Why Would I Care?
Why?
If there had been any differences between us other than the obvious side of color and hair, no one would notice them just by looking at us. Dante was Dante and I was myself, there was no changing that. The only people that knew we were so different were ourselves, the only people that could truly tell us apart was each other. So why did I get so anxious when I was away from him?
It started around when we were ten. God it was the most horrifying time of my life. I don't remember ever feeling so... dead.
Dante had gone out swimming with some of his friends, friends that didn't like me because I liked books. I chose my friends wisely, Dante... was too open minded. Of course, father had let him go, he had always liked Dante making so many friends, had always encouraged him to be more open and fun. He was also led to believe that there would be adult supervision where they were going. However, kids will be kids, and they lied. There were no parents at the pond, just a couple of teenagers that were babysitting my little brother and his friends. I remember their faces... I remember their tears.
We didn't know anything bad would happen!
Is he even old enough to know how to use that sword?!
That thing is taller than he is!
We're sorry Vergil, really!
Dante had slipped on a rock, lost his footing, got caught in the tangle of weeds by the shore. I could feel his heartbeat... could hear his screams, his drowning, water muffled screams. I could feel the fear, sense the insanity of the moment that he thought would be his last. Though it is incredibly hard to kill a half demon, neither Dante, nor myself for that matter, knew what we were. He passed out in the pond. His friends, the teenagers; they all thought he was dead.
Of course, I thought it was all a dream. I had fallen asleep in my father's library, reading again, something trivial and childish. Dante had never really been a star in many of my dreams, only a few and nothing like this. I had thought I saw myself drowning... not my brother. God I remember being frightened that it was myself screaming and flailing and finally just going blank. I woke up when there was peace and my father had shaken me awake to join them for dinner. Dante wasn't there.
“Where's Dante?” I had asked, gazing at the place that he usually sat at for dinner, the table not set for him, plate missing, usual batman decorated cup not in it's place.
Mother and Father exchanged glances then father looked down at me. “He's still with his friends, we called their parents a while ago, they said that they were still out.” A strong, firm hand rested on my shoulder. For some reason, it was not reassuring. “Worried about your brother Vergil?”
I realized then that it had not been myself drowning in that horrible dream that I had, but my own twin brother. Horror racked through me and I did the only thing that I could. I stood, and ran from the house, ran toward where I could vaguely feel my brother's presence, ran until I saw the faint glow of silver hair and red swim trunks in the water, swam until I had my brother back on shore. I checked his pulse, pumped his chest, breathed so he could breath but nothing would work. Why did I care?!
Even father couldn't tear me away from him.
It had taken a few hours for Dante to regain consciousness. I wouldn't let them take him away from me. In the ambulance, in the hospital. I had to be touching some part of him. Even if it was a link between our fingers, I had to know that Dante was still warm. I had to know he was still breathing. To be honest, I'm still not exactly sure why. I just know that there had to be something between us, small physical contact to reassure his being. The nurse even helped me crawl onto the hospital bed with him.
And I waited for a long time.
Then waited some more
And waited more.
And waited.
Waited...
I remember crying when he smiled at me.
It started around when we were ten. God it was the most horrifying time of my life. I don't remember ever feeling so... dead.
Dante had gone out swimming with some of his friends, friends that didn't like me because I liked books. I chose my friends wisely, Dante... was too open minded. Of course, father had let him go, he had always liked Dante making so many friends, had always encouraged him to be more open and fun. He was also led to believe that there would be adult supervision where they were going. However, kids will be kids, and they lied. There were no parents at the pond, just a couple of teenagers that were babysitting my little brother and his friends. I remember their faces... I remember their tears.
We didn't know anything bad would happen!
Is he even old enough to know how to use that sword?!
That thing is taller than he is!
We're sorry Vergil, really!
Dante had slipped on a rock, lost his footing, got caught in the tangle of weeds by the shore. I could feel his heartbeat... could hear his screams, his drowning, water muffled screams. I could feel the fear, sense the insanity of the moment that he thought would be his last. Though it is incredibly hard to kill a half demon, neither Dante, nor myself for that matter, knew what we were. He passed out in the pond. His friends, the teenagers; they all thought he was dead.
Of course, I thought it was all a dream. I had fallen asleep in my father's library, reading again, something trivial and childish. Dante had never really been a star in many of my dreams, only a few and nothing like this. I had thought I saw myself drowning... not my brother. God I remember being frightened that it was myself screaming and flailing and finally just going blank. I woke up when there was peace and my father had shaken me awake to join them for dinner. Dante wasn't there.
“Where's Dante?” I had asked, gazing at the place that he usually sat at for dinner, the table not set for him, plate missing, usual batman decorated cup not in it's place.
Mother and Father exchanged glances then father looked down at me. “He's still with his friends, we called their parents a while ago, they said that they were still out.” A strong, firm hand rested on my shoulder. For some reason, it was not reassuring. “Worried about your brother Vergil?”
I realized then that it had not been myself drowning in that horrible dream that I had, but my own twin brother. Horror racked through me and I did the only thing that I could. I stood, and ran from the house, ran toward where I could vaguely feel my brother's presence, ran until I saw the faint glow of silver hair and red swim trunks in the water, swam until I had my brother back on shore. I checked his pulse, pumped his chest, breathed so he could breath but nothing would work. Why did I care?!
Even father couldn't tear me away from him.
It had taken a few hours for Dante to regain consciousness. I wouldn't let them take him away from me. In the ambulance, in the hospital. I had to be touching some part of him. Even if it was a link between our fingers, I had to know that Dante was still warm. I had to know he was still breathing. To be honest, I'm still not exactly sure why. I just know that there had to be something between us, small physical contact to reassure his being. The nurse even helped me crawl onto the hospital bed with him.
And I waited for a long time.
Then waited some more
And waited more.
And waited.
Waited...
I remember crying when he smiled at me.