A/N: Personally, this is my favorite TEOAT Bonus Chapter, especially the second part of this chapter! It's pretty deep and philophical, and pretty much the only time I've ever stopped to really consider Vergil's deepest thoughts about Dante's and Vergil's childhood in make-believe-world and their rocky past in the videogames. I do hope this is enjoyed, because I won't be posting another bonus chapter in a pretty long time!

Update: Under the section of Reminiscence, I would humbly like to credit the part of Vergil's view of their sibling relationship "You against me" to Solarcas, who wrote La Inzi Nuovi and had a way deeper use of the sentence!

Twin’s Spree

Understanding Situations (Part 15)

We sit quietly in our room, working on our book. You might not have thought about it before, but I have full intention of publishing this book when we grow up, my brother. That way, we’re going to be credited for our efforts, and not only will that give us some money in the future –when we become independent –it will also give us recognition and prestige.

You put your all into drawing the demons, and I admire your focus level. Do you know you are so much like Daddy when you do that? I don’t want to point it out, because you’re going to get into an argument with me about you not wanting to be Daddy’s son, but you and I both know I’m going to win, little brother, so I keep quiet.

Mummy is outside cleaning up the house although it is pretty clean already. But we don’t disturb her, because if we don’t let her do something, we fear she might go crazy with worry. I know we are being bad children by driving Daddy out like this, but don’t you agree with me on this Damien? You probably agree to this more than I do, but I am greatly saddened by the situation we are in now.

What happened to our happy family? Remember our wishes when we were young? We wanted to see ‘Damon’ -that man who Mummy always had a smile for whenever his name was spoken. Remember our birthday wish on our fifth birthday? I remember it clearly as if it were yesterday. We clutched our hands together and we closed our eyes and prayed hard. We made a deal beforehand, didn’t we? We held hands together and wished on our birthday candles for our father to come back.

Our wish from our fifth birthday came true, Damien, but here we are now, sitting in the room and you wishing that you never had him for a father. You must understand, my brother, that no matter what, he loves Mummy. Did you not want a man who loved Mummy? He fits your criteria, and still you pout and rage at him?

You don’t see things as clearly as me, and you don’t even know that you have inherited your stubborn anger from him, you silly boy. When you are angry at him, angry at yourself for being his son, you become exactly like his son.

Still, I keep my thoughts silent, because I’ve inherited Mummy’s way of staying silent until the most crucial point. Uncle Vergil taught me the important rule of ‘least effort, maximum effect’, and I’m doing that now, because why would I waste extra effort trying to persuade you to forgive Daddy if you won’t even hear me out?

Besides, I’m only just beginning to find courage to forgive him again. Yes, he hasn’t deserved much to be forgiven at all, but you forget also that we have inherited his heart. All the traits everyone else recognizes within us, Damien, that marks us as his children don’t make a difference in the world.

All that matters is the fact that we, Damien –you and I –have inherited his heart. And that heart we have inherited tells me to forgive him, because he is above all, our father. And what kind of children would we be if we were to leave our father in such a deep pit, condemning him to a wretched life forever?

Right now, you are still too angry to see any sense, so I don’t waste my saliva on you as I research on the rumored sightings and important points about the low-levelled demons under the sin of Lust. The succubae, incubi and all its related forms are mapped out carefully on my laptop, and await your beautiful illustrations, my brother. You have a talent of drawing I that admire, and you have not wasted it drawing the demons so perfectly that they appear almost 3-dimensional on paper. But what is the point in boosting your ego at the moment? You are too much like Uncle Daniel to take a compliment nicely and politely. You will probably go around boasting, which makes my personal compliment to you lose its special meaning.

You call me, and show me your drawing of the succubus we fought long ago, and while you really focused way too much on the demon’s breasts and sensual curves, I guess that it really is the important points of the lusty demon that people have to look out for. Still, I can’t help wondering if puberty is setting in, and if your hormones are beginning to draw you towards the delicate features of the opposite gender. If so, my brother, please do tell me. I would hate to have to slap some sense in you.

I ask you to give me a moment, and compile everything quickly before printing the pages. We are creating a rough guide in your notebook, but in the future, I will take everything down to the local printing press. I will have our manual printed, my brother, and we shall share the profits, won’t we? I do hope that we are still on good terms by then. I honestly pray that nothing happens to either of us.

You, after all, no matter how cheeky you are, are my brother. I will never want to leave your side, and I will keep you company like how you have kept me the past ten years. I only ask that you do not tire of me, and I won’t tire of you in return. You see, we only have each other in the future. All our uncles have their wives, and so do Mummy and Daddy have each other. While we (god forbid) are not love partners, we are siblings and I hope we can stay together at least until we find our own respective partners. I want us to stay as close as Uncle Daniel was to Daddy, Damien.

I want us to stay as close as Uncle Vergil and Dante.

I am aware that a rocky, bad past occurred between Uncle Vergil and Dante, but look at them now. They are so perfect as twins. They are so different from each other, but still every day, our Uncle Vergil accepts his brother for who Uncle Dante is. Uncle Dante, no matter how much he complains and says that he wishes his brother was dead, still loves Uncle Vergil very much.

You ask me which sector of demons we should do next, and I answer you honestly, though I feel your anger flare in a single moment. You stupid boy, don’t you know you are being exactly like Daddy when you do that? And still, there you are, declaring that you are not his son. You really must open your eyes to the irony you are making, my brother.

Your anger takes my focus away from my laptop, but I don’t look up, because what is the point in facing your angry expression? I think you are just throwing a tantrum and if you want to insist that Daddy isn’t our father, then why should I waste effort arguing? If you have taken after Uncle Dante and Daniel, then I have definitely taken after Uncle Vergil, because I focus more on rationalizing my way through everything while you focus on your emotions and instincts.

I explain everything to you clearly and rationally, and I am not afraid to admit that this is also a trait I inherited from our father, Damien. I openly recognize Damon as our father. But true, perhaps he is not the best father. Still, we must give him a chance.

You argue that you can declare yourself as Daniel’s son, but you know yourself that it is impossible, don’t you? It is impossible that you are Daniel’s son, because every bit of you –it comes from Damon’s making. I further analyze the situation for you, and you speak your disgust, earning a smirk from me. You see, it is impossible for Uncle Daniel to have made you with Mummy, and even if that happened, wouldn’t it be sick?

Just accept that fact that you are Damon’s son, my brother. Just accept the fact, and life would be so much happier.

I continue my research in silence for a short while, but I don’t hear the scratch of pencil on paper as you draw. You don’t hum to yourself, which is further evidence that you aren’t drawing at all. You must be thinking about things, Damien, but are you thinking about Daddy? Are you ready to forgive him?

You ask me if we should forgive him, and I stop in surprise. Have my effort really gotten through? I haven’t even tried my best, and you are already caving in?

I tell you that we shouldn’t be disturbing him, but you say you want to be a part of it. Does that mean you are willing to forgive everything that he has done thus far to join him? Are you willing to forget the disappointment he was to us? Are you willing to forget how far he walked away from us, only to turn around at the last minute to find out that we have begun to turn our backs on him?

You turned your back faster than I ever did, Damien. You can say that I am weaker towards him, you can say that I am too forgiving. But I’ve turned back around to see him walking back towards us, and still your back is to him. Do you know the tears in his eyes as he tries to make his way back to us, Damien? If you just turn around –maybe just a half-turn would be fine –you will see the regret in his eyes and forgive him instantly.

You admit that you’ve been pretty unfair to him, and I give you my honest reply. You have been unfair to him, Damien, but it doesn’t mean that he hasn’t had faults either. We all have faults in this situation that we found ourselves in, but does the painful process matter so much? I know we learn from our process, but right now, we should be in the process of forgiveness.

But you don’t see eye to eye with me, and in moments like this, I wonder if you really are my twin brother. I only feel as if I am your twin when we go fighting demons, Damien. I only know what you are thinking when we are both killing demons, and when I watch your back –you doing mine in turn. But when we are safe and sound, I feel like we are miles away. Why is this so? Why can I not get through to you?

Have you truly learnt so much from Uncle Daniel that you and I are as different as Uncle Vergil and Dante are to each other? Will we still be as close as we previously were?

I shut the lid of my laptop. Right now, I feel like we are miles apart, and I don’t want us to drift further away from each other. The island whereby which I am stranded on is drifting further and further away from you, and I don’t want talk of our father further pulling us apart. Don’t make me choose between Daddy and you, Damien. I never want to lose either of you.

I tell you what I think strongly, and your fire loses fuel almost instantly at the strength of my words. Do I really make such a difference to you, my twin? Will you really come drifting back to me, or will I see your island crumble into tiny pieces, until I watch you drown far away from my shores?

You begin to protest, starting by saying my name, but I interrupt you. I cannot hear from you right now, Damien. I want to forgive Daddy. I want to reclaim what happy family I should have had right from the start. I want to reconnect, and recreate the string we used to have with Daddy. If you don’t want to do it, Damien, I cannot force you. You are my twin brother. I respect you, but if you cannot understand the situation, and if you insist that you are Daniel’s son, go ahead.

I cannot argue with you anymore, my brother. I won’t stand and watch your island crumble away. If need be, may you simply stay that distance away from me. Don’t crumble, don’t float further away from me more than you have already done.

I give you my last vindication for our father’s sake, and with the words, I watch as shock write on your face. I don’t dare to burn hope this time, brother. Perhaps you really hate our father so much. Perhaps you will never forgive him for harming Mummy. But have you not harmed Mummy too? Have you, through your ten years of life, accidentally harmed Mummy? What about the time when you were playing with your scythe, and you accidentally slashed Mummy’s arm? You said sorry to her endlessly, but still she loved you, didn’t she?

That is how a family should be. Family members can make mistakes, and Daddy can make mistakes. No one is perfect in our family, Damien. And if you really can’t accept that Damon Kries is our father… then may you simply stay as my brother. I will not force the sense of our father on you anymore. You can consider yourself fatherless.

I don’t want to argue anymore.

I take my laptop with me and leave the room. Mummy tries to ask why I’ve gotten a black expression written on my face, but I give her an excuse, because I don’t want her to worry about us siblings fighting over Daddy again. I sit at the island on Aunt Marcy’s kitchen and do my work there while Mummy cleans up the stove.

“Mummy,” I ask after a long while, “Do you really love Daddy with all your heart?”

She turns around in surprise, but I have no need to ask that question at all. If you saw the look in her eyes, if you were more receptive of the idea that our mother can no longer survive without the idea of the man you refuse to accept your father… you would never reject Damon Kries. But you aren’t here, and you can’t see the pure, unfettered love Mummy has for Damon.

I’ve come to the conclusion, Damien, and if you don’t eventually conclude the same things as me, I’m sorry. Perhaps we are destined to be on different wavelengths.

But you need to understand the situation.

Mummy loves Daddy. And we love Mummy.

For our happy family, there is only one solution. We have to accept Daddy.

And we have to love him.

Or else we would be the worst children in the world.

You don’t want that, do you, Damien?

If only you would understand the situation…

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Reminiscence (Part 16)

You are absolutely ridiculous with your questions, and for the millionth time I ask myself why I am subjected to this torture. Talking to you is a torture, but you seem to find joy in exasperating me endlessly. How did we ever grow up together, as twins and as brothers? I cannot remember those days. My memories of those days are murky.

Did our encounters on Temen-Ni-Gru spoil it all? Did our crossing of each other’s path in our teenage years make the difference? Was Tony Redgrave your past that you will never forget? Because if you chose that name for the grave of our brotherly relationship, I understand.

Much as I am exasperated at you, Dante, I sit here and watch you struggle to understand that it is I who have invited you to your favorite pizza restaurant for a treat. Yes, on my account.

I will admit, while I banter with you, waiting for you to come to terms that I, Vergil Sparda, am sitting across you at the table in an empty restaurant that I have booked for the entire night, I marvel at you. I marvel at your ability to survive, your having survived so many years out there alone. However did you grow up without Mother and Father? You were still a stupid little small fry when we parted ways, brother. Perhaps I can still find a stupid little small fry beneath all that faked bravado now, but I might have to excavate through layers of laziness to find that small boy that you used to be.

You and I have been different right from the start, from the moment we were born. Do you remember Sparda once telling us that on the night we were born, you cried your lungs out, and I was a silent baby? Mother was so afraid that I was a still-born when I didn’t cry as much as you did. You bastard, you must have developed your annoying vocal cords faster than me while in Mother’s womb, did you not?

I know it was Father’s idea to color-code the both of us, to make sure he (because he has memory as bad as yours) can distinguish his sons. You got red, and I became the blue boy. We were accustomed to it right from the start. Red cups, red bottles, red plates. All of them were property of Dante, and everything blue belonged to Vergil Sparda.

You, being the stupid little fry you always were, took so long to understand the differences of our colors that I wonder if Father dropped you on the head sometime after you and I were born. But of course, after we grew up, you understand that we were color-coded. It made us different, made us individuals. We weren’t two halves of a whole. We were two whole people, complimenting each other and making up for the flaws of each other.

It was you, me, Mother and Father against the world of demons looking to destroy the bastard seeds of… well, our bastard father.

And then Father was locked in Hell.

And it became you, me and Mother against the world looking to crush a broken family.

The terror of our lives happened again, and Mother died.

You and I were left in the world.

But for some reason, it changed everything. It no longer became you ‘and’ me.

It became you ‘against’ me.

Or rather, me ‘against’ you. You always fought back against my ideals, didn’t you, Dante? You never saw things the way I did, and when it was apparent that red and blue no longer mixed to make Father’s purple, we parted ways and became like oil and water -separated from each other even though we might be beside each other.

We’ve walked one whole round in our game of life to come back to each other, my stupid little fry brother. We started from the same starting point in the maze of life, and when Mother died, we took two opposite directions, our backs to each other. At Temen-Ni-Gru, our paths crossed each other, and we fought fiercely against each other to get to our destination, so sure that the light at the end of the tunnel originated from our own different endings.

I went down to Hell, and Mundus happened. You survived and made your own business. You found your wife, and pretty much became a stupid little lazy fry. We continued to walk further and further away from each other in the maze, but Destiny had our paths crossing again on Mallet Island. Then, my legs were already sore from walking in the maze, and I’d given up. You met me at the crossroad again, and you ended my pain.

You continued walking without looking back at the brother you killed, because you believed that you did the right thing. You never expected that when you turned around another corner again, my brother, you will find me alive and well, waiting for you. Damon left me there, and for once, I tried walking your route in the maze with you. It was like taking the same route as you changed everything for the both of us. We found our wives, our loves. We found our family together.

And we returned back to base one, where we first started out walking together.

These thoughts endlessly cross my mind as I sit across you, watching you figure out whether I have cancer or not. My stupid little fry of a brother haven’t grown up at all. You still cannot use your brains, can you? Demons cannot be sick, and half-demons like us haven’t had the chance of cancer before. Of course, if anyone were to have cancer, Dante, it would be you. I still have a long life to live with Marcy, and much as I am glad that we are family again, you can kiss the top of your own coffin before I bury you six feet underground like how we did Daniel.

You continue to annoy me, and while I answer you passively, I remember strongly what Marcy told me. We must make nice again, brother. My love told me to do it, and for Marcy’s sake, I’d told her I would try. The focal point on the sentence is ‘try’, brother, because I cannot guarantee that I won’t slam Yamato into your chest again if you piss me off.

Besides, you’ve already had so much experience of swords stabbing through your chest, don’t you, Dante?

You annoy the hell out of me, Dante, and while you continue to exasperate me, I wonder how in Hell’s word I ever used to bear with you and your incessant chatter. My memories of our childhood is truly murky, Dante. Since my death as Nelo Angelo, the memories of our childhood is hazy. Do remind me how you became such an ass –or was it a thing from young?

Finally, you settle down and the pizza is served. You attack your food instantly, and the silence that settles between us is comforting, save the sounds of your slobbering. I wisely ignore your horrible table manners. Has Mother never taught you anything? We are truly twins in fashion more than in virtues and values, my brother. You are… for the lack of a better word, primitive in your manners.

I do not consider myself upper class, but sophistication is my forte while you wolf down the pizza as if you have starved for your past years. The silence is enjoyable while I make my way through the pizzas, you beginning to slow down and finally laze in food coma while I finish the last pizza. I don’t understand why you must engage yourself in such greasy, oily food, but if the argument of us being demons and immune to cancer stands, then yes, this pizza can do no harm to you.

However, be very aware that this diet further harms your already countless debt with your tight-fisted wife.

You chuckle suddenly as I wipe the last of the offending sauce off my lips, and I raise a brow of questioning. What have you found now that amuses you, brother? Do you honestly expect me to appreciate the same joys of life as you do? We are different like red and blue, black and white. Your appreciation of pizzas or the feminine curves does not extend to me, though I will gladly enjoy pizza made from my wife’s delicate fingers.

You ignore my questioning gaze, mumbling that it was nothing, but I struggle not to roll my eyes. Still so naïve. Still the stupid little fry Dante. How can I expect to fight with you against Mundus? My stupid little fry of a brother, you are going to be my liability. With this little fry on the battlefield, I would be forced to look out for your back, Dante, because if you were to die, perhaps Damon would lose his control entirely. Now, I don’t want that to happen, because that would truly hurt Marcy. Your death? Perhaps my wife would get over it in a week.

Your naivety and childish behavior still amazes me to no end. Do remind me, Dante, for we are set in the atmosphere to reminisce about the childhood I only remember through a thick fog. Was I ever as retarded as you appear to me now? Has there ever been a moment in my life that I ever shared the same joys and laughter with you, with the same heart? Were we as close as Wynter and Damien are now? Our lives have crossed too many times for me to remember clearly.

The maze has closed its door on the both of us, and try as we might, we cannot walk back to our starting point, and see the memories we created there. What we can do, however, Dante, is sit down here and discuss about the memories that we still remember, the important moments of our lives that we spent together in familial bliss and enjoyment. Those days where we were unfettered by worry or desire; where there was only you and me, Mother and Father.

You suddenly remind me of an awful prank that you played upon me while we were young. Is that honestly that memory of our youth that you remember clearest?

Through the fog, you pierce through a light, and I revisit the days when we were only three. You fed me a gummy you knew was spoilt, just to ‘investigate’ what it could do to half-demons like us, Dante. You laughed when I tumbled on the floor, groaning in pain and screaming for Mother to save me from you. I even coughed up blood, and Sparda almost lost his mind when he knew you were the one who popped that gummy in my mouth.

You must be out to prove me wrong, that all memories of our youth were targeted against each other. If you are going to go down this route, Dante, then have no worries. I remember enough of the things I have done to you in reply to all the pranks you’ve exacted on me.

We sit in the restaurant, bantering by bringing up the pranks we played on each other when we were young. You don’t know it, getting more amused by the moments with every retaliation I threw back at you, but I am amazed at how much you’ve punched through the fog of my memories. I started out without a clear mind about our past, Dante.

Now, it’s like the fog has been dissipated by you. I remember every single moment, the instances where we would run up to Mother and hug each side of her. Remember how short we were? You had to climb on my shoulders just to get that jug of candy Mother always kept out of our reach.

We move out of the pizza restaurant because it is getting late, but yet we don’t go home. We don’t walk our separate ways, don’t turn our backs to each other. Instead, we walk together towards the nearby bar and we continue our bantering over rounds and rounds of beer. I have never been an appreciator of beer, my brother, but today, I will forgive all that we eat and drink. There was a time in our past that we ate the same things together, wasn’t there?

I don’t believe it, but you’ve gotten me drunk. I know you’re pretty drunk yourself, and both of us stagger out of the bar finally at closing time. You lean heavily on me, calling for another shot even though we are making our difficult way home. It doesn’t cross my mind that I’m bringing you to my home rather than simply dropping you at Devil May Cry, and we still continue to walk.

You blink blurrily at me, then pinch my cheek. You ask if I’m really here, really your brother, and I think I answer with a nod. I’m almost as drunk as you are, Dante, so everything is pretty blur to me as well. Then you laugh, and hug me, squeezing me like you’ve never seen me in a million years. You jump up and down, laughing and laughing like there is no tomorrow.

I, drunk, jump stupidly up and down with you.

“Vergil! It really is you! My stupid brother, it really is you! You’ve come back to me!” You cry out in the silent night, and when I rub my eyes once more in an attempt to become more sober, I see that you have tears in your eyes. What is wrong, you weak little lazy fry? Why are you crying?

You are going to be a husband soon, Dante. You should man up and stop crying like a stupid little fry. I slap your crying face, and you laugh once more, grinning even though the tears are still in your eyes.

We have always been different, Dante. Right from the start, you are always red, and I am always blue. I have never desired to become red, because I have never desired to be like you. From the start, we are different, unique in our own way.

Like what Father said to us right from the start: we are always two different boys, being twins in appearance, but never by heart. Each of us share an important piece of his heart and soul, and when we come together, we are strong as sons of Sparda.

I am blue.

You are red.

Together, we make purple.