InsaneJournal

Title: Untitled
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Characters: Dante and Vergil
Rating: We'll go...PG-13 to R for blood and gore.
Word Count: 689
Summary: Vergil can't stand when his chewtoy gets banged up.
Author's Notes: Written for 15_minute_fic.



Vergil losing his cool wasn't something that happened often (that he would admit to). Despite whatever his twin might claim to the contrary, Vergil didn't lose his temper very often (in his own opinion). He was rational. He was calculated. He could handle himself without going off like a bomb, unlike his shaggy sheepdog of a brother.

However, the thing they'd been dealing with (a hunter, and strong one at that) seemed tireless, and Dante - used to wham bam, thank you ma'am fights - started showing signs of wearing thin, his movements becoming even sloppier than they were on a normal basis. Vergil, upon seeing this, had decided to be a good big brother and attract the monster's attention on to himself, thus giving Dante the time he needed to quit wibbling like the overgrown baby he was and catch his second wind.

Pity that plan didn't work.

Instead, the hunter had sensed Dante's fatigue, and had moved in on the younger twin faster than Vergil could distract it (which was saying something, in Vergil's opinion), and all the while Vergil rushed in to give Dante some room, to put himself between the hunter and Dante, one long, sinewy, dark-fleshed arm struck out, catching Dante right across the middle.

Dante gave an 'oof', and there, for a moment, Vergil thought his twin would correct himself, stop his flying retreat into the stone walls of this place. The impact told him differently. Dante slammed into the wall with a hack and a loud cracking, his head bouncing off the wall once more after the initial collision, as though to add insult to injury, before he just...Slid down it, leaving a long crimson trail of fresh blood behind.

And that was when Vergil had lost it. 'Flipped his shit', as Dante was so fond of saying, and the thought that the younger twin was not, in fact, conscious to give that assessment only fueled his anger more, as red streaked across his vision. Apparently the hunter hadn't gotten the memo. Dante was Vergil's chewtoy. Vergil's, and no one else's.

Yamato was flicked upward and caught in a reverse grip, the blade running along his forearm, before Vergil streaked toward the creature that had committed the greivious wrong, his fangs bared and his eyes in that unearthly red on black state before full-trigger.

The hunter, seemingly having forgotten the elder twin altogether, roared in pain as Yamato bit into its flank, before whirling on its attacker, its inhuman eyes narrowing on the blue and black blur that sped past it. Vergil moved again, this time seeming to blur out of sight altogether, before its growl rage cut off in surprise, and a fountain of thick, black, brackish blood squirted its neck, its head sliding off its body in what was almost slow motion.

Vergil's feet tapped lightly against the ground as he landed, before he pulled Yamato's blade between his fingers and resheathed it as the creature collapsed to the ground. One quick, dismissive glance was given to it, before he strode across the wide room to where Dante was slumped in what was an almost comical position. It would have been hilarious, had that trail of blood not followed him down the wall, and Vergil closed the distance between them and knelt, feeling the shattered bone at the back of Dante's skull, already slowing fusing back together.

That was one good thing, he supposed, as he hauled Dante over his shoulder before readjusting him to a more comfortable position. That, right there, was the reason he hated creatures of the underworld of that make and model. They fought dirty, had no honor. He slung one arm around the tops of Dante's thighs, to secure him in place, even being as horrible as to wipe the blood from Dante's wound on the baby's pants as he did so.

That was what he got for being weak.

With a sniff (and a slight huff, because though the idiot looked skinny, he was atrociously heavy as dead weight), he started for the door, Dante's form flopping over his shoulder as he went.