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baronessblixen · 6 months

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I know fic canon mostly has Mulder eating questionable things and getting sick from it, but if you are willing I’d like to request a Scully sick fic please. She eats something off on the road during a case, while driving it starts repeating on her loudly which she tries to stifle, her audible stomach cramps and gurgles intensifying and moving lower while her nausea rises until she’s begging Mulder to pull over at the nearest motel or gas station bathroom because ‘ one way or another, whatever is inside me needs to get-urrp out, now!’ Inspired by a recent stomach bug of mine where I wish I’d had a Mulder to hold my hair and rub my back

Almost two years later and here we go! (I hope anon is well after that stomach bug)

Hurt/comfort post-"Arcadia": They're on their way back home from The Falls at Arcadia when Scully gets sick. (wc: 1,918)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 17: In Sickness And in Health

“Are you hungry?” They’ve been driving for about two hours and have exchanged about as many words. Neither of them was in the mood for breakfast this morning before they got into their family-friendly car to leave this place where neither she nor Mulder fit in. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that he’s still wearing his wedding band. It irritates her.

“Are you asleep?” Mulder asks, glancing over at her.

“No,” she says in a clipped tone.

“No, you’re not hungry?” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes briefly. It’s not Mulder’s fault she’s on edge. At least not entirely his fault. They went from ‘don’t make this personal’ to him invading her personal space at every opportunity and flirting with her as if the whole Diana thing hadn’t happened.

“No, I’m not asleep,” she says calmly. “I’m hungry.” The tension in the car eases, but they fall quiet again. What is there to say these days?

It doesn’t take Mulder long to find a roadside diner. He parks the car and she doesn’t wait for him while he stretches out his long limbs. He catches up with her – damn those legs – and attempts to hold the door open for her. But he’s too quick, and they’re too uncoordinated so he smashes his shoulder into the door.

“Are you hurt?” Scully asks.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at her, his eyes glinting.

“Let’s get something to eat then.”

Mulder goes for pancakes and bacon, asking her if she wants the same. She does. She does want something fatty and greasy. Instead, she shakes her head.

“Scrambled eggs, please.” The waitress wanders off, leaving Mulder and Scully alone with their thoughts and their silence. He starts playing with the salt and pepper shakers, his hands unable to stay still. Scully wishes she had something to say. Anything. She watches and waits for the waitress and their food. Her stomach is in knots. She knows it’s not just because she hasn’t eaten anything in a while. It’s because of whatever is happening between her and Mulder. She wants things to go back to normal, but she still flinches when he touches her. The way he treated their first case back still leaves a sour taste in her mouth. The way he treated her, as his wife, even more so.

Maybe they should have sent Diana with him.

The thought makes her so sick that she’s tempted to just leave her scrambled eggs untouched. Mulder digs in undeterred, glancing over at her. She doesn’t want to worry him and more than that, she doesn’t want him asking any questions why she isn’t eating. The eggs are runny, and don’t taste good at all, but she makes herself finish the plate out of some misguided sense of obligation.

“I’m gonna pay,” Mulder says, his chair noisily scraping over the floor. It grates on her in the same way his behavior does. She tries to shake the feeling off. Her skin feels raw and she takes off her blazer, feeling too warm. Mulder returns and she catches him contemplating whether his hand on her back would be welcome. When he doesn’t touch her, she feels the absence of him all over.

Another two hours on the road and Scully’s stomach begins to grumble and gurgle. She takes a sip of water and all it does is make her nauseous. She decides to close her eyes and ignore it. She’s become quite good at that. Soon she realizes that closing her eyes was the wrong move. She feels too dizzy. She rolls up her sleeves, her skin seemingly on fire.

“You okay?” Mulder asks. She doesn’t answer; she’s not deliberately ignoring him, but she’s not sure what will come out when she opens her mouth. “Scully? What is it? You look pale.” She shakes her head, hoping that Mulder will see it. Her stomach cramps violently and she presses a hand against it.

“Stop,” she presses out through her lips.

“What?”

“Restroom,” she tries instead.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Mulder says, sounding panicked. “Can you hold on?” She wants to say yes. She wants to assure him that she’s fine. Her shivering body and the overwhelming nausea, however, tell a different story. “There’s next to no traffic here.” Mulder looks around and stops the car so abruptly that Scully’s stomach revolts. Her shaking fingers try to unlatch the seat belt and she almost cries out when it won’t come undone.

Mulder reaches over, and their fingers brush against each other. She’s free and stumbles from the car. She doesn’t get far until her meager breakfast comes back up. There’s no relief, just pain, and a sense of shame. Her breath goes quickly and her knees are wobbly. She wants to lie down, or at least sit down.

“Hey,” Mulder says, rounding the car. She presses her eyes shut, but what’s the use? Even if she can’t see him, he can still see her. “It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, rubbing her tense back softly. “Feeling better?”

“No.” Her voice is weepy. The nausea explodes like a volcano inside of her and she just about manages to turn away from Mulder’s shoes to get sick again.

“Oh, Scully,” he says, his hand moving from her back to her hair. “I’m so sorry.” She barely hears him. Her knees want to give in and before they do, Mulder catches her. His arms are securing her, holding her upright.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he says, his voice wobbly. “You’re scaring me.” The last time she felt like this, cancer was wreaking havoc on her body. And Mulder remembers it as well as she does.

“The eggs,” she says and the words alone make her sick once more. “They were bad. They must have been bad.”

“Food poisoning?” he asks her.

“Yeah. Just- I can’t fly home like this.”

“We’ll find a motel, stay another night. Or two. Do you think… do you think you can manage the car ride?”

“I can try.” Mulder’s arms are like a life belt around her, refusing to let her drown. He helps her sit in the car and puts her seat belt back on.

“You look a little less green,” he says with a small smile. “Don’t worry, okay? And tell me as soon as you want me to stop again.” She nods.

She manages a whole 10 minutes before her stomach revolts again. The car skids to a halt and Scully jumps out a moment before Mulder does. He’s by her side, holding her and comforting her. He’s saying things she doesn’t understand, but the irony is not lost on her that he’s spoken more words to her while she’s standing here by the road being sick than he did while they were driving.

“Thank you, Mulder.”

“That’s what partners are for.”

They try again. Her stomach gurgles and hurts, but otherwise behaves. After another 20 minutes of driving, they find a motel. She hears Mulder’s sigh of relief. He treats her as if she were made of glass, leading her to the entrance. She only listens half-heartedly as he asks for a room. They’re handed a key and make their way to their room. One room. She didn’t misunderstand.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he says as if reading her mind. She’s not in the place to complain or refuse.

She feels like a marionette when he helps her undress and get into pajamas.

“You’re burning up, Scully,” he says. She shivers whenever he touches her skin. “Will you please reconsider going to the hospital?”

“Only if it gets worse. I just need to-” and there it is again. The nausea comes unexpectedly and she runs for the bathroom, Mulder at her heels. He flushes the toilet while she scrapes herself off the floor. Without a word, Mulder hands her a toothbrush. He watches her every move and only leaves her alone when she uses the toilet.

“Lie down. I’ll see if they have any Pepto-Bismol. Can I leave you alone for five minutes?” Scully nods, her eyes closing as soon as her head hits the pillow. Mulder wakes her what feels like a minute later, with two pink pills in his hand and a glass of water. She takes the pills, washes them down with the water, and succumbs to sleep a moment later.

When she wakes again, it must be hours later. Mulder has switched on a light and is just sitting there in a too-small armchair, watching her with a distraught look.

“Hey.” His voice is hoarse. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Can I have some water?” He brings her a fresh glass and she down it in small dips despite her intense thirst. She doesn’t want to make herself sick again. “I’ll never again eat eggs at a roadside diner.”

“I won’t let you,” he promises with a smile. But she sees his lips tremble. “Fuck, Scully. You really scared me.”

“It’s just food poisoning,” she says, sitting up.

“I know that, but… you were so out of it. I thought- I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat here and wondered. I kept replaying everything. I know you’ve been angry with me and I get it now. I think I do, anyway. I had a lot of time to think.”

“How long have I been asleep?” she asks

“Almost six hours.”

“What?”

“Like I said, you were out of it. I was this close to taking you to the hospital. I called Skinner and told him what was going on. He said not to worry and for you to get better. Scully, we need to talk about Diana.” His sudden change of topic gives her whiplash.

“I already feel sick, Mulder.” He chuckles softly.

“I’ve been an ass,” he goes on. “I was so pissed off. They give us the X-Files back and send us to play house.”

“You would have preferred to do that with Diana.”

“What? No. Not at all.”

“You treated all of this like a joke, Mulder.” Me, she thinks. He treated her like a joke. Like a consolation prize.

“Because I was so angry,” he says. “Not at you. At everything. I was – am – angry at myself. I knew I was out of line when I said you were making things personal. What is this if not personal?” There are tears in his eyes. He's still wearing that ring and she wonders if he even realizes it. In sickness and in health, she thinks, the thought unbidden.

“I could have lost you.” His words interrupt her thoughts.

“Mulder, it’s food poisoning, not cancer.”

“But it could have been. I’m sorry, Scully. I’m sorry for dismissing your doubts about Diana. I’m sorry for acting like an ass. I’m sorry you got sick.��

“That wasn’t your fault. As much as I would like to pin it on Diana, too.” They share a smile, their eyes locking. She knows that this is just a stepping stone. She still needs time. To recover from this, and from Diana. From everything they’ve been through. But they’ll get there.

“Will we be okay?” he asks.

“We will be okay,” she assures him because they’ve always been. She reaches out her hand and Mulder takes it. His touch doesn’t make her flinch. His skin is warm and soft; his touch is strong. He’s still her Mulder and he’s still his Scully.

#fictober23 #this one was super fun for some reason #could have written 5000 words if i wasn't so tired #so much diana this here #i'm loving it #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year

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Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 1, Prologue

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Age restriction: 18+ - there's a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Vergil has a LOT of internal turmoil, and both main characters struggle with self-worth, self-hatred, abandonment issues, etc. The reader also gets seriously injured and humiliated in this chapter, so, again, proceed with caution. It gets dark and it might be too much for some people.

Author's notes: And so, it begins! I HOPE I'll be able to update this one weekly, but I don't know if my creativity will be that nice to me xD This is something that has been brewing for a while, based on my initial hatred for Vergil. Expect the slow burn of the century, they'll be hopeless and so friggin' proud in this one :)

Also I'm so proud of this header :')

Chapter 1 - Prologue

The city was swarming with demons.

Vergil had rarely seen anything like it – chaos took over, the streets stained with blood, the sky red with fire. He marched with resolve towards his objective, ignoring the demons terrifying humans.

There was nothing he could do. He wasn’t there to be a savior – only the strong survived and Vergil had no time to spare. He searched for power, and, if he took too long, his opportunity would be lost until another Abyss was open – and that could take years.

Vergil could feel the tingle in his hands, the stench from the demons in the Abyss. The closer he got, the fouler the smell of blood and rotten flesh. He inherited that enhanced sense from his father – and Vergil constantly questioned how Sparda could have lived in Hell for so long with that horrid reek engulfing him. It had to be something he discovered only after locking Hell behind himself.

All of his senses indicated the source of all mayhem was inside the building he had just entered – if it had been a church of sorts, a castle, some headquarters… Vergil wouldn’t know. Everything was destroyed beyond recognition, and he walked upon the rests of what was once inhabited by the humans who used to live in that city.

The Abyss was close. Soon to be near the reach of his fingertips: a source of power not even the most notorious demons had access to. Something ancient, beyond creation itself – source of salvation to some, source of damnation to others.

If Vergil was about to condemn his soul, it didn’t really matter. He had already been damned; since the day he was reborn on that fateful night his home was torn apart.

Another strange smell assaulted his senses, though. Vergil couldn’t quite tell what it was – no demon; that, he was certain. It was a scent of something that certainly did not belong to all that destruction…

And it came from behind a door within his reach – only a few steps away from the entrance of the courtyard: the place where the Abyss had manifested after centuries asleep.

Along with his human heart, came human curiosity. That inherent human feeling, always distracting Vergil from his path and quest for power. That incessant itch in the farthest corner of his soul that couldn’t be ignored – and that made him divert his steps towards that door.

As his hands were about to touch the sturdy wood that resisted the chaos, Vergil’s steps came to a halt when he felt another presence behind him.

“Not a step further, demon.”

And that presence was human.

Slowly turning back, hands already gripping the Yamato and ready for battle, Vergil found a set of eyes filled with fire and resolve. They had something inside them that bothered his spirit, for he did not know logically what it was – his heart, though, seemed to identify something he couldn’t quite put into words.

As you pointed your sword towards him, Vergil furrowed his brows.

“Step aside, human.”

“I will not let the likes of you roam this place.” You tilted your head upwards, revealing in the faint light of that godforsaken place the wounds and bruises that covered your face and neck. Vergil slightly narrowed his eyes; you must have been battling since all of that started. You were probably the last line of resistance of whatever humans lasted in that pitiful city. “Leave before I have to make you leave.”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed even further – not because of analyzing more, but because of your words. How dare someone like you even entertain the possibility of making someone like him leave…?

His hands took their battle stance on the Yamato. You lowered your sword, reading his posture and correcting yours to get ready to fight him.

From all the demons you fought that day, he was the most… Different. They all looked like creatures from the darkest pits of Hell, blood thirsty, power hungry – either ready to kill and fulfill their bloodlust or trying to harness some of the power of the Abyss. But that one in a blue coat who stood before you… He looked human. Painfully human, even. If it wasn’t for the way he carried himself in that battlefield – the way he held his sword, the way his steps seemed so calm among the mayhem, the way his eyes carried only ice and rage – you would’ve deemed him human.

But you didn’t have to be a demon expert to know that blue coated young man was nothing but a demon like all the others you had fought earlier – or, maybe, unlike the others.

Nevertheless, in your experience, once a demon, always a demon.

“I do not have time for this.” Vergil hissed between his teeth, tilting his head upwards in hubris, leaving the Yamato sheathed. He turned his attention back to the wooden door – you were almost as good as dead; it would be extremely unwise to engage in battle with him.

But something Vergil still had to learn about humans was that the heart doesn’t always follow the wisest of decisions – sometimes, it acts by itself; and whether that is a good or a bad thing, it’s debatable upon the situation.

He heard as your steps lunged quickly towards him, giving Vergil only a few seconds to dash from your vicious attack, making you almost hit the door with your great silver sword. He kept looking at you with annoyance – not only because you attacked, but also because that fire in your eyes seemed to glisten even more than before.

“Leave.” You tried one more time – but Vergil was prouder than that.

He wouldn’t let himself be ordered around by a human.

“You chose your fate.” He growled between his teeth, attacking with the still sheathed Yamato.

It wasn’t his intention to kill you – with just a few blows from the sheath, you’d be on the floor, begging for your life or passed out. Vergil wouldn’t kill, but he would teach you a lesson: no human could think they could defeat him. He was much too powerful for such a weak, pitiful creature.

But you parried him – once, twice, three times. Your eyes still carried that fire, burning with rage and that something else. You didn’t fall, so he attacked again. And again. And you kept on resisting, refusing to give in.

You promised no demon would go beyond that point – only over your dead body. And you would keep that promise.

Vergil growled in disbelief, vexed by your resistance. He didn’t have time for this. Why weren’t you falling? Where were you getting your strength from? He was the son of Sparda. A meek, fragile, battle wounded human just like you should have fallen from the first blow of Yamato.

But your movements were as skillful as his. You held your sword with as much grace and strength as Vergil yielded his demonic heritage. With another blow, you parried masterfully in the right timing, both of you stepping back from each other to recover your stances.

You had your head slightly upwards; and you held his gaze. Vergil hardened his jaw, mimicking your demeanor – or was it you who were mimicking his? He couldn’t know; and you couldn’t either. The blood inside yours and his veins burned with the rage to be dealing with someone else as proud – and as arrogant – as the other.

It was the first time for Vergil, such a human thing to feel, but oh… Your eyes were crushing his pride. Your resistance mocked his power. And he couldn’t let that happen.

Charging towards you, Vergil didn’t hold back. You stood your ground, fighting him as best as you could – your body, though, begged for some rest. Even with the pain, you defended and counter-attacked with the might Vergil would expect of someone in a better shape… Of someone as powerful as him.

You, in the other hand, did not expect a demon so versed in martial arts. You thought he was going to use only his strength, like all demons did, but he had skill. As you parried another blow of his – the sheath of the Yamato threatening to break your stance, unbothered by your silver blade – your eyes met his and, there, you saw not only ice, but the sparkle of a fire that could only be human.

His eyes burned with the same fire yours did – the flame that kept telling him you wouldn’t give up: the human stubbornness.

Although you read it as arrogance.

Bothered by your eyes, Vergil pushed you back, with enough strength to make you stumble on your hurt feet and plant one of your hands on the ground so you wouldn’t fall. You let your head low for a while, taking a few deep breaths to control your spinning head. Vergil furrowed his brows as he noticed the smell of blood came from a wound in your flank – making the fact you were there, fighting him, even more absurd.

“Hmpf.” Even with that realization, he couldn’t recognize the strength in you. That would mean a mere human, battered and hurt even, could put up a decent fight with him. That you both were in the same level of power. Vergil would never accept that. “You’re not worthy as my opponent.”

You shot your head upwards, eyes stark in his blue silhouette as that demon turned his back at you in a nonchalant manner, going back to his business. He didn’t even want to kill you. That was mortifying. With those words, sharp as a sword, he cut through your heart and your pride: you weren’t even worthy of dying in a fight.

With the blood boiling in your veins, you used your silver sword to help you up. As he heard your movement, Vergil stopped; turning around slowly only to find you cleaning the blood running down your lips – those eyes setting his soul on fire.

“I am not done yet.” You spat the blood on the ground, almost hitting his boots. Vergil didn’t give you the joy of seeing how much his temper was affected by your attitude – even though his hardened jaw betrayed him. Lifting his head slightly to try to remain above his opponent, Vergil slowly walked towards you; and you mirrored his demeanor, even if you weren’t doing it in a conscious manner. “Demon.”

This time, Vergil didn’t allow you to attack first – he would set the pace of the fight; almost like leading a deathly waltz. You were his partner and you would follow his lead to your demise; as he always did with every opponent.

As soon as his domineering footwork tried to set the pace, yours refused to dance according to his lead. He tried his best to tame you – but that fire kept glistening in your eyes, and your footwork followed your own beat.

You tried to break his and make sure you were the one setting the pace, but that man in a blue coat had too much will to let himself be lead across the battlefield. His steps worked on his own – and he had the audacity to try to dominate you; the same way you were trying to do with him.

Your tiredness and his annoyance, though, made Vergil knock you down again – but still, you got up. And again. And one third time.

As you took your sword from the ground, barely able to stand up and wield the silver weapon with bruised hands, Vergil had a hard time hiding his shock – cloaked by the annoyance under his furrowed brows.

How were you doing that? You had no demonic blood like his to mend your broken body and burn in flames of survival. How could you get up, over and over and over again…?

“C’mon, demon.” You muttered one more time, raising your head as you could.

“Enough.” Vergil growled between his teeth, charging at you with a speed a human would never be able to counter.

You fell once more. With the sword away from your hands, you had to crawl on the floor to try to grab it again, as Vergil finally unsheathed the Yamato and walked towards you as a death omen. The blade glistened in the last cold rays of the day, as you ignored the blood dripping from your mouth and reached out for your silver sword. The demon approached, unrelenting, and if you couldn’t get back to your weapon, those would be your last breaths.

“Y/n! No! NO!”

The voice of a child made you and Vergil freeze where you were – eyes shooting up to the door he almost opened out of sheer human curiosity.

“Stay back!” You immediately screamed, pointing at three children looking at you both in horror. “Lock the door! Take the other children! Get out of here!”

“Y/n, no! We…!”

“GO! GET OUT! I’LL HOLD HIM BACK!” Your eyes were stinging with tears, knowing full well they wouldn’t have a chance against the demons – but you could at least give them a chance to run and save themselves.

Vergil’s fingers froze on the grip of the Yamato, his glaciers’ eyes stuck in that scene. His heart couldn’t let him move, couldn’t let him breathe. As you struggled more and screamed the last words that made the children finally close the doors and run – with a bunch of steps that could only be of a group of at least fifteen children – he watched as your bloodied fingers held the hilt of your sword once more, tears falling from your eyes as you struggled to get up.

You cannot kill your own mother.

Those words echoed through Vergil’s mind as he watched your struggle to protect the ones weaker than you. All that fight, all that will, all that power… It came from that. You weren’t just keeping people safe by forbidding demons to walk towards the Abyss – and forbidding anything to come out of it – you were there to help those kids find a safe path through the city to a safe haven. You came back to that hopeless building because of them.

Eva had died saving Dante from the hell their home became on that fateful day. She plunged in the fire for her child, she did it out of love and protection. Vergil had heard Eva tried to save him as well, throwing herself in the danger to keep him safe – but he couldn’t accept that. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that he had his mother killed, he didn’t want to believe that; and so Vergil decided to remain with the belief that she had abandoned him for Dante, even if his stupid human heart screamed otherwise.

As you tried to get up from the ground once more, Vergil saw his mother – crawling on the floor, blood dripping from her lips, tears staining her face while she muttered his name, doing her best to keep her children safe. He couldn’t kill her; Vergil couldn’t kill you.

He was brought back to reality as the floor rumbled violently. Snapping his head towards the courtyard, Vergil knew quite well what was happening: all the fighting had taken too long.

“We are done.” His words were muttered between his teeth as Vergil used the sheath of the Yamato the keep your hand pressed on the floor.

With a last glare from his silvery eyes, he left in a hurry before you let your head fall between a deep sigh.

The children were gone, they were safe. Your job was done.

There were many circles and places in Hell, accounted for throughout history in all sorts of arcane writings.

There was, however, one place unaccounted for – with little information, whispered around as a legend of a nightmare: the Abyss.

Some believed it was real, some said it was nothing but a tale to scare children at night. Vergil had read enough to believe in its existence – as well as to know it could take centuries for another gate to be opened once more. No one knew when they manifested or where, but one thing was certain: there was power to be harnessed on that place.

The kind of power was another mystery. The Codex Daemonica had no information on it or what kinds of demons it harbored – if it was inhabited by demons at all. Some believed Sparda had locked Mundus in shackles in that deepest part of Hell, while other said it was the home of something… More ancient.

Vergil approached the courtyard with his hand on the hilt of the Yamato, ready to unsheathe it. There was a fissure on the ground, in the middle of the dilapidated stone garden. There was no sound to be heard: no leaves, no wind, no walking. Only silence.

His steps were calm but firm, approaching with care but never leaving their regal pace behind. The closer he got, the warier his heart became. Something wasn’t right – but, at the same time his soul told him to leave, something inside him told him to walk towards the edge and peak inside.

Vergil had already decided he would be the first one to venture in the Abyss in search for power and, upon coming back, telling his findings in his arcane journal. If his father had trapped Mundus inside it, he saw no reason why he, the son of Sparda, wouldn’t be able to enter it and survive. In order to protect himself, to make sure nothing would happen to him again, Vergil needed that power – and he would go to the farthest depths of Hell and back to make sure no one would be able to threaten him anymore.

Stopping at the edge of the Abyss, Vergil looked down, trying to see something – he had already had many experiences with Hell and knew how some places looked like.

But all he found was darkness.

A darkness that came from the deep – that had no end and, still, seemed to go as far as the depths of his own soul. It was an all-consuming darkness, one that would pull Vergil willingly to its clutches – one he couldn’t understand.

He held the hilt of the Yamato with more strength, the sweat almost making it glide down. His heart pounded inside his chest and Vergil could hear the blood flowing through his head. The darkness consumed his eyes, searching for the deepest part of his soul… The part he smothered, hiding even from himself. The part covered in bruises, blood and self-hatred; the part Vergil couldn’t bear to see: his own mirror, naked and vulnerable, staring right back at him.

He had to get out of there.

Vergil’s heart rate increased and he had no air in his lungs. He didn’t want to look; he didn’t want to see. All those things, all those feelings, all those wounds… Himself. He didn’t want to see himself. He had broken all the mirrors, buried all the broken shards left from his heart, asphyxiated the light from his soul… But there, right in the back, covered in darkness, one mirror was left. One fragile heart made of glass. One ray of light cradled by his bony, bruised, pale white hands.

He had to go. He didn’t want to meet Vergil. He couldn’t look him into his eyes. Not those pitiful, helpless, bruised eyes begging for help… Begging for love. He had to go.

“Vergil…? Vergil…!”

Inside the Abyss, a familiar voice echoed, snatching Vergil away from that last mirror alone in the depths of himself. In that deep darkness, his eyes couldn’t see nothing more than the void, but a voice called him down in the depths.

“Are you there Vergil…? My son…!”

It was Eva.

Vergil hadn’t heard the voice of his mother since the day he discovered the extent of his demonic blood. Many times, he heard her voice inside his head – knowing it was all but a memory; the ghost of his mother coming back to try to comfort him in his desolation, at least a little bit.

But that voice in the Abyss… It wasn’t in his head. It wasn’t a memory. It was there… It was in there.

“Can you hear me…? Vergil…? I… I am scared.”

“I am coming to get you, mother.” Vergil’s voice was no higher than a murmur, but it was filled with resolve.

Ready to take another step and finally venture into the Abyss, another earthquake took the city. He lost his footing, tumbling backwards and falling far away from his mother’s voice as the courtyard came down and the Abyss slowly closed.

“Vergil…! Don’t leave me here alone…! Please…! My son…!”

“Mother… No!” Vergil did his best to run towards the very place his heart and soul screamed at him to stay away, ready to plunge into its depths not knowing what would happen next.

As Vergil finally reached the center of the courtyard, his hands and knees found only the stony floor as everything stood silently still.

The Abyss was closed.

Your empty eyes stared at the crumbling pieces of the city as its last pieces came down in destruction.

They promised. They should have waited for you. That was the deal: you went back for the children and your friends would wait for you all to come back – if you weren’t with the children, they should have waited fifteen minutes.

It had been ten minutes. You were on time. You were on time. There was no reason for leaving you behind.

They were the last way out of the city, the very last ride. The last hope of survival.

And they left you there, in the middle of those crumbling flames, filled with blood and death. You had dragged your feet until the meeting point, you wandered around, screaming their names in hopes they were just hiding to keep themselves safe. You searched; you did your best. You did your best.

No one was there. No one appeared. You were left behind. You were alone.

“Oh, child… Hush…” A snake-like voice dragged itself from the shadows, followed by cadenced steps. It was sweet, mesmerizing… Too comforting for all that desolation. “I know, I know… Your heart is broken. You don’t have to cry.”

“I am not crying, demon.” Your voice was hardened like stone, resonating between your teeth. Even if you wanted to cry, your pride wouldn’t let your tears fall for that kind of betrayal. Not for those people. They didn’t deserve your tears.

“Oh, but your heart, I can feel it…” The she-devil approached you, her hands resting seductively on your shoulders. You would have wiped them off, but you didn’t have the will to do so. “It is… Dead. Completely dead inside that little chest of yours. There’s no reason to lie to yourself… They forgot you, child. That is worse than being left behind, isn’t it? Your already hurt heart is in pieces, I can feel it.”

All your life, you learnt demons lied to get what they wanted. They listened closely to the winged words people let out of their mouths without thinking and later used those to their advantage. That demon, though… She wasn’t lying.

Your heart had already been hurt numerous times before, but that… That was the last blow to kill you. If you were left behind, people at least had thought of you – but they didn’t even remember you existed. You were forgotten, that’s how important you were. You meant nothing, you were worth nothing. Left to die because no one remembered you were dying.

Indeed, it was as if your heart had been torn out of your chest… And there was nothing. Not even tears.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Your chances of survival were close to none. You had been sentenced to death by those who couldn’t remember all they had to do was wait only five more minutes for you to come back.

“I know… There is no reason to fight anymore, no reason to remain in this pain…” That voice was now close to your ears, so sweet, so dangerous. “I can give you rest child…” It whispered in your ears, always so seducing. “Just give me your soul… Your blood. And I can make it all go away.”

“Hmpf.” You opened your eyes again, slowly turning to look into the blood red eyes of the voluptuous demon who stood behind you. Beautiful, but something in it made you wary. “You can have my blood, demon. But only over my dead body.”

“Hmmm. So be it.” The she-devil rolled her eyes, immediately nonchalant with your attitude. “You are as good as dead anyway. I could’ve made it painless, pitiful creature.”

Her words allowed a band of lurking demons nearby to approach and you finally noticed you weren’t being attacked before because she had claimed you as her prey. You were too weak even to fight her alone, but a whole bunch of demons… Your death was certain.

Taking a deep breath, you held your silver sword with pride. If it was for you to die that way, at least you would make it worthy of a hero. You wouldn’t fall easy and you would take as many demons as you could with you.

As he left the city, Vergil felt a commotion. With lost steps, still disoriented by the voice of his mother, he was naturally brought to the place – as if the demon inside himself wanted blood from the fight happening nearby.

He had never had an experience as the one with the Abyss. He was very aware of demons with psychic powers, able to instill confusion and hallucination in their victims… What he experienced with the Abyss was different.

Was his mother trapped in there? All this time, all alone, in the deepest, most dangerous part of Hell? Years and years in suffering, instead of spreading her beautiful wings as the angel she should’ve become upon giving her life to save Dante…?

Furrowing his eyebrows, Vergil let out an audible huff. He didn’t know what was worse: to believe his mother died trying to save him or that she had been trapped for endless years in the suffering and desolation of Hell.

It was definitely easier to believe she forgot him, saved only Dante and died, watching her beloved younger child from Heaven. Feeling anger was easier than mourning. It was easier than guilt.

Being forgotten was easier than being loved to death.

“Oh, child. Give up already!”

“I can keep going… Demon.”

Vergil immediately paid attention to what was happening in the distance – there he found that stupid little headstrong human who delayed him enough so he lost his chance to enter the Abyss to harness its power… And even to save his mother. He narrowed his eyes, ready to burn all his anger in you.

Until you were hit by a demon and fell on the floor, barely able to get up. They were all laughing, humiliating you. They kicked your sword away from your hands, making you crawl towards it, spitting blood, as they screamed and laughed, telling you to give up.

But, as you did with him, something made you get up and keep on fighting.

Vergil watched in awe as you finally pulled yourself again to your feet and looked at your foes, barely able to hold your silver sword.

It was pride.

The demons attacked you once more and, this time, your eyes couldn’t keep open. You put on your last defense, your last stand. You tried, but you were only human. There was nothing left inside of you and you could only do so much – you could keep your pride, but your physical strength had come to an end. You let go of your sword and allowed yourself the be engulfed by darkness.

Vergil’s hand stopped your bloody body from hitting the floor as the other yielded the Yamato.

“What a shameful thing…” He muttered, lifting his head above the eyes of the demons who stared at him. “Resorting to humiliating a half-dead weak human to feel powerful.” With those words, his hand gently left you on the floor, his feet walking in front of you to take a fighting stance. He couldn’t let you die – not like that. You deserved a better death. You deserved to die by his hands in a fair fight, not humiliated like that. “It’s time to teach you what real power looks like.”

The demons were decimated by the blade of the Yamato – in all that fight, Vergil didn’t touch your body a single time, not even accidentally. If those creatures wanted your blood, they would have to go through him, the son of Sparda. Your death was his, you were his nemesis. No one would touch you.

It took a human to kill a monster. Maybe, one day, his death would be yours as well.

A dark, cloaked figure of a tall man walked with resolute steps under the rain, cradling a frail body in his arms, keeping it from the water and wearing the dark veil of the deep night as protection.

Vergil carried you all the way to the next city – avoiding the looks of those concerned with and helping those who were able to flee and seek shelter nearby. He stayed in the shadows, keeping away from the big groups of volunteers who received injured and lost people – providing food, shelter, warmth and care.

You needed that. You were as good as dead in his arms. Vergil could hear as your breath was barely none, as your heart rate fought to keep you alive. Even in the brink of death, it was as if your body struggled for its own survival.

The hospital wasn’t big, although it was one of the biggest buildings in town. Seeming like an old mansion turned into a public building, Vergil crossed the entrance garden with his strong steps, not hearing much nearby. Most of the staff was probably working on receiving the refugees from your derelict city.

Going up the very few stone steps, he stopped by the door, finally protected from the rain. It was a great wooden door, heavy, adorned with iron, with a single candle keeping some kind of warmth and light in the darkness of that desolate night.

Vergil left you on the floor, ringing the bell on the wall. A woman peeked through the window, immediately initiating a fuss inside – it wouldn’t take long for them to pick you up and start your treatment.

His job was done. You would be alright.

As he was about to leave, Vergil noticed how your lips were already painted with a tinge of purple, your skin too cold for your own sake. Taking off his midnight blue scarf, he wrapped it around your body – it should be enough to keep you alive until the hospital staff took you in.

When the door opened, that strange man wasn’t there anymore. Gone like a shadow, the only one left was that poor person – beaten up, bloodied, bruised… Cozily wrapped around a deep blue scarf.

Respect was implied when one had found their greatest enemy.

To be continued...

#devil may cry #dmc #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfic #devil may cry imagine #dmc imagine #vergil sparda #vergil x reader #vergil x you #long fic #dmc vergil x reader #well well here we are #my first attempt at a long fic :3 #these two are the proudest little things I've ever written in my life #I'M LOVING IT #also yes I thought of that dmc3 scene that Vergil goes 'WHY isn't it working?!' when writing his part xD #so much to unpack about these two <3 #hope to see you next week!

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