. "No—" he pleaded.
"Please, Dante. Allow me to die by your hand once more."
His throat clogged with yet more tears. "I never wanted this."
"I know. But if this is what must happen. I don't—" he swallowed. "I don't want what Mundus did to me to happen to you. But if things must change," Vergil blinked rapidly. His jaw set."I swear. I will look for you. I won't allow you to suffer under his thumb for long. I'm the big brother. It was supposed to be my burden to bear. That you must take it on… it kills me."
"You'll get to kill him, this go around." Dante smirked, if only just. "Make him pay. Make him suffer."
A malicious smile. "I will. Good luck, little brother."
"Thank you, big brother."
And with that, Dante jerked the blade that had bought his twin just a bit more time out in one fluid motion. The pained grunt he released cut him to his core. Blood poured freely from the wound, and the red twin thought he could see intestine start to leak out.
If there were anything in his stomach to throw up, he would've.
He cradled his brother as he collapsed, hot blood foamed at his lips. A punctured lung, probably. Healing factor too stretched thin, injuries too catastrophic.
A small smile settled on Vergil's lips, and with his last breath shoved what magic was left in his body into physical form. The Yamato at his brother's side burst into a shower of magic that coalesced into a single teardrop. Dante dropped the dagger still in his hand and grasped the tear.
Rage clawed at his chest. His heart collapsed and his chest caved in. He couldn't get a full breath. A sob choked him up.
He bit his tongue. Dug his nails deep into his own palm, around the gift his brother had given him.
An opportunity. Trust.
A redo.
He grasped it with bloodied hands.
There was already so, so much blood on his hands.
There would be more still, before he was done.
Gently, he laid his broken older brother on the ground.
Stood. Turned jerkily towards The Watcher of Time.
"I wish there was another way," she whined.
"So do I."
"I'm sorry it must be you, yet again. You've earned your rest."
"Can't imagine it would ever be anyone else."
Silently, She held out Her hand. The fur of Her lioness's head spread down Her muscled arms.
Dante took Her hand.
His vision went white.