Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Lady, you’ve been back for three weeks! Where is Dante?!” You tried very hard not to yell into the phone. “The whole town is destroyed. I am NOT AN IDIOT. What aren’t you telling me?”

A less-than-patient sigh came from the phone. “I told you. He went to battle his douche-bag brother, Nero followed him but came back alone. Then that demonic tree crumbled and disappeared, and Nero’s not talking. That’s all know. I’m not lying to you. That jerk still has my rocket launcher and I want it back.”

“What about Nico? Come on, somebody knows where he is.”

“What, you think we left him there?” Her voice was tense, like a bow string about to break.

“NO, but…, “ somebody had to know. “He can’t just be gone. He wouldn’t do that.”

“When it comes to Vergil…”

Lady let the sentence hang there. She didn’t need to go on. Vergil was the one person Dante would drop everything for. To find. To Fight. To kill. The air around you felt like a hundred pound blanket, suffocating you. Vergil was the only explanation. Only, according to Lady, Vergil had appeared and then went missing too.

That’s why Nero was holed up, refusing to see anyone. He’d learned Vergil was his father. Dante had shared that with you years ago, but since he thought… you all thought… Vergil was dead, he never told Nero. “What the point of breaking that kid’s heart?” Dante’d asked you, when you tried to argue that Nero deserved to know.

“You're his uncle. That’s more family than he’s ever had.”

Dante couldn’t be moved. He could be rigidly stubborn where his family was concerned. “He’s better off the way he is. Being part of this family is no picnic.” You only managed to get one concession from him. “I guess I better make sure he doesn’t lose the Yamato,” is what he told you, when he finally agreed to at least keep tabs on Nero.

You’d met Dante just after the Fortuna cult had been wiped out. You didn’t learn much about that for a few years, until after you grew closer. You didn’t know how important it was at the time, otherwise you would have paid more attention to the details. Now, he never talked about any of it anymore, after you finally understood everything. About his mother. About Vergil.

Nero was the only thing about Dante that you didn’t fully understand, even after all this time. Without any fanfare, and without telling you at all, you who’d pushed him to get to know Nero, he’d given a few things to Nero over the years. Brought Nero in on the business, even if it was in the ten-foot-pole kind of way. A fact you only found out after Dante left for this last job. When he’d first been gone for weeks with no word, no sign of Lady or Trish, you got desperate enough to call Morrison.

Morrison told you not to worry, it was a big job, he’d brought in all the big guns, including Nero.

“Nero? Dante let Nero come on one of his jobs?”

“Lord no. I had to call the kid myself. Dante... disagreed… but we needed the full crew on this one.”

“Morrison.” You gathered your growing irritation. “How long has Nero been ‘part of the crew’.”

“Oh, let’s see. A few years back, I think it was, when Dante gave him the sign for the business. The kid needed something for his van. Good advertising.”

You had to bite your tongue for a good ten seconds. Of all the things Dante kept to himself, why the hell would this be one of them? “Which sign was that? Dante had a few in the basement. I wouldn’t even know if one was missing.”

Morrison chuckled. “Oh, the blue one with the fancy letters. Easy to read going down the road.”

You knew the one. You remembered the night Dante came up from the basement with a “box full of junk”, he called it. That sign was poking out the top. When you asked about it, all he said was, “Blue’s not my color.” It was the most you’d ever seen him clean up, which should have been a clue.

“So, how long is this job gonna take, if you had to guess?”

Morrison clammed up after that. “Nice talking to you, as always.”

And that was the last you heard from Morrison or any of the crew. Until three weeks ago, when everyone came back. Except Dante.

Morrison was unreachable. Trish, well you never knew how to get a hold of Trish. Which just left Lady. And she’d already told you as much as she was going to. But you were desperate.

“Then I’m going to find Nero.”

“That’s not a good idea…” Lady sounded almost concerned.

“I don’t care. He’s the one who saw him last.”

“He’s not going to talk to you. He won’t talk to any of us.”

“Then he’s going to get over himself. I’m not leaving until I know, even if I have to…” you glanced behind yourself, zeroing in on the weapon you needed.

“... have to what? Listen, whatever you’re gonna do, don’t do it.”

You hung up. You knew one way to get a Sparda to respond. They never backed down from a fight.

Dante had, over the years, amassed a ridiculously large arsenal of demonic items. Weapons, not the least among them. When you first moved in with him, he gave a rundown of which ones were dangerous, and which ones were really, totally, I’m-not-kidding-don’t-ever-touch-this dangerous. He kept nearly all of it in a huge ramshackle wooden bookcase with dusty glass doors. No rhyme or reason to his storage system, he just crammed everything in that case. On the wall, though, he hung up special trophies. Things that meant something to him, even if they were only bitter reminders.

You walked over to the wall and pulled down a very intricately carved small-sword. You remember Dante had paused over it, when he was first explaining what not to touch. All he’d said, after he moved on, was that it was one of the first he’d collected. You knew, now, that he’d started this business right before he’d lost Vergil. The first time he’d lost Vergil. This sword might have had something to do with that.

You weighed it in your grip, spinning it in an arc from your wrist. Perfectly balanced. You did a basic thrust and parry, and a final slash, satisfied you could keep it seated in your hands long enough to do what you needed to do. Right now, this sword was your best chance for finding out what happened to Dante.

You grabbed your leather jacket and strapped the sword to your back like you’d seen Dante do a hundred times. Then you grabbed the keys to his red motorcycle, revving it to a roar after nearly two months of neglect, and burned rubber out of the alley behind your building. It was a long ride to Fortuna, and you need to figure out how to get a hard headed, overpowered half breed pissed-off enough to start talking.

Nero knew everything that you knew, now, about his father. About Dante being his uncle. His mostly absent uncle. However, you didn’t know if he knew about you. It seemed a safe bet the answer was no. Dante talked a lot, but was tight lipped about the important things. You could use that to your advantage.

Chapter Text

It was nearly the witching hour when you rolled into town under a full moon. Shadows spun from everywhere, and to your eye, they all pointed the same direction. You pulled up next to a huge, cracked fountain in what used to be a pavilion. Dandelions and miniature moonflowers bloomed in the rifts of the concrete circle that once contained a large fountain pool. You remembered it from the news footage. You took off your helmet, looking for the building that should be nearby, a four story villa whose courtyard faced this fountain. Or what was left of it.

A crow flapped overhead and dipped low into a blown out shell of a building. The structure no longer had a front wall, and a third of it was falling in on itself, ending in a pile of rubble at one edge. A six foot orange construction fence surrounded it, as if the plastic could contain the glaring trauma the home had seen.

Your heart squeezed. Dante had been here. This was part of the wreckage he’d left behind without a backwards glance.

A single moonlit walkway guided you to a gate in the fence, and you picked your way through the huge chunks of rebar and cinder-block towards the villa. You heard eerie creaks and groans of protest carried on the breeze, as if the building itself were ashamed at being seen.

Like the fountain, nature had found its way inside the orange fence as well. Vines grew up the sides of what still stood, and exposed tree roots showed where a garden had once been, and was trying to be again. In the face of such determination, you nearly lost your own. Nero deserved to be left alone. If only you could.

You texted Lady. “Tell Nico she can find something of Vergil’s in the middle of town. Tell her, if they want it, they’ll have to come get it.”

Lady texted back almost immediately. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We’ll see. Will you give them that message, exactly?”

“Your funeral.”

It wouldn’t come to that. Nero was a hot head, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

You climbed one stable-enough pile of rubble to what used to be the first floor. After a moment, you found a spot in a dark corner, shaded from the moonlight, and sat down on the cold concrete to wait.

Enough time passed you started to wonder if he’d come at all. What would you do then? Dante would have just waited outside Nero’s door. “Hey kid, you too chicken to fight or what?”

As you were wishing for the tenth time that your ass didn’t already hurt from the long ride, never mind the concrete, you heard tires squealing in the distance. Two headlights raced down the main drag, coming from the opposite way you’d entered the city. The van, with the sign Morrison had told you about in plain sight, flew past where you’d parked Dante’s bike. A split second later it screeched to a halt and slammed into reverse, stopping with a spray of gravel next to the bike.

Nico, you assumed, since you’d never met her, hopped down from the driver’s side and over to Dante’s bike, hands on her hips. From your vantage point, you could hear voices carried on the wind.

“Well don’t ask me, but if it don’t belong to your deadbeat family, this shiny beast is coming home with me,” she yelled over her shoulder. “And don’t you argue none. You owe me.” She ran her hands along the bike’s curves in a lustful caress.

“Whatever.” A young man grumbled and drug ass around the hood of the van.

Your breath caught. Dante said there was too much resemblance to not be related, but you’d never have imagined this. He looked just like Dante, younger of course, and with shorter hair… but that face. You could see the reflection of ice blue eyes from here, and the same determined set of his jaw. Briefly, you wondered about his mother and if he inherited any features at all from her, because you saw nothing but his uncle. It was uncanny.

Nico pulled herself away from the bike, with some visible effort and more than one backwards glance. “So, where exactly is the center of town now, anyway?” She waived an arm around. “Used to be somewhere over there, but... “ she looked skeptically towards where you waited in shadows, “nothing’s left over there now.”

You pulled the short sword and stabbed it forcefully down in front of you, letting it glint in the moonlight. The small crack of impact echoed off the walls around you, and below.

Nico looked around, following the sound, but Nero pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at the sword. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but you’re gonna regret messing with me tonight.”

You smiled. He had his uncle’s manners, too. You stood and let yourself be seen in the moonlight, both hands solidly ahold of the hilt. You kept the moon to your back, face shrouded in shadow. You called down. “This was your father’s, when he was about your age. Thought you might like to see what it can do.”

Nico reached a hand towards Nero’s shoulder, but he kicked a leg back and dropped into a sprint. He hurdled the fountain and slid over the far side, skidding to a halt a hundred feet from the edge of the villa, nearly faster than you could step back fully into the shadows.

“Why don’t you just toss it down here, before I come up there and show you what I can do.”

According to Dante, that was quite a lot. “Kid needs training, but he packs one helluva punch,” he’d said, one of the few times he’d shared details about Nero, and Fortuna.

“Hey, by the way, If you stole my uncle’s bike, you and I are gonna have a serious problem.” Nero had holstered his gun, and put both hands on his hips, glaring upwards with a squint.

“Dante wasn’t there to stop me,” You projected, letting your voice reverberate. “You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

Nero narrowed his eyes and reached over his shoulder, pulling out his own sword. “Who are you, anyway?”

You just laughed. Dante hated when demon’s laughed at him, and you were betting Nero was the same. You heard a frustrated growl, the crunch of gravel, and then you had to cover your eyes as a blinding blue-ish glow appeared in the air in front of you. You heard a thud, and raised the sword in reflexive parry, still partially blinded.

Your sword collided with steel, pushing you back. You dug in, but slid in the dust before coming to a stop. Your wrist throbbed already from the force of the blow. You knew from training with Dante that blow was barely any effort on Nero’s part. Only an opening move.

You ducked under the crossed swords and spun in, letting the weight of Nero’s arm onto your shoulder. He stepped back and shoved you away, keeping the blade out of range of his ribs where you’d aimed. You weren’t worried about hurting him, you’d never done any lasting damage to Dante.

“Is that all you got? I’m disappointed. Here I thought my father had better taste in weapons.”

Every time Dante had ever warned you about not touching anything in his hall of weapons, he’d been very clear about one single thing. “No matter what happens, don’t bleed on them.”

You’d scoffed. “How would I accidentally bleed on them? They’re six feet off the ground.”

He shrugged. “Blood splatters, trust me,” was all he answered.

You took your left hand off the pommel and held it out flat, palm up. In a quick motion, you sliced the sword down and through, then stopped with the sword embedded a half inch into your hand. You felt the ripple of pain go through you, and it only intensified as the carvings on the sword began to glow. You nearly dropped to one knee as the sword leeched the blood from your hand, body beginning to shake with pain. Your vision started to blur, and with great effort, you pulled the sword from your palm and swung it around upright in your remaining good hand.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the blood filling the design in seconds, closing the outer loop and emitting a high pitched ringing whine. As if it wanted more.

Nero dropped his sword a foot lower, watching yours. “That’s looks more like it,” he said, with disgust. Then he met your eye. “You sure you wanna do this?” He dropped one hand from his sword and swung it in a single arc. “I could handicap myself, to make it fair, but you started it.” He brought his free hand back to his sword, up and ready to begin again.

Fighting wasn’t what you wanted from him. Talking was. “You sound like Dante,” You said, putting yourself into a low fighting stance. You clenched your bleeding fist, trying to ignore the burning pain.

He took one aggressive step forward, sword leveled at your head. “What do you know about it anyway?”

“Dante wanted this sword.” You sidestepped slowly. “As a memorial to your father.” You took another slow sidestep, which Nero mirrored exactly.

Nero came at you so fast it was sheer will that you raised the sword in time to block. But he pushed closer until he was only a few inches from your face, only the two swords between you.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Who. Are. You?” he ground out, pushing down with each word until your knees began to buckle.

You forced a grin onto your face. “A trade then. I’ll tell you who I am, if you tell me where he is.”

Nero retreated immediately, spinning away then jabbing the tip of his sword into the ground, breathing heavily, but not from exertion.

“I don’t know,” he spat.

But he looked away when he said it. A lie. Anger bubbled inside you, rushing to the surface. He knew. You forgot about your bleeding hand and grabbed the sword with both, raising it with a scream of rage.

Nero raised his in a flash, but before you could swing, he stopped, frozen, eyes wide.

You looked up at the ten smaller, quivering golden swords hovering above you and pointed at Nero. You looked back at him, and you felt the swords above following your movement, as clearly as you felt the blood throbbing out of your hand into the pommel. You gritted your teeth, anger raging inside you, as furious as it had been sudden. And then you knew, You could send them into him as easily and quickly as he could push his into you. You could taste the tang of bitter victory, as if this were a fight to the death.

You saw the moment Nero knew it too, when it crossed his eyes. You saw him consider it, relish it, for a mere moment. Then a shadow came over his eyes, and his shoulders sagged just the tiniest fraction. He didn’t lower his sword, but rather kept it pointed at you. “I’ve only seen two other people who could do that. You’re the third.”

You could see it pained him to do it, but he sheathed his sword. You struggled to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to run him through, but something about his hunched shoulders made it through your red haze. You gritted your teeth, forced your sword to the floor then tore your hand away from the pommel, removing it’s source of blood. You felt when the swords disappeared from above your head, like cool air rushing into starving lungs. You breathed in gasps. This time, you did drop to your knees.

Nero lurched forward, grabbing you by your shoulders and hauling you upright. “Hey now, don’t go passing out on me before you tell me who you are.”

Your head felt heavy on your shoulders. “Tell me where Dante is.”

He stiffened, but didn’t drop you. Then he let out a lengthy sigh. “You might as well come back to my place. You look like shit.”

That’s how you felt. You let him drop a shoulder under one arm and hoist you fully upright. You were able to walk with him, but slowly, and he matched your pace. “Nico can try to fix your hand.” He had to realize by now you didn’t heal like he did, but he didn’t ask any more questions.

Nico was waiting, took one look at you, then darted around for the sword. “This it? What a beauty!” She pulled it from your sheath and held it out in front of her. She studied it for several moments, then gave you a considering look. “You said this was Vergil’s?”

You nodded.

Nero huffed. “Never mind whose it was. Open van the door. We’re going back to my place.”

Nico ran around and opened the door, and Nero helped you inside. “Hey, why dontcha drive the van back. I’ll take the bike.” She rubbed her hands in anticipation.

Nero’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The way you drive? Dante’d kill me if you wrecked that bike.”

Nico started walking towards the back of the van. “If he ever comes back. Which he hasn’t. Yet.”

Nero followed her, and you heard their voices as they argued. You let your eyes droop closed. “I’m driving the bike. You take the van. At least if you crash nobody will be more pissed than you are.”

Nico laughed. “Fine.” She drummed her hands against the side of the van. “Nobody messes with my workshop except me.” She hopped in the driver’s side and slammed the door. You felt her look you over, even with your eyes closed.

She put the key in the ignition and turned it half a crank, just enough to turn on the power. Then she leaned towards you. “Just so’s you know. After you and Nero work out whatever business you got, you’re gonna tell me where you really got this. Or I’m gonna tell Nero the truth about it.”

Chapter Text

You opened one eye. “So, it’s not Vergil’s?”

Nico gave you the side-eye. “Looks kinda like the swords my daddy made for the Knights of the Order, only smaller. And older. No way Vergil used this while he still had Yamato.” Nico considered, then pointed at you with a bemused grin. “But, you knew that already.”

You let your eye close. “I knew it might not be Vergil’s.”

Nico humphed, then started the van, the speed pushing you back into the seat. “Well, you got Nero out of the house, and he’s arguing with me again, so I guess that’s fine by me.” She lit a cigarette and you rolled down the window. She glanced over and chuckled. “Huh. One of these days I gotta get me a passenger that appreciates good tobacco.” 

You were content to ride in silence, but Nico wasn’t.

“I don’t mean to creep you out or nuthin’, but are ’ya supposed to have black veins creeping up your hands?”

That got your attention. You looked down, raising both hands towards the windshield, using the moonlight to get a better look. They felt stiff and sore, which could have been the brief sword battle with Nero, but a few flexes told you otherwise. 

Your veins had popped to the surface, and now that you paid attention, they felt like someone had replaced them with silicone tubes. Your skin stretched painfully with each flex of your wrist, and as you watched, the blackness crept slowly towards your wrist. You flipped your left palm over, checking the wound. It, too, appeared black, but sealed, crusted over and no longer bleeding.

Nico snorted. “I take it the answer’s no. You better let me have a look at that. But, you know, later on, after you explain to Nero why you jerked his ass out of a perfectly good sulk in the middle of the night.” She whooped. “Looking forward to that one!” Then she glanced back over at your hands. “Unless that starts moving faster.” She shook her head. “Another demonic sword. I’m getting a real collection started.”

You let your hands fall back to your lap and closed your eyes again. They were a problem you’d worry about later. You let your head relax to one side and settled back into your seat. “Dante will want that sword back.”

You heard Nico suck in a quick breath, but blissfully, she stayed silent.

Not nearly long enough later, the van screeched to a bone crunching halt. If the van were a cartoon, it would have looked like an accordion. You opened your eyes and reached for the door, giving the surroundings a quick glance before hopping out. Nico’d parked in a large, well used garage, walls lined with tools and boxes piled with odds and ends.

Dante’s bike was already parked in the far back, next to a door. Behind you, the corrugated metal garage door ground shut with a rusty groan. You glanced at Nico. “How’d Nero beat you here?”

Nico gave the bike a look of desire, then snorted. “He calls me crazy, but takes one to know one, my momma always said.” She glanced back at you, features softening for just a second. “You need any help? Getting inside and all?”

You rolled your shoulders and neck, and flexed your hands. Still painful. “I’m fine. Just needed a nap.”

Nico rolled her eyes at you. “Well, follow me then. But hey, try to keep it down. The kids are sleepin’.”

You paused. “Kids?” Dante hadn’t mentioned kids, just an orphanage, which this didn’t look like.

“Yeah, Kyrie’s a softie. Some of the hard luck cases, she brings ‘em home like strays.”

Your heart gave another squeeze. What if Dante and his brother had someone like that when they needed it? How much different would their lives be now? You knew what Dante said about it. “Always did what I wanted when I wanted. Lived by my own rules, and that’s the way I like it.” But you also knew he still kept the picture of his mother in his desk drawer. On top, where he could always see it.

Kids meant Nero was a surrogate father of sorts. Maybe Dante’d been right about keeping Nero in the dark about his ‘real’ family. He seemed to be doing ok here.

You didn’t have much time to consider that further. As soon as you walked in the door, Nero pushed himself off the counter he’d been leaning on, waiting, and pointed at you. “You. Sit. Start talking.”

Nico continued through another door that led out of the kitchen. “Well, that’s my cue to high tail it. You kids play nice.”

You sat at the small, two-seat breakfast table that folded out from the wall. The kitchen itself wasn’t big enough for much more than Nero, the table and yourself. But everything was clean, everything had a place, and looked well-used. Unlike your huge, dilapidated kitchen at home. “That’s what take-out was invented for,” Dante’d said after you asked, once, why he didn’t have a working stove. You’d let it go. Dante didn’t want a home. Too many bad memories. You could understand that.

Nero, though. He had a home. And a family of sorts. You studied him as he watched you, arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently. First thing you’d seen him do that didn’t remind you of his uncle. Dante didn’t wait for anything he wanted long enough to get impatient.

You almost smiled as an errant thought ran through your head, “You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you here tonight…” You weren't going to open with that, but it made you relax. “A little joke never hurt anybody,” Dante would say. You let the tension flow out of you, and did your best to ignore the pressure coming from your hands. “We had a deal. Who I am for what you know.”

Nero scoffed. “You seem to know a lot about my family already.”

You inclined your head in agreement. “I do.” 

You paused, then played a gamble. “If it helps, I did try to convince Dante to tell you sooner. But he’s a stubborn ass, when he wants to be.”

Nero barked out a laugh, despite himself, then returned to the serious face.

“So, it’s just me then. Everybody keeps me in the dark. I have this family I knew nothing about, and what a helluva way to find out.” He scowled. “But you. You know Lady, otherwise this little setup wouldn’t have happened. So that probably means you know Trish. And now you’ve met Nico and me.” He tossed up his hands. “Wonderful. Except I never heard shit about you. So either you’re so important you’re still some big secret, or you’re just Dante’s food delivery service.” He crossed his arms again. “But I’m bettin’ it’s not that.”

“I’m not either one.”

“Oh, I think you are. They only keep the big stuff from me. Like who my father is. You must be the biggest secret in the world, but only to me.” His eyes got wide for a fraction of a second while he gave you a quick, but thorough, head to toe. He darted forward and grabbed your hands. “Hey, what the fuck is this?” He tightened his grip and lifted your arms up by the wrists to get a closer look.

It hurt. You ground out the only answer you knew. “The sword.”

He dropped your hands and stepped back, arms crossed once again. ‘Shit. I can’t tell if that,” he waved at your hands, “makes it more or less likely that you’re a demon, even though you don't look like much of one.”

You shook your head. “I’m not.” Then you caught his eye and flashed your best charming smile. “I think you know it, or you wouldn’t have brought me back here. I’m not strong enough, I don’t heal fast enough, and I smell much better.”

He gave a huff, but nodded. “You still didn’t answer the question, though.”

“And you haven’t answered mine.”

“So, what, a stalemate?”

No, definitely not. You hadn’t come all this way to leave without getting what you came for. You held up your hands. “I’ll start. I know how hard it is for you Spardas to share.”

He started to protest, but shut up. “You got me there. They don’t.”

“My name is Jericho. I met Dante about seven years ago.” You looked away, half smiling in sudden nostalgia. “Couple years after you met him.” But, now that you were on the spot, what else did you really want to share about your private life? “We met at work, you might say, hit it off and… well…” 

Nero raised a brow. “You expect me to believe you met at work? What, was there some demon hunting convention I didn’t know about?” He muttered. “Probably was, wouldn’t surprise me. Kept in the dark about that too.”

“No. Well, not that I know of.” You snapped your focus back. “Doesn’t matter what I do for a living. What matters is that I might not be family like you are, but Dante is…he’s the most important person in my life.” You stood, trying hard to remain cool, but feeling your control slip. “The last time I saw him, two months ago, he was walking out the door. Told me he figured he’d be back in a week. I waited. A month ago, Morrison told me you were all still on that job…”

He interrupted in a spasm of anger. “Morrison knows about you too? This is so fucking unbelievable.”

“Are you done?” You crossed your arms.

He grunted, but nodded and waved for you to continue. You took a breath. ”So I waited more.” You weren’t going to get angry. You breathed. You pushed the anger down. “Then three weeks ago, everyone came back. Except Dante. No word, no sign of him. Lady doesn’t know. Everyone else is MIA. And you are holed up talking to no one.” You let your arms drop to your sides, flexing your fists to stretch them, but also because that anger was threatening to bubble over. “You know where he is. I need you to tell me.”

He didn’t pay attention to your anger. He cracked his neck and walked away, eyes downcast. He jammed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders before he spoke. “Trust me. Knowing won’t make it better.”

You felt the anger drain away, leaving a cold, hollow pain in your chest. “He’s not dead,” you hissed, as if saying it out loud made it true.

Nero spun back, arms at his side, fists clenched, mirroring the pose you’d just lost. “No. Neither of them are dead. Don’t think they didn’t try to kill each other, though.”

He started pacing in the kitchen, which meant two steps to you, spin, two steps back, spin. His arms got more animated and his voice… you could hear the pain in it. “After it was all over, I had just this split second where I thought, finally. This shit is over. I have a family. We can all just go home now.” He stopped, facing you, and ground out the rest. “Even that douche-bag father of mine. I thought, even with him here, it’s all gonna be OK somehow.”

He smiled at you, a pained one. He started to say something, then stopped himself with a huge breath. He leaned against the counter, forcing himself into a casual pose. “You wanna know where they are? They are in Hell, with each other. Right where they wanted to be.”

He motioned at you, then himself. “Us? Fuck us. Who cares about us, or what we wanted.”

Chapter Text

“Hell…” your voice was flat, your brain too busy trying to process.

Nero crossed his arms again, holding onto himself. “Yeah. Hell. Like as in the place that fucking tree came from and where my father, or some part of him, was king of… or still is… I don’t know how that works. Nobody stayed long enough to explain it to me.”

Your brain tried to process, but was failing. “Dante went into Hell.” 

Nero nodded.

“With his brother.”

Nero nodded again.

“On purpose?!”

Nero gave a sarcastic smile. “You catch on fast.”

You scrambled, desperately searching for any way to make sense of it. “But, Dante has done that before. He came back, before.”

Nero kept the horrible smile plastered on his face. “Did he? I wouldn’t know.”

You were grasping at anything, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “So, he’s coming back. He’ll come back.”

The smile slid off Nero’s face. “I told myself that too. Then I did a little reading. Nico’s dad had files on Yamato, my… Vergil’s sword. It severs any connection. They took Yamato to sever the rift between worlds, to kill that fucking tree at it’s roots where they grew. In hell.” He paused, then drooped again, like he had in the Villa. “They sealed themselves in Hell when they severed that connection.”

“But, there’s always a portal open somewhere. You still do jobs, right? Those demons are…”

“Those demons got trapped here when that portal was sealed.”

You thought, frantically. “No, there are always portals, somewhere.”

Nero just looked at you with dawning pity. 

You didn’t care. “Dante worked his ass off the last ten years. There was always someplace he had to go fix some damn demonic uprising. Don’t tell me those were all just trapped demons from The Savior cult.” You looked towards the ceiling. “God, one of the last things Dante said to me was ‘Gotta go, the world needs savin’ again’.” You looked back at Nero. “I was getting sick of hearing it. What I wouldn’t give…”

Nero actually let a real smile slip out. Heart-breakingly like his uncle’s.

You took a breath. “I mean, he didn’t say ‘That fucking cult just never stops being fun,’ or ‘Well shit, looks like more of my old man’s leftovers are loose again.’ That has to mean they were new jobs right? New demon problems? Not leftovers that were trapped here.”

Nero had started chuckling, but you didn’t realize it until you were waiting for his answer. 

“Well, you got him pegged, I’ll give you that. Sounds exactly like him.”

“Right, so…. portals?”

Nero scratched his head. “You might have something there.” Then he dropped his hand and the serious face was back. “But what’s it matter? Demons can come through it, but that doesn’t mean it works the other way. And even if it did; you ever been to hell? Cause I haven’t. If you popped out someplace in ‘Hell’, and that’s assuming you don’t die or get eaten right away, how you gonna find them? How you gonna get back? I doubt portals work like the tunnel under Fortuna Bay. It’s not a toll-free tube of travel.”

You flapped your arms, then tucked your hands under them. They were beginning to really hurt. “I didn’t know I needed a plan for Hell until two minutes ago.” You grimaced. You could feel the pain starting in your left wrist now.

Nero walked forward and grabbed it. “You better have Nico look at that. It’s not… good.”

You nodded. Nero opened the door for you out of the kitchen and into the living room on the other side and tried for casual. “Besides, maybe they’ll come back on their own. If anybody figures out how, it’d be one of them.” You walked past him into the living room, then paused, waiting for him to show you where you were going. “I’m not waiting anymore.” Nero paused with an inscrutable look on his face, then headed towards the back of the house.

As you followed, you looked around. Pictures of kids of all ages were posted on the walls. Construction board with tape, all faces grinning, nothing formal like a frame to be seen. The kids had written on the different posters in markers, signing their names, writing messages and dates. And in the center of each one was a woman who must be Kyrie. For all the slap-dash chaos in the photos, she looked serene and, more importantly, happy. “That kid is head over heels for that girl. Don’t know what she sees in him, though,” Dante had told you, although he’d said it fondly.

“Hey, hey. Time to get that poison out of you.” Nico looked up from a dirty workbench, and motioned for you to sit on the bucket she had turned upside down next to her. “If I can, that is.” She flipped down a pair of funny looking goggles that were really small, but made her eyes look huge. She twisted your wrist this way and that, inspecting the blackness and completely oblivious to how much it hurt.

“You think it’s poison?” You hadn’t considered that.

Nico hmm’d. “Well, not poison poison.” She bent your wrist back and you groaned in pain. “Hurts right? Yeah, well it’s demonic. Kind of like you were poisoned.” She flipped up the goggles and glanced behind her. “Probably if Nero’d used it, it wouldn’t be this bad.” She dropped your wrist and you grabbed it, trying to massage away the pain. “You’re too human, though. It wasn’t made for you.”

You grimaced. “It seemed to work just fine for me.” You shook out your hands. “Except for this part.”

She leaned on her workbench with a big smile. “Yeah, that’s why it’s fascinatin’. Nero told me how you summoned some glowy swords or somethin’.”

“I didn’t summon them. They just appeared.”

She hmm’d again. “Nero said you were fine, then you suddenly got all rage-scream on him and, boom, next thing he knows… swords!”

“I fed it blood. How’d it poison me though?”

She waved you off. “Nah, you feed blood to a sword by bleeding on it, not by cutting yourself with it. That’s like inviting the monster under your bed to dinner.” She cackled, cracking herself up.

Nero stepped up next to you, hands in his jacket pockets. “How’d you know to do that, anyway? I’m getting the impression demonic stuff isn’t exactly the work you do.”

You shrugged. “Dante always said ‘don’t bleed on it’, so I figured that’s what made it work.”

Nero’s eyes got huge and Nico started laughing all over again. “Hoo boy, do I have questions for you!”

Nero held up both hands. “Just so I have this straight. He specifically told you not to bleed on it. So you brought it here and jabbed it into your hand. With no idea what would happen. Is that about right?”

“Yep.”

Nico shoved you half heartedly. “Oh, I like you.”

Nero’s opinion differed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You turned towards Nero, but Nico grabbed your hand again. “Talk later. Poison now, while I still got time to experiment.”

As she started pulling out beakers and syringes, you leaned towards Nero. “Once Dante is back, don’t mention this part, OK?”

Nero glanced at you, then glanced away, voice tight. “Yeah. OK.”

You fell asleep while Nico was mixing up the hundredth thing she wanted to inject you with. It had all hurt, and the black veins were still… black. It’d been a long night.

When you came to, your hands still hurt like hell and a quick glance said the blackness was still there. It had receded from your wrists some, and now appeared more like a back-of-the-hand henna tattoo. You were alone in the workshop, with no sign of Nero or Nico. You pulled yourself up off the floor, where you’d curled up, and stretched, trying to work out your stiff muscles. You were just about to head towards the house when you heard a familiar engine rev to life. You took off for the garage in a sprint.

You burst through the door from the kitchen in time to see Nico toss a box of something into the back of the van and slam the door shut in a hurry.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

Not your most eloquent, but Nico skidded to a stop. “Well, hot damn. I thought you were gonna stay knocked out a while. You better hop in, quick, we got places to be.”

You ran for the van and threw yourself in, barely getting the door shut before the tires squealed.

“What the hell?” you managed, after she got the van back under control.

“Slow your roll.” She grabbed your hand, looked it over, then dropped it. “... looks like the blood I gave you worked.”

“What?!”

She waved a hand at you. “The blood! From a real demon. My daddy always kept it around. Figured if demons were immune, maybe it’d help. Or kill ‘ya.” She snorted. “Never can tell. If you feel, you know, funny or something, pass out in the back.”

You sat back in your seat. You felt… ok… all things considered. You forced your panic back. “Where are we going?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Whatever you said to Nero got his panties in a bunch. He got a call. Actually answered it, for a change, then tore-ass out to the garage. I figured I better follow.”

“Don’t you two usually go together? I mean, isn’t this the van?”

She laughed. “Yep. But I guess he couldn’t resist takin’ that sweet ride, seein’ how it was just sittin’ there and all.”

You felt a little sick, and you didn’t think it was from whatever horrible shit Nico had stuck into you. It was one thing if you rode Dante’s bike. You’d ridden with him more times than you could count. Nero riding it was just another reminder of who wasn’t. It didn’t help that you could hear Dante saying “Tell that little punk to stay off my bike.” You had to turn your head towards the window so you didn’t stare at the red taillight in the distance.

“Oh, he thinks that’s gonna do it. Nice try mister!” Nico yelled at the taillight that had just blinked out of sight. She slammed the steering wheel to the right and you felt the van go up on two wheels. After a second, the van slammed back down on all four and bounced, steering wheel spinning back and forth in Nico’s hands. She let out a war cry, then slammed on the gas again.

“Hey, you gonna throw up or something?” She stretched one arm behind her, the other hand barely keeping the van straight. “There’s a bucket back here. Somewhere.” A second later she whipped her free arm back to the wheel and stood on the brakes. Literally. You’d buckled yourself in, but you wondered for a split second if the ancient belt would hold.

It did.

You fell out of the van, and landed on your knees next to the bike. Nero was already walking away, and you used the bike to pull yourself up. Touching it made you feel better.

“Hey, now, my driving’s not that bad, no matter what he says.” Nico jogged around the hood of the van, then stopped, waiting on you.

You waved her on. “It’s not great. But, I think…” You held up your hands. The blackness was still there, throbbing, but it hadn’t moved. You felt your head. Much hotter than your hand. “I think demon blood might not be working out so well.”

Nico looked at you, then after Nero. “Maybe you better sit this one out.”

You looked after Nero. You knew what you’d said to him that’d gotten under his skin. “No chance. But I need that sword back.” Nico raised both brows, but went to the back of the van and pulled it out, tossing it to you. You caught it out of the air, hand aching with the impact.

A few yards down a sandy trail, Nero was waiting.