FicWad

"Hey, Verg." They'd stopped in some nowhere town, on their way back up through Georgia on the path to its golden isles (though Dante had been betting they'd be a lot like Florida's beaches; not all they were trumped up to be), to get, of all things, gas. There wasn't another stop between the teeny hole in the wall where they presently stood, and a town called Brunswick, and the car was a little low on the go-juice. But, to be honest, all of the driving (and, in Dante's case, riding and hoping he didn't die from Vergil's driving) had left the younger twin antsy. And so, there they were, Vergil futzing with the cover of the gas cap because he was fucking incompetent, Dante bored out of his mind.

"/What/, Dante." It was more than obvious Vergil was in the best mood ever, which made Dante roll his eyes.

"Hey, you know what I heard? I heard we were part Native American." The snort that answered that was somewhat distracted, as Vergil jiggled at the gas cap, obviously cursing it to hell and back mentally as he did so, before Dante shouldered him out of the way. "Fucking idiot, here." With a twist it came off, and Dante waved it back and forth in front of Vergil's scowling face before placing it on the trunk. "Anyway, yeah. Part Native American."

"Uh huh." Vergil folded his arms, giving Dante one of those looks that meant he thought his little brother was retarded. "Oh, really. And just what tribe would that be, little brother, other than one of questionable genetics, if one were to judge by you?"

"Slapaho." It was said with a grin, before Dante reached over and slapped Vergil, as hard as he could on the side of his face, his palm hitting Vergil's cheek with a sickening pop as Vergil jerked sideways with the blow. Oh, he knew he'd get his ass kicked for that, but it was worth it, really, as Vergil stumbled to the side, giving Dante enough time to dart out of his reach and sprint for the little store behind the pumps. No doubt Vergil would follow, but for a few moments, Dante would be pain-free, and that was what mattered, as he jerked the door open with a jingle of bells, and ducked into its dimly-lit interior.

Inside it was dusty, and it seemed half of the lights overhead had burnt out a long time ago, if they weren't flickering in vain to show they could still work if they wanted to. Dante didn't care. He'd been in worse places over the years, anyway, and it wasn't like they'd had a damn choice. One horse places like the town they'd stopped in didn't give a person a whole lot of options, anyway, and so to Dante it just proved how spoiled Vergil was, when he bitched that the pumps weren't equipped for gas cards.

Fucker was too city-fied for his own good, really.

Thus why Dante had volunteered, before the whole 'slapaho' incident, to pay for the gas outright with cash (because actual paper money in one's wallet seemed to be a foreign concept to the elder twin), just to shut him up. Besides, it meant Vergil would be busy with the pump, and God only knew how long that would take because Vergil was retarded, and Dante could have a moment away from him.

And at least, as far as everything in the store, was up to date, and that was all that mattered, as he woefully bypassed the beer (Vergil had threatened to feed Dante his tongue if he indulged) for something with a high caffeine content before making his way back up to the front, where the cashier was engrossed with a potato chip. Admittedly, he figured it was because she was...Rather large (more like ameobic in shape) and kind of gross, but really. He'd never seen a fatty (yes, he thought that term to himself) would be so entranced by something like a potato chip.

Even as he made it to the counter and set his bottle there in front of him, she didn't glance up, still squinting at the chip with beady, piggy little eyes. "Hey." The inbreeding was strong there, if Dante had judged it right. "You look like one'a them educated fellas. S'that look like Jesus to you?" And she held the chip out, for Dante to inspect. "I think I got me one'a them miracle pictures."

Dante, for a moment, was so taken aback he couldn't help but comply, glancing to the chip she held out before shaking himself back to reality. "You know." It was said as he slid the bottle forward, closer to her to get her attention, "Pareidolia isn't a sacred thing. It's demonic. You know, like bleeding statues? That has nothing to do with Heaven. Oh, and I need whatever dumbass out there is pumping in gas."

Outside, Vergil was struggling with the hose attached to the pump. The southern climate had not been kind to the rubber coating of the hose, and the nozzle was simply being beligerent, as he tried his damndest to get it to submit and go /into the gas tank/...Hole...Thingy. It was hard, however, as he almost tripped himself on it and caught himself against the side of the car before turning around, finding a boy, probably around the age of thirteen and obviously inbred, right in his personal area grinning at him with the scariest teeth Vergil had ever laid eyes on.

For someone who regularly dealt with things of a demonic nature, that truly said something.

He shuffled back in horror, arms coming up to his chest in a reflexive and defensive gesture, as he unconsciously squeezed the trigger of the gas nozzle, sending gas splattering to the pavement below. "Gah, what the fuck."

For several long, painful moments, the boy just grinned at him with those /teeth/, scaring the living shit out of Vergil, honestly and completely, before he turned away. "Hey, /Pa/."

Vergil had to wonder who, in that day and age, still called their father 'pa'. It was baffling. And a little disconcerting, when he realized who 'Pa' was. He'd joked about inbred and sweaty, oversized farmers stealing Dante away, and oh, how funny it would have been to see it happen, before Vergil had to do the big brother thing and kill them all for so much as glancing at Dante the wrong way, but when he found himself staring at the living and breathing specimen of his taunts and Dante's nightmares...He wasn't sure how, exactly, he was supposed to react.

"What is it, boy? I told you t'stay in tha truck." And what a truck it was. Or something. Vergil didn't know. He didn't care. He wanted the gross inbred people away from him. That was all that mattered, and they were all coming far too close for comfort.

And he didn't realize he was still squeezing the gas nozzle's trigger, either.

"What is he, Pa?" And with that, the little inbred heathen pointed at Vergil with one long, dirty finger, and God only knew where it had been. He'd heard stories about their kind, yes he had, and he wanted those digits nowhere near him. Even Dante wasn't that dirty.

"What you mean, boy?"

"He's a man, ain't he?" And he was still pointing, as though Vergil couldn't very well hear and see everything they said and did. It was tempting to scare the living hell out of /them/, with his own special little tricks, but he certainly didn't feel like Dante bitching at him about making the locals scream and die of heart attacks. "But he's purdy like a girl, ain't he?"

"What."

"Now what'd I tell you 'bout molestin' them city folk?" Vergil was going to kill them all. He was. The powerful smell of gasoline hit him, suddenly, and sparked an idea, as he released the trigger finally, before managing to get it to the...Hole thingy in the side of the car. Oh, he'd run up the gas price because of it, but Dante was handling that, so it didn't matter, anyway. At least it was one of the ones with the latch, so he could be hands off as it filled the gas tank, as he backed away, to the front driver's window of the car and leant in through the window which, thankfully, was down, finding Yamato and pulling it to him like a security blanket.

Even if he'd never admit that.

Back inside, Dante was waiting on Vergil to finish with the gas, listening to the woman ramble on about some church or another she went to. If one were to ask him, she sounded like one of those crazy snake-handling motherfuckers, though he thought they weren't allowed to wear pants or cut their hair or wear make up, and she had the grossest, most skin-tight pair of jogging pants he'd ever seen on, and eyeshadow so blue, Vergil would have been jealous of the color. Or something. And he wasn't even going to start on how she looked like an eighties reject with the boufant hair.

"An' I tol' Mary Sue Ellen Jesup she needed to pray, because she said the same thing you did. She ain't never been right since she came back from that fancy college over there'n Valdosta, y'know. All that book learnin's done turnt her away from the Lord." Dante's eyes had completely glazed over, before he shook himself and pushed himself upright from where he'd started to slump against the counter.

"You must be one'a them fancy city boys from Atlanta or Jacksonville, huh?"

"Uh, no, I'm from New York." For the moment. That's where his shop was, and that's where he was staying. Well. Once the stupid roadtrip Vergil had dragged him on was over.

"Well that explains it, comin' from that modern day Babylon."

The south was so backward it was almost cute. "Yeah, something like that. Hey, is he done with that gas yet?" Dante glanced out the dirty window, where he could see Vergil replacing the nozzle on the pump with a good bit of struggle.

"Yep, he's done."

And it wasn't much longer, before Dante came out, scowling. He hoped Vergil was happy, because that had effectively cleaned out his wallet/, and he didn't think his car held /that much gas. Of course, all was explained, when he drew near and the smell of it nearly knocked him over. "Vergil."

A hand was clamped over his mouth, though Vergil didn't look at him. "Dante. Put the gas cap back on and get in the car." If Dante was expecting Vergil to explain, he was wrong, and grumbled to himself as he moved to just comply and get it over with.

Vergil, once he heard the car door shut behind Dante, pointed to the gas puddle drifting slowly away from where it had originally started, and said, rather blandly, "Oh my God, does that look like Jesus?" When the yokels (several of which had started to gather because of the 'city folk') turned to look, Vergil turned on his heel and almost ripped the driver side door off climbing in, before fumbling at the dash console and digging out one of the matchbooks with one hand, cranking the car with the other. A foot mashed the brake, as Vergil said, rather offhand, "Dante, be a good boy and shift us out of park, would you?"

Dante gave him a look, but moved to do as he was asked anyway. "What're you doing with that matchbook?"

He got his answer as the match Vergil had torn free caught fire, and after a few moments of holding it to the others, the whole booklet was flaming. "Purging." And with that, his other foot mashed the gas as he released the brake, at the same time tossing the booklet out of the window and shifting beyond first with a squeal of the tires.

Dante, honestly, wasn't all that surprised, even as he moved to turn in his seat as they, honestly, hauled ass out of the parking lot. "Vergil, that's not gonna work." For a moment, it didn't even begin to register how different his brother's driving was at that moment than it normally was, because he was too busy gawking behind them.

Vergil reached over and grabbed him by the back of his pants, yanking him back down into the seat once more. "Buckle in." Dante turned to smart off at him, when a loud, thunderous noise sounded behind them, and the frame of the car shook violently before Dante started scrambling up into the seat once more. The gas station was obscured in a column of orange flame and black smoke, and for a moment, Dante could only gawk, open-mouthed, before slowly letting himself drop back into the seat, staring at Vergil with wide eyes.

"What the fuck." And after a moment, "That better not have fucked up the paint job."



"Hey, Verg." They'd stopped in some nowhere town, on their way back up through Georgia on the path to its golden isles (though Dante had been betting they'd be a lot like Florida's beaches; not all they were trumped up to be), to get, of all things, gas. There wasn't another stop between the teeny hole in the wall where they presently stood, and a town called Brunswick, and the car was a little low on the go-juice. But, to be honest, all of the driving (and, in Dante's case, riding and hoping he didn't die from Vergil's driving) had left the younger twin antsy. And so, there they were, Vergil futzing with the cover of the gas cap because he was fucking incompetent, Dante bored out of his mind.

"/What/, Dante." It was more than obvious Vergil was in the best mood ever, which made Dante roll his eyes.

"Hey, you know what I heard? I heard we were part Native American." The snort that answered that was somewhat distracted, as Vergil jiggled at the gas cap, obviously cursing it to hell and back mentally as he did so, before Dante shouldered him out of the way. "Fucking idiot, here." With a twist it came off, and Dante waved it back and forth in front of Vergil's scowling face before placing it on the trunk. "Anyway, yeah. Part Native American."

"Uh huh." Vergil folded his arms, giving Dante one of those looks that meant he thought his little brother was retarded. "Oh, really. And just what tribe would that be, little brother, other than one of questionable genetics, if one were to judge by you?"

"Slapaho." It was said with a grin, before Dante reached over and slapped Vergil, as hard as he could on the side of his face, his palm hitting Vergil's cheek with a sickening pop as Vergil jerked sideways with the blow. Oh, he knew he'd get his ass kicked for that, but it was worth it, really, as Vergil stumbled to the side, giving Dante enough time to dart out of his reach and sprint for the little store behind the pumps. No doubt Vergil would follow, but for a few moments, Dante would be pain-free, and that was what mattered, as he jerked the door open with a jingle of bells, and ducked into its dimly-lit interior.

Inside it was dusty, and it seemed half of the lights overhead had burnt out a long time ago, if they weren't flickering in vain to show they could still work if they wanted to. Dante didn't care. He'd been in worse places over the years, anyway, and it wasn't like they'd had a damn choice. One horse places like the town they'd stopped in didn't give a person a whole lot of options, anyway, and so to Dante it just proved how spoiled Vergil was, when he bitched that the pumps weren't equipped for gas cards.

Fucker was too city-fied for his own good, really.

Thus why Dante had volunteered, before the whole 'slapaho' incident, to pay for the gas outright with cash (because actual paper money in one's wallet seemed to be a foreign concept to the elder twin), just to shut him up. Besides, it meant Vergil would be busy with the pump, and God only knew how long that would take because Vergil was retarded, and Dante could have a moment away from him.

And at least, as far as everything in the store, was up to date, and that was all that mattered, as he woefully bypassed the beer (Vergil had threatened to feed Dante his tongue if he indulged) for something with a high caffeine content before making his way back up to the front, where the cashier was engrossed with a potato chip. Admittedly, he figured it was because she was...Rather large (more like ameobic in shape) and kind of gross, but really. He'd never seen a fatty (yes, he thought that term to himself) would be so entranced by something like a potato chip.

Even as he made it to the counter and set his bottle there in front of him, she didn't glance up, still squinting at the chip with beady, piggy little eyes. "Hey." The inbreeding was strong there, if Dante had judged it right. "You look like one'a them educated fellas. S'that look like Jesus to you?" And she held the chip out, for Dante to inspect. "I think I got me one'a them miracle pictures."

Dante, for a moment, was so taken aback he couldn't help but comply, glancing to the chip she held out before shaking himself back to reality. "You know." It was said as he slid the bottle forward, closer to her to get her attention, "Pareidolia isn't a sacred thing. It's demonic. You know, like bleeding statues? That has nothing to do with Heaven. Oh, and I need whatever dumbass out there is pumping in gas."

Outside, Vergil was struggling with the hose attached to the pump. The southern climate had not been kind to the rubber coating of the hose, and the nozzle was simply being beligerent, as he tried his damndest to get it to submit and go /into the gas tank/...Hole...Thingy. It was hard, however, as he almost tripped himself on it and caught himself against the side of the car before turning around, finding a boy, probably around the age of thirteen and obviously inbred, right in his personal area grinning at him with the scariest teeth Vergil had ever laid eyes on.

For someone who regularly dealt with things of a demonic nature, that truly said something.

He shuffled back in horror, arms coming up to his chest in a reflexive and defensive gesture, as he unconsciously squeezed the trigger of the gas nozzle, sending gas splattering to the pavement below. "Gah, what the fuck."

For several long, painful moments, the boy just grinned at him with those /teeth/, scaring the living shit out of Vergil, honestly and completely, before he turned away. "Hey, /Pa/."

Vergil had to wonder who, in that day and age, still called their father 'pa'. It was baffling. And a little disconcerting, when he realized who 'Pa' was. He'd joked about inbred and sweaty, oversized farmers stealing Dante away, and oh, how funny it would have been to see it happen, before Vergil had to do the big brother thing and kill them all for so much as glancing at Dante the wrong way, but when he found himself staring at the living and breathing specimen of his taunts and Dante's nightmares...He wasn't sure how, exactly, he was supposed to react.

"What is it, boy? I told you t'stay in tha truck." And what a truck it was. Or something. Vergil didn't know. He didn't care. He wanted the gross inbred people away from him. That was all that mattered, and they were all coming far too close for comfort.

And he didn't realize he was still squeezing the gas nozzle's trigger, either.

"What is he, Pa?" And with that, the little inbred heathen pointed at Vergil with one long, dirty finger, and God only knew where it had been. He'd heard stories about their kind, yes he had, and he wanted those digits nowhere near him. Even Dante wasn't that dirty.

"What you mean, boy?"

"He's a man, ain't he?" And he was still pointing, as though Vergil couldn't very well hear and see everything they said and did. It was tempting to scare the living hell out of /them/, with his own special little tricks, but he certainly didn't feel like Dante bitching at him about making the locals scream and die of heart attacks. "But he's purdy like a girl, ain't he?"

"What."

"Now what'd I tell you 'bout molestin' them city folk?" Vergil was going to kill them all. He was. The powerful smell of gasoline hit him, suddenly, and sparked an idea, as he released the trigger finally, before managing to get it to the...Hole thingy in the side of the car. Oh, he'd run up the gas price because of it, but Dante was handling that, so it didn't matter, anyway. At least it was one of the ones with the latch, so he could be hands off as it filled the gas tank, as he backed away, to the front driver's window of the car and leant in through the window which, thankfully, was down, finding Yamato and pulling it to him like a security blanket.

Even if he'd never admit that.

Back inside, Dante was waiting on Vergil to finish with the gas, listening to the woman ramble on about some church or another she went to. If one were to ask him, she sounded like one of those crazy snake-handling motherfuckers, though he thought they weren't allowed to wear pants or cut their hair or wear make up, and she had the grossest, most skin-tight pair of jogging pants he'd ever seen on, and eyeshadow so blue, Vergil would have been jealous of the color. Or something. And he wasn't even going to start on how she looked like an eighties reject with the boufant hair.

"An' I tol' Mary Sue Ellen Jesup she needed to pray, because she said the same thing you did. She ain't never been right since she came back from that fancy college over there'n Valdosta, y'know. All that book learnin's done turnt her away from the Lord." Dante's eyes had completely glazed over, before he shook himself and pushed himself upright from where he'd started to slump against the counter.

"You must be one'a them fancy city boys from Atlanta or Jacksonville, huh?"

"Uh, no, I'm from New York." For the moment. That's where his shop was, and that's where he was staying. Well. Once the stupid roadtrip Vergil had dragged him on was over.

"Well that explains it, comin' from that modern day Babylon."

The south was so backward it was almost cute. "Yeah, something like that. Hey, is he done with that gas yet?" Dante glanced out the dirty window, where he could see Vergil replacing the nozzle on the pump with a good bit of struggle.

"Yep, he's done."

And it wasn't much longer, before Dante came out, scowling. He hoped Vergil was happy, because that had effectively cleaned out his wallet/, and he didn't think his car held /that much gas. Of course, all was explained, when he drew near and the smell of it nearly knocked him over. "Vergil."

A hand was clamped over his mouth, though Vergil didn't look at him. "Dante. Put the gas cap back on and get in the car." If Dante was expecting Vergil to explain, he was wrong, and grumbled to himself as he moved to just comply and get it over with.

Vergil, once he heard the car door shut behind Dante, pointed to the gas puddle drifting slowly away from where it had originally started, and said, rather blandly, "Oh my God, does that look like Jesus?" When the yokels (several of which had started to gather because of the 'city folk') turned to look, Vergil turned on his heel and almost ripped the driver side door off climbing in, before fumbling at the dash console and digging out one of the matchbooks with one hand, cranking the car with the other. A foot mashed the brake, as Vergil said, rather offhand, "Dante, be a good boy and shift us out of park, would you?"

Dante gave him a look, but moved to do as he was asked anyway. "What're you doing with that matchbook?"

He got his answer as the match Vergil had torn free caught fire, and after a few moments of holding it to the others, the whole booklet was flaming. "Purging." And with that, his other foot mashed the gas as he released the brake, at the same time tossing the booklet out of the window and shifting beyond first with a squeal of the tires.

Dante, honestly, wasn't all that surprised, even as he moved to turn in his seat as they, honestly, hauled ass out of the parking lot. "Vergil, that's not gonna work." For a moment, it didn't even begin to register how different his brother's driving was at that moment than it normally was, because he was too busy gawking behind them.

Vergil reached over and grabbed him by the back of his pants, yanking him back down into the seat once more. "Buckle in." Dante turned to smart off at him, when a loud, thunderous noise sounded behind them, and the frame of the car shook violently before Dante started scrambling up into the seat once more. The gas station was obscured in a column of orange flame and black smoke, and for a moment, Dante could only gawk, open-mouthed, before slowly letting himself drop back into the seat, staring at Vergil with wide eyes.

"What the fuck." And after a moment, "That better not have fucked up the paint job."