Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Nero-”

“No, we are not stopping so you can get smokes, it’s your own damn fault-”

Nico shoots him a half-hearted glare from the driver’s seat. “That ain’t what I was gonna say.” She pats her pocket. “Still got two left, I can make ‘em last.”

Nero looks over to regard her. “Then what?”

She blows out a breath. The sound comes across as almost nervous, which where Nico’s concerned likely means this won’t be a pleasant line of conversation. “So there’s been something buggin’ me that I wanna ask. But… look, I’m not gonna force an answer outta ya, I’m just wonderin’.”

Nero mentally braces himself for whatever she’s about to unleash. “Just ask.”

There’s a brief pause, a breath before the plunge, before she blurts out, “Did you really not know you were related to him?”

Of all the things she could have asked about… Why did it have to be that? He looks away, scowling in a mixture of annoyance and discomfort. “He wasn’t exactly upfront about it.”

“C’mon though. You look like him. Well.” Nico gestures with her hand. “You look like your dad, but since they’re twins, you look like him by proxy. And besides that, he can do a lot of the same stuff you can. You didn’t notice any of that?”

His jaw sets stubbornly. “No, I didn’t.”

Nico scoffs. “Now I know you’re lyin’.”

“What happened to you not forcing an answer out of me?” Nero snaps.

His hope had been to get her to back off, and it works. Nico shakes her head but says nothing else, letting an uneasy silence fill the van. Nero looks out the side window as his thoughts spin. He’s pissed off about Nico’s line of questioning, but he silently admits that he shouldn’t be all that surprised. Other people were bound to have noticed, and in light of how everything panned out in Redgrave last month, questions inevitably will arise. Hell, Nico’s not the first to have asked Nero this, but it’s a lot easier for Nero to open up to Kyrie. She’s always been his rock and the one who holds him when things get to be too much.

The silence stretches on. Nero’s anger simmers down and guilt creeps in to fill the void. Nico’s never been one to word things delicately. The fact that she even gave him an out says a lot about how carefully she tried to proceed with the conversation. While it wasn’t as tactful as it could (or should) have been, it was an honest effort coming from her.

He rubs a hand over his face. Nico’s his friend. His best friend, one might say (aside from Kyrie). And she’s got better insight than most into having an absentee father who’s done, at best, questionable things. (Not that he knows all of what Vergil’s done aside from Redgrave, but he’s picked up enough hints to know that’s not all he’s done. Dante killed him for a reason.) Anyway, the point is, she’s his friend and her question made sense. It wasn’t unreasonable or uncalled for. He lashed out defensively, and that in and of itself might have been enough of an answer. But he doesn’t want to leave things at that.

He finally glances over and says, “I did notice.”

Nico says nothing, but her frown softens and she seems to be listening.

“I kept waiting for him to say something. Some kind of acknowledgment or explanation. You know, something. But he didn’t.” It hurt, honestly. Nero believed that Dante didn’t want to acknowledge him. “So I decided that I wasn’t gonna ask. If he wanted to pretend that I wasn’t his – well, I grew up without my family just fine so I didn’t need him.”

“But he brought you into Devil May Cry. And I kinda always thought you two got along well.”

“We did. When he wasn’t being a pain in the ass.” Which was rather often, but that’s Dante for you. “That’s what confused me. He wouldn’t admit to what seemed obvious, but he still… he tried, I guess. He gave me a job, he got to know me and Kyrie and the kids. I could tell he cared. Hell, he put up with me threatening to drag him down to Fortuna last Christmas.”

“Hold up.” Nico holds up a finger. “You threatened him into coming down for Christmas?”

“Kyrie invited him. I just tacked on a threat to make sure he came.” He smirks. “Hey, it worked.”

Nico laughs. “You fucking would.”

“It just… looking back, it makes sense, but it didn’t then. Best guess I had was that he was trying to be there to make up for eighteen years of being absent, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud. No idea if it was out of shame or something else.”

“Out of shame? For…?”

Nero stares at the dashboard in front of him. “I knew we were related. I just got a particular detail wrong.”

It takes Nico just a moment before it dawns on her. “…yeah,” she says quietly. “Yeah, I probably would have guessed the same.” She offers a little smile. “Hey, at least now you know that’s not why.”

True, it is nice to know someone wasn’t ashamed of Nero being their son. Or nice knowing Dante isn’t, anyway. He’s not sure what his actual father thinks. “Yeah, but I’m back at square one because now I really don’t know why he didn’t say anything to me.”

“Miiiight have something to do with Vergil being a complete disaster and prone to destroying entire cities.”

“Well he’s definitely not up for Father of the Year either.” Nero shakes his head. “Last month answered a few questions but it raised a hell of a lot more. And I have no way of getting them answered.” Thanks to his dumbass family members getting themselves trapped in Hell.

“Lady or Trish might know some stuff. ‘specially Lady, she’s known Dante for a damn long time.”

If they’re willing to tell him, that is. But it’s worth a shot. “Maybe. Once we’re not knee-deep in demons.”

“Can thank your old man’s shenanigans for that, too.” Nico rolls her eyes. “Grow one stupid house plant and suddenly the whole underworld wants to bust out. And we’re left the clean up the mess.”

“We’re trusting you to take care of things top side, capiche?” Dante’s words echo in tandem with Nico’s. Nero supposes it’s a little bit of both. “That’s family for you.” It’s a pain, but it’s nice to be able to say that all the same. Who knows if he’ll ever see said family again, but that can’t stop him from keeping on going and doing what needs to be done. He’s got a job to do.

Chapter Text

Dante and Vergil step into a dark Devil May Cry. Morrison must have kept the lights off to save on electricity. It’s also rather cold, so the heat’s off, too. Despite the cold and the darkness, it’s home and Dante’s relieved to be back. He stretches out his arms and yawns as he walks over to the switch to get the lights on. “Home sweet home,” he says as the room fills with light.

Now that he can see the room better, it’s clear how much cleaner the place is. The cleaning crew Morrison hired to straighten up the place did wonders. There’s nary a speck of dust in sight. It’s fantastic, and now gives Dante an excuse to not clean for a very long time. He glances over and sees Vergil taking in the place. “It’s not like it’s changed since you last saw it, aside from the cleaning job.”

“It’s made quite the difference,” Vergil retorts. “The lack of smell alone makes the place three times more tolerable than it was back in May.”

“What smell?”

Vergil shuts his eyes and slowly shakes his head. “You didn’t even notice it? That’s disgusting, not to mention pathetic.”

“There was no smell!”

“There absolutely was. You likely became desensitized to it from living here for so long.” Vergil steps farther into the room, pausing when he reaches Dante’s desk. His eyes fall on the lone photograph frame propped up on the desk. His expression remains the same, save for the way his lips tighten together ever so slightly.

“I didn’t lie when I said she looked for you.”

“I never saw her.”

“She didn’t make it that far.” Dante still remembers her dying scream ringing out amidst the shrieking demons. “Don’t think she even made it past the front door.”

“I don’t know what’s worse then: thinking she abandoned me or knowing that she died trying to find me.”

“She wasn’t making it out of there alive, no matter what,” Dante murmurs. As painful as it is to admit, it’s true. Eva was doomed the moment Mundus sent those demons.

There’s a considering look on Vergil’s face, but whatever he’s thinking he keeps to himself as he turns away. “Where is my room?”

The subject change is fine by Dante. Likely they’ll revisit it again, when Vergil’s had more time to ruminate on it. For now, he’s glad to move on. “Up here.” He gestures to the stairs, leading Vergil up before he points to his room. “That’ll be it.”

Vergil swings open the door, and Dante leans around him to get a look. Morrison came through: there’s a full-sized bed waiting for them, with sheets and two pillows. Additionally, there’s a beat up dresser, a coat hook, and even a sword stand for Yamato.

“Well lookit that,” Dante says with a grin. “He went above and beyond.”

Vergil steps inside, examining the room. Not that there’s much to see, but it’s a start. He nods. “It’ll suffice. Once I’ve gotten my own funds I’ll repay him.” Coming from Vergil, that’s quite a lot of praise. “It’s been quite a long time since I had my own room.”

“Pretty sure that qualifies you as a hobo.”

“I am not a… hobo,” Vergil spits out the last word with disdain. “You’re the one who dresses like one.”

“Says the man who has no bank account and has never paid a bill in his life.” He glances at his room, remembering something. He gestures to Vergil to wait a moment before he ducks into his bedroom.

Unlike Vergil’s barebones bedroom, Dante’s room exists in a sea of clothes, shoes, and other assorted clutter. He’s both glad and a little bummed that the cleaning crew skipped his room. But there are a number of things in here that he wouldn’t want strangers putting their hands on, such as what he’s rummaging for in his desk drawer. It takes a minute of digging to find it; not surprising, given how long it’s sat in there. But finally he finds it and pulls it out. He carefully removes the old handkerchief he wrapped around it, tossing the cloth on the desk as he heads back to Vergil’s room.

He finds Vergil hanging up his coat on the hangar. He tosses him the item he found. “You dropped this.”

Vergil catches it in his hand without even looking. There’s a brief suspicious glance before he realizes what he has in his hand. His eyes widen; it’s a rare, genuine moment of shock. After all these years, his half of the Perfect Amulet still glistens beautifully under the dim ceiling light. The gold chain hasn’t fared quiet as well as the jewel; there are signs of wear and tear in the links, and the gold sheen has dulled a bit. Dante half expects Vergil to gripe about that, but his brother remains stunned silent. He reflexively steps back and sits on the bed, still staring at the amulet in his hand. “You kept this,” he finally says, both a statement and question at once.

“’Course I did.” Dante scoffs. “It’s all we have from Mom. You thought I was gonna leave it there?”

Vergil likely thought he would never see it again. He lost so many parts of himself back then. He lost Yamato, the gift from his father. He lost the amulet, the cherished memento from his mother. He lost himself in the transformation to Nelo Angelo. He lost so much that Vergil, in a sense, ceased to exist. But then he slowly reemerged and reformed. Piece by piece he returned, and now the last part of him has been restored.

He’s unusually quiet, and Dante fidgets in the doorway. He wonders if he should leave. Maybe he can go order food while Vergil has his moment-

“Thank you,” Vergil says, so low Dante almost misses it.

But he doesn’t, and he’s almost as taken aback as Vergil had been a minute earlier. “…did you just-”

“Don’t grow accustomed to it,” Vergil retorts as he loops the chain around his neck.

“Now that’s more like it.” Still, Dante’s never going to forget that. It’s the first – and may very well be the only – time Vergil’s ever thanked him for anything. “Right. This has gotten weird enough. I’m ordering a pizza. Gotta let them know I’m not dead.” He begins to walk away, but he stops a few steps in. He backs up until he’s in the doorway again and jabs a finger at Vergil. “And no, you still can’t have my amulet, too.”

A small smile appears on Vergil’s face. “I suppose I’ll settle for just having mine.” That smile turns sly. “For now.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, the nightmares still come.

Vergil finds himself back in Hell, Mundus looming over him, his otherworldly voice booming in might. “The heart is a tumor of weakness.”

Inky blackness swirls around him, covering him and drowning him. He struggles, but it’s for naught. He’s too weak.

“So let me rid you of it.” Was it not what he’d always said? His humanity had always hampered him. Yet the moment he feels the vestiges of it slip away, he panics. No. No!

“You need neither ego, nor memories.” Bit by bit, his memories fall to the vacuum of the darkness overcoming him. He fights in vain, trying to cling to them, but they slip through his fingers.

“I will bestow upon you a new name, servant of the demon emperor. Your new name will be…”

Nelo Angelo. It rings in his mind, the sound erasing the memory of Vergil and everything he had been. Gone, gone, it’s all gone. He’s nothing, just a pawn. He serves the demon emperor. It’s all he’s ever done, for there is nothing else. He is nothing else. The darkness consumes him, and he falls.

“Dad.”

Vergil’s eyes fly open, nearly shutting again instinctively as the light hits him. Nero stands in front of him, concern etched into his expression. His eyes soften as he looks his father over. It’s only when he glances down does Vergil realize that he’s got a white-knuckled grip on the arm of the chair he’d nodded off in.

“Have we arrived?” he manages, his voice hoarse.

Nero nods. “Do you need a minute?”

“I’m fine.” Foolishness. Weakness. Yet he cannot deny that the sight of his son reassures him. He should not need to be reminded that he’s fine now, but no matter how much he chides himself, the relief still burns strongly. He hates this weakness, this need of reassurance and comfort. But it’s not like Nero forces it on him. His presence alone is enough.

Nero looks less than convinced, but he backs off to go get his weapons. Vergil can all but hear the questions he wants to ask. So far, Nero’s been remarkably patient and restrained. More than he deserves, Vergil knows. But some day his son’s patience will wear thin. Someday, he’s going to have to tell him of the nightmares that still nip at his heels.

For now, he just takes a deep breath and works on centering himself. He is no longer Nelo Angelo, or Gilver, or V, or all the other shattered identities he’d taken over the years while he clung onto existence. He’s Vergil again. He’s a son of Sparda. He’s the father of Nero. He’s a demon hunter. He’s whole once more. As long as he has these things, the nightmares will never take hold of him again.

Chapter Text

Nero’s nineteen when he first sees Eva’s portrait on Dante’s desk during his first visit to Devil May Cry. Dante had conjured up some hackneyed excuse for Nero to finally see the place. Nero knows it’s bullshit, but honestly, he’s glad to get to travel. He’s never gotten to leave Fortuna much, and never farther than the nearest coastal cities.

Dante had run out to get pizza, leaving Nero alone in the building with Trish. She pages through a magazine while stretched out on Dante’s couch. Nero wanders the room, getting a better look at the place now that Dante’s not hanging over his shoulder. It doesn’t take long before he checks out his desk and naturally, the photo stands out. He frowns in confusion. “Why does he have a photo of you on his desk?”

Trish freezes for the briefest moment before she calmly looks up from her magazine. Nero had barely caught the passing panic, and he has no idea what to make of it. It’s not like Trish to be caught off guard. She stays quiet, longer than Nero expects, and he begins to wonder if he somehow brought up a sensitive topic when she answers, “That isn’t me.”

“Uh-”

“I know what you’re thinking. And yes, she looks just like me. Or really, I look just like her. That’s on purpose.” She sets the magazine down on the couch. “That woman is Eva. She was Dante’s mother. From what I understand, that’s the only surviving photo he has of her.”

This is going in a direction Nero could never have imagined. His frown deepens in confusion as he looks back at the photo. “So, why do you look like her?”

There’s a calculated look in Trish’s eyes and in the way she deliberately crosses her arms over her chest. Maybe calculated isn’t the word. It’s more like wary. “Has Dante told you anything about his past?”

Nero shakes his head. “He’s not exactly the chatty type when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“He’s like that with everyone.” Trish leans back against the couch. “Dante’s mother was killed when he was a child. Demons were sent to kill them. He and his brother, Vergil, barely escaped, but Eva lost her life in the attack.”

That explains a few things about Dante. “They were sent?”

Trish nods. “When Sparda rose up and defeated the legions of the underworld, he sealed them off from the human world. He also had to seal away the leader of those legions: the demon emperor, Mundus. That seal lasted a long time, but no seal lasts forever. A few decades ago, it finally weakened enough for Mundus to break free. The first thing he did was to try and find Sparda. Assumedly, he discovered his family and that’s when he sent the demons to kill them. Unfortunately for him, they were only partially successful.”

“Okay, but I don’t see how-”

“I’m not done.” She shoots him a silencing look before continuing, “He had to resort to other means to try and defeat Sparda’s sons. Eventually he had no choice but to try and lure Dante to his base on Mallet Island. And he knew the best way to exploit Dante’s emotions.” Trish gestures to herself. “That’s how I came to be.”

Nero’s mouth drops. “He… wait, he made you? To look just like his mother?”

“He did. He knew that my appearance would disarm Dante and he’d be more cooperative. It worked, though not in the way Mundus hoped. Dante defeated him in the end, and despite what I’d done, he gave me a place to stay and a new purpose.” She chuckles. “So, that’s how we met, and that’s why I look like Eva. Though I’ve been told I act nothing like her.”

Well, damn. He just got answers to a couple questions he’s had. A part of him wants to ask Trish more about this demon emperor and what made her want to help Dante, but he realizes that might be a bit insensitive. Instead, he turns back to the portrait. “He must really miss her. He doesn’t have any family left, right?”

“No, they’re all gone. Dante is the last of his family.” Trish says the words, but there’s an air of rehearsal to them, almost like she’s repeating a script from off-hand.

“But he had a brother, too. Did this Mundus get his brother?”

There it is again, that fleeting panic before she evens out her expression. “Vergil disappeared long before Dante and Mundus’s battle. It’s possible that he did, but I can’t say either way.”

Nero tries not to be too rankled by Trish dodging giving him a straight answer, but whatever. It’s really not his business in the end. So, he just nods and turns away. “At least he had one, even if only for a little bit.” The bitterness spills into his voice. “Not everyone’s so lucky.”

Trish’s uneasy silence only confuses Nero further. And he’s tired of feeling confused, so he walks off and puts the conversation out of his mind.

Two months after the Redgrave incident, Nero finds himself back in Devil May Cry. He’s just gotten back from an exhausting mission with Lady and Trish. The mission hadn’t been too far from Capulet City, so the girls suggested he and Nico crash at the shop for the night before making the long drive back to Fortuna. Sore and beaten, Nero couldn’t refuse the offer.

Nero decides to crash on the couch in the office. With a pillow and blanket in tow, he starts to beeline for the couch when he passes by Dante’s desk. A side glance at the portrait makes him stop. He’s seen that face staring out at him more than once, but this is the first time he’s seen her and realized who she is to him. He’s not just seeing the woman whose death sent Dante and Vergil careening along their respective paths. He’s looking at his grandmother.

He sets his things on the desk to take a closer look at her. He’s barely given her any thought since he had learned about her a few years earlier, but now he wishes he had asked more. He wishes he asked Dante to talk about her and tell him what she was like. Maybe Dante wouldn’t have, he knows she’s a touchy subject, but he could have at least tried. Now he might never know.

“It was hard not to tell you everything.” Nero looks over to see Trish leaning against the wall, watching him. “You caught me off-guard, though I should have anticipated it. I was hoping Dante would wind up fielding that question, but maybe it’s for the best. He might not have told you as much as I did.”

“I never asked him about her.” He picks up the frame and takes a harder look at his grandmother. “Or my grandfather. Now I might not ever get to.”

“There are people left alive who knew Sparda. There are other avenues to get answers about him.” Trish gestures to the portrait. “But as for Eva, I don’t know. She’s a mystery to me.”

Nero shakes his head. “Even if there are, it wouldn’t be the same. I want to hear it from them. Those two should be the ones telling me.”

There’s a pained sigh, followed by a nod. “I agree. And you may yet, Nero. This isn’t Dante’s first stint in the underworld. He’s broken out before; he can do it again.”

“How long did it take him last time?”

“…about two years.”

“Two years?!” Nero’s heart sinks. He had figured Dante and Vergil would be gone for a while, but two years?

“But he was alone last time,” Trish points out. “…then again, I’m not sure if Vergil will be a help or hindrance.”

“So it’ll be longer.”

“I don’t know, Nero. But… if I had to guess, I think it won’t be as long.”

“Why? You didn’t sound convinced my father would be able to help break them out faster.”

“Because they both have something worth coming home for.”

It’s a strange feeling, to be worth something to someone. Outside of Kyrie and her family, no one’s ever really regarded Nero as someone important to them. He scoffs, trying to shake the feeling. It’s too good to be true, it has to be. “But not important enough to stay for.”

“They had to go-”

“Both of them?”

“Yes.” Trish holds up a hand to stop Nero before he interrupts. “It’s hard to explain, but Dante went with Vergil for a reason, and not because he particularly wanted to be trapped in the underworld. Just because they had to leave doesn’t mean you’re not important to them. They wouldn’t have set aside their rivalry for just anyone.”

They had, but Nero only saw glimpses of it before he had decided to put an end to it. “Was it really that bad?”

“Lady can speak to that much better than I can, but from what I understand, yes.” Trish gestures to Eva’s picture. “Her death has a lot to do with it, but that’s something that needs to come from them.” She straightens up from her perch against the wall. “I’ve kept you up long enough. Get some rest, Nero.” With a turn she disappears into an adjoining room.

Nero takes a final look at his grandmother before he sets the frame back down on Dante’s desk. There are so many questions rattling around in his head, but he thinks he’s gotten another piece or two of the very complex puzzle that is his family history. But he still needs a lot of information. There’s too many missing pieces and he can’t make out what any of it means.

“Wonder what you were like,” he says to Eva’s picture before he grabs the pillow and blanket off the desk. “If Dante still misses you so much after all this time… you were probably pretty great.” He makes his bed on the couch before flopping down on it, kicking off his shoes. “Hopefully I’ll get to find out, one day.” Find out about her. Find out about Sparda. Find out about everything else in the past that’s been hidden from him. He just hopes that day won’t be too far off.

Chapter Text

Dante swears that if he somehow lives to retirement age, he’s coming to Fortuna. Okay, sure, the locals might not be too pleased about it but who cares? Word’s gotten out that Dante and Vergil are Nero’s family so as much as the locals might not like it, they’re going to be showing up here more often. Besides, Dante had helped save the island once, surely that has to be good for something. But whatever, xenophobic locals or no, the idea of living out his twilight years stuffed to the gills with Kyrie’s cooking and being a general nuisance to Nero sounds too good to pass up. He’ll drag Vergil along, too. Nero and Kyrie might have kids sometime down the line, so they can be there for that. The whole family could be together in one place again.

Shit, that really does sound nice, Dante thinks from his sprawled position on Nero’s couch. Really nice. Now the idea is something he might seriously give thought to. He yawns as he stretches out. One thing at a time. That’s a long ways off. He glances over towards the dining room and spies Vergil sipping on some tea. Nero sits across from him, knocking back the last of his own drink. The conversation seems to have died down, but the silence is companionable.

Dante revels in the peace these moments bring. They’ve all been through so much, and the family’s been split for too long. He wants to savor this time while he can. And for once, there’s no fighting or anything hanging over their heads. They all had enjoyed a nice Christmas without anyone getting stabbed, punched, or anything broken. (Nero had tossed Dante and Vergil out once, but only for a moment and that’s because they had started arguing about whether Die Hard counted as a Christmas movie or not). Now it’s just a few days after the New Year. They have two more days before they have to go back to the shop. While Dante’s missed the work, he’s going to miss being here more.

The phone rings. Nero pushes his cup away as he rises from the table. In two long strides he reaches the phone and picks up the receiver. “Devil May Cry.” He pauses and then frowns before looking at Dante. “Yeah, he’s here. One sec.” He holds out the phone. “It’s Trish.”

Dante grunts and swings his legs off the couch. “What, she wanna brag about the warm weather she’s having?” he jokes as he walks over. She and Lady were spending another holiday at sunnier shores. Joke’s on them, though, Dante thinks as he grabs the phone from Nero. He’s getting homecooked food and they’re not. “Hey.”

“Dante.” Trish’s voice is tense, and immediately Dante stiffens in alarm. This can’t be good. “We might have a problem.”

“Don’t tell me someone tried to break into the shop again,” he says in a half-hearted attempt at a joke. “You’d think they’d have learned after one of the devil arms fell on them.”

“I wish. I heard from one of my contacts. There’s been some reports of possible demonic activity. If they’re true, we need to look into it immediately.”

“Demonic activity?” He shakes his head. “Ugh, could it really not wait?” Just when he thinks that the demons had decided to behave themselves-

“Dante, the reports are saying it’s coming from Mallet Island.”

He damn near drops the phone. “You’re shitting me.” His heart slams against his ribcage and immediately his thoughts begin to fly to the worst case scenario. No, he shouldn’t be back this soon. How?

“Nothing’s confirmed yet, but we can’t take any chances. It’ll be a bit before my contact gets back to me with more info. But you need to be ready. We all do.”

Dante looks over to Vergil. Until that moment, Vergil had been watching him with slight curiosity. However, the look on Dante’s face causes Vergil to sit up straighter. His brother frowns, regarding Dante with wariness. “We’ll talk it over,” Dante says to Trish while still looking at Vergil. “You’ll call as soon as you hear?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

“Just – your contact better hurry the hell up.” Talking is just wasting time at this point. Dante hangs up the phone and rubs a hand over his face.

“What is it?” Nero asks from the kitchen. Kyrie stands just behind him, looking uneasily between Dante and Vergil.

Vergil’s hand tightens against the table. “Where do we need to go?”

“At the moment, nowhere. But we may need to leave. We’ll find out once Trish calls back.”

“What’s going on?” Nero demands again, voice growing tenser. “You looked ready to drop dead from shock.”

Dante shoots him only a brief glance before looking back at Vergil. “Trish heard from a contact of hers. There are rumors that there’s been something happening… on Mallet Island.”

Vergil gets the same look he had back in the underworld, when they had come across Mundus’s old lair. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react, but the pallor in his cheeks and the haunting memory creeping across his eyes tells Dante everything he needs to know.

“Mallet Island…” Nero looks towards the table, torn between wanting to give his father space and wanting to reach out. “Isn’t that – didn’t that Mundus live there?”

Dante and Vergil’s heads simultaneously snap towards Nero. “How did you hear about him?” Dante asks, just a second before Vergil could ask the same question.

“Trish told me years ago. I had asked her about that picture on your desk, and one thing led to another…” Nero has the look of someone who senses he might be in trouble but has no idea why. “I thought you killed him.”

“I did. It was never going to be a permanent thing, I knew that, but this is too soon.” He blows out a breath. He’s getting ahead of himself. They don’t know for certain that it’s Mundus. “If the reports are true, I’m going to have to go over there and take a look to make sure.”

“We will.”

Dante swivels his gaze now to Vergil. “That’s not-”

“Something to discuss right now. But I am going if you are.”

Dante clenches his jaw. Damn it, that’s a bad idea. “If we go, it’s just to do recon and see if it is him. If it isn’t, great. If it is, we’ll need to regroup and figure out what to do.”

“What’s there to decide?” Nero argues. “If he’s back, kill him again.”

“Not that simple. A lot will depend on what shape he’s in and how much help he’s gathered.”

“No to mention,” Vergil adds, “what condition the island is in. It was destroyed, but if he poured his power into it, the island may have returned to some semblance of its former state.”

Dante pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not much point in trying to hash out the details now. Won’t know anything until we get there.” He’s still not happy about it being we but he and Vergil can have that argument later. “Just gotta hang tight until then.”

Nero crosses his arms, as equally unhappy about the prospect of sitting and waiting around. “Well, if he is trying to come back, you don’t have to fight him alone this time. You’ve got Dad, and I’ll help, too-”

“Absolutely not.” The sheer vehemence and rage in Vergil’s words are enough to make Nero take a step back in shock.

Even Dante’s taken aback, though he’s not surprised. The moment the words left Nero’s mouth, Dante had known this conversation was doomed. “Nero, it’s just-”

“Why the hell not?” Nero fires back at his father. “The three of us could take him down in no time!”

“I don’t want you anywhere near him.” Vergil’s stiff as a board, jaw clenched so hard Dante wonders how his teeth aren’t cracking. “Dante and I are more than capable of handling him on our own.”

Dante tries to steer things back with, “Correction, I’m more than-”

“But what if he’s stronger than he was last time?” Nero argues, ignoring Dante.

Vergil’s tone is harsh and commanding as he snaps, “It doesn’t matter if he is or not, you are not coming. This is not up for debate.”

“Like hell it isn’t! I can hold my own, you’ve seen that! I’m not a damn kid!”

Dante grimaces as the argument escalates. Whatever happens, don’t drag me into this. Please don’t drag me into this…

Nero whirls on Dante. “This is ridiculous! Would you knock some damn sense into him?!”

Shit. Dante pointedly doesn’t look at Vergil. He already feels the glare and he knows that his eyes are saying what he won’t with words: don’t you dare. Dante lets out a long, hard sigh as he hesitantly glances at Nero. “You know giving your old man a hard time is my favorite hobby. But not with this, Nero. I can’t.” He will actually kill me if I sided against him. “Even if I wanted to, it is not an argument I would win, and it’s not an argument you’re going to win.”

Vergil rises from the table, anger rolling off him in waves. Dante has never seen him like this, and it’s taking everything he has not to recoil from it. “I told you, Nero. This isn’t a debate. You are not going. If I have to shove you into a rift and keep you there until it’s done I will, but you are not going anywhere near that island and that’s final.”

“Oh, so you want to play father now, is that what this is?” Nero snarls, lip curled. “After twenty-three fucking years, you think you can just up and tell me what to do?”

“In this specific case, yes. You don’t have to like it, Nero, or agree with it. And if you want to hate me for it, you can. But I am not changing my position on this. You are not coming.”

“Fuck you!” Nero yells as he slams his hands on the table. For a moment, it almost looks like he’s about to lunge for his father.

Kyrie grabs his elbow in a desperate attempt to avert the incoming explosion. “Nero…”

Her touch does the trick. Nero deflates, but only the slightest bit. He grits his teeth before he pivots on his heel and storms out of the dining room.

Kyrie watches him leave, and then she aims a look at Vergil. “I hope this is worth it,” she murmurs before she hurries after Nero.

The front door slams open and then shut, leaving Dante and Vergil in tense silence. Dante slides a sideways glance at his brother. “Not the best way you could have handled that.”

Vergil grabs the back of the chair he was sitting on. “You’re not actually suggesting that I should have let him come?”

“No. I get why you don’t want him coming. But he doesn’t.” Dante crosses his arms, readying himself for a fight. Vergil already had picked one with his son, and he has no issue going a row with Dante. “He’s going to come up with his own reasons. And they’re going to be wrong, but they’ll hurt him all the same. This is going to come and bite you in the ass.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice.”

Dante levels a glare at him. “I’m talking from experience. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“This is my problem to handle. If I want your perspective, I will ask for it.” He straightens. “This also isn’t up for debate, Dante.”

Dante throws his hands up in the air in defeat. “Have it your way.” He knows this is going to blow up in Vergil’s face, but he can’t interfere in this particular issue. His brother will have to learn the hard way. “Just wait out in the van and I’ll let you know when I hear from Trish. If Nero sees you right now there’ll be another fight.”

Vergil nods, pushing his chair in before walking out of the dining room and towards the door to the garage. He pauses as he reaches for the handle. “You’ve really told him nothing about that time?”

“No. I don’t think Trish did either. It’s all you, brother.”

Vergil says nothing as he opens the door and disappears inside the garage.

Dante leans back against the wall. Alone, he allows himself a moment of weakness. He holds his face in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp as he beats back the worry and fear clawing up his throat. Why can’t the peace ever last?

Chapter Text

Two months. It had taken just two months for Vergil to make Nero hate him. He wryly notes that everyone likely had expected him to do it much sooner. Two months is almost downright impressive.

Vergil sighs as he leans back against the couch, eyes trained on the ceiling. Now that the anger has subsided, guilt begins to set in. He had overreacted and completely flown off the handle. He should have been calmer. But would Nero have reacted better if I had? he wonders. His son would have dug in his heels just as much. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, then. It might have wound up the same way. But at least he wouldn’t feel like such an ass.

The moment Dante had mentioned Mallet Island, all those old nightmares and pain had come rushing back. That monster had taken everything from him. Mundus would love nothing more than to see Vergil suffer more, and what better way than through Nero? The scene plays out in his mind: Vergil beaten, unable to do anything as Mundus rips Nero away, his darkness consuming him and stripping away everything that makes Nero, instead leaving a husk of a man clad in armor with a vacant expression in his eyes…

Vergil’s fingers dig so hard into the arm of the couch his nails puncture the leather. He forces out a breath, then inhales deeply. I won’t let it happen. I can’t let it happen. He may have poorly handled his argument with Nero, but his decision had been the right one. On that he will not budge. He will endure Nero’s anger and hatred. So long as Nero never goes anywhere near Mundus, he can live with the rest.

The van door swings open. Vergil forcibly removes his hand from the armrest, looking over to see Dante step inside. “And?”

“Demons have been spotted on the island.” Dante’s face is grim. “No sign of Mundus, at least. But we can’t risk it.”

“Then we must make haste.” Vergil rises. His knees wobble just the slightest bit, but he forces himself to be still and stand straight. “The sooner this is dealt with the better.”

“Vergil.” Dante doesn’t move or make any indication of leaving. “I can handle this solo. It wouldn’t be the first time. There’s no reason you need to do this.”

“There are reasons.” To see Dante this concerned and, dare he say, protective almost unnerves Vergil. A part of him wants to take offense and snap at him. He doesn’t need his protection. But he’s already pissed off one family member tonight, so he shouldn’t go and anger the only one who isn’t entirely done with him. “I need to face this. I need to go back as myself and, if he is there, confront him.”

“Confronting him isn’t going to make the past disappear. It won’t make it better.”

“But it’ll give me the chance to end it on my terms.” Vergil reaches for Yamato and holds it tightly. “If nothing else, I want to see the place with my own eyes.”

“There’s not much left. It went kaboom with extreme prejudice. Honestly, I’m surprised there’s demons even hanging around on whatever is left of it.” He pauses. “I’m surprised there is anything left of it, now that I’m thinkin’ about it.”

“I still need to see it.”

Dante sighs, long and tired. “All right, all right. But,” He points a finger at him. “I’m taking point and if shit goes really south, you need to get out of there. Nero shouldn’t lose both of us to this.”

Vergil almost wants to argue that Nero would be better off with Dante in his life and not him, but he refrains. Now is not the time for that argument. Instead, he just nods. “We’re flying there, I take it?”

“It’ll be faster. And hey, I doubt he’d see that coming.” Dante chuckles. “I found Nico and told her we’re going. So let’s move before Nero gets back.”

Even with how fast they can fly, it takes almost two hours for the brothers to reach Mallet Island. A long flight means too much time to think. Vergil spends enough time in his head as is, but the long stretch of flight leaves little in the way of distraction. His thoughts spiral with anxiety and dread. On the outside, he appears calm and ready (or so he hopes). But on the inside he’s terrified of possibly facing Mundus. As that terror tries to eat away at his courage, he forces it back with the few assurances he has: I have the Yamato. I am in top form. I have abilities and knowledge that I did not have back then. There’s another comforting thought that he hates giving voice to, but regardless it whispers in the back of his mind: I’m not alone. His brother had stopped Mundus once, and he’s stronger than he had been back then, too. Together, they stand a much better chance of stopping him.

What he struggles to reassure himself of is his relationship with Nero. That’s not so easily fixed. He doubts he’ll be able to apologize his way out of this one. There’s an obvious answer, but that terrifies him almost as much as what he’s about to do. If I told him everything, would that really solve matters? Would he not still be angry? Would he not still resent me for forcing him out of this? He goes to grab at his pendant, but it’s not around his neck in his sin devil form. Or am I just thinking these things to justify not telling him? He honestly doesn’t know. What he does know that Dante had a point: as long as Nero doesn’t know the reasons behind Vergil’s refusal to let him come, this rift will not mend. Nero has no idea what Mundus had done to him, and that's entirely Vergil's fault. Now he's paying for it.

In the distance, the island appears. Dante gestures to him, and the brothers sharply drop in altitude to fly closer to the surface of the ocean. It’ll be harder for anyone on the island to see them coming that way. Vergil’s not typically a fan of the surprise attack but where Mundus is concerned, one can’t be too careful.

As they draw nearer, the state of the island becomes visible. Where the grand castle once stood, there’s little left now but an enormous crater, filled with blown out chunks of the outer wall and random bits of the castle interior. Vergil’s almost certain he sees a piece of a ship’s mast in the water. There are more sections of the wall laying in the water, forming almost mini islands around the actual island.

The brothers land at the edge of the crater and immediately draw their swords. “Not sure where any demons could be,” Dante comments as they walk down the slope. “Hiding in the ruins somewhere?”

It’s simultaneously satisfying but unnerving seeing the island like this. It had been his “home” for almost a decade. A part of Vergil wishes he could walk through those old corridors again, to face them as his true self. But another part is glad just seeing the place in ruins.

The island is quiet; Vergil can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. If he’s here, would he show himself? Ordinarily he wouldn’t even question that but considering Mundus hadn’t tried to make himself known this time, it’s possible he could be trying to hide.

They scan the ruins, looking for some sign of activity. Nothing stirs. The brothers wait it out for several long minutes, the wind, ocean, and their collective breathing the only sounds they hear. Vergil starts to wonder if the reports were wrong.

“Oh to hell with this.” Dante pulls out one of his guns and fires it three times, the gunshots ringing out and vibrating off the crater walls.

Vergil rubs his ear, glowering at Dante. “A little warning next time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

What promises to be a dumb argument gets cut short by a number of shrieks coming from the ruins. Five Empusas skitter out from the cracks and crevices, their mandibles furiously clicking together as they beeline towards the brothers. But their charge doesn’t last long. They’re not even halfway across the crater before Vergil quick-steps towards them and lashes out with the Yamato. Dante fires his pistols in rapid succession. Between the two attacks, the Empusas are annihilated quickly.

“Scavengers,” Vergil murmurs. “Not Mundus’s usual type.”

“None of this seems like Mundus.” Dante rolls his shoulders before shouting, “Hey, Mundus! You wanna show your ugly mug?”

He’s met with silence. Dante turns to Vergil. “You don’t think he’s hiding?”

Now that Vergil’s had time to think about it, he answers, “Even if he were here and just too weak to face us, he wouldn’t let our presence here go unanswered. He’d have protection, something of a higher caliber than Empusas.” Unless that’s what he wants us to think.

“Also, can’t see him chilling out in a pile of rubble.” Dante shoulders his sword. “I’m starting to think this is going to be an underwhelming recon.”

“But reconnaissance we must do all the same. We must make sure.” Vergil starts towards the ruins where the Empusas came from. He can’t rest easy until he knows beyond a doubt.

The brothers trawl through the ruins as best they can, stepping around crumbling structures and pitfalls. It’s hard to figure out where to go, exactly. Eventually they decide to try and go down, since there clearly isn’t anything on the surface. It takes them almost an hour to find their way to the bottom, and only because Dante finds a rubble-filled hole that he makes a way down by repeatedly slamming his sword into the debris until it gives way.

Now of course, Dante didn’t bother to move before he does this, so he drops like an undignified lump to the bottom. Vergil hears him groan from down below. “Nailed it,” Dante calls up.

Vergil jumps down, landing far more gracefully next to Dante. “You nailed being an absolute buffoon.”

“I am unappreciated in my time.”

The two find themselves staring down the remains of a hallway. Dante frowns. “I… think I got chased down this way. By… ack, that spider. What’s his face...”

“Phantom.” The repulsive, stubborn demon that Vergil had despised. Phantom had only ever concerned himself with feeding and little else. Not terribly smart, but he had made for a good watch dog – er, spider.

“Looks like this is the only way through,” Dante notes as he strolls down the hallway. “This is gonna be a quick search if this is all-”

The moment the brothers make it halfway down the hall, a faint presence invades their senses. A chilling dread settles in Vergil’s stomach. It’s weak, almost non-existent, but he knows all too well what it is. “He’s here.”

Dante nods, frown in place and sword back in hand. He moves to the front, keeping himself firmly between Vergil and whatever lies ahead.

The hallway abruptly ends at a cave-in. Off to the right is a smashed in door that leads into a collapsed chamber. Dante pauses outside the room and glances at Vergil. “You sure about this?”

“I didn’t come all this way to retreat now.”

“Okay. Remember what we agreed on.”

Vergil doubts he’ll honor that agreement, but he nods along. Dante nods back before he ducks inside the room, Vergil hot on his heels. On the other side of the room are hunks of broken stone. Mundus’s marble body still lies in ruin, but the broken pieces still contain something of him. Though to call this flickering presence Mundus is like calling a barely burning ember a fire.

“…how unexpected.” Mundus’s voice resonates from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Vergil’s grip on Yamato tightens. He is inconsequential. He doesn’t even have a physical presence. There’s nothing to fear. But even as he tries to assure himself of Mundus’s weakened state, those old memories and trauma rear their dual ugly heads. He swallows thickly.

“Well, well, well…” Dante smirks and shakes his head. “You really don’t learn, do you?”

The brothers approach until they’re just a few meters away from Mundus’s broken body. Dante stands a few inches closer to it than Vergil, still trying to protect him from this specter.

“I am eternal. Your father could not contain me forever, nor can you destroy me forever.”

“When a dog’s kicked a couple times, he learns to stay away from the person doing the kicking.” Dante laughs. “My point is… well, you’re dumber than a dog.”

“A dog bites. And one day, the person doing the kicking will get bitten…” Although he has no physical presence, Vergil feels like Mundus is looking straight at him. “More unexpected still is you, my old servant. Here you stand, having returned to the place you belong.”

Vergil’s lip curls. “Trying to prey on my past and unnerve me… you really have sunk low. I’d almost pity you if it weren’t so satisfying to see you in such a state.” Especially since Mundus’s handiwork had left Vergil in a similar state. Tit for tat and all that. “This is all rather careless of you, letting your minions roam about in plain sight.”

“Did you really think Trish and I didn’t have eyes on this place?” Dante adds.

“No number of eyes or ears will prevent my ascension. One day, Trish will return to me. Whatever ‘bond’ you think you have, it is nothing compared to-”

“Ah, shut up.” To make a statement more than anything, Dante grabs Ivory and unloads a few rounds into the pile of marble. “Trish likes me better than you. She gets free pizza from me. You can’t top that.”

Vergil rubs his ear, shooting a glare at his brother for attempting to give him tinnitus again. “Your desperation is showing, Mundus.”

“So is your fear. You cannot hide it from me. You reek of it.” The presence intensifies, enough to make the brothers draw their swords in response. “Your mind is not free from me. It never will be.”

Then Vergil feels it: Mundus reaching in, trying to read his thoughts. But Mundus is not what he used to be, and neither is Vergil. “Get. Out.” Vergil grits his teeth and forces Mundus from his mind. There’s an agitated rumble that vibrates in the air. It felt good to do that, he thinks with a small smirk.

“You have grown stronger. What a pity that you waste that power chasing after weak prey, fighting alongside the brother who once killed you without second thought. I gave you purpose, a higher calling to answer to. Now what do you have?”

Vergil gives Mundus a bit of credit, he’s aiming his punches at that right spots. But whereas that might have worked once upon a time, it doesn’t now. “All I got from you was years’ worth of nightmares. Serving you was no privilege, nor was it a purpose I ever wanted. I’d rather spend the rest of my years aimless than endure one minute serving your so-called purpose.” He shakes his head. “I have plenty without you. Spare yourself from any further delusion that you actually mean something to me.”

“A meaningless job, no purpose and wasted potential? That is what you consider ‘plenty’?” There’s a heavy pause, a moment of unnerving silence before he adds, “Or perhaps it’s that boy of yours? Your son?”

That punch hits just right, knocking the air out of Vergil’s lungs. Mundus hadn’t been in his mind for long, but he retrieved all that he needed. “You-”

Even Dante reacts outwardly, eyes widening in alarm as he readies his sword to strike. “Okay, you had your fun, Mundus. Now it’s time to shut up.”

“I am eternal. You cannot protect that boy from me. Someday-”

No. Rage punches through the fear, and Vergil moves. He’s done Judgment Cut more times than he can count. But never has he done it so quickly or with such ferocity as he does just then, slicing through and around the marble corpse. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dante dash backwards to get out of the way. With a stone-cold stare, Vergil carefully slides the sword back into its sheath. The air explodes from the force of countless cuts, and the marble chunks shatter. Mundus’s scream fills the room.

“That’s but a small taste of what will happen if you ever try to lay a hand on him.” He straightens. “I suggest you listen to Dante and stay in whatever hole you crawled out of.”

There’s a faint pulse. Mundus tries to respond, but Vergil’s attack had drained him of what little power he had.

Vergil smirks, satisfied with the lack of response. Mundus can stew on that for the next few decades. He turns to Dante. “We’re done here.”

“Couldn’t agree more. I think we got our point across.” Dante snorts before turning and following Vergil out of the room.

It’s a quiet trip back to the surface. Vergil feels a dizzying array of emotions, too many to pin down with words. He’s not the type to drink, but honestly, he could go for a stiff one right about now. When they make it back up top, he runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s be off. It’s a long flight back.”

“Yeah. Though I don’t know what kind of reception we’ll be gettin’.”

“An angry one.” It’s another battle he’ll have to fight. A much harder one, too, for swords aren’t going to work. “And I know what you’re going to say,” he adds, turning to his brother. “I’m not ignoring the issue.” Coming here, seeing the island like it is, finding Mundus… it might not have been a grand battle, but he did get some closure. He had said his piece and got the assurance he had needed. Mundus is powerless, the island is destroyed, and those days as Nelo Angelo are long behind him. If tonight has shown him anything, it’s that he’s still too wrapped up in the memory of this place. He needs to let it go and move forward. “…I must tell him about what happened to me. That much is clear now.”

“But are you actually going to?”

As much as Vergil wants to backhand him for that question, he knows it’s not an entirely unfair one. “Yes.” He clutches at his pendant, letting the familiar weight settle him. “Mundus has taken enough from me. I’m not going to allow his ghost to rob me of what I have now.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day.” Dante huffs out a laugh, letting his sword vanish. “Let’s go. Someone’s gotta tell Trish and Lady not to cut their vacation short, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Chapter Text

It’s below freezing outside, but that’s not preventing Nero from sitting on the porch and brooding. Sure, he can do it inside just as easily, but the cold keeps him grounded. It’s something else to focus on besides the hot anger still simmering inside him.

What is it gonna take for them to treat me like an equal? Nero rests his head on his arms that he’s got crossed atop his knees. I can keep up. I can handle myself. Maybe I’m not as strong as them but I’m not deadweight. Every time I think I’m getting somewhere with them- His fist clenches. What he wouldn’t give for a job to pop up so he can go and take out his anger on some hapless demons. I need to try and talk Kyrie into letting me put up a punching bag. Nevermind that he could easily knock one off the chain…

He hears voices coming from inside. He can’t make out the words, but he recognizes Kyrie’s and Nico’s voices. What are they doing up so late? I thought they-

Then he hears the unmistakable voices of his uncle and father. Nero lifts his head and turns around. He can’t quite see all of what’s going on inside, but he catches glimpses of Dante and Vergil as they walk around. Kyrie walks by the window, looking a little more relaxed. I guess it went well. Nero snorts and turns back around. Not that it’s any of my concern. They made that perfectly clear, he thinks bitterly. He could go inside and hear what happened, but he doesn’t trust himself to not punch his father in the face. I’ve got nothing to say to them anyway. He pulls his hood up over his head and stares back out into the night.

But his alone time comes to an end when the backdoor swings open. Nero refuses to look over. If it’s Kyrie or Nico, they’ll make themselves known and get to the point. If it’s-

“Nero.”

- his father, then he certainly doesn’t want to look. He has half a mind to ignore him, but a little voice in his head reminds him that he’s already being childish. “What?” he responds, tone sharp to make it clear he’s not interested in talking.

“Still angry, I see.”

“Of course I’m still fucking angry!” His outrage at Vergil’s audacity overrides his refusal to look at his father. He levels a glare at him, a mix of anger and disbelief. “What, you think you’d leave for a few hours and everything would be magically fixed when you got back?!”

Vergil shakes his head. “No, not really.” He steps out onto the porch, Yamato in hand as always. “There was little in the way of anything exciting. A few Empusas and little else.”

Nero gives his father a once over. He doesn’t look like he’s been in a fight. Surely if they had fought the demon emperor, he’d look worse for wear. “So, what? A false alarm?”

“…yes. The Empusas were merely scavenging. All the same, it was good to confirm he hasn’t returned in any meaningful way.”

Something about that wording indicates that Vergil isn’t telling the entire truth. Nero wants to call it out, but considering their earlier fight, he suspects it’ll just end the same. Remembering that argument gets his blood boiling all over again. “Yeah. Really sounds like something I could never have handled,” he says in a biting tone.

“It was never an issue of whether or not you could handle it.”

And finally the rage explodes. “Then what is it?!” Nero slams his fist into the floor, cracking the concrete. “What is it that you’re hiding from me?”

Vergil stares at Nero for a long time; the silence is drawn out, to the point of discomfort. If Nero didn’t know better, he’d almost think his father is deliberately trying to unnerve him so he backs off. Finally, Vergil says, “First thing tomorrow morning, we will talk. I’d rather have that conversation with you when you’re calmer. And I need time to think things through.”

“You’re going to tell me?” Just as his rage had begun to really build, the statement trips him up enough that it fizzles out almost as quickly as it started. He’s left surprised and almost disoriented.

“Yes. In the morning,” Vergil reiterates. “For now, I am going to rest. You should as well.” Without further word, he turns and goes back inside, leaving Nero alone again in the cold.

…I can’t believe it. Nero shakes his head in disbelief. I’m finally going to learn what the hell happened to him? There’s a rush of anticipation and nerves. He wants to know – needs to know, but he remembers Dante’s warning: it won’t be a happy story. And if it has to do with why Vergil had been so vehemently adamant that Nero not come to Mallet Island…

Nero blows out a breath as he stands up. It’s well past the household’s usual bedtime. With Dante and Vergil back in one piece, there’s no reason to stay up. And the sooner he sleeps, the sooner morning comes. Assuming, of course, he’s going to be able to sleep.

Surprise surprise, sleep eludes him. Nero spends half the night tossing and turning. His thoughts run through his head at dizzying speeds. He tries to shut them off and sleep, but anticipation keeps him awake. He can’t help but wonder what Vergil is going to tell him. Even though he’s been tossing theories around in his head for months, it doesn’t stop him from turning them over again and again, especially now that he’s so close to learning the truth.

He eventually nods off, but only for a few hours at most. He wakes up with a start, eyes heavy from sleep. His body immediately regrets waking up, but his mind is raring to go. Might as well get up, he thinks as he spies a trickle of light peering through the window. As he shoves off the blankets and gets up, he looks over to make sure Kyrie keeps sleeping. To his relief, she’s out like a light, curled up in an adorable manner under the blankets. He smiles before walking around the bed to gently kiss her head. He leaves her to finish her sleep as he pulls on a shirt and then a sweater. A few quick swipes of his hand through his hair, and he’s good to go.

Waking up so early thrusts him into a stealth scenario. Waking up everyone now would result in a house full of grumpy people (including two boys who need their sleep). He tiptoes down the hall as to not wake the rest of the household. When he reaches the stairs, he pivots over the notorious few squeaky steps. He lands softly at the bottom of the stairwell. His destination is the kitchen to start coffee, but he pauses when he passes by the living room. “…did you not sleep?”

It certainly doesn’t look like Vergil has slept. His father’s in his usual chair, sitting upright and in the same exact outfit he wore last night. He lifts his head, blinking owlishly at Nero. “Mm, no.”

Nero swears softly under his breath before he ducks into the kitchen. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.”

“Color me shocked,” Nero says, completely not shocked. At least it makes it simple. Once he dumps enough coffee grounds in, Nero puts the pot on and lets it do its magic. He considers popping back into the living room, but he’s afraid of the awkward silence that will ensue. Getting a conversation rolling with his father is a challenge in ordinary circumstances. Trying to start small talk at five in the morning and on little sleep promises to be a futile effort. So, Nero just stands in the kitchen, watching the coffee pot slowly fill up.

If he was up all night because of this… It’s an unsettling thought. It’s also an indication of just how difficult this is going to be for Vergil, and a pang of guilt hits Nero. He almost, almost considers just calling the whole thing off. No, we made it this far. No backing out now.

Once the pot is done, Nero pours out two mugs. After he dumps enough sugar and milk into his, he grabs both cups and brings them into the living room. “Here,” he offers, handing Vergil a mug before taking a seat next to him.

“Thank you.” Vergil blows on it, trying to cool it off before he dares to take a sip. “I’m surprised you’re up so early.”

Nero lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Didn’t sleep great. Just kept tossing and turning. Once I woke up, I figured I wasn’t gettin’ back to sleep.” He frowns. “I didn’t think you were gonna be up all damn night. You sure you don’t want to try and get a few hours in?”

Vergil shakes his head. “It’d be pointless. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

Nero stares awkwardly at his mug, taking a sip to buy some time to consider what to say. He doesn’t want to push, but he also doesn’t want to sit here awkwardly and hope his father decides to start talking.

He doesn’t, of course. Not at first. And as the silence drags on, Nero begins to fidget. Don’t make me have to-

“…it will be twenty-four years in March since everything started.” Vergil takes a long, thoughtful sip from his coffee before he sets it down on the coffee table. “Around the time you were born, or so Dante says.”

“Since what started?”

Vergil leans forward, and Nero’s gaze is transfixed on him, anticipation roiling hot.

“When I came to this island, I was looking for information. What I found here led me to Capulet City, where Dante happened to be. Some events transpired one night.” When he sees Nero’s scowl deepen, he shakes his head. “That’s a story for another time, and it doesn’t directly relate to what I’m going to tell you. I’ll say this: I tried to obtain my father’s power, but it backfired. A number of things went awry. A gate to the underworld was opened in the process. During all of this, Dante and I fought thrice. I trounced him in the first fight, but as the night dragged on, he gained ground. In the end, he managed to come out on top.”

Nero is definitely going to make a point to ask what these “events” were. If need be, he’ll ask Dante. But right now, he needs to focus. “So, Dante beat you in your last fight?”

Vergil nods. “Yes. He triumphed, and I was left badly injured. Since my plan had failed, I decided to go into the underworld. It had been Sparda’s home, and I thought I could still find the power I sought there.”

So, that’s how he wound up in Hell the first time. The pieces begin to come together, but Nero still doesn’t quite have the picture still. “You went down there after being beaten that badly?”

“In hindsight, it was a terrible idea. In more ways than one.” And it’s here that Vergil tenses, his hands clasped together tightly. He’s looking at the floor, almost immobile.

Whatever had happened, Nero suspects it has something to do with Mundus. And if his father had gone into Hell… “Is this where Mundus comes in?”

“Yes.” The word is strained. His hands tighten even more, somehow. “I woke up in the underworld, and there he was. I was in his lair and my options were… limited. Despite my state, I took Yamato and I charged, intending to battle him.”

“What? Were you – why didn’t you run? At least to get away and hide until you were healed?!”

“I doubt he would have allowed me to. Besides, pride prevented me from doing so. He was my father’s greatest adversary, and I was determined to repeat his victory.” Vergil snorts derisively. “Though I knew, deep down, that I was not winning that battle.”

Nero’s been expecting a story that wouldn’t be easy to hear. He just hadn’t expected it to be the horror story that’s slowly unfolding. “Guess I don’t need to ask how it went.”

“Truth be told, even if I was in top form, I’m not certain if I would have won.” Vergil looks at the Yamato, perched against the couch next to him. “He utterly beat me down until I could barely move. Worse, he broke Yamato during our battle. I lost it when he…”

“So he’s the one who broke it.” That’s another mystery solved. Of course he had always wondered how Yamato broke, but the realization that his family’s number one enemy had nearly destroyed it makes his stomach turn. The poor sword had been in that state for eighteen years, too. “Did he… take it from you?”

“No. I dropped it. I was too weak to hold onto it anymore. It fell into the darkness. I was certain I had lost it for good.”

It’s a horror story that’s breaking his heart. He knows how much that sword means to his father, and he can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose it like that. Okay, yeah, he had the sword taken from him as well, but he had never been especially attached to it. His grandfather had given the Yamato to Vergil, and it’s probably the only thing of Sparda’s that Vergil has. To lose it in a battle to the death, against Mundus no less-

Wait. “But if he beat you, why didn’t he kill you?”

Vergil laughs. It’s not a humorous one. It’s pained and sardonic, unsettling enough to make Nero almost squirm. “That would have been the kind thing to do. Besides, Mundus isn’t the type to waste.”

Nero repeats the last word in disbelief. “What do you mean?” he asks, almost afraid to know the answer.

“A son of Sparda landed in his lap. He saw an opportunity and he seized it. Why kill when you can use it instead?” Vergil takes Yamato in hand, his grip white-knuckled. “But a servant with a will and mind of his own is a liability. To ensure complete cooperation, he… stripped me of everything. My memories, my personality, my thoughts… by the time he was finished, I was just an empty husk in armor. He even took my name from me. He gave me another one, more ‘fitting’ for my new role.” He looks back at Nero again, his expression hard and unreadable. “Nelo Angelo.”

And there it is, the last piece of the puzzle Nero’s been missing. Now it’s all come together, and he finally sees the entire picture in all its horrifying completion. He had known Mundus had done something horrible, but this… this is nothing anywhere near what he expected. He tries to speak, but his throat’s gone so dry that he has to swallow a couple times before he can form any words. “Angelo. Like those…?”

“Yes. From what I understand, Nelo Angelo served as a sort of blueprint. The Order you once served even built their own Angelo knights based on it. They found the Yamato, after all. I wouldn’t put it past them to have found more from whatever was left of me.”

Nero feels like he might actually hurl. God, how many times had he cracked jokes about those things? Not just in Fortuna, but even in Redgrave he had…

“Nice, getting the band back together, huh?” Nero points at the Angelo knights gathered before them.

But V, he isn’t laughing. He almost looks like he’s in pain. His tone matches the murderous look on his face, “What evil lurks… I must destroy.”

“I thought that was the plan all long.”

Just an overreaction, or so he had thought. But now it makes a sickening amount of sense. So much does, enough so that Nero’s head spins. He hastily sets down his mug and holds his head in one hand, willing himself to settle before he actually does vomit. “…how long were you…”

“Almost a decade. That’s when Mundus decided to lure Dante out and attempt to dispatch the only significant threat left to him.” Vergil’s voice softens as he adds, “He and I clashed a few times. Some small part of me recognized him. I… don’t know if he knew who I was until our last fight. And by that point… all he could do was put me out of my misery.”

Ten years of being a mindless slave. Ten years of not knowing what had happened to Vergil, only for Dante to find Vergil like that and have to kill him… His father and uncle had suffered a great deal in that time. But that does answer another question. “And that’s why he went with you into the underworld,” Nero says, lifting his head. “Because the last time you went down there alone…”

“I suspect so.” Vergil glances in the direction of the garage, where Dante’s currently snoozing away. “He’s made it clear that he doesn’t intend to repeat past mistakes. Apparently, that ranks as one of his worst.”

“Why? Did he just let you go?”

“No, he tried to stop me. His effort was met with a cut to the hand.” Vergil slightly lifts the Yamato to clarify. “He feels like he hadn’t done enough to stop me, or that he should have gone after me.” He shakes his head. “It isn’t his guilt to bear, but I’ve given up trying to convince him otherwise. If you want to know more regarding that, you’ll need to ask him.”

And he will ask, but later. He wants to keep this line of conversation going, but honestly, he’s at a loss of words. What even does he say to all of this? That he’s sorry? That it sounds like it sucked? Does he thank him for telling him? No, that would be tone deaf. They’re all just empty words. Besides, they don’t do sorry or thanks in this family (except when they do, but they won’t admit it). So he opts to just say, “You’re making it hard for me to be mad.”

“Mm.” There’s the barest hint of a smile. “That’s certainly a switch.”

“Don’t get used to it. You’re still too good at pissing me off.” The words’ sting is lessened by the soft tone of his voice. “But… I get it. Still not happy about it, but I get why you didn’t want me coming.”

“I’ll take not happy over anger and hatred.”

“Hatred?” Nero’s head snaps towards his father. “Dad, if I didn’t hate you after popping my arm off, wrecking my uncle, wrecking a city, killing a lot of people, quoting a lot of old poetry at me, and kicking my ass a couple of times, you telling me ‘no’ isn’t gonna do it.” He can’t believe he would even – actually no, he can believe it. But it still pains him all the same.

“…I see.” There’s another brief smile, warmer than the last one, before it unexpectedly turns into a smirk. “I didn’t realize my quoting Blake ranked as one of my worst offenses.”

“Well it almost made my brain melt so I’d consider it pretty bad.”

“Taste isn’t hereditary, clearly.”

“Bite me.” Nero snorts.

This is better, he thinks. It’s lightening the mood and got a smile out of Vergil. This might not be the last time they talk about this, but for now, he’s okay with letting it end here. His father’s gone down enough of trauma memory lane for today. “Come on, you should try and sleep a bit. You barely touched your coffee anyway.”

“I don’t think sleep is on the schedule.” Vergil takes a sip from his cup. “I don’t mind. I prefer early morning, anyway.”

To be fair, Nero’s sure he’s not going back to sleep either. They can’t do too much right now, with the rest of the household sleeping. A thought comes to him when he glances at Yamato. “A little exercise would help wake us up. Better than coffee, at any rate.”

Vergil raises a brow. “In the backyard, at this time?”

“There’s a spot not far from here. It’s in a patch of woods and no one lives nearby, so we won’t wake anyone.” Nero smirks, and because he can’t help but be a punk and tack on, “Unless you’re just using that as an excuse to back out.”

There’s a twitch of his lips, then Vergil calmly sets down his cup and grabs Yamato. “That’s the best taunt you could come up with?”

“Shut up, it’s barely past five in the morning.” Nero gets up and stretches before he walks over to grab Red Queen from its perch against the wall. “Brain isn’t at its wittiest right now.”

“Will that also be your excuse when I beat you?”

As Nero swings the sword onto his back, he shoots a challenging look at Vergil. “Won’t need one ‘cause you’re going down hard. Then you’re gonna feel like a chump when you lose to a guy who’s half-awake.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Father and son exchange smirks before Nero leads them out the backdoor.

Nero hopes this will help take Vergil’s mind off the nightmares he just revisited. As hard as it had been to hear about them, he’s still glad Vergil told him. Now he knows (most of) what happened on that day. He’ll have to have a separate conversation with Dante about a few things, now that his uncle’s no longer be forbidden from speaking to him about it. But this is a good start. Finally he’s beginning to understand his heritage and those he inherited it from. He still has a lot to learn, but for the first time since he learned about his family, he doesn’t feel so lost.

For now, he’s just going to have a spar with his father in the hopes he can take his mind off things. It’s all he can do. But, if the poorly hidden smile on Vergil’s face is any indication, it’s more than enough.

Chapter Text

She’s given him a week. Why Morrison insisted on her waiting that long, Patty doesn’t know. She very nearly hadn’t, but he had given her That Look, the one that means he’s being very super serious and he’s going to be more than just a tad annoyed if she doesn’t listen. And because she’s an adult now, thank you, she bites her tongue and waits it out.

Seven days later on the dot, Patty marches right up to Devil May Cry, intent on giving Dante a piece of her mind. She doesn’t bother to tell Morrison because she knows he’ll try to talk her into waiting longer. Which is so not happening. Dante missed her birthday party! And he even hung up on her! The nerve of that man…

Patty rolls her shoulders, psyching herself up before she summons the angriest look she can manage. He is so going to get it. I’m not going easy on him this time, either. With more force than is strictly necessary, Patty slams open the door. “THERE you are!”

As expected, he’s sitting at his desk, some dumb magazine in hand and looking like he’s ready to nap. Dante sighs. “Look, I can explain-”

Oh no you don’t. “Of coooourse you had to get a job on my birthday!” Patty kicks the door shut behind her as she marches up to Dante’s desk, hands on her hips and ready to rant. She’s been reciting it in her head the whole way here, and he’s not going to interrupt. “And rather than skip it like half of the jobs you get offered, you took it! You picked a dumb job over my birthday party! And not just any birthday! A girl only turns eighteen once!”

“That’s kind of rich coming from the kid who used to give me lip for only getting one job a week-”

“NOT the point!” She stomps her foot. “Why didn’t you turn down this one?!”

Dante pinches the bridge of his nose. “One, I wasn’t gonna go anyway-”

Patty’s anger turns to genuine hurt. It’s one thing to have something of a valid excuse not to come, but to turn her down flat like that... “You weren’t?” It hits like a weight dropping into her stomach. Dante hasn’t been this much of a jerk to her in years. She thought those days were past-

“I was gonna take you out when I got back from said dumb job. Get some strawberry sundaes. Hell, I might have even let you eat some of mine.” Dante half-smiles. “Nothing against you. Just… not a fan of that kind of thing.”

Oh. Well… that’s kind of nice. “You don’t like birthday parties?”

“I don’t like being in a situation where I have to pretend that I’m normal.”

For most, that would not have made much sense. But Patty’s known Dante for a decade now. And despite her age, she’s wiser than she lets on. She nods, understanding where he’s coming from. Dante and normal don’t mix well. She’s seen it firsthand. And looking back, maybe she should have realized that inviting a middle-aged man to a birthday party that was primarily made up of teenagers and a smattering of their parents might not have gone over real well…

“Two… it was not a job I could pass up.” He cuts her off just as she opens her mouth, “And not just because the utilities got shut off again.”

Patty huffs. Ugh, so much for her rant. “Okay, fine. But why did it take you like, six freaking months to come back?” As if him skipping out on her birthday without warning hadn’t been bad enough, he then completely vanished for half a year. Rude.

Dante rubs the back of his head. “…I got stuck in the underworld.”

She gives him a deadpan look. “Again? How did you do that a second time?”

“…Extenuating circumstances.”

“If you’re trying to use big words to confuse me, then screw you because I know what extenuating means.” Patty sticks her tongue out. Joke’s on you, Dante. I nailed the vocab section on my prep tests. “I’m surprised you even know a word that big.”

Dante shakes his head with a smile. “I’m full of surprises.”

“You’re full of something, all right.” She snorts. And they’re veering off subject. If she can’t get her tirade in, she’s at least going to get some answers. But as she formulates what to say next, movement from the stairs to the left distracts her. She looks over to see what’s moving around.

Morrison had told her something big had come up on the job, but she hadn’t been expecting this kind of big. “Is that…?”

Dante turns around in the direction she’s staring. “Patty, meet extenuating circumstances.”

Patty’s never seen him, and she’s certainly never met him, but she knows who it is immediately. Even someone who had never heard of Vergil would at least be able to put two and two together. They’re certainly identical twins, though Vergil’s apparel and overall manner is opposite Dante’s. She can tell that from just a glance at the man, who’s currently regarding her with a curious but guarded stare. “Oh my god,” she blurts out before she thinks to stop herself. “But I thought he was-” She spins around on Dante. “You said-”

“I did not lie,” he cuts her off, finger pointed at her. “Because I honestly thought he was dead.”

Patty straightens up, looking back over at Vergil. “Wait wait wait, that means-!” Her eyes brighten. “That makes you hot nephew Nero’s dad!” But just as she says that, something occurs to her. She immediately narrows her eyes and glances suspiciously at Dante. “…you’re not hiding him from Nero, are you? Because if you are that is SO unbelievably shitty-”

“They’ve met! Nero knows everything now.” Dante throws his hands in the air. “Kind of hard to put that cat back in the bag.”

“Well you kept it in the bag for five freaking years! Can you blame me for thinking you were still hiding things from him?!” Rather than let Dante answer, she whirls towards Vergil. “Did you know he didn’t tell Nero about you guys being his family?”

Vergil’s looking borderline overwhelmed (alas, Patty has no idea just how impressive it is that she’s managed to do that in less than five minutes of meeting him). “I… yes, I’ve heard…”

“Unbelievable, right? And lemme guess, the only reason he finally told him was because you came back.”

The resonating silence from the twins is all the answer she needs. Patty smirks in triumph. “Knew it. That’s so typical of you, Dante.” And she sees from the corner of her eye that Dante’s going to come back with some dumb remark, so she whips out her hand and places it against his face to shush him. “Anyway, I’m Patty Lowell. Former orphan, poker master, high school graduate and the decade-long caretaker of this place, because Dante can’t clean up to save his life.”

Vergil aims a disbelieving stare at his brother. “You had a child cleaning up in here?”

Dante shoves Patty’s hand away. “She did it on her own.”

“Because it was filthy in here and I wasn’t going to sit in your squalor!” And speaking of… “Though it’s actually looking okay in here for once.”

“Morrison had the place cleaned.” Dante sighs in aggravation as he sits up straighter in his chair. “If you’re done-”

“Nope.” Patty nods approvingly as she takes a better look around the place. “Smells waaay better, too. Though you’ll get it all filthy again in no time.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Vergil gives Dante a steely-eyed look. “I’m not going to sit in squalor, either.”

“You know how to clean?” Patty asks.

“Better than my brother here, evidently.”

“Oh my goooood I like you already.” Finally someone else will keep up with the place.

Vergil merely blinks at her, slightly wide-eyed and looking uneasily at his brother for help.

“Patty, did you only come here to yell at me?” Dante gripes. “If so, great, you said your piece. Now scoot.”

She glances back and forth between the brothers. Ordinarily she’d put her foot down and talk/yell at Dante more. But with Vergil here and Dante having gotten back after being away for half a year… well, even Patty is more tactful than that. Now isn’t the time to press. “Only if you take me out like you were gonna for my birthday. Just because it passed doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

Dante chuckles tiredly. “All right, all right. Just give me a week or so. I’m a little strapped for cash at the moment.”

“Deal.” She’ll get the deets out of him then. Patty all but skips to the door, waving good-bye over her shoulder. “Nice meeting you, Vergil! See you guys later!” With a grin and a wink, she’s out the door, leaving a bewildered silence in her wake.

After a beat, Vergil asks, “What the hell was that?”

Dante sighs and scrubs his face with his hands. “A living, breathing, blonde hurricane.”

Chapter Text

In a rather cold garage in Fortuna sits the vehicle a certain demon hunter affectionately calls the Devil May Cry-mobile. And as luck would have it, that same demon hunter is currently in that vehicle. He stretches out his back and arms before flopping onto the couch with a perfect lack of grace. “Phew. What a day,” Dante says as he looks to his side.

On an air mattress tucked back between Nico’s workbench and the jukebox lies Vergil, looking just a tad harried. “I have never been asked so many questions in such a short time frame.”

Dante chuckles. “The kids did it to me last year. This year they had new prey.”

Vergil shoots him a side-eyed glare before continuing, “Do they ever stop talking?”

“When there’s a movie on.” Dante rolls his eyes. “C’mon. Julio’s not bad. Kyle’s… okay he’s a lot, but that’s when I sic him on Nico and let her deal with him. We all just pass him around until he finally gets bored or tuckers out.”

“And we have several days of this yet.” Vergil rubs a hand over his face and blows a long sigh through his nose. “I don’t think this was a wise idea.”

Why is Dante not surprised? “You’re gonna be fine once you’re used to it. This is how you get to that point.” He gestures at the house. “Besides, it’s not like we had much choice.”

“No. No, we did not.”

Early last week, the Christmas card had arrived. It was innocuous in appearance, but Dante knew better. He knew what was in that card.

He grabbed it while tossing the rest of the mail in the trash bin as he ducked back inside his office. Though generally more resistant to the cold than humans are, the cold snap that plagued the city had even him keeping indoors as much as possible. Good thing the electricity’s paid for this month, he thought as he slunk back towards his chair. It would absolutely have sucked if they lost heat in this weather.

That, and he would never hear the end of it from Vergil. Which, speaking of… “Hey, Vergil!” he called out to his brother as he ripped open the envelope. “Come down here for a sec.”

He heard Vergil demanding to know why, but he ignored it. He would come down eventually. As he waited, he read over the card from Nero and Kyrie. Like last year, most of it was written in Kyrie’s hand:

Happy Holidays Dante and Vergil!

Hope you’re both settling back into Devil May Cry! It must seem so strange to have come back to the holiday season when it was barely summer the last time you were up here. You’ll have to have extra fun next summer to make up for it!

We’d love to have both of you here for Christmas. It’d be a bit cozier in the house, as Nico will be here for part of the holiday. No worries about the sleeping arrangements, we’ll definitely figure it out. Lady and Trish are welcome as well. The more the merrier!

Give us a call to let us know. Hope to see you soon!

Love,

Nero and Kyrie + the kids

Dante’s smile widens in amusement as he keeps going, knowing there’s more. And sure enough, Nero’s writing is scrawled out along the bottom, hastily added in after Kyrie finished:

Still not taking no for an answer, and that goes double for the old man. Be here by Monday the 21^st or I’m coming up there.

He snorted as he finished. Not that he doubted Nero wasn’t being serious, but there was something so wonderfully befitting their family that there was a threat enclosed with the invitation.

Vergil stomped into the room just then, and rather ticked off if his angry, “What do you want?” was any indication.

Dante held out the card to him. “From your son.”

There was a pregnant pause before Vergil took the card from him and read it over. Dante leaned back to watch his reaction. His brother’s expression remained mostly neutral, with perhaps just a hint of a smile. It was easy to tell when he got to Nero’s added note, however, when a defiant frown stretched across his lips. “Is he ordering us to come down there for the holiday?”

“Preeeetty much,” Dante answered with a shrug. “Hey, he did it to me last year. Looks like it’s going to become something of a holiday tradition.” He smiled. “It’s kind of nice.”

“It’s nice that he’s strong-arming us into this?”

“Nice that he wants us there and that we have something to call a tradition, such as it is.” Two years didn’t make something a tradition, but it was a start. Dante would take whatever he can get. “His implied threat aside, is there really any reason you wouldn’t want to go? We’ll get at least a week’s worth of Kyrie’s cooking. There’ll be cookies. There’ll probably be eggnog. And it’s time with your son.” Playing that last particular card worked wonders, Dante noticed. As awkward and distant and occasionally stupid as Vergil could be, deep down within his brother Dante knew there was a desire to connect with his son and try to make up for lost time. Ultimately it would win out over whatever got Vergil hung up about going, but he wanted to know what was going on in his brother’s head. Though, he had a good guess as to what it was.

“I haven’t…”

“Celebrated the holidays in any capacity in decades?” Dante finished for him.

Vergil nodded. “There have been long stretches of time that I didn’t even notice they had come and gone. They lost meaning for me a long time ago.”

Dante couldn’t exactly judge. Until last year, he spent most of his holidays alone in varying states of inebriation. Nero learned about it, which is what lead to last year’s invitation/demand. And the kid knew enough about his father to double down on the invitation/demand again for this year, and likely for the next many years. “Doesn’t mean you can’t find it again.”

“You’re much more accustomed to it than I am.”

He leveled a look at Vergil. “That doesn’t make it any easier.” On the contrary, he thought his brother had it easier in that regard. For most of the last few decades he would have loved to not have taken notice of the season. “Last Christmas was a hell of an adjustment, but it beats the same old shit that happened every other year.”

Vergil drummed his fingers on his thigh, still holding the card in his other hand. “What did you do last year?”

“Hung out. Attempted to help make cookies, proceeded to get banned from the kitchen-”

“And how am I not surprised?” Vergil asked drolly.

Dante ignored that smart-ass remark. “Kept the kids entertained, watched some movies, opened up some gifts, ate a lot of food… It was a nice time after it was all said and done.”

“It sounds so…”

“Normal?”

“Yes, that is a word for it.”

Dante rolled his eyes and nudged Vergil with his foot. “Come on. Give it a chance. New life, new Vergil, remember?”

“It’s not like I have much say in the matter. Nero will drag us there regardless, so I may as well come willingly,” he groused as he tossed the card onto Dante’s desk.

“Oh boo-hoo, you poor thing. You have to spend a holiday with your family and eat good, free food and get presents. The travesty.”

Vergil’s eyes widened a fraction. “Gifts? Am I… expected to purchase gifts for all of them? I don’t-”

Dante waved off his concern. “We – and by that I mean I – will handle it. Relax, you’ve been back a month, they’re not expecting you to have the cash to give them anything. Not that they expect it anyway, but they’re really not going to this year.” He gestured to the card. “You showing up and being there is the present they want.”

“The present of my presence.” Vergil snorted derisively. “I cannot recall the last time anyone considered that a gift.”

“People want you around now. Isn’t that enough?”

His brother looked down at the card, his expression softening. “It’s more than what I ever expected.” He shook his head. “All of this is.”

Dante smiled. “Welcome to a somewhat normal-ish life, Vergil. It’s better than what you think.”

~*~

Vergil takes off his coat and lays it gently on the ground. “This is much more difficult than I anticipated.”

“Just because it doesn’t involve fighting something doesn’t mean it’s easier.”

That’s met with a well-deserved glower.

“Okay, okay, but come on, we’re not off to a bad start. We’ve been here three days and Nero’s only tossed us out on our asses once!”

“Oh, is that the metric we’re using?” Vergil quips sarcastically.

“It’s not the worst as far as they go,” Dante shoots back, doing his best to sound convincing. “And hey, if that’s the only time he does I’ll consider that a resounding success.”

“That should be easily doable so long as you don’t feel the need to argue with me over such an idiotic thing.”

“I couldn’t not argue when you were so blatantly wrong. Besides, you were arguing, too.”

“Enough. We are not getting into it again.”

“…I’m still right.”

Dante barely dodges the summon sword.

Dante dramatically hung his head, arms crossed. “Vergil, I really, really tried. I wanted to make this work. But I just can’t if this is your stance. I can forgive many things, but not this.”

Vergil aimed a deadpan stare at Dante from across the living room. “So this is the hill you’re choosing to die on.”

“I won’t betray such a fundamental belief.”

“Dante-”

“How can you think that Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie?!”

“Because it isn’t!”

“It absolutely is! It takes place during Christmas!”

“That does not make it a Christmas film! Christmas is not a central theme to the movie. It’s just the point in time it occurs.”

Dante scoffed. “Christmas plays an important role in the film.”

“And what would that be?”

(By that point, the arguing caught Nero’s attention. He popped his head around the corner, mostly out of sight and got an eyeful – and earful – of his father and uncle arguing.)

“John McClane flies to LA to reconcile with his wife! On Christmas! Do you know how many damn Christmas films are about reconciliation?”

“A point which is only relevant at the very beginning and very end of the film. Everything else is just mindless action as he takes on a tower full of so-called terrorists.”

“But it’s still relevant.”

(Nero edged towards the front door and opened it.)

“In the barest sense of the term! One could also argue that it’s a commentary on the-”

It was only when it was a second too late did Dante notice Nero. He only had time to widen his eyes before those damned spectral arms lashed out and grabbed the brothers. They swung their legs and fought, but Nero wrestled them out the door and flung them several feet. “You wanna argue pointless shit, do it outside!” he snapped before slamming the door shut.

From his sprawled out position on the ground, Dante muttered, “When we get back we have got to put our heads together and figure out a way to counter those arms.”

Vergil stood up and brushed himself off. “Agreed.”

 Dante straightens up. “So we got put in a time out. So what? And despite everything, you seemed to like making the cookies.”

“That was a mostly relaxing exercise, aside from Kyle’s inane prattling and his attempts to sabotage my cookies.”

Dante makes a mental note to tell Nero to tell Kyle to ease off on bombarding Vergil. He fears the kid will wind up stabbed by the end of this otherwise. “And you even learned something you and Nero have in common.”

For just a second, Vergil’s lips twitch to almost form a smile.

Dante remained banned from the kitchen. Kyrie clearly didn’t feel like curbing Dante’s love of piling on sprinkles again. Not that she said that in such terms, but she rather quickly invited Vergil to help them make cookies, and she apologized to Dante that there would be too many in the kitchen if he joined, too. “You’re still our best taste tester,” she added with a smile.

Honestly, Dante didn’t mind. He had his shot last year, and now Vergil could try it. He was the one who needed to immerse with everyone here. So Dante contented himself with watching the shenanigans unfold.

Kyle did, in fact, prattle on quite a bit. The kids always had a ceaseless fount of things to talk about. Luckily for Vergil, Kyrie handled most of it, answering his questions and keeping him on track. Only when he directly asked Vergil something did the poor guy have to respond.

Of course, Vergil was a diligent worker, methodically pressing out the dough with the cutters and then putting the cut outs on the cookie sheets. When it came time to sprinkle them, Dante smiled. He knew what was coming. If Kyrie thought she roped herself someone who was more moderate about sprinkle usage, she was about to be sadly mistaken.

As the sprinkles tumbled out, Kyrie glanced over at what Vergil was doing. “Oh, you can put more than that on them.”

“These are just the right amount. That way it doesn’t drown out the taste of the cookie with over-sugary nonsense.”

Kyle and Julio exchanged baffled looks. Dante swore for a moment he saw the specter of death flash across Kyrie’s face. Whatever it was, it passed in an instant. She looked back at Dante, and what he did see for sure was exasperation.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter as he shrugged. Sorry, Kyrie. You can’t win either way.

“Well, I’m sure someone will eat those anyway,” she said as she turned back to her work.

The sprinkling continued until all the cookies were covered to varying degrees. But Kyle, not content to take Vergil’s blasphemous cookie to sprinkle ratio laying down, waited for Vergil to look away before quickly snapping out and dumping sprinkles on one of Vergil’s cookies. Now of course, Vergil immediately noticed this and narrowed his eyes at Kyle. The boy stared back unflinchingly as he moved his hand and pretended to sprinkle another cookie.

Vergil made the mistake of thinking Kyle wouldn’t try the same thing twice. He turned to ask Kyrie something, and Kyle took the opportunity to sprinkle yet another one of his cookies. And again Vergil caught him. “Do not keep adding sprinkles to those I’ve already decorated.”

And again Kyle pretended to sprinkle another one. “I’m not. Don’t know whatcha talkin’ about.”

“I very clearly saw you doing that.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yes, I did.”

At that point, Julio quickly grabbed the sheet and put it in the oven before Kyle could wreak more havoc.

“You can’t prove it.”

“I can by the fact that there are more sprinkles on those two cookies than there were before.”

“They were always there.”

And now Kyrie finally stepped in and admonished Kyle. “You did and you know it. Please do not lie. Leave his cookies be. You have your own to decorate.”

Kyle slumped his shoulders, put out by the scolding. Julio patted his shoulder and murmured, “Good try.”

The cookie making resumed as they prepared the next batch. There was a sort of uneasy silence that fell as Vergil watched Kyle closely and Kyle defiantly stared back. The kid had guts, Dante would give him that.

Just minutes after Kyrie pulled out the first batch from the oven, Carlo came charging down the hall towards the kitchen, followed by Nero. “Someone smelled the cookies. Woke him up real fast.” He walked into the kitchen. “It does smell good, though.”

“And we’re just getting started. That’s the first batch there,” Kyrie said.

“They look great.” Nero glanced over the batch. He stopped at one in the corner and his eyes lit up. “This one’s perfect.” He picked up the cookie and popped it into his mouth. “Barely any sprinkles. Love it.”

And here came the moment Dante had been waiting for. Vergil paused in his cookie making, turning to his son with a mildly surprised expression. Nero frowned, confused as to what caused it. “What?”

“…Vergil made those,” Kyle mumbled.

“Right,” Julio added. “I forgot Nero likes them without sprinkles, too.”

Dante’s laughter drew their attention to the living room. He kicked back, reclining back against the couch, eggnog in hand and endlessly amused as he regarded his brother and nephew. Both of whom were leveling hard stares at him. “I was wondering how long that would take.” He lifted his glass to them before taking a drink.

~*~

“You could have told him.”

“And ruin the surprise?”

Vergil takes off his boots. “That one instance doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going well.”

“So it means it’s a complete disaster?”

Vergil grits his teeth, as exasperated as Dante is. “It’s been three days. And we’ve still got another week or so to go. Tomorrow is Christmas and if the past few days have been any indication-”

“One questionable incident does not ruin a trip, especially where we’re concerned.” Dante feels like he’s grasping at invisible daggers, trying to find which one is digging into Vergil. “Why are you bent out of shape over-”

“It isn’t just that.” Vergil glowers at him. “Don’t tell me you forgot what happened yesterday.”

It actually does take Dante a second to suss out what he’s referring to. “Oh, come on. That-”

“You saw the disappointment. I failed a completely simple request.”

“Vergil, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

The island woke up to a sea of snow glistening under the morning sun. Naturally, this meant the kids screamed their excited little hearts out at just past eight and roused the rest of the household. It wasn’t long before they were dressed and outside, running around in the snow and testing to see how well it packed.

The adults were more leisurely in their getting ready, but soon most of them were outside as well, watching the kids play. Dante took note of the snowballs the boys were pelting at each other. That meant good, wet snow. He smirked as he formed a snowball, waiting until no one was paying attention to him before he (comparatively gently) lobbed one at the back of Kyle’s head.

“Hey!” the boy spun around, glancing accusatorily at those standing behind him.

“Wasn’t me,” Julio said with a shrug.

When Kyle looked at Dante, he just shook his head and pointed a finger at Nero.

His nephew let out a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t even think of pinning it on me. You’re the only one who’s enough of a jerk to throw it at the back of a kid’s head.”

“One has to learn early in life to be aware of one’s surroundings.” Dante sagely held up a finger. “You never know when-”

A snowball will pelt you. Which, ironically, was exactly what happened. Dante grimaced as the snow sunk into his eyes, wiping it away with his hand.

Julio smirked. “You were saying?”

Nero threw his head back and howled in laughter. Even Kyrie couldn’t help giggling, despite her trying to school herself enough to admonish Julio.

I guess I deserved that. Dante stood up, looking around the yard before he spotted a sufficiently large enough snowbank. “That spot should suffice.”

“For?” Julio took a step back.

“Dumping a teenage boy into.”

“RUN, JULIO!” Kyle screamed. He hastily formed snowballs and hurled them at Dante as Julio hauled ass past him. “I’LL HOLD HIM OFF AS LONG AS I CAN!”

Dante easily ducked and weaved around Kyle’s desperately thrown snowballs. The kid only got three off before Dante scooped him up and hauled him over his shoulder. Kyle yelled and beat at Dante’s back, but that hardly slowed him as he ran down Julio and nabbed him, too.

Honestly, he expected Nero to be yelling at him right now, or at least Kyrie. But the boys’ guardians seemed fine with Dante tossing them like two gangly sacks into the snow pile.

Dante dusted off his hands, pleased with his handiwork. He gave Julio credit for being that ballsy, but that didn’t mean he was gonna let him get away with it. Chuckling to himself, he let the boys sort their soaked selves out as he headed back towards the porch.

Shaking his head in amusement, Nero leaned back, angling himself towards the door. “Hey, Dad!” he called out. “Wanna help me lay out Dante for bullying two kids?”

“Bullying my ass,” Dante said with a laugh. “If you want to see me bullying then I’ll demonstrate on you, no problem.”

Both Dante and Nero expected Vergil to pop out; after all, when did the elder son of Sparda pass up the chance to beat up his brother? But to their surprise, Vergil remained in his indoor clothes, watching from the other side of the door. It was hard for Dante to see him clearly, but there seemed to be a kind of uneasiness to his brother; it was something in the way he stood so rigidly, and how he struggled to meet their gaze. “I’m fine in here.”

“What, and miss out on pelting him with snowballs?” Nero said. “I thought you’d be all over that.”

“I was always the snowball fight champion,” Dante gloated. “Your old man knows there’s no point going toe to toe with me.”

But the taunt didn’t work like Dante hoped. Instead, Vergil merely shook his head as he stepped back. “I’d just rather watch.”

Yes, there was disappointment. Dante saw it clear as day in Nero’s eyes. He had half a mind to drag Vergil out there, but before he could, Nero shrugged and said, “Whatever.” He turned around and pointed at Dante. “Guess I’ll have to deal with you myself.”

Dante straightens back up. “Lemme ask you something: how do you picture a visit that you would consider to be going well?”

“Not being tossed out of the house by my son, for one thing.”

“That’s how we function in this family. Nero would be more worried if we were always behaving ourselves. Besides, it wasn’t like he was kicking us out.”

Vergil shakes his head. “It is difficult enough to – never mind, it doesn’t matter. It’s a pointless query. This isn’t going well and that’s all I will say.”

This is turning into less a battle of reason and more into a battle of wills. Dante hates that, because then it just means proverbially headbutting each other until one finally caves and that’s not how he wants to accomplish this. He doesn’t want Vergil to acquiesce just because it’s easier or not worth the fight; he wants him to actually understand.

But I knew I was signing up for this when I dragged him home, he reminds himself. This was never going to be easy. “All right.” He lifts his hands in (temporary) surrender. This battle won’t be won tonight. And he might not even be the one who can win it.

Chapter Text

Nero fully expects to be the only one up this early in the morning. While he’s not always an early riser, he knows he has a big day ahead of him and wants to steal a moment of peace while he can. He quietly makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He stops in his tracks when he sees he’s not alone.

Vergil eyes his son from his perch against the far counter, cup of coffee in hand.

“Oh, hey. Mornin’.” Nero rubs the back of his head, stuck awkwardly in place.

“Good morning.”

Nero can all but hear the proverbial crickets chirping as they stand there, trapped in an uncomfortable silence. He struggles to find the words; things have been weirdly tense since yesterday. He isn’t sure why. The visit had been going well up until that point. What switched in Vergil’s mind that led to this sudden shift? “Merry Christmas,” he finally says, forcing himself to move and pour out a cup of coffee for himself. “I didn’t know you were an early riser.”

“I always have been.” Vergil sips from his cup.

This is going to be painful. Nero sighs through his nose as he dumps a gratuitous amount of sugar and creamer into his mug. He’s being stonewalled, and on Christmas Day, too. It’d be easier to just let it slide and ride out the rest of the visit like this. Nero hardly wants to confront his father. But he didn’t invite him down here to just ignore him. He regards him with a frown as he nurses his coffee. “What’s going on?”

“There’s nothing-”

“Dad.” Nero’s too tired to do this song and dance. “Just be straight with me. It’s like you’ve been on edge since yesterday and I don’t get it.” He gestures helplessly. “I’m trying here. And I thought it was going okay until yesterday-”

That gets a reaction out of his father. “You think it’s been going well?”

“Yeah?” Nero’s frown deepens. “You don’t?” And he can’t stop his heart from sinking at that.

“You’ve tossed me and Dante out once already. I’m hardly getting along with some of the people here, and yesterday was…”

Nero tries to read his father’s face for some hint of what’s bothering him. But he’s as closed of a book as Dante is. His mind spins as he recounts yesterday’s events, trying to pinpoint the source of this tension. “…is this about you not coming outside?”

Vergil’s grip on his mug tightens. Even before he says anything, Nero knows the answer. “It’s only been a few days and with how things are going-”

“What? That this whole thing was a mistake?”

Vergil makes a frustrated sound. “You sincerely think it’s been going well, despite how I’ve… been?”

“Yes.” Nero battles with the simultaneous urges to hug and punch his father. “You’re holding yourself to a higher standard than everyone else is. Dad, if I wanted a completely peaceful, easy Christmas, I wouldn’t have invited you and Dante down here. I didn’t expect this to go perfect. I figured there’d be at least a couple arguments and moments where I was gonna be frustrated with you. That doesn’t mean it’s hopeless.”

Vergil shakes his head in disbelief. He’s hitting some kind of wall, one that Nero is beginning to understand. “That’s not exactly a conventional way to want to spend the holiday.”

“There is not a damn thing about us that is conventional.” Of all the stupid arguments, why is he-

An epiphany hits Nero just then. It’s not a happy one, and he’s not even sure it’s going to be well-received. But despite his unease, he asks, “Do you really think it’s not going well, or do you just want it to not be going well? Because if it isn’t going well, then it proves that you’re right, that you’re not cut out for a normal life, and it’d give you an excuse to go back to being on your own?”

Whether or not Vergil consciously chose that, Nero sees the flash of realization in his father’s eyes. Yup, got it in one. The best response he can muster immediately is to take another drink.

“Nice try, asshole. You’re not getting off that easy.”

“Why?” The question isn’t asked so much as lashed out. “Why put up with this? Why do this knowing that I’m going to frustrate and disappoint?”

“Because you’re my dad! The only other family I’ve got besides an uncle.” Nero slams his mug down on the counter, almost enough to make the coffee slosh over the rim. “You don’t get it. You and Dante had your whatever between you two that made you want to kill the other for whatever stupid reason. But you’ve always had him, even if you weren’t together. And you had your parents, even if only for a little bit. But I never had that. I never had my parents. I never had a brother I could beat up. And Dante didn’t have you for the longest time, or at least he thought he didn’t. So we’re putting up with your bullshit because we’d rather do that than not have you at all! Is that really that hard to believe?”

“…yes.” Vergil looks down into his mug, pensive as he mulls over Nero’s rant. “But I believe you’re being sincere. It’s just that I’m not used to this.”

“Well, get used to it,” Nero mutters.

“I’m trying.” Vergil snorts. “Perhaps not very well, but I am.”

“And that’s all I’m asking. I’m not expecting you to be perfect. Or even great. Just keep trying.”

“I make no promises as to the result, but I will try.”

Nero picks his mug back up and takes a drink. “Was that so hard? Besides, you’re getting free shit while here. That’s gotta be worth something.” And that reminds him: “Oh, yeah. I should get you your gift while it’s quiet.”

“Do you not usually open gifts together all at once?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t seem like your scene. Unless you really want to.”

“…I’ll take it now.”

“S’what I thought.” Nero sets his drink down yet again before he traipses off to the garage. He hid the present there under a blanket. It was a little risky, since Vergil and Dante were staying in the van, but as he hoped, neither of them thought anything of it. Given its size, it takes Nero a minute to wrangle it inside. But it’s worth the effort when he sees the look of surprise on Vergil’s face.

“Did you build this?”

“The boys and I did, yeah.” Bookshelves aren’t very hard to build, so it’d been an easy project for them to work together on. “Figured you don’t have much furniture yet, and since you’re a book nerd, this would be a good start. And you’ve already got one book to put on it.”

Vergil smirks. “An auspicious start as any.” He runs his hand over the top shelf. “…thank you, Nero. I don’t have anything to give in return-”

“You’ve been back for a month. And the only present I want is you here. Which I got, so we’re even.” Nero leans back against the counter, a bit uncomfortable with how emotional this is getting. They’ve both been rather vulnerable the last few minutes. While it had been necessary, he hopes it won’t be for much longer.

As if in answer to his prayers, a moment later he hears excited footsteps heading down the stairs, and Kyrie calling out after the boys as they barrel into the living room. Nero smiles, grateful for the distraction. “Looks like the party’s about to start. Wanna get this visit back on track the right way?”

“Meaning?”

“By kicking Dante out of bed. And hey, I won’t even yell at you if it involves violence. Just no bloodshed, got it?” He might regret giving his dad permission to do that, but hey, it’s Christmas.

“Now that’s what I call a good start to Christmas.” With a little too much pep in his step, Vergil goes to the garage to wake up his brother in some painful manner of his choosing.

Nero shakes his head in amusement. It likely says something not so great about his family that they like to punch, throw, and generally abuse each other, but nothing about them is normal. What matters is that his family is together. Even if they’re not perfect, even if they’re struggling to learn how to be a family, as long as they’re together, whatever it takes, Nero will keep fighting for it. That’s what Christmas is all about, if you ask him.

Chapter Text

Patty likes it when Devil May Cry is lively and full of other people. When Morrison, Trish and or Lady are there, it feels so much brighter and happier. The pall that normally hangs over the place disappears, and it allows a glimpse into what it could be like.

Alas, that’s not going to be the case today.

She peers her head in and looks around as she opens one of the front doors. It’s quiet and dark inside. With no windows, the front office relies entirely on artificial light. When those are off, the place gets nearly pitch black. Patty frowns at the lack of life. “Dante?” she calls out as she walks inside, leaving the door ajar so she has some way of seeing.

No answer. She huffs and meanders further inside. “Daaaanteeeee,” she says. “I know you’re in here. Why are the lights off?” He’s not napping; the couch is empty. Even if he was, he doesn’t usually bother with the lights.

Still no response. The ongoing silence combined with the darkness nearly unnerves her. But she puffs herself up a bit and keeps walking. He has to be in there somewhere-

“Leave, Patty,” a voice responds gruffly.

She stops in her tracks, taking a closer look around, trying to pin him down in the inky black room. “Why are you alone in the dark? That’s just creepy.”

“Leave.”

“Now you’re being rude.” Patty wanders over to the other side of the office. Behind the pool table, she makes out a large lump on the floor. What little light reaches over there reflects off of bottles laying around the figure. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business. I said get out.” His words are slurred.

“…you’re drinking heavily.” Patty scrunches her nose. “Why-”

“OUT!” The word punches through the air like a sonic boom. The sheer venomous force in that single syllable startles Patty enough to make her stumble back.

For all the time Patty’s known Dante, aware of what he’s capable of, she’s never been as frightened of him as she is in that moment. She gasps and spins around, scrambling for the door. “You’re such a jerk!” she cries out. “I hate you!” Those are her parting words as she runs out the door.

Unfortunately, they’re also the last words she’ll say to him for two years.

Dante went on a mission. In her anger, Patty had poo-pooed Morrison and pretended like she didn’t care. He’d come back at some point anyway. But he doesn’t. A week passes, then a month. Patty keeps coming by the shop, expecting Dante to be back any day.

More weeks pass. Patty’s there nearly every other day, popping in and hoping to see Dante. Instead, she only ever sees Trish. In fact, Trish is there all the time. Patty suspects she’s moved back in. About two months after Dante left, Patty discovers the truth. She ducks into the bathroom when Trish isn’t looking and sees her toothbrush. If Trish is back, then that means Dante is gone.

That’s when she breaks down and cries.

Morrison’s called, because Trish has no idea how to handle a hysterical pre-teen. Patty sits on the floor in the bathroom for what feels like hours, bawling her eyes out while Morrison tries to comfort her. It’s then that she learns what happened: Dante had to go into the underworld and got trapped down there. They had no idea if and when he’d be back.

So begins almost two years of Dante’s absence from her life. Patty still drops by the shop to visit Trish, though she never stops hoping that she’ll see Dante. That hope grows dim as one year passes and wanes into a second year. And with the passage of time comes an ever-increasing weight of regret. The last words she hurled at him were in anger, and now she may never get the chance to apologize. It’s a harsh lesson to learn at a young age.

Then, one warm day in early June, Patty meanders over to Devil May Cry to see what Trish is up to. She misses Dante, but Trish’s current takeover of the business has allowed Patty to get to know the demon much better. They’ve bonded over a shared love of clothes, and it’s that mutual interest that has Patty heading for the shop.

I know Trish is gonna think this outfit is super cute, Patty thinks as she pushes open the door. She grins in excitement. “Hey Trish, look at-” The words die the moment she takes in the scene in the office.

Patty, Morrison and Lady are standing around the couch, clearly in mid-conversation when Patty came in. Their voices die down as they turn around. Patty frowns and takes a step closer. She looks in between them to the figured clad in red that’s huddled on the couch.

“…Dante?”

He looks up. His hair’s gotten long and horrifically shaggy, obscuring much of his face. More of it is shrouded by the unkempt beard he’s grown during his time down in the underworld. But under the hair and layers of dirt and blood, Patty barely makes out a smile. “Hey, kid.”

She’s over there in a shot. She all but slams into him before she wraps him in a tight hug. To her surprise, he returns it. “You’re back! You’ve been gone for forever and…” Patty chokes back a sob. “I’m really sorry. About what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“Hm? Oh, that.” Dante chuckles. “Forgot all about it, so nothing to be sorry for.”

Patty can’t tell if he’s being honest or if he’s just saying it to make her feel better. But right now, it doesn’t matter. Dante’s here and he’s okay, if very dirty and probably exhausted. “When did you get back?”

“About an hour ago,” Trish answers for him. “He stumbled in here and nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Pretty sure I gave one to half the people I walked past, too,” Dante mumbles.

Patty leans back. She breathes in, and immediately regrets it as his malodorous odor hits her senses. “Ugh.” She forces herself to start breathing in and out through her mouth. “You really need a shower.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dante rubs his face. “I’d kill for a pizza right now, though.”

Patty whirls on Morrison. “He’s been back for an hour and you still haven’t gotten him a pizza?! After two years of being gone!”

Morrison, well used to being chewed out by Patty, laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. “You’re right, that’s my bad. I’ll call for a couple pies.”

“No olives!”

“I know, I know,” he says as he picks up the phone. “It hasn’t been that long.”

She turns back to a smiling Dante. “If I knew everyone would be this nice after being gone for two years, I’d do it more often.” He laughs as Patty kicks him in the shin. “But not that nice, apparently.”

And it strikes her then, just how nice he’s being. Normally there’d be some quip about her being a brat by now. At the very least, she expected him to complain about the kick. He’s probably just really tired, she thinks, not wanting to get her hopes up. This won’t last.

Lady takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Dante, leaning away from his – or more accurately, his stench. “You really should shower, Dante. I don’t think you realize how bad the odor is. It’ll be a bit before food gets here, anyway.”

He makes a face at the suggestion. “For one thing, I don’t know if I’m getting back up any time soon.” His eyes trail away and towards the far end of the room, towards the cabinet in the back.

Patty’s smile falls. Oh. He wants a drink. She just hopes he keeps it to one or two. It’s been nice to see him entirely sober and she’d much prefer it if he kept that way. Otherwise it’ll ruin the visit, and that’s the last thing she wants after not seeing him for two years.

Trish nods. “I’ll pour you something, but then I am gonna toss you in the bathroom.”

Dante opens his mouth to answer, but he looks over at Patty and sees her face. She tries to school it in, not wanting to hear a lecture or something. No matter what she says about his drinking, it won’t change anything. And she supposes that after being in actual Hell for two years, a drink isn’t a totally unreasonable request. And yet, her heart still sinks.

“You know what, I’m good,” Dante suddenly says, pushing himself up off the couch with a pained groan. “I better just shower before the four of you henpeck me to death over it. It’ll probably help with the muscles, too.” Dante gingerly walks past Patty, giving her hair a ruffle. “Besides, a man can only hear he reeks like a dead animal so many times before his pride starts taking a hit.”

Lady rolls her eyes. “Your ego needs to be taken down several dozen notches.”

Dante waves her off. “Patty, if pizza comes before I’m out, you’re in charge of making sure those two,” He points at Lady and Trish, “don’t eat everything.”

As the older women rebuke them for his insinuating they were pigs, Patty laughs and salutes. “You got it!”

He gives her a thumbs-up before ducking into the bathroom. Faintly she hears him complaining about all of Trish’s stuff being in there. Patty bites her bottom lip to stifle her laughter as Trish glowers at the bathroom door.

Nothing is said until the shower turns on. That’s when Trish glances over at the liquor cabinet. “That was a first.”

“He was gone for two years,” Morrison points out. “Plenty of time to dry out. Pretty sure they don’t sell the stuff down in the underworld, after all.”

Patty breathes out a quiet sigh of relief, drowning out the adults’ conversation as she flops down in Dante’s chair. She gets a good look at her clothes, which now have a thin film of dirt and grime on the front of them. This’ll be fun to explain to Mom. She didn’t even get to show them off to Trish, but oh well. More important things are on her mind. Dante’s back, and for the first time, Patty dares to hope that the miserable man she so often saw back then might be a thing of the past. Only time will tell.

Chapter Text

Fourteen-year-old Patty isn’t prepared for what she’s about to see when she barges into Devil May Cry one warm autumn afternoon. She shoves open the double doors with a grand flourish. “Dante, what-” But whatever diatribe she’s about to launch into dies in its tracks when she realizes that Dante isn’t alone.

Sitting on the edge of his desk is a young man she’s never seen before. Sporting a dark blue leather duster and a sword that could decimate anything that stood in its path, the man regards her with a curious but guarded look. The man who, she now belatedly realizes, looks exactly. Like. Dante.

“Uh…”

“Nice of you to drop in as usual, Patty,” Dante quips from his seat behind the desk.

“It’s – it’s a shop! You’re open, I can barge in if I want!” Patty smooths the front of her dress and takes a steadying breath. “So, you gonna introduce us?”

“Heh.” Dante gestures to her. “Nero, this is Patty. Patty, Nero.”

“Hey.” Nero waves at her.

“Hi.” She levels a deadpan look at Dante. “That’s not an introduction!”

“I introduced you to each other! You know each other’s names! What more do you want?”

“A little context? Like, ‘Nero, this is Patty. We met some years back when I took a job that had me protecting her. We’ve been inseparable ever since.’”

“That’s certainly an interesting way of spinning that,” he teases.

“It’s true!” Patty huffs.

Nero suppresses a smile. “I guess if we’re doing this, then Dante and I met when he was on a mission, too.”

“When?” Patty tilts her head.

“Last year.”

“Wha-? And we’re only just meeting now?”

“Uh, well… I don’t live nearby.”

Dante butts in with a wave of his hand, saying, “I met him on that mission Lady asked me to take.”

Patty shuffles through her memories. A mission from Lady… “Oh. That one that you were gone for over a month on? Right, you said it was pretty far away.”

“Exactly. So don’t give me lip about not bringing him around sooner.”

With all the adolescent indignation she can summon, she retorts, “I can if I want to.”

Morrison makes a timely arrival just then, stepping into the shop and raising an eyebrow at the scene unfolding. “Am I dropping by at a bad time?”

“No, just the opposite.” Dante swivels his legs off his desk and stands up. “Please tell me you have a job.”

Morrison beckons him over to the couch. “I do. There are a few details we gotta go over first.”

The older men retire to the couch to talk, leaving Nero and Patty to hang out at the desk. Patty has a thousand questions, but those will have to be saved for later, when she can talk to Dante one-on-one. She leans back against the wall, shooting a smile at Nero. She has to admit, for looking so much like Dante, he’s pretty darn cute. “How long you been up here?”

“Just got here yesterday.”

Nero fiddles with the sleeve of his coat. A flash of bright blue catches Patty’s eye. She only gets a moment, but it’s enough for her to realize something isn’t quite right about his arm. It glows and his fingers look more like claws. “…your arm…”

Nero yanks his sleeve down and shifts himself away from her. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, um… sorry, I didn’t mean-” Crap, way to blow your first impression. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s something personal.” She plays with her hair, mind racing to try and get this conversation back on track. “Um, so are you up to just visit?”

“Something like that. I think Dante just wanted to show off his shop.” Nero casts a skeptical look. “He talked it up a lot, but it wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“It’s more like a man’s den than an office,” Patty admits. “If it weren’t for the desk and the cabinets you really wouldn’t be able to tell. But I can’t imagine it looking any different. If it looked professional it just wouldn’t be Dante, you know?”

“I guess not. How long have you known him?”

“About five or six years now?” She can’t believe it’s been so long already since that day when he begrudgingly took that mission to escort her. Her whole life changed, though she hardly knew it then. “And he still can’t get rid of me,” she jokes with a laugh.

“You’d think it’d be the other way around,” he murmurs. “I don’t know a lot of teenage girls who’d hang around with an older guy like Dante.”

Patty shrugs. “He’s like a much older brother. A dumb one sometimes. But he saved my life and he’s the reason I reunited with my mom, so I kind of owe him. And anyway, he’s not sooo bad once you get to know him.” At least these days. She wouldn’t have been as quick to give him that half-hearted praise way back when. “Like, if he asked you up here then that means he likes you. Dante’s a hard nut to crack, so if he took a shine to you it’s for a reason.” Probably having something to do with you guys looking alike and… probably being related. They have to be, right?

She glances over at Dante, still chatting with Morrison. Yeah… definitely need to ask him about it later. But for now… She turns back to Nero and puts on her most charming smile. Time to get all the deets I can.

Aside from the tragic fact that Nero isn’t single, Patty’s quite pleased with what she’s learned. Nero seems like a nice guy, if a bit of a punk. And he doesn’t seem to have many of Dante’s more annoying traits, which is a nice bonus. The last thing the world needs is two Dantes.

Speaking of…

Patty checks her phone. Where the heck is he? Nero’s left for the night, and she’s certain Dante will return soon. It’s only a matter of time before he makes his way home. Then they can talk.

But as the minutes tick by, Patty slowly realizes this is going to be a long wait. She sighs. She might as well stretch her legs. In this case, that means strolling around the shop. It’s a layout she’s intimately familiar with after all these years, but every once in awhile she makes a discovery.

She wanders by the desk with the picture of his mother standing out amongst all the papers strewn about. It took until last year before she learned who she is. She still has no idea why she and Trish look exactly alike. Any and all questions regarding the matter only annoyed Dante, and he refused to clarify. Frustrating, but typical.

Her attention turns to the big cabinet by the stairs. Wonder what kind of booze he has in here now. It’s a masochistic exercise; she hates seeing it, but curiosity gets the better of her. She kneels and opens the bottom-most door to find… magazines. Patty tilts her head. Huh? She opens another door and finds an assortment of junk. She goes through every space in that cabinet, but she doesn’t find a single bottle of alcohol.

“Where it’d all go?” She’s noticed Dante hasn’t been drinking as much lately, but he always had liquor in this cabinet for as long as she’s known him. …but now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t seen a drink in his hand in a while. It’s been… months.

The front door opens. Patty quickly shuts the cabinet door and stands up. As Dante clears the threshold, she quips, “There you are!”

Dante sighs tiredly. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?”

“To pester me then,” Dante concludes, walking past her to hang up his sword.

“No.” Patty can’t tell if he’s being deliberately obtuse or if he’s that clueless. “It’s about Nero.”

Dante pauses ever so briefly. Patty learned long ago that reading Dante requires picking up on the small gestures, because he won’t give much away. She hit a nerve, and she wonders if this is about to turn into an argument. “What about him?”

“Now I know you’re being dumb on purpose,” Patty gripes. “C’mon, Dante. I’m not blind. You two look-”

“Patty, we are not doing this-”

“Don’t worm your way out of this!” she snaps. “Why won’t you admit what’s obvious? He looks like you, has the same job as you, probably has the same powers. He’s clearly your-”

“He is not.”

“Bullshit!” Thank god her mom isn’t here to hear this right now, or she’d be getting one hell of a scolding. “Are you just trying to dodge taking responsibility? Is that what this is? Are you really so-”

“He. Isn’t. Mine.”

“Deny it all you want! I know what my own eyes are showing me. And if you won’t tell me, then I’ll ask him-”

“No you won’t.” Anger flashes across Dante’s face. It makes Patty stiffen in surprise, but it doesn’t deter her. But just as she goes to fire back, Dante holds up a finger to silence her before he says, “He isn’t mine. He’s my brother’s.”

“Your… brother?” Patty’s long since grown used to not knowing anything about Dante’s past. It doesn’t make it any less surprising when she does learn something. “You have a brother?”

“Had.”

That solitary word, said with just the barest hint of aged grief, breaks her heart in a single blow. “Oh… I…”

“He died a long time ago.” She can tell he’s not happy to be talking about this. She just hopes that someday, he’ll be glad he did. “But apparently he left a little something behind.”

“He didn’t tell you he had a kid?”

“I doubt he knew.”

“Oh.” Patty looks down at her hands, unsure as to what to say.

Dante flops down in his desk chair, looking more tired by the minute. “And now that you know all this, you need to promise me this doesn’t go past us. Lady, Trish and Morrison know, and that’s all who get to know. Capiche?”

Patty begins to nod, but she stops when she remembers his earlier vehemence when she threatened to talk to Nero. “…does that not include Nero?”

Dante breathes a long sigh out of his nose. “No, it does not include Nero. And no, this isn’t open for a debate. He doesn’t know, and it’s better that he doesn’t. End of discussion, Patty.”

“But-”

“End. Of. Discussion.”

It’s not often Dante gets this serious about anything, and Patty provoked his anger once already. She also knows that ultimately, it’s his family and his decision. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to go quietly into that good night. “Fine,” she says with a huff, heading for the door. “But mark my words, Dante,” she continues as she reaches for the handle. She casts a glancing frown in his direction. “he’s gonna find out sooner or later, whether you like it or not.” With that, she yanks open the door and heads home.

Chapter Text

Nero yawns as he trudges over to pick up the ringing phone. “Devil May Cry.”

“Sooooooo… I think this is the part where I say I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about everything. Dante made me promise so it wasn’t like I wanted to hide it from you.”

It takes Nero’s brain a second to get up to speed and figure out what Patty is saying. Primarily because one, he was about to go to bed and two, it’s rare for Patty to call him out of the blue like this. “Tell me about – oh. You knew about my dad.”

“Yeah… Well, I knew the bare essentials. I’m sure there’s a lot Dante didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sure there’s still stuff he’s not telling me, either.” But he will tackle that problem later. “Nothing to be sorry about, Patty. Trish and Lady filled me in on everything and why nothing got said.”

“But I still feel bad. The whole thing was sooooo dumb. Dante just had to be an idiot about it.” Patty sighs. “And honestly, the only reason he told me was because I was convinced you were his kid and he was trying to shirk his responsibilities. We got into an argument over it before he finally caved and told me. That’s also how I learned about Vergil.”

“You never heard of him before that?”

“Nope. But Dante rarely talks about that stuff. Most of what I know about him I just sort of picked up over the years. I barely know anything about his family. It took me years before I even learned that photo on his desk is his mom. I don’t even know what happened to her.”

“…demons killed her.” Nero never ceases to be amazed at just how well Dante keeps his past hidden from those closest to him. To an extent, Nero understands. Some things are just better left unsaid. But even Lady, by far Dante’s oldest and closest friend, has a lot of gaps in her information about Dante. And the more he hears from those closest to Dante and how little they know about him, the more Nero worries that Dante keeps things withheld for more than just self-preservation.

“Oh. That… I guess that explains a few things, huh?”

“I only know that because of Trish.”

“God, he is the worst about this stuff.” There’s a huff of annoyance. “I hope Vergil isn’t this bad. They better be letting you in on things. Like, it’s your family history and stuff, too, right? If they won’t-”

“They have been. Not everything so far, but I’ve learned some stuff.” And most of it has been downright tragic.

“So I don’t need to yell at him yet. I mean… I guess I’d yell at both of them but, I don’t know your dad much so that’d be awkward.” There’s a hesitant pause. “…he also kind of scares me a little. He’s got a really intense stare and… I don’t know. There’s just something about him. I don’t mean that to be a jerk or anything but…”

Nero laughs. “Trust me, it’s okay. My dad’s off-putting to most people he meets. Just stick it out. He’ll come around eventually, though don’t expect him to be the warm, fuzzy type.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that impression.” There’s a thoughtful pause on the other end of the phone. “Hey, do you know when you’ll be up here next?”

“Not sure. Probably not for a while.”

“Oh, okay. Um… when you do come up, I wanna talk to you and your dad.”

Nero’s a little taken aback by the request. He knows Patty likes hanging out with him, but why would she want to talk to him and Vergil? “Alone?”

“Yeah. It’s not anything like… immediate. There’s just some stuff you two should know about Dante that Lady and Trish won’t say. Morrison probably won’t either.”

This conversation just turned real ominous real fast. “…you’re making me a little nervous here, Patty.”

“Sorry! I swear, it’s not anything super awful. It’s just… it’s the kind of thing family should know. It’ll make sense when we talk about it.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll make sure we find a way to talk alone. Don’t expect it to be anytime soon, so if this should-”

“It can wait and besides, it really should be in person, too. Just… trust me on this, okay? Thanks, Nero. I’ll let you go since I just also realized it’s kind of late where you are…”

“It’s fine.” He barely bites back a yawn. “Later, Patty.”

After he hangs up, he rubs the back of his head and quietly walks back to his bedroom. He really has no idea what to make of that conversation. What the heck did Patty know about Dante that Trish, Lady and Morrison wouldn’t be willing to tell them? Should she be telling them at all, if those three won’t? Nero scrubs his hands over his face as he takes the stairs. This is going to bug him until he gets up there.

It takes months before Nero has reason to make the long trip up to Capulet City. He hasn’t forgotten about his promise to Patty but scheduling in that time proves to be a challenge. It’s not like he and Vergil have much reason to go off on their own. Dante tends to monopolize all his free time while he’s visiting.

Patty tells him she’ll be hanging around a park not far from the shop, in the hopes that he’ll eventually be able to escape Dante. Nero promises that he’ll somehow get to her, even if he has to just walk out and drag his father with.

On the third night he’s there, he finally fabricates an excuse about wanting to take a walk, conveniently while Dante’s caught up in a debate with Trish and Lady about something involving one of their past escapades. Vergil seizes the chance to escape the debating din, and the pair slip out before Dante can protest.

“What a headache,” Vergil gripes as they set off down the sidewalk.

“Those three know how to go at it.” Nero shakes his head fondly as he leads them away from the shop. “But, ah… there’s someplace in particular I wanna go.”

“Mm?”

“You’ll see.”

Vergil falls quiet, and for once Nero is glad for it. It gives him time to think and try to prepare himself for whatever Patty wants to talk to them about. Even after all this time, he still has no idea. He hasn’t seen or heard anything about Dante that particularly alarms him. Then again, Dante reveals so little of himself to most people. It’s quite possible there’s something going on beneath the surface that Nero’s clueless about.

It’s a twenty-minute walk to the park Patty said she’d be. They find her stretched out on one of the park benches, playing on her phone. She glances up as they approach and waves them over.

“Nero,” Vergil says, his tone cautious and confused. “what is this about?”

“Ask her.” Nero waves at Patty as they stand in front of the bench. “She’s the one who wanted to talk to us.”

Patty scoots over on the bench, leaving room for Nero and Vergil to sit. “Yup. Glad you made it. How did you manage to slip out?”

“We told him we were taking a walk to get away from a debate over whether Lady got the final blow on some demon they fought way back when.” Nero takes a seat next to her. Vergil chooses to remain standing. “So… what’s this about?”

She looks down at her knees, her brow furrowed in thought. “It’s… ugh, sorry.” She blows out a sigh as she runs a hand through her hair, her movement agitated and nervous. “I kind of feel like I’m being a snitch, but you two should really know. Especially you,” she adds, glancing at Vergil.

“What do I need to know?”

“…That Dante’s an alcoholic. A recovering one, but you never stop being one, you know?”

It’s an emotional sucker punch that came at his blind spot. Dante’s always seemed so strong and collected. Sure, he’s a goofball and he can’t manage his money for shit, but he always came across as solid and unflappable. Now Nero realizes that has never been entirely the case.

Vergil remains stone-faced, his only outward reaction being his frown deepening. “How long?”

Patty shrugs. “I’m not completely sure. I’ve known him for… geez, eleven years? Almost eleven, yeah. And he was in the thick of it then. So probably longer than that.” She spares a glance at Nero. “You’re really lucky you didn’t meet him back then. I mean, I know he’s a total dork and sometimes you kind of want to strangle him. But back then? He used to be… god, he used to be so mean.”

Dante can be harsh every now and then, though usually with good reason. Nero’s only seen him be truly nasty once or twice, and it’s not something he would normally attribute to Dante. “Why?”

“He just was. Like, you know how he teases you and it can get under your skin a bit, but you know it’s mostly in good fun? Well, imagine his worst teasing and take all the fun out of it. He could be like that. I mean, it wasn’t all the time. Sometimes he was just kind of a jerk and a little grumpy. Even a bit sweet on occasion. But god could he also cut you down if he wanted to.” She snorts. “He used to call me a brat all the time. Sure, I was a kid and I had my moments, but I wasn’t so bad as to deserve that. And he’d say really insensitive stuff. I never knew if he was just thoughtless or if he wanted to be that cruel. Just… overall he was a lot meaner and miserable. I’m pretty sure the drinking had something to do with it.”

The wheels are turning in Vergil’s head; Nero can practically hear them spinning. “Was he often drunk?”

“It’s funny because I almost never saw him drunk. He told me that it’s hard for him to stay drunk. Being half-demon and all, I guess.”

“He’s not wrong,” Vergil mutters. “So even if he wasn’t intoxicated, he still drank frequently?”

Patty nods. “I was over there a lot, and I swear, every time I was there, he had a drink in his hand. Usually Jack Daniels or some kind of whisky. Occasionally vodka. If he was really broke, he’d resort to beer.”

“But you said he’s recovered, right?” Nero has never seen Dante drink. He must have gotten on the wagon at some point. “When did that happen?”

“You guys know how he got stuck in the underworld once before, right? That was about ten years ago. And he was down there for nearly two years, so he dried out then. He kind of started back up again when he got out, though it didn’t seem as bad as before.”

“Drinking less doesn’t make him recovered,” Vergil remarks with condescension.

“I wasn’t done,” Patty says with a huff. “He kept at it for a little while. He didn’t really stop until about five or six years ago.” She pointedly looks at Nero. “After he met you.”

“That’s when he stopped?”

“Yup. He got back from that mission and he… really turned around. Like, he was starting to get kind of better before then? He stopped being as much of a jerk and was nicer to be around. But after he met you, he really got it together.” Patty pauses, and adds, “Yeah. I’ve never seen him touch the stuff since then.”

It never occurred to Nero before just how much finding him meant to Dante. Granted, back then he didn’t know half of what he does now, but even in retrospect, it hadn’t really crossed his mind until now. He acknowledges that Dante changed his life, and he’s grateful for it. He just never realized that he had changed his, too.

Vergil looks thoughtful, but he reveals nothing more about his thoughts. He simply asks, “Do you know why he started in the first place?”

“Not for sure, but honestly? Probably because he’s depressed. And I don’t mean in the colloquial way of like, ‘oh he’s kind of bummed out.’ I mean actually depressed, like… probably should be on meds and seeing a therapist, but fuck knows that’ll never happen.”

“And what exactly lead you to that diagnosis?”

“Besides the excess drinking? When I would visit Devil May Cry back then, if Dante wasn’t on a job, he’d be either playing pool, napping, or drinking. That’s it. That’s all he would do. Sleep, drink, and shoot balls. When he had to get rid of the pool table, he resorted to reading magazines or watching TV, when the damn thing worked.” Patty sighs. “I’m not kidding, he had no life outside of his job. And for all the shit I give him for not cleaning, I’m pretty sure it’s not all laziness. It’s really hard to keep up with basic chores like that when you’re depressed.” She shrugs weakly. “He’ll never admit it, though, so that’s why I never tried to talk to him about it.”

It clicks together for Nero: why she wanted to talk to them, why she wanted them to know about all of this. “You wanted to make sure we knew all this in case things get bad.”

“Yeah. I know you’re far away so it’s harder, but…” She gestures at Vergil. “You’re living with him, so you really should know. I’m not telling you all this so you rag on him for it or anything. Just… in case you see something, you know to raise the alarm. And I know you two kind of have a… history, I guess. But still… I’m really glad he has someone living with him. Even if you guys fight or bicker and break a few things, at least he’s not living alone anymore. Maybe this’ll help him finally have a life outside his job.” She sighs, relief audible as she tucks some hair behind her ear. “And he’s been way better about it lately. I think he’s finally happy, you know? I’m not so worried anymore.”

The first five minutes of the walk back is couched in a heavy silence. When it grows too oppressive to stand, Nero goes for the obvious, “That’s not what I was expecting.”

Vergil’s jaw clenches tightly as he forces out, “Nor I.”

“…you’re angry.”

“Not at the girl,” he clarifies.

“Then who? Dante?” Nero shakes his head in disbelief. “Don’t start with the weakness crap, Dad. Sometimes people just-”

“That’s not it, either.” His tone darkens as he continues on to explain, “I’ve been living with him for nearly six months, and this is the first I’m hearing about this. From a child, no less. This should have come from Lady or Morrison.”

Nero nods; Vergil’s got a right to be upset, though he just hopes he doesn’t start throwing out accusations. “Trish, too.”

“I’m not holding her accountable for this one. Because if this started when I think it started, she likely would not have known it was a new problem.”

“When do you think it started?”

Vergil doesn’t respond immediately. He lets the silence hang as they cut through another park. It’s almost dark out, but there are a few people milling about, chatting amongst themselves or on cell phones. He says nothing until they start down the path towards the city, an empty cobblestone lane surrounded by trees and the distant echoes of city life. “…if finding family spurred him to sober up, then it stands to reason that losing family likely set him down that path in the first place.”

Dante’s lost his family a few times: first his father, then the traumatizing, brutal murder of his mother. Given that he was a child during those, and hopefully his problem doesn’t go that far back, that just leaves: “When he killed you.”

Vergil nods curtly, lips drawn in a tight line. “I don’t know for certain, not until I talk to those two about it.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I hardly care if it is or isn’t,” he says, crossing his arms. “I want answers.” He aims a hard look at Nero. “I also want to know why none of this came from them.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Nero considers something for a moment before he adds, “You want me there when you do?”

Vergil also takes a moment to turn the idea over in his head, his fingers drumming a staccato against his arm. “It can’t hurt. And it may help to prevent it from turning into an argument. If I go at them alone, they’ll likely see it as an attack. Lady certainly will, anyway.”

Nero isn’t so sure about that, but he won’t argue his point. His father and tact are still working out their differences, so he can at least play mediator should things take a turn. “I’m here until the weekend, so we’ve got a few days to figure this out.”

“This’ll be a challenge. I don’t want Dante catching wind of this.”

“Well look at that. I’m the one keeping secrets for a change,” Nero says wryly. “So this is what it feels like.”

Vergil shoots a disapproving glare at his son. “If secrets are kept, it’s with good reason. And Patty is right: Dante won’t take to any of this well. As hypocritical of him as it is,” he adds with a mutter. “We’re wasting time. This may be the only chance we’ll have to come up with a plan. There’s no guarantee we’ll find time once we’re back at the shop. Focus.”

“All right, all right.” Nero gestures at his father. “So, you got any ideas?”

Vergil suddenly slows, his brow raised. “Actually,” A smirk forms. “I just might.”

Chapter Text

Vergil stands outside the bar Morrison helps run, back pressed against the front wall. Nero waits alongside of him, hands in his pockets. Vergil watches the bank clock across the street, waiting for it to tick over to the next minute. Once that clock hits 3:05, he’ll make his move.

“You sure we shouldn’t be in there already?”

“Lady walked in two minutes late. Allowing Morrison time to finish whatever he was doing in there, they’ve likely only been speaking for a minute-”

The clock ticks to 3:05.

“-now two minutes. Enough time to establish something isn’t right,” he says as he straightens up and heads for the door. “But not long enough for them to start calling around.”

Nero shakes his head as he follows after his father down the stairs into the cellar bar. “You’ve given this a little too much thought.”

“I beg to differ. But that’s beside the point.” Vergil takes a bracing breath before he pushes open the front door.

Given the early hour, the bar’s mostly empty save for two occupants. Behind the counter is Morrison. Seated on a barstool in front of him is Lady. They’re both looking fairly confused. Morrison hears the bell and looks up. “Good after-” He stops, and his brow raises. “Vergil. Nero.”

Lady scowls heavily at them as they enter the bar. “…we’ve been set up.”

“Kind of.” Nero shrugs.

“If you two needed to speak to us, you could have just asked,” Morrison says, watching the pair closely as they take a seat at one of the nearby tables. “Tricking Lady and me like this wasn’t necessary.”

“Seriously,” Lady gripes. “Getting a note from Morrison like that freaked me out. I thought something was wrong.”

“And I was concerned when I got a note from you. Or so I thought.”

“The deception was necessary.” Vergil leans back in his chair. He wants to charge into this, social tact and kindness be damned. But he remembers Nero’s warning about unnecessarily creating conflict. Getting along with people is exhausting. “I didn’t want this getting back to Dante.”

Lady’s eyes narrow into slits. “I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets, not even from Dante. And you have a lot of nerve to come in here, tricking us, and then demanding-”

“Then perhaps,” Vergil cuts in sharply, his words like a crack of a whip, “you two should have bothered to tell me that my brother is an alcoholic. Then we would have been spared this entire ordeal.”

Neither of them immediately responds. Lady just stares with wide eyes while Morrison pinches the bridge of his nose. Vergil refuses to clarify; they need to go first. If that means a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, then so be it. He’s not in a rush. Nero shifts in his seat, looking back and forth between his father, Lady, and Morrison. Vergil gets the sense his son wants to say something, but he looks unsure. Leave it be, Nero. The ball’s in their court.

Morrison finally breaks the silence with a heavy sigh. “Who told you?”

“Patty.”

“As I thought.” Morrison turns around and grabs a glass from the shelf. “Before we get into this, can I get you gentlemen anything?”

“You’re offering a drink when we’re going to be discussing my brother’s drinking problem?”

“We’re in a bar. It would have been rude to at least not offer. And I have other beverages here that aren’t alcoholic.”

Nero nudges his father with his foot. “I’ll just take some water, thanks.”

“As will I.” He spares his son an irritated glance, but he keeps quiet as they wait for Morrison to bring them their drinks. He sincerely hopes this is the only major discussion he needs to have with these two. The prospect of having to do this again – and likely without Nero around – makes him want to crawl into a hole and never speak to people again.

Morrison walks around the bar and places their glasses on their table. But rather than go back behind the counter, he grabs a chair and swings it around before taking a seat. “Firstly, I apologize.”

“For what?” Lady objects.

“Not telling him. He’s right, we should have.” When Lady opens her mouth to argue, Morrison butts in, “No, we should have. He has a right to know.” He turns back to Vergil. “I didn’t hide it from you intentionally, though. It just didn’t occur to me to tell you. It’s been years since he last had a drink.” He glances over at Lady. “As far as I’m aware, anyway. You’d know for sure.”

Lady swivels the barstool around until she’s facing the men. She scowls heavily at Vergil, clearly unhappy with this conversation taking place. “He hasn’t to my knowledge. I don’t think he even has any liquor in the shop anymore.”

“I’ve never seen any.” Vergil knows that shop inside and out. Living there and being the primary cleaner means he’s been in a lot of nooks and crannies. Some of which he’s certain Dante doesn’t even remember exist. If there’s alcohol in that building, he’d have seen it by now. “I’m not here to quibble over how sober he may or may not be. I’ve seen nothing to convince me he isn’t.”

“Then why are we talking about it?”

Vergil narrows his eyes at Lady. He figured she’d be difficult about this, but this surpasses his worst expectations. “Because I have questions. Questions that Patty didn’t have the answers to. And as the two people who, aside from me, have known him the longest, I expect you would know.”

“Lady.” There’s a mix of scolding and understanding in Morrison’s voice. “Let’s just get through this. He deserves some answers. The sooner we get them answered, the sooner we’re done.”

Lady hops off her barstool. “Then you can answer them. I’m not giving him ammo against Dante.”

“That’s not what this is about-”

“Save it,” she snaps at Vergil. “Whatever your reason is – even if you aren’t looking to get something out of this – I’m not retreading that time. I’m not.” With a final cold glare she storms out of the bar, ignoring Morrison’s protests. She slams the door behind her, leaving the three men in awkward silence.

Nero looks at the door, aghast. “What the hell was that about?”

Morrison heaves a deeply tired sigh. “Please don’t be too angry at her about this. You have to understand…” He trails off, brow furrowed in thought. Vergil and Nero wait; they get the impression that he’s not unwilling to answer, but simply trying to find the words. “Am I right in assuming one of your questions is when Dante started drinking?”

“You’d assume correctly.” In fact, it’s the biggest one.

“Mm.” Morrison eyes the bar behind him, contemplating making a drink, if Vergil had to guess. “It’s… well, Dante was drinking since he was a teenager. I met him when he was – good grief, seventeen? I didn’t get to know him well until a few years later, but I met him in this bar. But it wasn’t out of control. Sure, he’d party hard and wake up regretting it in the morning, but it wasn’t any different than most.” As he continues, his voice grows heavier, more tired than his years would suggest. “It only got bad after he returned from Mallet Island.”

The answer doesn’t surprise Vergil. He had suspected it. But it still punches him in the gut to hear it. He nods, hoping his pain doesn’t show. “As I thought.”

“So you just wanted to hear it confirmed?”

“Essentially. I still don’t understand why that justifies her-”

“I’ll get to that. But first, I’m getting a drink. I’m gonna need one to get through this,” he says as he stands. “You can think it inappropriate all you want, but Lady’s right about one thing: this isn’t exactly fun to talk about, and I’m not doing it without a little help.”

Dante’s sitting at his desk, mindlessly paging through a magazine when Vergil returns. Nero went to rendezvous with Nico at the van to plan their trip home. They’d be leaving tomorrow. For his part, Vergil plans on digging out a book and taking his mind off of everything he’s just learned.

“Well look at you, back after some quality father-son bonding time,” Dante says teasingly.

“He’ll be gone by tomorrow. That’s normally what one does before someone departs after a long visit.” Vergil strolls past Dante, determined to get to his room.

“Sure, sure.” His tone remains conversational, even as he adds, “Interesting choice of venue. Morrison’s bar is usually livelier at night, though.”

Vergil immediately halts his steps. Goddamn you, Lady, he seethes as he turns and meets his brother’s gaze. He sees no anger or upset. Dante almost seems lackadaisical about the matter. He can’t tell if that’s a good sign or not. “Come again?”

“Oh come on, don’t bother with the innocent act.”

“Who told you that we were there?”

“I don’t name my sources.”

“So it was Lady.”

“You’re admitting it, then?”

“You said don’t bother hiding it.” Vergil crosses his arms, unsure if he should prepare for an argument. “What else did she tell you?”

Dante tosses his magazine onto the desk. “Very little. Just that you and Nero tricked her and Morrison into meeting there, and that I was the topic of conversation.”

Either she really despises talking about it, or she’s trying to paint us in as bad a light as possible. He’d be more inclined towards the latter if Nero weren’t involved. Lady could badmouth him easily, but he can’t see her doing the same to Nero. “How decidedly vague.”

“You’re telling me. So,” Dante leans back in his chair, looking far too relaxed about this. “What did you all get up to talking about? Wait.” He laughs. “Are you guys finally staging an intervention about my pizza intake? Is that finally happening?”

Vergil wishes that what it was. “That’d be a pointless endeavor and we all know it. So, no.”

“Hmm. My excessive spending on new leather dusters?”

“Equally as pointless, albeit more concerning.”

“…my selling devil arms to pay off debts?”

Vergil’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “You’ve been what?”

“Ah, uh…” Dante waves it off. “Nothing, nothing. Just a joke.”

Mental note: discuss that later in excruciating detail. “We’ll shelf that for now, but no.”

“Man, I’m running dry here. Is it about the time that I-”

“Shut up before you implicate yourself in something else,” Vergil says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He might be about to kick the hornet’s nest here, something he very decidedly did not want to do. But thanks to Lady, that’s now unavoidable. “We were… discussing your past drinking problem.”

All the humor and mirth drain out of Dante’s face. Vergil tenses, waiting for the anger. But it doesn’t come. Instead he senses something more distant and cold. His brother turns away from him, arms crossed. “Ah. That.”

“Your sobriety isn’t in question, that wasn’t the point of the discussion.” Vergil has no idea if that helps at all; he feels like he’s blinding throwing darts in the hope something sticks. “Simply put, the matter was brought to my attention the other day. I found it disconcerting that Morrison nor Lady were the ones to tell me, so I met with them there to discuss it and get a few answers. Lady reacted with some hostility, eventually storming out and missing the entire conversation.” Normally he respects her, if nothing else, but right now Vergil wants nothing more than to throttle her. “She believes I’m out to… I don’t even know. Hold this over your head, I suppose. Whatever she thinks, it’s not true.”

“So, what is the reason?” Dante won’t look at him. There’s an icy edge to his words; it’s uncharacteristic of him. Vergil would much prefer hot anger over this. He knows how to handle Dante’s anger, rare as it is. But this? This is foreign. He’s bad enough at social situations, and navigating this promises to be treacherous.

“To understand and know what I’m living with,” he says, slightly emphasizing the last two words as to remind Dante that he shares a roof with him. “If you were to fall off the wagon, I’d likely be the first to notice.”

“Fine.” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he seems to be at least acquiescing to that logic. “And why did Nero need to know?”

“You’re his uncle, and you know how Nero feels about secrets being kept from him.” Nero’s developed something of a kneejerk reaction to it. “He doesn’t plan on confronting you about it. That was never the plan for either of us. At most, I’m sure he and Kyrie will just stop offering you wine or anything else alcoholic next time we’re down there.”

“…you were never going to tell me about this?”

“No. I didn’t see the point. The issue is in the past and it has little to no effect on the present. Despite what you may think, I don’t take any pleasure in knowing about this.” He runs a hand through his hair, and quietly adds, “Quite the opposite.”

It’s then that Dante finally looks at him. There’s a pregnant pause as Dante regards his brother with a mix of trepidation and anger. “What exactly were you told?”

“That your drinking increased significantly after you returned from Mallet Island. Morrison didn’t know much of the details, but he mentioned that Lady came here the night you came back. Apparently something rather serious occurred, because she came here every day for several months afterwards. When she couldn’t be here, she asked Morrison to check up on you.” Vergil’s torn on whether or not he wants to know the details. It might help explain things, but at the same time, he isn’t sure he can stomach it. Whatever happened, it clearly was alarming, seeing as Lady isn’t normally a worrywart. “Clearly it scared her, and even now she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, that explains why she was so pissed. And why she was being vague.” Dante rubs a hand over his face. “I wasn’t at my best that night. I’m not saying anything more about it.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Vergil refuses to fight that battle today, if it’s even worth fighting at all. This conversation is already precarious enough. “I was also told you sobered up somewhat after you came back from Hell the first time, but didn’t fully get on the wagon until after you met Nero. Everything else was mostly just details.” He decidedly leaves out Patty’s remarks about Dante’s mental health. That conversation would go as well as the aforementioned pizza intervention. Not to mention that he doesn’t want to throw her under the bus for this. “I just wanted to know what was going on. This was never supposed to turn into such a production.”

“Try not to be too pissed at her. Her methods aside, she was just looking out for me.”

Vergil says nothing. No, he doesn’t begrudge her protecting Dante, but he does begrudge the blatant disrespect and distrust aimed at him. It’s been six months; surely she doesn’t still think he’s out to get his brother. Apparently I overestimated the situation.

Dante lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I’ll let her know we talked. That might simmer her down.”

“Yes, you may want to. Clearly if I approached her, that’ll only worsen things.” He’s gonna be salty about that one for a while, but he’ll drop it for now. “If we’re finished, then I’m going upstairs.”

Dante nods and waves him off. Vergil all too happily makes his escape, beelining straight to his room. He swings the door behind him, though it only mostly shuts. It’s left open a crack, enough for Vergil to keep an ear out for anything going on downstairs.

He sinks onto his bed. He wants to get his mind off of all he’s learned, but he can’t quite pull himself away from it. Not until he comes to grips with what it all means, what the past six months in this new life of his has taught him about what his actions have wrought.

In his life, Vergil has only ever cared about five people. Three of them are dead. And four of them have suffered because of what he’s done.

On that fateful day, when Vergil was eight, he’d gotten into a fight with his brother. Frustrated with him and with his mother for scolding him, Vergil had run off. Minutes later, the demons attacked. Separated from his family, Vergil had been forced to fend for himself, and the feeling of having been (seemingly) abandoned left a bitter taste in his mouth for decades. But then he learned that Eva hadn’t left him. That Eva had died trying to find him. Her last moments had been spent in terror, afraid for the life of her missing son. Of course, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, and he had no way of knowing what was going to happen. It still weighs on him, though, and where there was once anger and resentment, there’s grief and guilt.

Then there was Nero and his mother. He’d left her for his ambition, and by doing so, abandoned her and their unborn son. It sealed her fate, and it left Nero orphaned and alone. His son never got to know his family until he was grown, and that was only because of Dante’s sheer dumb luck. Not to mention he ripped off Nero’s arm for the sake of obtaining Yamato. Again, he hadn’t known, and he had certainly never meant to harm his son’s mother. But that didn’t relieve him of his culpability in what happened to both of them.

And now there’s Dante. His brother who had been forced to kill him, and who buckled under the weight of that grief and loss. Vergil had hardly spared a thought about his brother’s well-being throughout all this, not until months ago, when Dante exploded on him in the underworld. Now that he had all the pieces, it finally makes sense: Dante’s insistence on Vergil starting over, the way he clings onto this family like a bulldog to keep them together, why he was willing to set aside years of anger and grudges for the sake of being a family.

Vergil’s spent too many years believing his actions had no substantial impact on anyone, that no one really cared about what happened to him. He couldn’t have been more wrong, and now he needs to find a way to grapple with that and move forward.

From downstairs, the front doors slam open. “Dante!” Patty loudly exclaims as she makes her entrance. “I’ve got something for you!”

Curious, and desperate to get his mind off of things, Vergil gets up and peers out his door. He can’t quite see from there, so he quietly pushes open the door further to stick his head out and get a better look.

Patty stands in front of Dante’s desk, holding out a round tin can. Dante takes it from her and pops open the lid. A small pile of chocolate chip cookies greets him. He chuckles as he sets down the tin. “They smell good. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing. Just felt like bringing some over.”

“Uh huh. This smacks to me of a guilty conscience.” Dante plucks out a cookie and takes a bite. “Not bad. You make ‘em yourself?”

“More or less.” Patty puts her hands on her hips. “You have to share them with Vergil, they’re for both of you.”

“What? There’s barely enough for me as is, let alone share them!”

Nice try, asshole. Vergil steps fully out from his room and leans on the bannister overlooking the office. “Thank you, Patty,” he says, drawing Patty’s attention and making Dante nearly jump. “I’ll be having some later, I’m sure.”

Dante slouches (more) in his chair, munching on his cookie before he grouses, “I got them first.”

“Oh would you grow up?” Patty snaps. “I know you lost your mom when you were little, but I’m sure she at least taught you how to share before then! If nothing else, it’s payment for keeping an eye on you.”

“Me?” Dante barks out a laugh, spewing out a few crumbs. “I’m keeping an eye on him. He’s trouble incarnate!”

“I can’t speak to that, but I do know that you most certainly do need someone keeping an eye on you, too. You’re a trouble magnet as well. Not to mention you can barely maintain this place on your own.” Patty spares the briefest of glances at Vergil, but it’s packed with meaning as she adds, “And now I don’t have to worry so much.”

Dante quips back with something sarcastic, and the two of them go back and forth in yet another of their usual little arguments. But Vergil stops listening; he’s gone back inside his thoughts, chewing over what Patty said.

Is that what I’m doing now? Keeping an eye on him? He supposes there’s truth to that, knowing what he knows now. Dante took him under his roof, in part to keep Vergil out of trouble. He’s well aware of that. But somehow he’s been returning the favor, watching out for his brother as he fights back his own demons. It doesn’t change what’s been done, and Vergil doesn’t know if this is enough to make up for the damage he’s caused. But… surely it’s a start. Surely it’s better than nothing. And Patty, who’s known Dante for years, seems to be glad he’s here. If it alleviates some worry, if it helps his brother out even a bit, then it’s worth doing. If that’s true, then he’ll keep doing it.

He owes him that much.

Chapter Text

It’s Day 2 of the brothers living together, and Dante realizes he forgot to take something into account: Vergil has not had to worry about alleviating boredom in a very long time. It explains why Vergil has been swinging back and forth between pacing around the office and sitting on the couch, staring daggers at the phone. Finally, after a few hours of this, Dante breaks the silence with a sigh and, “Something bugging you?”

“How do you stand this?” Vergil seethes, standing up yet again. “Is this all you do? Sit in your chair and wait for the phone to ring?”

“More or less.” He lifts up a magazine. “Sometimes I’ll read one of these. Helps pass the time.”

“How inane. You could at least put a television in here.”

“Not exactly professional looking. What if a client comes in here and sees me watching it instead of paying attention?”

Vergil levels him a disbelieving stare. “And them coming in to see you reclined in your chair staring at the ceiling is better?”

“Okay, fine. Cable’s expensive.”

“Aren’t VHS tapes still around? Could you not watch a movie?”

Dante heaves out a laugh. “Oh Christ. Vergil, no one uses VHS anymore. It’s all DVDs and Blu-ray now.”

He scowls. “I’ve been a little out of the loop, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yeah, you have, and that’s why I’m wondering how you’re bored. You’ve got a whole city to explore and stuff you’ve missed out on.” He gestures towards the door. “You don’t have to stay here. I’ll man the fort. Go out and… I don’t know. Visit the library. I think there’s one of those around here.”

“I don’t have a library card. And I’d rather be able to bring books here than read there.”

Dante rolls his eyes. “I’ll spot you five bucks for a card.” Especially if it means getting Vergil out of his hair.

Vergil wrestles with the offer, his scowl deepening as he thinks it over. After a minute’s deliberation, he relents. “I will repay you when I am able.”

“Consider it a house-warming gift. Or something. I don’t know, do people give house-warming gifts when someone moves in?” He digs in his back pocket for a five. “Whatever, it’s on me.” He finds it and tosses it onto the desk.

“I couldn’t say,” Vergil says in response to the question. “You’re a little more versed in such things than I am.” He walks over and takes the five. “Catching up on reading will be… nice, but I doubt it will be enough.”

“You’re going to have to learn how to entertain yourself. It’s amazing how much time and energy constantly searching for power takes up, isn’t it?”

“At least it gave me a purpose. Something to strive for.”

“And you’ll find something new.” Dante does not want to get into this argument again. “Just give it time.”

“Dante-”

“Look.” Dante jerks his feet off his desk and sits up. “You got destroyed. Made dead. I think. I don’t know. Bad shit happened to you. You literally had to pull yourself apart in order to put yourself back together. You’re in the best state you’ve been in for… how long?”

“…longer than I want to admit.”

“Exactly.” He’ll beat this point into Vergil’s head as many times as it takes. And if push comes to shove, he’ll tattle on Vergil to Nero. The kid’s got a knack for guilting his father. “New life, new Vergil. Give it a chance.”

Whether Vergil agrees or just senses this discussion won’t end in his favor, he relents with a sigh. “I will try.” He pockets the money. “Never mind that you strong-armed into said life.”

Dante rolls his eyes. “That’s your own damn fault for being stubborn. And besides, I wasn’t the one doing all the strong-arming.”

“Yes, I remember.” Vergil narrows his eyes at his brother. “Nero made his thoughts on the topic quite clear.”

“Because he wants his father in his life. Is that really so bad?”

“No. It’s… just different. It’s all different and strange.”

“Welcome to having a normal life, Vergil. Or a… somewhat normal-ish life. It’s filled with a bunch of mundane shit interspersed with some great moments.” Dante grins. “You’re gonna love it.”

Chapter Text

The orphanage seemed to be bursting at the seams, full of people who had come in to volunteer and spend time with the kids. This happened about once a week, starting a few years ago after some of the town’s more concerned citizens noticed that the orphanage was understaffed and the children were borderline neglected. Adults, and sometimes even other kids, poured in every week to help out, either by bringing supplies, working with the kids, or just playing with them. Most of the kids lived for that day, since the usual caretakers took the chance to have a break and kind of let them cut loose.

The building and the fenced in backyard were filled with people, the sounds of laughter and chatter booming from inside the walls. There was hardly a frown anywhere… save for one boy who sat alone.

Nero sat huddled against the far wall in one of the communal bedrooms, knees pulled up to his chest as he tried to be invisible. But his silver hair made it hard. He hated those days; it just rubbed it in that no one liked him or wanted to play with him. The other kids mocked him for being sullen and rude, and the adults were no better, who whispered about the mystery of his parentage. They liked to think he didn’t hear them, but he did. He knew what they said about his mother, the supposed whore who left him as a newborn. And there was no telling who his father was: perhaps a merchant or sailor who came through one day and wanted a good time. He was the product of a paid exchange, a consequence that neither parent wanted to deal with.

He just wished volunteer day would end so he could go back to sulking in peace. Though he admitted that at least the other kids left him alone while the volunteers were here, so it wasn’t all bad. Still, it hurt. It hurt to be constantly reminded of how unwanted he was, of how other he was. He sometimes wondered if he really was incapable of being loved.

“Hi! Are you okay?”

Nero raised his head towards the source of the voice. A girl about his age stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her head framed by reddish brown hair. Light brown eyes peered at him, and she wore a smile that was edged with concern. He shrugged and mumbled, “M’fine.”

“But you’re all by yourself.” She walked into the room, hands clasped behind her back. “Don’t you want to play with everyone downstairs?”

Nero’s arms tightened around his knees. “No.”

“Why?”

“No one else wants to, so why should I?”

“Oh.” She paused, her smile fading for just a moment before it reappeared, brighter than ever. “Well, I do.”

“What?” Nero narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?”

“Why not?” She looked around them, taking note of all the beds. “What do you like to play? We can do hide and go seek, or knights and demons.” She scrunched her nose. “I don’t like that one too much, but I don’t mind as long as we don’t get rough. Sometimes the boys get pushy and start hitting. Then it’s no fun.”

Nero didn’t know what to make of her. He seriously suspected someone put her up to this, just so they could mock him for it later. The kids used to do that to him when he was younger: make him think they liked him and wanted to play, only for them to turn around and jeer at him, teasing him for thinking something so ‘dumb’. He long since learned not to fall for it. “You can tell Logan to knock it off. I’m not gonna be tricked just because he made a girl do it.”

“Do what?” She tilted her head in confusion. “I don’t even know who Logan is.”

Either she was actually telling the truth, which he found hard to believe, or she was a good liar. He just glared before looking away.

From somewhere downstairs, a male voice called up, “Kyrie, we’re leaving!”

“Oh, that’s my brother. I have to go. I’ll be back next week, and maybe we can play then?”

Nero said nothing. He waited until he heard her walk away before he turned around. “She’s lying,” he mumbled to himself. She had to be. Why else would she bother with him? No one else did. What would make her want to?

--

A week passed. The volunteers came again, and Nero hid, as he always did. Now he was in one of the playrooms, absently-mindedly playing with a toy car. He liked to pretend he was in the car and driving away from Fortuna (of course the car had the ability to fly, because how else would it get over the water?) He pictured what the world beyond the island looked like. Any place had to be better than here.

“Found you!”

Nero looked up, flabbergasted to hear that familiar voice. Kyrie smiled and walked inside. “I didn’t know you guys had a playroom up here!”

“They don’t usually like the volunteers being up here. Toys got stolen a bunch, so they said they couldn’t come in here anymore.”

“Oh no.” Kyrie blanched a little, the very image of a child being caught red-handed. “I didn’t know that. Um, do you think I’d get in trouble if they saw me in here?”

“Maybe. Depends on who’d find you.” The caretakers ranged in personality and temperament. “I don’t think they’ll come up here while people are downstairs.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep quiet then.” A hint of mischief flashed in her eyes as she approached, reassured that she wouldn’t face consequences for breaking the rules. “Whatcha playing?”

Nero shrugged. “Just a toy.” The caretakers scolded him for playing with toys, saying he was getting too old and to leave them for the younger kids. He never had anything else better to do, though. He would ask them what he was supposed to do, since the other kids ignored him (and that was if he was lucky). It often resulted in the caretakers accusing him of backtalk or acting like a baby.

Kyrie sat down next to him. “Okay.” She looked for a car to play with. There was a small tub of them nearby that she dragged closer. After digging for one, she pulled out a van. “Are we going on a road trip?”

“I guess.” Nero eyed her suspiciously. “Why do you wanna play with me? Don’t you think the other kids are more fun?” They certainly liked to say they were.

“I like them, but they have plenty of kids to play with. You’re up here alone.” She set her van next to Nero’s car. “Besides, it’s quieter up here.”

He wasn’t convinced she wasn’t pulling a prank, but he didn’t see the danger in just playing along, for now. He just nodded before resuming pushing his car around.

“So, where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“Yeah. It would be boring just staying on the island.” Kyrie looked up at him. “Oh, you didn’t tell me your name.”

“…Nero.”

She beamed. “I’m Kyrie. Nice to meet you.”

--

The next several weeks played out similarly. Kyrie came and always sought him out. Nero dug his heels in, but she persisted. Sometimes she brought something along, whether it was a pack of cards or a board game. She did most of the talking, and Nero learned a lot about her life. He knew she had both her parents and a brother who was much older than her. The age gap was part of the reason they started volunteering at the orphanage, so Kyrie could play with kids her age. She liked to sing, and her mother finally convinced her father to let her enroll in children’s choir.

“Can you sing?” she once asked.

Nero snorted. “I sound like a dying whale.”

She giggled. “Aw, that’s a bummer. I was gonna say you could join the choir. Maybe you can play an instrument?”

“They won’t buy one for me, they always say they never have enough money. Besides, the other kids would probably destroy it.”

“Oh.” Kyrie hummed in thought. “Well, we’ll think of something.”

By the end of the seventh week, Nero had finally started loosening up. He still regarded her with some suspicion, but he figured that if she were pulling one on him, something would have happened by now. Logan and the bigger kids didn’t have that kind of patience. Maybe she did, but Kyrie just did not strike him as the type.

Nero came to expect her, and maybe even look forward to it. She broke up the monotony of his week, and she became a little bright spot in his otherwise difficult life.

“Nero!” she called out, eight weeks after they met. She found him in the playroom, which had become their go-to meeting spot. “Look what I brought!” She held out what she had in her hands: a painting kit. “Do you have paper? Because we can do some painting!”

“I think so?” Nero started opening drawers, slamming them shut as he went. After a few tries, he found a few pieces of unused paper. He yanked them out and walked them over to her. “Will this work?”

“Yup.” Kyrie laid them out on the floor. She opened up the paint kit, but she suddenly sighed. “Oh, I forgot to grab a cup of water.” She stood up and turned around. “Hang on, I’ll go and- oh, Credo!”

Nero snapped his head up. Wrapped up as he was in the prospect of painting, he failed to notice anyone approaching. In the doorway stood a young man, hair just a shade darker than Kyrie’s. Though by an adult’s standards he was young, to Nero he was just as much of an adult as the rest of them. That meant he immediately went on guard: huddled up, knees drawn to him, and eyes fixed to the floor.

“Credo, this is Nero!”

“Oh, this is the boy you were telling me about?” Credo took a few steps inside the room. “Hi, Nero.”

He responded with a mumbled, “Hi.”

“He’s shy,” Kyrie supplied.

Credo said nothing at first. Though Nero wasn’t looking at him, he could hear him approach. Then from the corner of his eye, he saw Credo kneel next to him. He stiffened when he felt Credo’s fingers brush against the back of his neck. Suddenly Credo pulled down on his shirt collar. “Wha-”

“That’s a nasty bruise there.”

Nero stiffened. He had forgotten about that injury. Juan gave it to him earlier that morning when he caught Nero unawares and decided to punish him by slamming his back with a wooden baseball bat. It still stung, but Nero had gotten good at ignoring injuries. Crying just made the kids laugh harder and tease him more. Getting angry would get him in trouble. So he just learned to pretend it never happened. Besides, the injuries never lasted long. He healed abnormally quickly, which was both a blessing and a curse.

Kyrie’s eyes widened. “Oh, Nero! I didn’t know you were hurt. We should get you an ice pack.”

“It’s fine.”

“I wouldn’t call that fine,” Credo said. “That doesn’t look like a normal injury from tripping or playing too rough. What happened?”

“You won’t believe me.”

Credo raised his brow. “Try me.”

Nero sighed. “…one of the boys hit me with a bat. I didn’t see him so he thought it would be funny to scare me.”

“By hitting you with a bat? If you want to scare someone, you just sneak up and yell ‘boo!’, not injure them.”

“See, I told you that you-”

“That’s not what I mean.” Credo stood up. “Didn’t you tell one of the caretakers? Surely they couldn’t deny it if they saw that injury.”

“It doesn’t matter. If they don’t see it happen, they don’t take your word for it.” Especially if it came from him. “He’d just deny it, and they always think I make it up.”

Credo frowned. But it didn’t look like an angry frown, at least not the kind of anger that signaled Nero was in trouble. “I see,” he said after a long pause. “It sounds like it happens often.”

Nero shrugged; he was tired of talking about it, because nothing would change.

Kyrie sat down next to him, giving him a smile. “I’m sorry you got hurt. Are you gonna be okay painting? We can do something else.”

“M’fine. It doesn’t hurt much.”

“Kyrie, I thought I heard you say you needed water? I’ll go grab some. If the caretakers see you going up and down the stairs, they might get suspicious.” Credo nodded to Nero. “Nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

Nero doubted that. Adults didn’t like him, ever. There was no reason this one should be any different.

--

He wasn’t surprised to hear Kyrie calling out for him when the next week arrived. He wasn’t in his usual spot, but not by choice. Kyrie eventually stumbled upon him. “There you are. Why are you in here?”

Nero sat miserably in a chair tucked away in the far corner of the room. The room only had a desk, a couple cabinets and the chair Nero occupied. He stared at the floor, torn. He wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone, but he thought it would be mean to ignore her. Hopefully if someone heard him, they would understand he was just answering a question. “I got in trouble. I have to stay here all day.” He paused before he looked at her. “And I’m not supposed to talk to anyone.”

“Got in trouble?” Kyrie tilted her head. “Why?”

Nero gritted his teeth, trying to force his anger down. But that day it proved too much. He shouted in frustration, and the tears began to flow. “Juan tried to hit me with the bat again. But I saw him and I got away. He kept waving it at me. He said that-” He choked out a sob. “That a dumb kid that no one wanted was a waste of space. I… I got mad. I pushed him. He yelled at me and he swung. It hit me but I was so mad. I punched him. I broke his nose, and he started crying and ran to Miss Lanie.” Ashamed of his tears, he stubbornly wiped them away and tried to stop crying. “She yelled at me and told me I was gonna go into the timeout room. I have to stay here all day and maybe tomorrow.”

Kyrie looked more than a little horrified as his story unfolded. “But – but he tried hurting you. With a bat! He should be in trouble, not you.”

“IT NEVER MATTERS!” The words tore out before Nero could stop them. “They never believe me and it’s not fair! Just because…” Because no one wanted him, or cared.

The outburst surprised her, but rather than turn away, Kyrie instead walked inside.

“You can’t be in here.”

“I don’t care. They didn’t tell me the rules.” She took a seat on the floor next to him. “Well, we can’t play or do anything, but we can still talk. We’ll just have to listen for-”

As the kids might say, Kyrie jinxed it. Footsteps approached from down the hall. Nero gestured to Kyrie to hide, but before she could even get up to duck behind something, an older woman peered into the room. Her face hardened when she saw Kyrie. “What’s going on here? Nero, why is she in here with you?”

“I was just talking to him…”

“Young lady, Nero here is in serious trouble. He isn’t allowed to be speaking with anyone when he’s in this room.” Her tone sharpened as she turned to Nero. “You know better. I don’t know why you always insist on breaking the rules! What were you even saying to her? You better not have tricked her into coming in here.”

“He didn’t!” Kyrie crossed her arms, showing more irritation and anger than Nero had ever seen from her. “We’ve been playing together for months now. He’s my friend! And you’re being awfully mean to him.”

“Discipline isn’t nice, miss.”

“This is just cruel! Why is he in here and not the kid who tried to hit him with a bat?! It happened last week too and he couldn’t even tell you because he knew you wouldn’t believe him!”

“Savior help me, how many lies has he filled your head with? He’s good at spinning a sad tale when it suits him.”

“None! I believe him more than I believe you!”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Young lady, I believe you’ve been spending a bit too much time with this boy. His attitude is rubbing off on you. And now that I think about it, I recognize you. You’re Beatrix’s daughter. Well…” She strode into the room and grabbed Kyrie’s arm, hauling her up before dragging her out of the room. “We’re going to have a talk with your mother and stress to her the importance of choosing the right friends. You’ve spent too much time with Nero as is.”

Kyrie shouted at her to let her go, but she was no match in strength. Nero watched with a broken heart as Kyrie disappeared from sight. Her angry protests echoed down the hall, even as she was taken downstairs. But those faded eventually, leaving Nero painfully alone.

He cried, holding his head in his hands. The one good thing he had and now it was gone, all because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He knew he would never see her again; there was no way her parents would let her go near him after that. So he wept, openly and bitterly, for the loss of the one friend he ever had.

--

The next volunteer day came with the threat of rain on the horizon. The children and volunteers kept an eye on the skies, waiting for the rain to come.

Nero sat on the ground at the far corner of the backyard. He wasn’t allowed to be upstairs by himself anymore; the caretakers caught onto his plan and put an end to it. He hoped the kids would just ignore him. With so many eyes out there, chances were they wouldn’t try anything, at the very least.

He expected no visitors for him. Kyrie likely wasn’t even at the orphanage, or if she was, they were keeping her far away from him. All he could wish for was a quiet day. The past two months had been fun, but that little escape from reality was gone. It was back to business as usual.

Thunder rumbled in the far distance. A few people ducked inside. Most stayed put, though their gazes grew warier. They would stay outside until the rain forced them inside. Nero looked up at the encroaching clouds. Being trapped inside with everyone was gonna suck. At least out in the yard there was more space. Inside they would be on top of each other.

“This should be a pretty good storm.”

He glanced over at the source of the familiar voice. His surprise was apparent as he spotted Credo walking towards him. He gave Nero a half-hearted smile. “I take it they discovered your rendezvous spot?”

“Yeah.”

“Figures.”

Nero hesitated. He had no idea why Credo was talking to him, but he didn’t seem angry. He dared to ask after a moment’s consideration, “Is Kyrie in trouble?”

“No. Are you referring to what happened last week?”

He nodded. “Miss Deirdre said she was going to talk to your parents. They weren’t mad at her?”

“Not at all. In fact, they were angry at Deirdre more than anything.” Credo sat next to him, leaning back against the fence. “Kyrie isn’t here today, but not because she’s in trouble. She had choir practice. It’s usually tomorrow but they had to change it this week.”

“Oh.” But that didn’t mean he would get to see her again. “Why were they mad at her? Is it because she was dragging Kyrie around?”

“In part, yes, but that wasn’t the whole reason.”

A peal of thunder, loud and sudden, made near everyone jump out of their skin. A few raindrops began to fall. People shouted and ran inside as another roll of thunder resounded through the air.

Credo glanced up at the sky. “Perfect timing. Come on.” He stood up and noted the retreating backs of the kids and volunteers. He then pushed against two of the fence posts, swinging them upwards. “Don’t worry, I doubt they’ll notice you’re gone. And if they do, I’ll take the fall. I’ll just say I had you help me with something.”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace a little more secluded.” Credo refused to say anything more; he just gestured for Nero to go through the fence. Thinking better than to argue, Nero snuck out from the yard, Credo just steps behind him.

They stepped out onto a side road, which cleared out quickly as the rain started falling harder and harder. Nero yanked his shirt over his head as he chased after Credo. They zigzagged through the empty streets of Fortuna until they arrived at a small warehouse tucked behind the city office of the Order of the Sword.

“In here,” Credo half shouted over the rain as he pushed open the door.

Nero darted inside. Credo stepped in right behind him and swung the door shut. Both shook out their hair and the water on their clothes. It was only when Nero managed to go from soaking wet to just mostly wet did he look around to see where they were.

The building was fairly large, with boxes and crates stacked everywhere. Narrow paths wound through the piles. To a kid like Nero, it seemed like a labyrinth. “What’s this?”

“A store house for the Order.” Credo guided Nero through the maze of boxes and supplies. The youngster seriously began to wonder why Credo brought him there. Did he want to show him something? But what? And why? The answer wasn’t any clearer when Credo finally slowed and pointed to a small, circular part of the floor that was clear. “Here. This will do.”

“Huh?”

Credo walked over to a small box pushed against the far wall. He pulled out two wooden objects. Nero couldn’t tell what they were until Credo tossed one to him. He held the object in his hands, turning it over curiously. “Isn’t this a sword?”

“A practice one, yes.” Credo pulled out another one and shouldered it, his movements practiced and familiar. “It’s clear that you’re being targeted by the other children at the orphanage, and if the caretakers won’t defend you, then you must learn to protect yourself.”

Nero’s eyes widened. “But… I can’t have a sword.”

“Much of swordsmanship can be applied with other weapons and in other ways. And I will not strictly stick to using weaponry. There are hand-to-hand combat techniques you could use. Ones that won’t leave a mark.”

Now that sounded promising. To be able to fight back without leaving any evidence of it? That was too good to pass up. “You can really do that?”

“Of course. It takes some time to master, so don’t go around using whatever I teach you until you’re proficient at it. But the earlier we start the better.”

Nero’s excitement almost overtook his caution; he started to nod and go into the circle, but he stopped. He frowned at Credo, his joy receding and suspicion entering back in. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you need it.” Credo knelt in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Nero, I know this probably seems hard to believe, but there are people who are concerned for your well-being. Kyrie is. So am I. And I’m helping because I want to help. This is the best way I can think of. Until those kids suffer consequences for their actions, they’re just going to keep targeting you. So, let’s teach you how to fight back.”

Nero nodded. He found it hard to believe anyone cared about him, but he wanted to. If Credo was at least willing to teach him how to defend himself, he wasn’t about to pass it up. Maybe, at long last, his days of being bullied were numbered.

--

Kyrie returned the next week, her smile bright as she greeted Nero in the backyard. Despite himself, Nero grinned right back, awash with relief and joy to see her. In the distance, he caught Deirdre giving them the stink-eye. His shoulders hunched defensively. When Kyrie turned to see what suddenly got his hackles up, her smile fell. She scrunched her nose at Deirdre before turning away, clearly indicating she was ignoring her.

Not too far from where they stood was Credo, conversing with a few of the other volunteers. Nero noticed him glancing occasionally at Deirdre. Whenever Deirdre caught him staring, she would glower and turn away.

(It wasn’t until years later that Nero realized that Credo was acting as a deterrent, all but daring the woman to try something.)

Kyrie and Credo came, week after week, focusing their attention on Nero. During the day, Kyrie played or just hung out with Nero. Credo usually left them alone, but sometimes joined in. Nero might have thought he didn’t want to spend time with him, if it weren’t for their fighting lessons. Credo would return to the orphanage in the evening, sneaking Nero out to continue his training. Though the lessons were about swordsmanship and hand to hand combat, they weren’t all Nero learned. Credo served as a desperately needed brother figure to Nero, talking him through his troubles and offering insight. He had been Nero’s age not too long ago, so he remembered the trials of being a pre-teen all too well.

Things happily continued like that until one day, months later, when Kyrie and Credo came up to him as they always did. Except they didn’t come alone.

It was that day Nero met their parents. They greeted him warmly, glad to finally meet the boy they had heard so much about. He tensed up and gave short answers, an ingrained habit from dealing with too many adults who didn’t trust or respect him. But their parents – Cleon and Beatrix – were hardly deterred. Kyrie and Credo chimed in with helpful additions, supplying information where Nero was too nervous to. Slowly but surely, they wore him down and he marginally opened up.

“Say,” Beatrix said after a while. “We’re having some clams tonight for dinner, and we were thinking of having some red velvet cake for dessert.”

Nero’s eyes widened. “Oh. Red velvet is really good.” It was his favorite, in fact. A pang of jealousy hit him, but he liked Credo and Kyrie too much to act on it.

“So we’ve been told. Kyrie said that you’re a fan. It’s my first time making it, so I could use an expert taste tester.”

“You… want me to come for dinner?” Jealousy turned into shock. “But I don’t think the care-”

“We already cleared it with them.”

Nero looked back and forth between the family, expecting a “gotcha!” or something to reveal it was a trick. He couldn’t believe they convinced the caretakers to let them take him out. That was a hard sell even for the most well-behaved kids, let alone him.

“It’ll be great!” Kyrie beamed. “Have you ever had clams?”

He shook his head.

“You’ve got to try them then! C’mon.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, not waiting for a response as she led them out of the orphanage. “The walk isn’t too far, but it’ll work up an appetite! You’re hungry, right?”

Nero could only nod in bafflement, unused to Kyrie being that overbearing. She clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer, not that he wanted to turn them down. He stumbled along after her, while Credo and his parents trailed behind. He heard a couple chuckles, and a comment about Kyrie being as insistent as her mother was.

Just a few blocks away, they came to a two-story house with an attached garage. “We’re here!” Kyrie announced as she led Nero through the front door. A quaintly decorated living room greeted them, with the kitchen just across the way. Nero thought he would be freed here, but Kyrie kept an iron grip on him. “I’ll give you a tour!”

She showed him the house, from the garage all the way up to the bedrooms. They didn’t linger long in her parents’ bedroom, nor in Credo’s (though she did let him take a quick peek at his sword, which Nero immediately thought was the coolest thing and made him want his own). They lingered longer in her bedroom, as it was hers to do with as she pleased. But as she showed off a new music box she got, Nero inadvertently glanced out the door, and belatedly realized that there was another room she hadn’t shown him. Unlike all the other doors, this one was shut. “What’s that room?”

“An extra room. We’re just using it for storage right now.” She shrugged. “Nothing to see.”

Given that Kyrie proudly showed him the broom closet, Nero found it a little odd she wasn’t showing him that one. “Oh, okay.” It wasn’t his place to pry.

“Anyway!” Kyrie quickly put away her music box and grabbed Nero’s hand again. “I think dinner’s almost ready! Let’s wash up and then go down and see if Mom needs help.”

The mysterious room was quickly forgotten as Nero got pulled into dinner. He had never eaten at a table with a family like that before. It was so… normal. They talked amongst themselves, chatting about jobs, school, projects, and the like. There was a discussion about the upcoming holiday and what they wanted to do to celebrate it. Nero tried to stay quiet, feeling like a fifth wheel, but they would pull him in, asking his thoughts and feelings. No matter how strange or odd his answers were, they never mocked him. He wasn’t scolded for anything. They actually seemed to take his opinions to heart.

In short, they treated him like a human being with feelings, not a heartless nuisance.

The clams were delicious, and the cake sublime. Nero stuffed his face, not knowing when next he would be able to eat this much. Meals were strictly portioned at the orphanage; getting seconds was a rare luxury. None of them said anything to him about it, though he thought he caught a look of concern from Beatrix at one point, during his third helping of clams and vegetables. It lasted a split second before she wiped it away with her usual smile.

Before Nero realized it, dusk had come and it was time for him to return. Cleon stated he would walk Nero back to the orphanage, leaving the rest of the family to clean up. They all bid Nero good-bye, promising to come see him soon.

A heavy weight settled in his chest as he walked out the door, just steps behind Cleon. Tonight had been so nice, a break from his reality. But it also reminded him of what he never had and never would have. His only hope was that he could come again. If they could somehow convince the caretakers, he could at least get a weekly break from the orphanage. It made the thought of his remaining years there a little more bearable. Just six more years. Then I can leave this stupid island and-

For the first time in his life, Nero realized there was something he didn’t want to leave behind. Before Kyrie came into his life, bringing her family with her, he planned to leave Fortuna and never look back. He wouldn’t miss anyone or anything. But now he would miss her and her family. Maybe I could visit. I never thought I’d want to come back here, but if it’s just to see them then it’s okay.

“You seem to be thinking awfully hard.”

Nero quickly shrugged. “A little.”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, I’m glad. Does that mean you’d be willing to come back again?”

“If I’m allowed…”

“You will be, don’t worry about that.”

They walked for another couple minutes, Nero turning those words over in his head. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he asked, “How did you convince them? Even the really good kids almost never get to go out, let alone me.”

Cleon tilted his head. “Do you consider yourself a bad child?”

“They do.”

“But do you?”

He never really thought about it. The caretakers and the other orphans told him that so many times, he just accepted it. A little frown tugged at his lips. “I guess sometimes. I get angry real fast and I don’t always like how I act when I do.”

“Everyone is bad sometimes. Even adults.” Cleon snorted. “Especially adults. For what it’s worth, Nero, you seem like a good kid to me.”

Nero was fairly certain that was the first time anyone called him that. He wanted to say something, but the words got tangled up in his throat. All he managed was a nod.

They soon arrived at the orphanage. Cleon clapped Nero on the shoulder. “I’m afraid this is where we part ways. We’ll be back next week.”

Nero mumbled a good-bye and a thank you. He watched Cleon as he turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone on the front stoop. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when Cleon disappeared from view. He couldn’t figure out why, but he felt unbelievably sad. A small voice in his head begged for Cleon to come back, to not leave him all alone. “Don’t be a baby,” he scolded himself as he wiped his tears away. At least these people liked him and were willing to spend time with him. That was enough. It had to be enough, because it was as good as it was going to get.

He worked up the nerve to go inside. It was only then, as he closed the door behind him, that he realized Cleon never answered his question.

--

The answer would come, but not for another two months. Nero had mostly forgotten it by then. As Miss Reina liked to say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. For once he actually took her advice to heart and let the matter drop.

The weeks played out as they had for the past nine months, except now he got to have a family meal. The other kids noticed, and ordinarily he would have been given hell for it. However, a confrontation that took place last month ended the bullying for good.

Credo’s training prepared him well. When Logan and Juan decided to gang up on him, Nero was ready. Juan had his bat and Logan was armed with his fists and words. When Juan swung, Nero ducked out of the way and brought his hand down into Juan’s elbow pit, making him drop the bat. He grabbed it and chucked it, sending it skidding well out of reach. He kicked his leg out and caught the back of Juan’s knee, knocking him off balance and sending him toppling. Logan made a grab for Nero, but his target was much faster. Nero grabbed a hunk of his curls and shoved him down next to Juan. “You two are gonna leave me alone, and you tell the other kids the same. If you don’t, I’ll do worse than break your nose.”

“I’ll tell on you!” Logan shouted.

“Go ahead. You’re not gonna have any marks. Nothing that shows you were in a fight, anyway. Looks like Juan just tripped, and I didn’t pull out your hair.”

“Let’s just go, Logan,” Juan muttered as he got to his feet. “I dunno when he learned to do all that, but he’ll probably kill us.”

Logan made a “tch” sound but nodded. Nero let go and stepped back, watching the boys as they glared at him before fleeing.

They hadn’t troubled him since then. Nothing beyond glares and pointed words, anyway, but those were nothing. Those could be ignored. Six more years suddenly didn’t seem terribly overwhelming. He could live with being left alone and having weekly dinners at Kyrie’s house. With the kids off his back, Nero expected less trouble with the caretakers. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

At his seventh dinner at Kyrie’s house, Nero sensed something was off. The normal jovial atmosphere was laced with apprehension, or some kind of nervousness. Expectant looks were exchanged amongst the family. Nero didn’t know what to make of it, or if he should ask.

Late into dinner, just as they were finishing up, Cleon cleared his throat. His family immediately froze and paid rapt attention to him. Nero blinked, waiting for him to speak.

“Ah, Nero. I apologize if we seem rather nervous tonight. There’s something we want to talk to you about.”

His heart sunk so much it felt like it hit his stomach. He set down his fork and braced himself. They’re going to stop all this. They don’t like me after all, they’re gonna say-

“Oh, Cleon, look at him. He looks like he swallowed a fish.” Beatrix smiled sympathetically and squeezed Nero’s hand. “It’s okay. Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

“Huh?”

“Right.” Cleon cleared his throat again. “Nero, we’ve been talking about this a lot the past few weeks. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but there was a lot that had to go into this.” He lifted his hands. “But ultimately it’s your choice. We won’t be upset if you say no, and we can continue how things have been.”

Nero glanced at Kyrie and Credo for answers, but their faces revealed nothing. “Say no to what?”

“To us adopting you.”

Nero’s mouth dropped. He must have misheard him. Adopt him. They wanted to adopt him. He couldn’t believe it no matter how many times he repeated it in his head. “You… really?”

“Yes. That’s why the caretakers have been letting us take you out every week. We wanted you to get to know us and see if you liked it here.”

Nero swallowed thickly. He wanted to look cool and composed, but that lasted about all of five seconds before the tears started. “You mean it? It isn’t a trick?”

“Of course not,” Beatrix said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We would never do something like that.”

No, they didn’t seem the type, but it felt easier to believe that than to think they actually wanted him. All his life he was told he was unwanted and incapable of being loved. This family defied all of that and somehow found a way to love him. He wanted to believe it, and he wanted to stay. Trust didn’t come easily to him, but they were the first people in his life to ever give him reason to. “If… if you really wanna, then yeah. I wanna stay here.”

Kyrie squealed and shot out of her chair. “I hoped you would!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, coming dangerously close to cutting off his air supply. “We have a bedroom ready for you and everything! But we didn’t buy much because we wanted you to pick it out-”

“Kyrie.” Credo laughed and gently pulled her off of Nero. “One thing at a time, and maybe not while he’s suffocating.”

“Sorry!”

Nero shook his head like it was nothing, though his screaming lungs said otherwise. “Is that the room you didn’t let me see?”

“Mmhmm! We wanted it to be a surprise!” Kyrie grinned excitedly at her parents. “So, when are we going back to pack Nero’s stuff?”

“We should be able to tonight,” Cleon answered with a smile. “Unless you’d like to wait, Nero?”

“No!” he all but shouted. “No… I’m fine with going right away.”

“Well then.” Cleon gestured to his family. “Let’s get cleaned up and then get back. We’ll need to dig up some suitcases.”

“I don’t have much.” Nero said it rather nonchalantly, merely stating a fact. He regretted it when he saw Kyrie’s smile fall. “Um, it’s not a big deal, I have clothes and stuff…”

“We’ll just have to buy you more!” Kyrie grabbed his hand and, as she so liked to do, dragged him along behind her. “You have to see your room! I helped pick out your bed and…”

Nero listened as Kyrie rambled, her family’s laughter echoing in the background. He wondered if that was what it was like, to be in a family. It struck him just then that he was about to find out. His lonely days at the orphanage were over. He was going back there one last time, and then he would leave and never ever have to go back in there. And (as far as he knew) he was never going to, not if he had a say in it.

The next six years were going to be a lot different than he imagined, but for the first time in his life, he looked forward to them.

The cemetery is always quiet in the late morning, and that’s precisely why Kyrie and Nero always come to visit at that time of day. They’d rather reminisce and mourn in peace.

Kyrie comes here far more often than Nero does. He doesn’t take much stock in visiting the graves of the departed. As far as he’s concerned, they’re long gone, and there’s nothing left but a decaying corpse six feet below them. Corpses can’t talk or listen, and a gravestone less so. He only makes an exception on a certain day. As it happens, the anniversary of Cleon and Beatrix’s deaths, and the anniversary of Credo’s death fall in the same month. June isn’t particularly happy for Nero and Kyrie, though it gets a little easier with each passing year.

Most years, Kyrie is here well ahead of Nero. By the time he shows up, she usually has the flowers laid out and is deep in mid conversation with her departed family. This year, however, Nero is the first to arrive. With how busy they’ve been, Kyrie completely forgot to get the flowers and everything else she wanted to bring. She sent Nero ahead, despite his protests. So here he is, staring at the graves, feeling increasingly awkward. He believes there’s no point in talking to them, but this year, there’s so much on his mind that he decides to hell with it.

He rubs the back of his head. “Guess I should start with an apology, for not visiting last year.” Last June had been something else. “I had just gotten back from Redgrave, and… guess what? I have an uncle. And a father. Maybe you already know that, but I guess it’d be impolite to not tell you anyway. They’re not what you’d call ideal, but they’re not that bad. A pain in the ass, but they’re my family.” He sighs. “Not that you guys weren’t. You were the first family I had, the first to give me a chance…”

He doesn’t want to think about how he would have turned out, if not for them. Even now he still carries residual anger from his early days, of the way he was treated. “…I also found my mother. She…” It’s been three months, but that wound is still raw. Slowly healing, but it would hurt for a long time. “You guys know I never had much faith in this stuff. But I hope if you actually are out there, she’s also with you. Take care of her for me. I’m sure she’d love to hear your stories about me, the good and the bad.” The June sun burns bright, and his eyes squint in the strong light. An annoyance at most times, but right now he’s glad for it, because it’s helping keep the tears at bay. “You saved me. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t. I still don’t know what you saw in me, but I’m grateful. I just wish I had told you that while you were alive.”

There’s more that weighs on him, and he wants to get it out before Kyrie arrives. “We also found out about how you really died.” He glances at the graves of his adoptive parents. “I won’t ever understand it. I don’t want to be angry, but a part of me is. A lot of it is because of what happened with my mom, and also six years ago. You guys couldn’t have had any idea about any of it…” He wants to believe they would have turned against the Order if they knew what they had done to his mother, and what they had tried to do to him and Kyrie. “The Order just took everything from me: you guys, my mother, the life I could have had… It nearly killed me and Kyrie. And all I can do is just – I don’t even know. But the Order is dying, and it doesn’t have much longer. That’s the only comfort I have.”

He sighs, long and tired. “I’m all jumbled up. I’m mad but I miss you. I’d do anything to actually talk to you, even if just one more time. And I don’t get why you guys did what you did, but I do know you loved us. You were all I knew for the longest time. I wish you were here to meet my dad and uncle. I don’t think you guys would hit it off right away, but I know you would have given them a chance.”

He belatedly realizes this is the most he’s talked to them – their graves, really – since they died. While he doesn’t see himself making a habit of this, it has helped him vent what’s been on his mind. “This got kind of depressing.” He waits a beat, then glances at the cemetery entrance. No sign of Kyrie yet. “But, it’s not all bad. I’ve been thinking a lot…” A smirk pulls at his lips. “And I can practically hear Credo’s usual crack: ‘Oh, so that’s why there’s steam coming out of your ears. It’s the hardest you’ve made your brain work in a while.’ Jerk.” That smirk fades into a wistful smile. “Anyway… I’ve lost a lot, but I’ve gained some, too. At the center of it all is Kyrie. She’s been my rock. Not that she hasn’t always been, but more so than ever the past few years. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” The family as a whole saved him, but it all started with her. She saw him, really saw him when no one else did. She fought for him, supported him, and brought him into her world. “We’ve been together for so long, and I’m in it with her until the end. So… I’m gonna marry her. Or, at least ask her.” He rubs the back of his head. “I hope she says yes.”

He blows out a breath, releasing the tension that’s been building up in him. “You’re the first people I’ve told. So, keep it quiet. I’m still trying to find-”

“I’m here!”

Kyrie waves to Nero as she hurries down the path, flowers in tow. “Sorry it took so long, there was a line, and Gretchen was at the register and kept chatting on and on…”

“No worries, I was just talking.”

“Oh? You were talking to them?”

“A little bit. Got some stuff off my chest.”

“Mmm, that’s always helpful.” Her smile turns teasing. “Reveal any deep, dark secrets?”

He smiles back. “One or two.”

“Anything I should be worried about?”

There’s a little laugh that escapes him. He wraps his hand around hers and brings it to his lips. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Chapter Text

“You know, Lady…” Trish crosses her arms, staring incredulously at the hulking, massive ship in front of them. “When you said ‘girls’ night out on the water’ I was expecting it to be a bit… livelier.”

“Oh, it’ll get lively soon enough.” Lady readjusts Kalina Ann’s strap.

“This is a job, isn’t it?”

“Are you really that surprised?”

Trish sighs. “No. Though I do feel a bit cheated.”

“Hey, I didn’t lie. We’re all women, it’s night, and it’s a boat on the water. One that just so happens to have a demon hiding out inside it.”

“A demon’s taken residence on a boat?”

“I know, I couldn’t believe it either.” Lady gestures for Trish to follow her as they step onto the loading dock. “Seems that a few idiots decided playing around with occult rituals was a great way to pass the time. I’m sure none of them actually thought anything would happen.”

“Normally it doesn’t.”

“Nope, but these people got unlucky and managed to summon a demon. It murdered them, drank their blood, and then broke out of their cabin and wreaked havoc on the rest of the ship.”

Trish shakes her head as they walk up the gangway. “An entire ship of people dead because of morons toying with forces they don’t understand.”

“Most of a ship. They were lucky enough to be near port when the demon attacked, so they pulled in and a few managed to escape.”

“And the demon is still on the ship and not rampaging in town?”

“They were also lucky that a sorcerer was on board. He didn’t stand a chance fighting the demon, but he was able to seal it inside the ship so it couldn’t bust out.” They approach the deck; a faint, shimmering wall of energy bars their entry. “Understandably, the ship’s owner wants his boat back and the demon gone.”

Trish’s hands crackle with lightning. “Seems a decent enough barrier, but I should be able to-”

From behind them, a voice calls out, “Perhaps let’s not lightning the barrier to itty bitty magic pieces.”

The electric current dissipates in surprise. Unlike Trish, who’s clearly at a loss, Lady casually turns around and waves. “I was wondering if you’d made it yet.”

Standing on the dock where they had been just minutes earlier is a dark-haired woman. Trish pegs her as a little younger than Lady, maybe mid to late thirties. Her thick, frizzy hair sports a few braids, with some tied back and one hanging loose. Her dark eyes rest on Trish, amusement lighting them. She offers a warm smile and waves back. “Arrived just a moment ago.”

Trish regards the newcomer with curiosity that’s underpinned by her usual caution. As the woman approaches, she notices a bladed staff folded behind her back, along with a few pouches that hang from her belt. A whiff of burnt herbs tickles Trish’s nose. This woman has the hallmarks of a breed Trish has rarely dealt with. “You’re a witch.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” said witch replies drolly.

“Trish, this is Freya who is, yes, a witch. Freya, this is Trish, the one I told you about.” Lady gestures to Freya as she explains to Trish, “She and I go back a ways. I loop her in when I need magical assistance, though this time, she’s the one who brought me in.”

“Has Lady given you the run down?”

“Idiots summoned demon, demon murdered people, but some escaped and now it’s stuck here thanks to some sorcerer.”

“In a nutshell. I happen to know that sorcerer. He spoke with the boat owner, and then he called me. If this were a lesser demon, I’d have just handled it myself, but from what my friend told me, this one’s a piece of work.”

“And that’s when I got called,” Lady finishes. “Since this thing sounds like a pain, and we’re dealing with a large location, I thought it best to bring you on.” She grins. “See? Girls’ night. What could be more fun than killing a demon while trashing a cruise ship?”

Trish almost argues it for argument’s sake, but honestly, she agrees. “So long as we finish the night with a few drinks and maybe something marginally relaxing.”

“I’ll treat us to a round when we’re done. Hey, it’s a port town, there’s gotta be plenty of bars around here.” Lady eyes the barrier still blocking their path. “Are you able to get us in without taking the whole thing down?” she asks Freya. “Otherwise, it’ll just make a break for it. I’d rather chase it around the ship than around the town.”

“Yes, I should be able to.” Freya approaches the barrier and places her hands against it, palms flat and fingers spread wide. They glow an eerie blue; the barrier reacts, rippling and shifting like water around her hands. It gives one last shudder before it parts and leaves an opening for them to walk through. “Go ahead. I have to go in last so it closes behind me.”

The devil hunters duck in and wait for Freya to do the same. When she slips inside behind them, the barrier snaps shut behind her. They walk until they find themselves on the main deck, surrounded by scattered debris and bodies – or what’s left of them. Blood coats the walls and deck; it’s attracted swarms of flies and other insects. It’s a horrifying, disgusting scene that makes even Trish’s ironclad stomach turn.

“A bloodbath,” Freya murmurs, a hand covering her mouth. “It’s amazing anyone got out alive.”

Lady whips out the Kalina Ann, checking it over. “I don’t envy whoever cleans this up. This is going to make finding the asshole that much worse.”

Trish clicks her tongue. “Normally I’d say it should be easy enough, but with how big this boat is?” They’re in for a long night, she suspects. “You think it too risky to split up?”

“I’d rather not take chances,” Lady says, keeping Kalina Ann out and ready to fire. “Let’s try the lower decks. I think if it were out in the open, we’d know by now.”

Her companions nod in agreement, pulling out their own weapons as they make for the stairs. Not for the first time, Trish misses the familiar weight of the devil sword Sparda. My guns and lightning will have to do, she thinks morosely.

As someone who has been to a lot of creepy locations, Lady readily admits that this might be one of the spookiest.

Silence and darkness cover the enormous ship. A place that’s meant to be loud and full of people feels so disconcerting when it isn’t. Every little sound they make echoes throughout the empty rooms. Lady normally hates giving her position away like this, but they need to draw the demon out somehow. They’ve searched half the lower decks already and so far, they’ve found no sign of it.

Lady nudges open yet another door, Kalina Ann pointed outward and ready to fire. As the door swings open, the trio find themselves in a large indoor pool. Innertubes, pool noodles and various other pool toys drift listlessly in the water, having been abandoned in haste. There are more bodies and blood pools here. The pool water’s turned a reddish hue; it straight up reminds Lady of horror movies. “Looks like it came through here at some point.”

“This thing has to be pretty fast,” Trish says. “Lots of people were on here, sure, but this ship is still big. That’s a lot of ground for it to cover.”

Freya glances up at the high arched ceiling. She wiggles her fingers and a little ball of light appears. With a flick of her wrist, it climbs up and up until it illuminates a small area on the ceiling. She moves the little ball around the ceiling, lighting up its darkest corners.

Lady watches the ceiling as well, understanding why Freya is investigating it. Wouldn’t be the first time we had one drop down on us because we couldn’t see it. As the light ball passes by some rafters directly above the pool, she notices something off around the edges of the visible light. “Wait. Go back. I saw something.” She instructs Freya where to place it until she finds what she saw. Sure enough, there’s a very large, gaping hole in the ceiling. “Don’t think that was there before.”

“Maybe they were trying out a new dive board.” Freya sends the ball up into the hole. “You know, it actually would be kind of fun if they put in a water slide there and you could go down it into-” She pauses when she realizes Trish and Lady are staring at her with incredulous, if not amused looks. “…okay fine, it was probably the demon.”

“From the way the hole looks, it came from above.” Trish angles herself as best she can to look up into it. “Doesn’t help much. It could be anywhere on the ship. Though it does tell me that it doesn’t care much for using doors or stairs.”

“So it could jump out at us anytime,” Lady concludes with a sigh. “Stay on your toes. It’ll-”

A high-pitched hiss echoes from the floor above. The ladies snap their heads up in unison, just in time to see a reptilian looking demon eyeing them hungrily. Its lean, almost emaciated form allows it to hop along the rafters with ease, dodging out of the way of Trish and Lady’s bullets as they open fire. It circles around until it draws near, and with a loud growl, leaps at them from rafters. They jump out of the way, avoiding its strike by less than a second.

Lady quickly recovers, hopping back on her feet. She goes to fire the Kalina Ann, but she stops when she realizes Freya stands directly on the opposite of the demon. If she shoots the demon, she’ll hit her friend as well. “Freya, move!”

The demon sees this, too, and grabs Freya by the throat before she can duck out of reach. She drops her staff in surprise as the demon swings her forward, using her as a human shield. “Hunters,” it hisses, tone venomous with disdain. “That magic wielder sent you, didn’t he? The one who shut me in here. How unfortunate that he sent you to your deaths.”

Freya’s hands crackle with magic. Lady knows from past experience what’s coming. “Put me down or your death will be a lot more painful than necessary.”

Trish tries to circle around, but the demon shifts back, keeping Freya firmly in the line of fire. “Another magic wielder, I see.” It chuckles, bringing her closer until its face is all but pressed against hers. “Perhaps you’re more reasonable than your friend. I made him quite an offer, the same I’ll extend you. I’m a demon of no small repute. Your kind and mine have a long history together. I can provide you with-”

“For fuck’s sake,” Freya mutters. Her body pulses with unnatural light that surges through her and down her arms. She yells and blasts the magic into the demon, sending it flying back. Its claws scrape against her throat, but the wounds are superficial. She pays them no mind as she bends down to pick up her bladed staff. She gives it a twirl as she regards the demon, crumbled in a heap on the ground. “You think you’re the first to offer me that? Get over yourself. Besides, I like my partners brawnier and considerably more charming.”

“Stupid witch! I’ll tear your-” Lady doesn’t let it finish, opting instead to follow Freya’s attack with one of her own, namely a rocket from Kalina Ann. It leaves a shower of blood and demon bits in its wake. The demon survives, though worse for wear and left reeling from the loud explosion. It screeches in rage, an ear-piercing sound that makes the humans recoil. “Your deaths would have been quick, but now I’m going to kill you slowly. I’ll feast on your blood as you watch, half-dead and helpless!”

Trish launches herself at the demon, lightning crackling around her. She lashes out, narrowly missing as the demon dances out of the way. She skids to a halt and tosses a bolt at it, hitting it square in the chest. It screams in agony as the force of the blast sends it tumbling across the floor, sliding dangerously close to the pool.

“Lightning, huh.” Freya gestures at Lady. “We need to get it in the pool.”

“You read my mind.” Lady readies Kalina Ann. “Trish, be ready.”

She nods before pulling back, letting Lady and Freya begin their setup. Lady moves to flank the demon, who is just getting to its feet. She fires two rounds from the Kalina Ann. The demon scrambles out of the away, unsteady on its feet as it struggles to get its balance back. Freya swings her staff out, the blade barely nicking the demon’s arm. It reels back in the opposite direction. The two friends alternate their attacks, herding the demon towards the pool. Some hit, but most whizz by it. It taunts them for their misses; not that it has a leg to stand on, seeing as it has less luck hitting them. In its defense, it’s rather hard to hit anyone when there are rockets and magic blasts hurtling towards you constantly.

Lady waits for the right opening. It’s hard to tell if the demon knows what they’re trying to do, but she won’t take chances. After two minutes of dancing around each other, her moment comes when the demon’s impatience gets the better of it. It bounds towards the wall and pushes off of it, launching itself at Freya. Lady fires the Kalina Ann, nailing the demon in mid-air. Between the blast and its suddenly reversed momentum, the demon sails through the air before landing unceremoniously in the pool. It sputters and screeches, desperately trying to get out.

As its claws grasp the pool’s edge, Freya mutters a quick chant. Magic chains unfurl from her outstretched hands. They wrap around the demon and pull it down back into the depths. Its screams are muffled by the water as it thrashes against the chains. “Trish, now!”

Trish blows out a steadying breath as she summons a quickly growing ball of electricity. She braces her feet hard against the ground. The sphere of lightning builds and builds, so bright that Lady shields her eyes. She only hears what happens next: Trish’s yell of effort, then an air-shaking boom as the lightning launches from her hands and into the pool. Smaller streaks of lightning dash across the water’s surface as the larger bolt lights up the water. Lady can’t even see what’s happening to the demon in the water, but she imagines it’s not pleasant. The attack is over in seconds. Freya and Lady carefully step to the pool’s edge and look inside. Blood and fried body parts greet them first as they drift up from the bottom. Moments later, the majority of the demon’s corpse floats to the top to join the rest of it.

“Yuck,” Lady says, scrunching her nose. “Well, I’m calling it dead. Job complete and mission accomplished.”

“How do we dispose of the body?” Freya asks.

“Hell no. I’m paid to kill it, not clean up. That’ll probably fall to the same unlucky souls who have to clean up the rest of the ship.” Lady swings the Kalina Ann onto her shoulder. Her back protests with a jolt of pain. “I’m going to be feeling this fight in the morning.”

“That makes two of us.” Freya brings her hand to her throat. Her fingers glow a gentle white. When she pulls her hand away, the wounds are gone. “I’m getting too old for this.”

Lady makes a half-hearted dismissive noise. If this had happened five years ago, she would have laughed it off entirely. But now that she’s past forty, she’s slowly coming to the realization that Freya is right. She’s slowing down, and it takes her longer to bounce back from injuries and strains. Not for the first time, she wonders how many years she has left in her before she has to hang her guns up for good.

I’m not thinking about this right now. Not after a job well done. She forces a smile and turns to her friends. “Freya, call the client and let him know it’s done. After that, let’s find a place to get some post-job drinks. I could definitely use a stiff one after this.”

Trish, not at all worse for wear, nods as she holsters her guns. “Music to my ears. And you’re buying me at least two rounds for dragging me into this.”

Lady makes a “tsch” sound. “As if you didn’t have fun. But fine. Two drinks it is.”

They wind up in a bar unimaginatively named Lucky’s, a small dive that’s barely a step or two above seedy. Despite its lackluster interior and the questionable odor, they pick it over the other bars because of its cheap drinks and their special on chicken wings. They’ve holed up in a booth with the fewest stains, a plate of wings between them and a drink in each of their hands.

“Now do you consider this girls’ night?” Lady teases, nudging Trish with her elbow.

“Much more like it.” Trish gives the flickering ceiling light the stink eye. “Better lighting and cleanliness standards would be nice, but it beats being covered in demon guts.”

“Don’t be so stuffy. It’s hard to screw up wings and drinks, anyway.” Lady rips some meat off a wing. “Besides, all the other places looked too touristy or upscale.”

“Most of the boutiques you shop at in Capulet are pretty upscale, you know.”

“Clothes are a different matter.” Lady glances over at Freya. “Hey. You’ve been quiet for a while.”

The witch looks up from her plate. There’s a weariness in her eyes that Lady’s never seen before. “Sorry. Guess I’m a bit tired.”

“The battle wore you out,” Trish notes. “That was a close call, too.”

“If that demon hadn’t been interested in tempting me, I would have been dead.” Freya grabs her drink and knocks it back. She lets out a shaky sigh.

Lady picks at the rest of her wing before carelessly dropping it onto her plate. “What’s gotten into you? This isn’t the first close call you’ve had.”

Freya doesn’t answer immediately. She gently slides her empty glass away, and she seems to be considering ordering another one. After a moment’s deliberation, she waves at the bartender, signaling for another round. As she waits, she leans back against the seat cushion, brow slightly furrowed. “I know,” she finally says. “It was easy to shake off those moments back then. Lately, though, I can’t. I’m sure it’s part of getting older, but I also think that I’ve lost my taste for demon hunting.”

Lady’s brow raises high. “Really? The Terracegrove Coven’s number one demon killer – and overall witch – doesn’t like doing it anymore?”

“I’m hardly their number one witch,” Freya says with a weak laugh. “But I am their go-to for demon-related matters, it’s true. I certainly won’t stop if I’m needed for it. It’s just not fun anymore.”

Trish regards her with a curious look. “You’re a decent hunter, so I can see why. What is it exactly about hunting that puts you off?”

“The actual killing. I used to feel a thrill and sense of accomplishment when I saw a demon die. Now it’s just… I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel sympathy for the demons or anything. I just… I prefer growing things. Fixing things. I take more pleasure in bringing or preserving life than taking it.” She shrugs. “Not sure what did it. Maybe I’m just destined to be an old hag with a house filled with plants.”

A server comes by and drops off Freya’s drink. Trish and Lady ask for another round to replace their near empty glasses. As he walks away to make their drinks, Lady turns back to Freya and says, “You thinking of retiring from it?”

“Like I said, I won’t if I’m still needed. But I might try and see if one of the younger witches can start taking over for me. Let the young blood take a crack at cracking demon skulls.” She suddenly chuckles. “Listen to me, bringing down the mood. I apologize.” She swirls her drink a bit before taking a sip. “I promise, Trish, I’m not usually this downcast. Let me get another couple drinks in me and I’ll be much more fun.”

“Hopefully not too fun,” Lady adds drolly. “At least you’re not drinking tequila. You turn into a flirty, giggly dork when you do.”

“I do not,” Freya says with an indignant sniff. “Just mildly flirty. And only with certain people.”

“Yeah, the ones that have a charming smile and an ounce of charisma.”

“So I get a little weak in the knees for the charmers. Sue me.”

Trish cocks a brow at Lady. “You know, this is all rather rich coming from the same woman who knocked back five shots and fifteen minutes later was sprawled out over the table demanding people pay to see her boobs. I think you charged one dollar for a top view peek, five for side boob, and twenty for a full-on flash.” Her wicked smile widens as Lady’s eyes all but bulge out of her head. “You made bank that night, admittedly.”

Freya’s drink nearly comes out of her nose. Through her hand that’s holding back the runaway liquid, she says, “And I thought finding her passed out in a top hat and someone else’s briefs was bad.”

“What the hell?!” Lady looks at her friends, aghast as they burst out laughing. “Introducing you two was clearly a mistake.”

“I beg to differ.” Freya raises her glass to Trish. “Here’s to the start of a friendship built on tormenting Lady.”

Trish lifts her glass and clinks it against Freya’s. “I can drink to that.”