Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nelo Angelo looked down at the small creature by his feet. It was clinging to his leg, half-hidden under his cape. The humans that had been causing its distress lay in bloody pieces across the floor.

He wasn’t sure where they were. The men wore once-pristine white uniforms and the area was cast in a dim green light. Glass tubes and metal tables were scattered around the room. Some sort of laboratory, perhaps.

He had come here from the underworld, dragged by some incessant thought that something was wrong. He had never felt such pulls before. He had only been given orders by his master, which he followed without question. There was no desire, no insticutal tug, to follow those, only the knowledge that he must. To follow them was his very reason for existence, and so he did.
The little creature tugged at his cape. More of the white-wearing men had arrived and the little one was shirking away at the sight of them. When he first arrived, the nagging in his sluggish mind had only passed after he removed the cause of the little one’s distress, which had been the men hovering over it and inspecting it. They had been examining the little one’s arm, which was coated in red and blue scales and glowed a pale blue when Nelo approached.

The men cautiously circled around Nelo Angelo, swords raised in a defensive stance. The little creature hugged his leg tighter and he could already begin to feel the unpleasant sensation that bid him to ease its unhappiness.

He reached down to release it from his leg, its little arms desperately trying to resist. It was not very strong and he was easily able to remove it and set it gently to the side. It stayed put when he let it go and he was left to take care of the white-suited men. He was disappointed in the lack of fight they offered, their swords buying them no more than seconds once he’d engaged. All too soon, their bodies littered the floor with their comrades. The little one stood still where he’d put it. It was shaking, nearly to the point of being unable to stand. With the threat gone, he returned to it and it greedily reclaimed its hold on his leg.

A spike of fear shot through him. So different from the urging need that had pulled him to the human world. His master’s voice thundering through his head, consuming all other thoughts. He had been gone for too long. He must return to his master’s side. He must do as he is told. He must. He must.
He returned mindlessly to the place he had come from. The little creature followed him, desperate to keep pace with his long legs. He barely noticed its presence now. He must return to his master. It was his purpose.

Nelo was unsure how long he stood by his master’s side. Time had little bearing in the demon realm and even less in the fog of his mind. At some point, he was once again burdened with the pull from the little creature he had encountered before. It had not been able to follow him back to the demon world so now it tugged at him, making him aware of his own consciousness in a way he was not altogether used to. He had been called to his master’s side many times before and, in the dull stretches of standing at attention, he had always had the luxury of slipping away from himself until a new order was issued. Now, this no longer was the case. The call from that little creature made him acutely aware of the passage of time and of the dullness of his present state. He expected the feeling to fade, added to the oblivion of his experience, and yet it continued to grow the longer he ignored it. Soon it was nigh overwhelming. However, his master’s command to stay put kept him rooted in the throne room. To move would be to disobey his master.

When he was, at last, dismissed, it was on orders to eliminate a few insolent demons that disobeyed his master. He was sent to their den. The dark cave was fraught with death and blood. The reptilian demons snarled at him as he approached, eyes aglow against the dark of the cave. He did not give them the chance to attack, striking them down as efficiently as possible. The sooner he finished with this task, the sooner he could deal with the calls from the little creature. To waste time engaging with these demons would do him no good.

When he was satisfied that all the demons had been dealt with, he returned to his master’s domain. From there, he was finally able to cross over to the human realm. He crossed through to the castle of Mallet Island, the mirror portal leaving him in the long-abandoned bedroom.

Seeking out the source of his irritation was a simple matter and he soon found himself returned to the laboratory from his prior visit. As he searched for the little creature, a sharp mechanical wail filled the laboratory. Strobing red lights accompanied it. Some of the white-clad men fled from him, those who did not were struck down as they tried in vain to combat him.

He found the little one chained up in one of the rooms. Its hands had been bound to the stone wall and a thick collar shackled its neck. Emotion swirled through Nelo. It surprised him, the intensity of the disdain he felt at seeing the little one bound in such a way. He split the chains, the metal more than ready to give under the weight of his sword.

The pressure on his mind eased. The little one, still processing its returned freedom, gazed up at Nelo with an expression he was not accustomed to. Brightness filled its eyes as it reached out to Nelo. He allowed it to grab onto him. The shackles still remained on its hands and neck, too close to the skin for him to sever. They scraped against the armor covering Nelo’s leg.

A group of men in white armor met his path, armed with long lances. The little one shied off, not needing to be removed this time. The first of the armored knights charged him, their weapons meeting with a heavy clang. He was pleased to find these men could put up more of a fight than those he had met earlier. He traded blows with the knight as a second and then third joined in, attempting to overwhelm him. He found his sword somewhat ineffective, as their armor was too thick to simply slice through. He pulled back, choosing to shoot summoned swords into the armor’s chinks, finding satisfaction as the sputters and stilled movements indicated he had hit his marks.

With the knights removed, he ventured to take the little one out of the laboratory. Simply defeating the ones that distressed him did not seem to be enough and if Nelo wished to be rid of the need to come to its aid for good, he would be best off taking it somewhere out of harm’s way. The little one offered no complaint, greedily taking the unspoken offer of escape. It clung to Nelo’s cape in an attempt to keep from being left behind again. He made no attempt to remove it until they reached the outside.

Standing in the open air, the little creature began to shiver. Nelo supposed it must be cold. He did not feel it, but the little one curled in on itself, its breath visible in shaky gasps. He picked it up. It squirmed in his grasp, legs kicking as it silently demanded to be put down. He wondered if his armor felt cold to it.
Holding it in his gauntlet-covered hands, it occurred to him how breakable the little creature felt. He dared not squeeze it tightly lest he harm it. The little one seemed either ignorant or uncaring to its own fragility, continuing its protest to be put down. Still, such protest was not setting off the alarms within his mind that it was distressed, so he continued holding it.

Nelo opened a portal for himself, stepping through and finally setting the little one down onto the bed on Mallet Island. It stilled somewhat, head snapping around as it took in the sudden change of surroundings. It was no longer shaking from the cold, which Nelo took as a good sign. He had claimed this room as his own territory, keeping the other demons inhabiting the castle away from it. So long as the little one stayed put, it would be out of harm’s way. To be safe, he locked the door leading into the castle. He would have to bring it sustenance, yet this seemed a better alternative to facing its distress calls whenever he was summoned away from it.

“Thank you for helping me, Mister.” The little one spoke for the first time. It still sat on the bed where he had placed it. It had tucked its knees up and had begun picking at the scales on its right arm.

He did not answer it. Could not, even if he wanted to. He had no need for words, as they were not required to follow his master’s orders.

“My name’s Nero, by the way,” the little one- Nero- mumbled.

He offered a nod in acknowledgement, which seemed to please Nero.

Nelo studied the little one for a moment. Nero was not a demon, of that he was certain, and yet he felt different from an ordinary human. There was something familiar about him, as ridiculous as the notion was. Then there was the matter of his sway over Nelo’s mind, which could prove troubling.
Still, Nero was safe for the time being, and that meant Nelo was free to return to the demon realm. He turned to the mirror, only to have Nero bolt up to latch on to him. It was clear he wanted Nelo to stay. He had already taken quite some time handling Nero thus far, to stay longer would run the risk of his master noticing his continued absence. He picked Nero up, placing him gently back onto the bed and turning to leave once again. This time, Nero stayed put.

Chapter Text

For perhaps the first time in his existence, Nelo Angelo was pleased, or some approximation of it. His Master had little for him to do and thus he was able to return to check on Nero in a short amount of time, or at least what he assumed was a short amount of time.

When Nelo crossed over to the human world, he found it to be night. The room was bathed in the darkness, features washed away into nothingness. The only light was the faint blue glow from Nero’s arm, a lone island of visibility. He strode over to it. Nero was lying on the bed, eyes closed. The blue glow reflected off his pale skin and hair. He did not stir, even when Nelo was right next to him. It was no wonder why the boy needed Nelo’s protection. If he did not even wake when in the presence of a demon, how would he be able to survive?

Nelo laid his armored hand over Nero’s head, pouring some demonic energy into the boy. Such energy should be enough to sustain him for a stretch. It would be much more efficient than for him to attempt to attain enough human food. Nero’s arm glowed brighter at the influx of energy. His eyes pinched tight at the intruding light before slowly blinking open. His eyes scanned groggily over his surroundings, over his arm, and, finally, over the shape of Nelo looming over him.

“You came back.” He pushed himself up, eyes brightening.

Nelo’s hand fell back to his side. He nodded and Nero smiled at him.

Nero pushed off the blankets he had been using. He was dragging his hands over his eyes, valiantly attempting to rub away the last dregs of his tiredness. It was clear he did not intend to go back to bed, not while Nelo was present. And the way he kept his rapidly blinking eyes on Nelo made it clear he did not intend to let him leave any time soon. Of course, the small child would be powerless to stop him should he truly wish to leave but Nelo decided it would be best to simply humor the boy and stay.

Nelo backed away from the bed and Nero scrambled to his feet, dutifully following him. It was becoming familiar, the small hand clutching at the end of his cape. He was not doing so in fear this time. A small victory. Having secured his connection, Nero had fixated his gaze on the door that Nelo had locked. Was there a demon out there? No, Nelo would certainly have sensed it long before the child. There were no other sounds that he could note, so it was not as if something was calling the boy’s attention. He did not seem to be distressed, so it was not a sign of danger, so why?

Nelo Angelo recalled the last time he had stood on guard by his Master. He had been in the same spot for a long stretch, unable to go anywhere. Prior to his intervention, Nero had been kept chained by those men, also trapped to one spot, although more forcefully. Nelo had freed him, but perhaps the admittedly small room did not seem like enough? Perhaps, Nero wished to see more of the castle? Ah, that would make sense, although it would not do. Far too many demons roamed the halls, he could not hope to keep Nero safe from all of them. It was for his safety that he had been locked into this room.

He found Nero’s gaze, still staring longingly at the door, refusing to speak what he wanted and save Nelo the task of guessing.

He led Nero over to the room’s other door, this one leading to the courtyard. Far fewer demons ventured there and those that did were unlikely to do so with Nelo present. He opened the door, allowing a faint sliver of moonlight to overtake them. He pointed out and cocked his head at Nero, who seemed confused by the sudden movements. No sound came from outside. He recognized the oddity of the island’s stillness, a place inhabited only by demons and the memory’s of long-dead residents. An air of death and timelessness permeated the grounds.

“Am I allowed to go outside?” Nero’s voice was small. He sounded hesitant to simply be asking the question at all.

Yes, Nelo thought. Although it could only be when he was there to ensure his safety. To let the boy wander unsupervised risked his endangerment and he must be sure that was understood. He nodded and gently removed the pale hand from his cape in favor of it being held in his gauntleted hand. It was frail and all-too-human seeming. He dared not squeeze it. He was aware that humans were supposed to hold hands, especially with their little ones. It felt odd to mimic the human motion but it seemed an appropriate way to convey his message. Nero’s eyes were wide, lit with his own blue glow stirring with the minimal moonlight. He was unsure if the boy received his intention as he was swiftly pulled (or more accurately, obeyed the slight forward force) out onto the crumbled balcony.

It would take time simply to get onto the grass, yet this did not seem to be a deterrent. If he were to guess, he would say the little one was enjoying the thought of climbing around on the rubble.
At first, Nero tried to get down on his own. Nelo watched him, using his arm and traces of moonlight to find a spot and then trying to lower himself from one crumbling level to the one below. Nelo watched him slowly inching off the side, hands digging into the stone as he struggled his way down the ledge.

The stone crumbled at the edges. Nero let out a yelp. He dropped sharply down the ledge until only his fingers, straining to keep their grip on the side of the ledge, were visible. His clawed right hand was proving much more useful than his human nails, although the stone was threatening to break completely where his claws were leaving indents. Nelo felt the boy’s alarm and fear tugging in his mind. He stepped closer on instinct before teleporting to the lower ledge where Nero was trying to get. Even near-fully extended, Nero’s legs were far above ground and kicked sporadically through the air, looking for purchase.

Nelo picked him up, receiving another surprised squeak. Nero’s fear subsided and he wriggled around, trying to turn. He obliged, adjusting his grip on the boy so that he was now facing Nelo. He was immediately met with arms being thrown around his neck, gripping tight to him. Small tremors ran through him, felt as pinpricks of movement on the void of Nelo’s armor.

He teleported again, taking Nero to the grassy courtyard. The boy’s head flew up, swiveling as he processed the sudden change. It only served to make him clutch tighter. How swiftly his desire for adventure dissipated. He made no motion to force him off, allowing him to be held until he settled. It was some time after the tremors ceased and his awe at the teleportation wore off that he finally squirmed as an indicator he wished to be set down. Nelo obliged, naturally.

Nero’s mood flipped once again, forgetting his earlier scare in favor of running laps around the long grass. Nelo was unsure if there was a point, a goal he wished to accomplish, or if he was merely exuding such happiness from the act of running. Nelo stood still where he had landed, mindlessly watching as the little one passed by time after time. An imperfect circle with him at the center.

When he tired of that, Nelo watched as he slowed to a walk and began moving much more deliberately to the outer edges of the area. He would often look back, making certain that Nelo had not disappeared, nor that he was moving to stop him from going any further. Neither happened and soon Nero had inspected every inch of ground, climbed on a piece of rubble, tried unsuccessfully to get Nelo to do something (although he was still unsure what he had been hoping Nelo would do. Did he wish for him to play a game?), and laid down in the grass long enough that Nelo questioned if he was still awake.

The sun rose and with it came light strong enough to fully see with. It made little difference, as there was little to look at besides the outline of Nero, with which he could already see thanks to the glowing arm, and the yard around them. Nero seemed to enjoy it, however, as he had sat himself at Nelo’s feet and watched it rise in full. He supposed humans may find it pretty or satisfying.

Nero’s head made a dull thud when it hit his armored leg. It seemed the little one had fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and rhythmic. How silly for this human to put such utter trust in him. He lifted the boy, careful with his small body which was now curling towards his chest, and took them back to the bedroom. He placed Nero on the bed and, remembering how he had found him, did his best to pull the covers back over him in what looked like it may be comfortable.

Having fulfilled his duty, he made to leave, only to be halted as Nero’s demonic arm shot out and clawed desperately at his own arm. Seeing Nero’s eyes on the verge of blinking open, he allowed his hand to be taken and the little one returned to his sleep, seemingly appeased.

Nelo watched him breath in, out, in, out, and stood at his side. In. His Master had made no move to call him back. Out. So perhaps he would not be needed for a short time longer. In. If he were to leave, it could cause Nero to become distressed and result in him having to come back anyways. Out. Appeasing Nero now would allow him to best serve his Master later, free of distraction. In. He would stay until Nero’s grip on him lessened or his Master called to him. Out.

Chapter Text

Nelo kneeled before his Master. One hand rested idly on his sword, standing up on the ground beside him, the other was placed solidly on the marble floors. He could see nothing except the white marble of the throne room, the purity of it marred only by his black armor.

“You’ve been disappearing as of late.” His Master’s words echoed throughout the hall, deafening and all-encapsulating. They pounded through his head, his entire body, and he bowed his head farther at the sound of them.

He had visited Nero twice more since first taking him outside. While it never interfered with his duty to his Master, he recognized that he had been wandering off for longer and longer stretches. The heavy attention of his Master coupled with the warning prickles of pain ricocheting through him made it clear his trips to the human realm were not going unnoticed.

“Have you forgotten your purpose?” Another wave of words overtook him and settled in his chest like a knife of worry.

He had not gone against his Master. He had been gone only when he was not needed and still heeded his commands. He had not forgotten his purpose. He must obey his Master. The demanding thought ran rampant through him, circling and looping in his head until there was nothing else.

“Whatever it is you are doing, Nelo Angelo, remember that if you dare disobey me, it will not go unpunished.” The sound may as well have been coming from inside him.

Electricity shook through him. Fuzzy, it numbed out all feelings and thoughts not immediate to the shaking pain it caused. A warning, a prelude to what he would meet should he act against his Master’s wishes. He wouldn’t. His throat scratched and burned as he let out a strangled grunt, unused to the need to produce sound.

It did not end quickly, running its course through him. When it eventually let up, he was left twitching and numbed, held up only by the sword and hand, both of which he was only vaguely aware of. His Master dismissed him. He picked himself up from the ground, hefting his sword up and left with his head still bowed. His footsteps seemed distant as he walked, his mind still rearing.

He continued walking long after he was gone from the throne room, making no conscious decision about what to do next. He wandered through the demon realm, striking down whatever crossed his path. He had done so many times before, whenever he was not needed. The feeling of these brief fights had proven to be the best way to spend his time until his Master called for him again.

Water splashed around his ankles, his feet sinking down. He looked down, coming back to himself enough to be aware of his surroundings. Water, dark and reddened, sloshed around where he had stepped into it. The ruined remains of white pillars and angelic statues jut out of the pool, towering over him. It was silent save for the distant thrum of running water. Idly, he went towards it. The red water lapped at his feet, the bottoms of his boots disappearing into it with every step. He found himself at the base of a cliff, a river curled off the top, coming plummeting down in sheets. Under its roar he could make out the echo of another sound. A faint yell, coming from the top of the cliff.

He teleported to the top, finding himself on a rocky overhang. The surroundings were much the same, ruined pillars and structures that may have once belonged to a building. The water was clearer here, roaring around him and falling off the ledge.

He took a half-step back, an inch closer to the edge. He could still hear the distant yell, although it seemed no closer nor had any apparent source. Another half-step. He wasn’t sure what compelled him. Whatever was yelling, he thought it was saying something specific, although he could not decipher what. It seemed foreign, just prickling the edge of his mind. He felt it may disappear should he focus on it too hard. He was at the edge now, his back foot brushing with the nothingness behind him.

Nelo looked back to the ruins, still apart from the river splitting them in two. It seemed to him that something should be here that wasn’t.
He turned and teleported back down. There was nothing there and he was ready to be gone from this place.

Whenever Nelo returned to Mallet Island, he was always met with Nero’s enthusiasm with his presence. This time, he had been sitting with his knees pulled in in the doorway to the courtyard. The doors were open and a low sun steeped the room in a yellow light and elongated shadows. A breeze he could not feel toyed with Nero’s hair.

His arm glowed with his appearance, interrupting whatever thoughts the boy had been having and prompting him to shoot up, eyes alight and already darting to the mirror he always came from.
He was swiftly met with the boy attempting to greet him with a hug. His arms were unable to fit completely around him yet this did not deter him. He placed a hand on the boy’s head as it tilted up to smile at him. He poured more demonic energy into him. Nelo was unsure if he understood why he was receiving the energy, or if he noticed it at all.

“You were gone a while this time.” Nero released him, although not moving but a step from him.

Nelo found the boy had been growing more talkative with every visit. He was not displeased at this. The more talkative he became the more at ease he was, and thus Nelo had less fear that the nagging pull would return. If Nero was bothered by the one-sided nature of his conversation, he did not show it.

The little one returned to where he had been sitting on the floor and patted the spot at his side. His shadow crawled through the room, mixing into Nelo’s armor.

“What do you do when you’re not here?” He sat where Nero had motioned at, tucking his knees under him and laying his sword on the ground.

Nero picked at his scales as the light dimmed with an array of clouds. The shackles still hung on his wrists and neck and he scratched underneath them. Even absent of the threat from before, his sword was ill-suited for such a precise cut and his summoned swords would not be able to pierce the metal. He slowly stopped picking at himself and instead poked at Nelo’s gauntlet with a single clawed nail.

“I wonder what you look like without your armor.” His voice was quieter now.

His gaze flicked up, searching for any sort of response. Nelo did nothing. He did not know what he looked like without his armor. There was no point in removing it, if he was even capable of doing so.

Nero leaned hesitantly against his side, body stiff and only easing as the sun began to droop beneath the trees.
Something pricked in Nelo’s mind. Not Nero- a demon, although far off. He ignored it. It came closer. Then it was two demons, three, all getting closer. He stood, sword already in his hand.

Nero jumped away at the disturbance. “What is it?”

The dying light rimmed the demons as they crawled into the courtyard, disappearing beneath their view. Nero’s eyes widened and he took a step towards him.
Nelo ushered the little one back into the safety of the room. He looked anxious, his hands hovering around his chest like he wanted to reach for Nelo. He did not. Nelo shut the door between them, offering Nero an extra layer of protection from the demons approaching them. It would not be needed. These demons were no match for him.

He lept down to the yard, ground making a solid thud where he landed. A gangly assortment of Nobodies and some other lesser demons regarded him with a bloodthirsty delight. The Nobodies would be bothersome should they be given time to sap his energy. He would dispatch them first.
The first lunged at him, hands flailing to reach him. He swung, catching one of the lower limbs and tearing it off with a satisfyingly fleshy rip. It backed away, circling around him. It wasn’t fast enough. He teleported next to it and stabbed into its side, yanking his sword through it and severing it in two. Blood splattered onto the grass as the body disintegrated and Nelo spun on his heel.

The second Nobody caught his sword in its large centered arm, its grip wrestling with him. He twisted his grip, wrenching his weapon free and slammed down onto its head with his full strength. Its metallic mask crumpled inward and the demon screamed. He kicked in its face, sending it hurtling towards the last of its kind. They collided with each other, the one he’d injured now writhing madly. He rained summoned swords down onto them, pinning them both to each other and to the spot they stood. Finally, he lunged forward, piercing through both their centers. He ripped his sword straight back out and, after flicking their blood off in a red arc, lobbed their heads and let them spill at his feet.

The lesser demons stayed at the outskirts of their ring, pacing around him as the bodies disappeared into the grass. One of them turned its back to him, charging up towards the bedroom. He sent a wave of summoned swords after it, leaving it to squirm against a wall until it dissolved.
Two more charged his side. Their claws bared and fangs dripped with saliva. He teleported behind them, taking them both out in a single strike. Only one remained. It gracelessly came at him head-on, its jerky movements coming to a still moments later.

Nelo let his sword hang at his side, surveying the yard. No other demons came towards him and he did not sense any hiding nearby.
A flash of white caught his attention. Nero had left the bedroom and was watching from the edge of the balcony. He was not watching Nelo but was poking at one of the summoned swords still in the stone, having yet to dissipate. It crumbled at his touch, blue flecks lingering in the air.

Nelo returned to the bedroom’s doorway, waiting for the little one to follow him inside. Peculiarly, nothing in him had indicated to him that Nero was distressed. Surely, the boy recognized the threat those demons posed to him?
Nero climbed onto the bed. The bedding had been pulled out of its neat fitting and was now pushed around the top of the bed where Nero chose to be.
Nelo looked down at the boy. He was fairly exposed were a demon to enter the room, although he had no intention of allowing that to happen. He pulled the bedding further around Nero, circling it around him as if that would offer any protection.

“You must be really strong to take down all those demons.” Nero was smiling, more focused on Nelo than what he was doing. “I wonder if I can be strong like that when I get bigger.”

Nelo stepped back. The bedding piled up around Nero, when he was laying down, it would keep him hidden from sight from anything entering the room. It would do little against something that could smell him but it could gain him enough time for Nelo to arrive.

A spike of panic ran through his chest, alerting him to his Master’s call. It was time to leave. He must return to his Master.

“Do you have to leave again?” Nero was calling to him, hands clinging to his cape as he walked away.

In the mirror’s surface, he could see Nero trying to climb out of his bedding nest to go after him. He did not have the time to correct him and make sure he stayed in his bed. He stepped into the mirror.

Chapter Text

Nelo’s thoughts quieted to nothing as he approached his Master’s throne room. The dull sound of his steps echoed around him. The door gave way at the slightest push, as if it too were expecting him. He walked to the center of the room, his eyes obediently kept towards the floor, and knelt before his Master.

“I have a task for you, Nelo Angelo.”

Nelo waited for his instructions. His Master had paused, leaving him to wonder what had disturbed him. The room was utterly devoid of sound and movement. To an onlooker, the demons may as well have been statues. Nelo’s mind cast out, sensing the typical demons prowling around his Master’s domain. They prowled around the area, keeping a berth from the throne room’s entrance. None would dare enter without permission.

His thoughts burst out in fear. Nero’s panic came to him in an instant and his body tensed. He could feel his Master’s heavy glare upon him, studying him.

The door scraped open behind him. Through it, he sensed Nero. He must have followed him into the demon realm and was now being brought before his Master. With him was another demon. He recognized it as the she-devil Trish, another of his Master’s servants. Disgust bubbled in him. His body screamed with desire to lash out at her.

Her black shoes came to rest in the corner of his eye. Nero fell into his peripheral-she must have been holding him-and soon he was cowering behind Nelo.
His Master’s silence felt condemning. Trish left, Nero huddled closer to him as she passed.

“This is what you’ve been hiding from me?” Nero whimpered at the sound of his Master’s voice. His small hands gripped tighter to his armor.

“So, there is another descendant of that traitor, Sparda.” His voice dripped with bile and loathing.

“And one that is barely more than human,” his Master mused. “I see… so this one would be your nestling.”

His Master trailed off, his words echoing until they too faded to silence. Nero was still distressed. Every so often he would tighten his grip on Nelo or push himself closer to his armored side.

“I have a task for you, Nelo Angelo,” his Master repeated.

“Soon, Trish will be luring an enemy of mine to Mallet Island. Defeat him. Kill him.” Nelo shuddered under the threatening aura filling the room. “So long as you continue to serve me and obey orders, I will allow you to keep your nestling.”

Nelo had no desire to disobey his Master. His entire being knew better than to do so. Something in him was appeased by the knowledge that Nero would be safe.

“Know this,” his Master continued, “should you fail to fulfill any of your duties, or should your spawn prove troublesome, I will dispose of it.”

“Now go, return your nestling to wherever you are keeping it.”

Nelo rose and bowed for his Master. Nero was beside him, hesitantly copying his motions. As they left, Nero’s feet pattered against the tile. He was all but running from the room.

Nelo guided them back to the portal to Mallet Island. Demons kept at bay, interested in Nero yet wary enough to not attack. Nero’s discomfort had not eased and may have worsened with his Master’s words. He wondered if simply returning Nero to the safety of his room would be enough to comfort the boy’s stress, as well as Nelo’s concerned mind.

They stepped through the portal. Nero released his hold and rushed to his bed, shaking as he climbed into the bedding pile. Nelo crossed over to him.

“Are those demons going to get me?” Nero was watching the mirror with a newfound distrust.

He shook his head. He would not allow any demons close enough to Nero to cause harm, nor would he give his Master reason to find him a hindrance.
Nero did not seem convinced.

He sat lightly on the edge of the bed, the wood creaking at his weight. Nero leaned into him, burying his face against his armor and wrapping his arms as far around as he could. Nelo placed a hand onto his head, hoping the gesture could help placate the boy.
Nero continued to tremble in his lap. Nelo scanned over the room. The balcony door had been left open and faint light was let in. Outside, treetops swayed and reflected silvery light against their dark forms.

His thoughts turned over his Master’s words. He had referred to Nero as his nestling. It seemed odd to him. He had no recollection of where Nero would have come from, or why his offspring would be more human than not. Yet his Master was certain, and that was reason enough to accept it as the truth. It would explain why he had a connection to the boy, as well as why he felt compelled to protect him.

Nero’s body began to still, his breath softening as he fell asleep. Nelo remained still, allowing himself to be used as a pillow. He had already received his orders and with his opponent set to come to Mallet Island, he would be free to stay beside Nero until he arrived.

As the night carried on, Nelo parsed through his memories. His time since his creation had been spent serving his Master or waiting until he was next needed. He had no relations among other demons and most humans he encountered were killed by him not long after. He was not prone to wandering the human realm, with his first encounter with Nero being his first time leaving the island. He mentally recoiled. He had not found something, nothing to tell him where Nero had come from, but had instead found a distinct lack of something. He felt as though there were memories belonging to him that he could not seem to recall, sitting just below the surface of his thoughts. He grappled with them, trying to find some inkling of what they were and why he would have forgotten them. He could not find where they would fit into his existence, as all his time under his Master seemed to flow together without missing any pieces.

Nero did not stir until long after the sun had risen. The sky was a miserable gray, thunder and rain spilling out from it in an angry storm. The rain battered against the rubbled balcony, drenching it into a darker brown. The accompanying wind threw around leaves and rubble and dirt, tossing the pieces against the still-open door and banging some into the room. None came close to hitting Nero, but still left a dirty pile at the entryway. In the distance, at least one tree had been felled by the storm and plenty others threatened to follow.

Nero leaned against him, his eyes alert and following the trail of wind-swept debris being carried around. Now and again something would call his attention-an imagined sound or movement- and his head would whip towards the mirror, watching and waiting for something to come out.

Nero’s arm glowed brighter. A demon clawed against the door leading farther into the castle. It pounded on the door, hissing and spitting. Nero stayed close and pulled his knees in, his arms wrapping around them. Nelo doubted the demon could break through the door, although he laid a hand on his sword just in case. It continued on, competing with the storm to be heard. None of its brethren came to join, all other demons keeping away.

He rose, deciding to see to the relentless demon. He checked that Nero was a safe distance away. He had stayed in the bed, his eyes popping out over the bedding. He ducked down, disappearing from view as Nelo reached for the handle. He threw the door open and plunged his sword into the demon. It squirmed beneath him, clawing at the floor and letting out pained screeches. He twisted his blade, the demon’s middle being wrenched along with it. The other demons in the area had taken notice, of that he was certain. He made no move to finish the demon off, letting it writhe. It attempted to stand up, its hind legs shakily lifting up only to slip out from under it, throwing it back onto the bloody floor with a thud. Its head banged against the floor. It twitched once, twice more and began to dissolve at its edges.

Nelo removed his sword, letting it hang by his side as the blood dripped off, puddling around his foot. He pulled the door shut and locked it.

“Was that demon trying to kill me?” Nero studied his demonic arm as Nelo came back to his side.

Nero continued on, unbothered by his unresponsiveness, “Most of those demons probably want to kill me. But you’re protecting me, right?”

His eyes were wide and brimmed with moisture. He was biting at his lower lip. Nelo nodded. He would protect him to whatever extent he could.

Nero leaned against him, sniffling. “But you can only protect me if you do what that big demon says.”

He nodded again. He loosely wrapped an arm around the boy, a poor recreation of the embraces Nero gave.

“Do you like working for that demon?” The boy’s face tilted up to catch any response.

Nelo had never given thought to whether it pleased him to serve his Master. It was his entire purpose to do so and it mattered not if he found pleasure in it. Until he began caring for Nero, he had no concept of what was pleasing to him.

He kept still. Nero looked back down and returned the embrace.

Chapter Text

Nelo Angelo sat patiently as Nero tromped around the damp grass. The rain had let up, although the sky remained dark and dismal. Wherever Nero went, the grass remained bent by his footprints, leaving a shiny trail that looped around the courtyard. The boy was occupying himself with the debris cast into the area by the storm. He had begun a pile of abandoned sticks and dislodged clumps of stone, and his arms were filled with more. He did not stray far from where Nelo had placed himself, leaving the outer edges untouched. Nelo did not grasp the point of his cleaning, the forgotten island had long been overtaken by nature and lost any beauty it once carried. The grass was unkempt and the castle in ruin. One child’s attempt to free the area of decades of rubble would not make a difference. Still, he carried on.

Nelo watched as the blood dissipated from his sword. The matted demon blood flaked at the edges, giving way to the steel underneath while the majority pulled toward itself to form crystals. The crimson stain hardened and spilled off the blade, ready to be absorbed by him.

Nero sat down in front of him. His palms were dirtied and his skin marked with shallow cuts. His ragged clothing was damp and covered in green and brown stains. He was smiling, although he still regarded the edge of the yard warily, as if a demon may come for him at any moment.
Nero’s demonic arm poked at one of the red orbs still clinging to his sword. It absorbed into him, causing his hand to glow brighter. He frowned at his hand until it returned to its normal state.

“When I get big, I hope I can do cool stuff with my arm,” he muttered, “like your swords. Those are cool.”

Nelo was unsure what constituted being cool and why that mattered. He found his summoned swords to be useful, a helpful addition to his arsenal. Was that what Nero wished for? Did the boy want something to fight with? He doubted the boy was strong enough to take on demons, although he would concede that some way to defend himself would not hurt.

He summoned a sword, this one proportionate to what Nero could use. Its lithe form hovered above his lap where Nero could see it. The little one carefully reached towards the sword, clawed finger gently grazing its hilt. With them next to each other, Nelo noted that the ghostly blue of his summoned swords was eerily similar to the glow emanating from Nero. Another link in the ever-expanding chain that connected him to the boy.
Nero fully held the small sword in his hand, having established it would not dissolve at his touch.

“It’s light.” He fumbled with the blade, passing it from one hand to the other, testing with one hand or two.

He settled with the sword in his left hand, his right hovering unsurely lower down on the hilt. With a curiously determined set to his eyes, he stood and assumed a sloppy imitation of Nelo’s fighting stance. He decided this would not do. Should the boy find himself against an opponent, a weapon would make little difference if he had no idea how to properly wield it.
Nelo rose, causing the boy to hesitantly return to a resting position. He nudged the small arm to a more suitable position. Nero’s serious look returned and he allowed himself to be readjusted until Nelo was satisfied that his posture was acceptable. His grip was still far too loose, as if he feared squeezing the sword would cause it to disappear completely. He placed his hand over Nero’s, lightly closing it around and applying pressure. With that fixed, he prodded his hand to be higher on the hilt for better control.

With stance out of the way, Nelo Angelo retrieved his own sword and demonstrated a basic attacking motion. Nero watched, enraptured by the swing of the sword. After repeating the motions a few times, Nero began to mimic him. He corrected as they went, guiding the little one’s swings and steps. Nero moved eagerly, throwing his whole force into swings and, at times, nearly toppling over from his momentum. As some semblance of consistently decent movement was reached, Nelo stepped back, letting Nero continue his drill without immediate intervention. The boy would look up to him after each repetition, waiting to receive a nod of approval or a correction when needed. Nero continued until his breaths came out in loud huffs and his arms shook trying to keep proper form.

Nelo dismissed the summoned sword. Nero grunted, watching the last of the blue particles lose shape. Despite being obviously too exhausted to continue, Nelo was sure the boy was disappointed his training had been cut off.

“Do we have to stop now?” Nero peered up at him.

The little one’s legs were trembling under his weight, threatening to buckle. Nelo thought it similar to when he first found him, to when he had been shaking in fear.
He nodded and picked the boy into his arms. Nero did not protest, only squirming to put himself into a more comfortable position. His arms wrapped loosely around Nelo’s neck and his head came to rest on his shoulder.

Nelo carried him back to his bed. He laid the boy down into the bedding, finding his eyes to have already drifted shut. Nelo knelt beside the bed, sword beside him, and listened as Nero’s breathing evened out.

Dante kept a small list of things that came with the big-deal demon hunting jobs and, so far, Mundus was checking off each one. Creepy isolated location? Check. Demons ready to rip him apart around every corner? A very big check. A frankly ridiculous number of random objects that needed to be put into random places? A slightly less enthused check there, but a check nonetheless. Once not-his-mom dropped him off at the front gate, he had gotten nothing but good fights. And maybe a sword to the chest, but, hey, at least he got to keep the sword.

He grabbed the ornamental sword he found, figuring it was supposed to go somewhere and dropped down to the door he hadn’t been through yet.

As Dante pushed the door open, he spotted something moving out of the corner of his eye. A small, suspiciously human looking leg was darting underneath an old-looking bed. Dante tread carefully into the bedroom. Whatever was in the room with him didn’t feel like a demon. He leaned down, pushing his face to the floor to see under the bed. It was dark and there was a faint outline of a lumpy figure, although something he assumed to be a blanket obscured it.

“You plan on hiding out down there all day or do you want to come out?” He called out.

The lump didn’t move.

“Suit yourself.” He stood up. “Just don’t jump out to attack when I turn around. It’s rude.”

He took his time moseying around the room, thoroughly inspecting each piece of furniture and keeping an eye on the bed in case something popped out. Nothing did, and he was running out of dusty objects to look at, so he stuck the sword he found into the sword-shaped hole in a statue. Some new object popped out but it was quickly overshadowed by the way his reflection was walking towards him. His reflection-self morphed into a demon, to no-one’s surprise. It was covered head-to-toe in black armor, a dull reflection of a distorted version of the room visible in it.

The demon stepped towards him, a giant sword kept at the ready. They circled around each other until they had swapped positions, the demon stopping when he was perfectly between Dante and the bed. The second set of doors blew open, revealing the outside arena below. The new demon gestured towards it. It slowly strode out, keeping an eye on Dante. He followed, naturally, and was led out to a decaying balcony overlooking a courtyard. The demon was already waiting down below, making no move to attack. The open courtyard would certainly make for a much nicer arena than the cramped bedroom, it would give the two a lot of room to go at it. With one last look at the bed, he jumped down.

His oddly chivalrous opponent was no slouch. The guy swung around his greatsword like it was paper-mache, matching Dante blow for blow. He could teleport too, which was always a pain. They followed each other around the grass, up to the rubble-ridden terrace, and back to a higher balcony.

Dante didn’t start to worry until the demon had him by the neck. The black gauntlet was pushing into his skin, the joints distinctive in how they squeezed against his throat. He couldn’t grab Alastor, the sword lying on the ground. His back scraped against the stone as the armored demon lifted him up, jostling him around and knocking his amulet out from underneath his shirt.

And then he was being thrown against a wall.

His head hit the stone with a crack he hoped was the rock. His knightly friend wasn’t doing too hot either, his head clutched in his hands as electricity sparked around him. He was letting out a strained groan, the first noise Dante had heard him make. He was nearly doubled over, stumbling away from Dante one step at a time. The lightning crackled brighter, surrounding him in purple and blue until he was consumed.

And then he was gone.

The guy had teleported away, leaving Dante alone on the stone ledge. He took a second before he got up, letting his head heal to an acceptable degree. He dusted himself off and grabbed Alastor. His amulet was still jingling over top of his shirt. Why that demon had fled was a mystery, but Dante knew he hadn’t seen the last of him. In his years of demon hunting, Dante had learned that demons running didn’t mean they’d be gone for good, just that they’d be back after a nice rest.

Dante jumped back to the courtyard. A shadow had come out to play and was apparently not about to let him by without a fight. As he shot at the kitty he started to feel like he was being watched. Dodging around, he maneuvered himself to have a good view of the bedroom’s balcony. A small head peeked over the ledge. A kid was watching him. Why was there a kid here? Dante jabbed at the shadow’s exposed core. How was the kid alive among all these demons? The shadow’s core gave out and with no one else stepping up to take its place, Dante turned towards his audience.

“Enjoying the show, kid?” He gave the kid a, hopefully friendly-seeming, wave.

The kid jumped, ducking out of sight. The bedroom door slammed shut a second after. Dante ran up after him, trying to get up the ledge as quickly as possible. Still, the bedroom was empty when he threw open the door. He checked under the bed, but it was noticeably empty. There weren't a whole lot of hiding spots but he scoured the room anyways, calling out to the kid.
He was pretty sure his orb was running out of juice and the last thing he needed was to have to figure out how to refill it, so he cut off his search after only three passes over every part of the room.

As he continued wandering about the castle, he couldn’t get past the bedroom. The bed, while old and musty, had obviously been slept in. The blankets had been crumpled up and the pillow still had a dip where someone’s head had been. It was like the kid was living in that room. How an almost certainly human child was living in this demon-infested island was beyond him. He kept doing double-takes at every shadow, hoping the little guy would pop out. Unfortunately, he either wasn’t around or wasn’t a big fan of Dante. Whichever way, Dante just hoped the kid knew what he was doing.

Chapter Text

Nelo Angelo stumbled his way through the demon realm. The only times he was truly aware of his body was when it ached. He felt the presence of his own flesh as it throbbed and spasmed with the last remnants of electricity. His sword dragged along the fleshy tunnel, scarring the bottom and causing it to ooze.

The man had something on him that he’d recognized. An amulet. He was ready to kill the man, just as his Master had instructed, but then he had seen that amulet. He had seen that amulet before, he was sure of it. But where? He stopped and braced himself against the tunnel’s wall, his fingers squishing into it. It seemed that the more he prodded his mind for why he knew that amulet, the stronger the current running through him. He gripped the wall, his hand ripping into it.

Nero. He would turn his thoughts to Nero instead. His opponent had seen Nero, had been in the same room as him. That was bad. The pain began to ebb, allowing him to continue staggering on his way. The man put up a good fight. His skill with a sword was not that of an ametuer, and would clearly outmatch a child who was just learning to hold his blade correctly. He must find Nero quickly and then dispose of that man.

He sought out the mirror portal once he had recovered to a fighting condition. The man had already moved on, leaving him alone in the bedroom. Completely alone. There was no sign of Nero and the door was unlocked.

He had not felt anything from his connection with Nero meaning he was, for the time, safe. Nelo headed out into the stairwell, hoping the boy was still close by. Most of the other demons had been cleared out by the man, and those that lingered kept their distance.

He ventured to the fountain room, finding that to be the most accessible area for Nero to get to. The area was deserted and the lion statue, usually standing guard, had been destroyed. There was a small pair of wet footprints leading from the fountain to the castle, dying off around the door.
Nelo followed the hall to the end, deciding to first check the small study. The door opened far too smoothly for its age, revealing the cobweb ridden room inside. He felt the now-familiar feeling of Nero’s panic rising through him and he stopped, one hand still on the door handle and the other loosely holding his sword. Nero was in trouble, was his immediate thought as he tried to pinpoint the boy’s location.

He focused on the call towards Nero and found it to be coming from inside the study. His mind eased and he continued inside, adding to Nero’s panicked sense. He presumed the boy had not realized it was him entering, assuming it to be a hostile demon.
The room was small and he quickly found Nero huddled against one of the stone pillars. He was tucked firmly into himself, legs pulled tightly to his chest. He loosened upon seeing Nelo, eyes red and cheeks stained with tears.

“You’re okay!” Nero fell over himself in his hurry to reach the demon.

Nelo crouched down, allowing the boy to throw his arms around his neck and cling to him. He was still sniffling and pressed his cheek into Nelo’s armor, face turned away from his view.

“I saw that guy come back. But you weren’t with him.” His voice was shaky, “So I found a place to hide.”

Nelo placed a hand on the boy’s back. Small hands grabbed at his armor, nails and metal scraping against him. He debated how to proceed. The study could make a decent temporary hiding spot for Nero. It was out of the way and with the man already having gone through this part of the castle, it was unlikely he’d be back for some time, if at all. It was less protected than the bedroom, but the door was still solid and would keep out most of the demons prowling the area.

Nero pulled back, shifting to hold one of Nelo’s forearms. His other hand rubbed at his face. He thought about taking Nero with him, keeping him within sight until the danger of this man’s presence had passed. Although that could put the boy in even more risk. He could not get distracted during a fight with that man and having Nero near him would certainly draw his attention.
“Should your spawn prove troublesome, I will dispose of it.” His master’s words echoed through him. No, it was best to keep Nero far away when he fought that man.
Still, he would not leave Nero completely defenseless. He summoned a sword, same as he had trained the boy with earlier. The hand on his forearm loosened, sliding down but not yet reaching for the blade that floated before him. Nero’s brows knit together, his eyes fixated on the demon. Nelo nudged the small hand into holding the sword, covering it with his own. He rose.

“You’re going after that guy again.” Nero was staring up at him.

He nodded but the boy’s stare did not waver.

“I want to help you.”

Nero’s muscles were tense, eyes hardened into something determined despite the tremble in his voice and lip. He shook his head, pointing towards the corner he had found the boy in. Thankfully, Nero listened. He retreated to the pillar, forcefully sitting himself down. The sword was placed next to him and he turned his head to be away from Nelo. Taking this to mean he would stay put, Nelo set out to find the man.

Nelo intercepted his opponent at the greenhouse. He watched as the man retrieved a chalice, one of the many puzzles his Master had set around the island to stall him. The man turned to him as soon as he revealed himself, sword balanced against one shoulder. He swapped the chalice for a handgun, greeting Nelo with a taunt.

He did not take his time initiating the fight, charging at the man with his sword ready. The man deflected him, rolling out of the way through the shallow water. They traded blows until the man pulled back with futile shots from his guns, the bullets getting deflected off his armor or sword. He followed, teleporting with a heavy slash, the man quick to counterattack. He was agile, Nelo would give him that. He often jumped or flipped out of the way of attacks, and seamlessly switched between his sword, a set of gauntlets and grieves, and the guns he kept on him. Nelo had feared that the man would have tired since their first fight, no longer offering the same challenge. This was not the case. Every attack was met in kind, the man taunting him and chipping away as they moved around the room. He certainly made a worthy opponent.

He slammed his sword down at the man, who slipped to the side at the last second. He was met with a sword piercing at him. Nelo found himself pushed away, the armor on his back scraping against the stone floor. Before he could right himself to resume the fight, electricity consumed him, holding him down. The room faded away into dark splotches, his mind full of nothing but the jagged fire running through him.

When the pain subsided, he was at his Master’s feet. He was on his hands and knees, facing his reflection in the marble floors as well as the reverse of his Master’s dominating form. His sword lay discarded somewhere to his side, the edge graced with traces of his opponent’s blood, dark and dried enough to not drip onto the floor.
He remained still, recovering from the fight and the call to come.

“You have already failed me twice, Nelo Angelo.” His Master regarded him with no hint of pleasantness.

He shuddered. He had no intent to fail his Master. Whatever was needed of him, he’d do it. He had to. He had to please his Master. He had to. The thoughts seemed too loud in his mind. They demanded him to appease his Master, to do what he was told and nothing else. There was nothing else to him but whatever his Master would next tell him.

“I will give you one final attempt to fulfill your duty to me. You should be grateful you are even receiving this.”

He was grateful. He would not fail again. He would defeat his Master’s enemy, no matter what it took.
He was dismissed without another word.

Chapter Text

Dante groaned as the drawbridge dropped. He had ran all the way through the castle, around the island, swam around underwater, hitched a ride on a stupid ghost ship, tromped around some more, and now he was back to the castle. He better be close to Mundus because he was getting real sick of running around.

He entered back into the main hall, not at all surprised when some new demon blocked his path. It would be too simple if the areas he’d already cleared would stay cleared. He stabbed and kicked and shot his way through the plasmas and marionettes as he looked around for where he was supposed to go next. He passed by the plane hanger again, noting that it was still in decent condition. If he needed a quick getaway, it might not be a bad idea. But first, he had to find Mundus.

Dante entered one of the hallways and turned to the study. He was pretty sure there was a Divinity statue in there and it never hurt to stock up. He pushed at the door, finding some resistance that hadn’t been there earlier. It didn’t feel locked, the door still bumping open just enough for him to see into the room. He shouldered the door, putting his strength into it, and whatever had jammed it gave way.

He entered to see the desk’s wooden chair on the ground, apparently having been used as a lock. He shut the door behind him, taking in the small room. He couldn’t sense any demons, but kept a hand hovering over Ebony, just in case. Most of the dusty furniture was undisturbed, although something heavy had stepped on the papers scattered over the floor. He pushed to the upper part of the room. As he got closer, he noticed a blue glow emanating from behind one of the pillars, out of sight from the entrance. His hand tightened around his gun as he turned to get a good look into the corner.

He found a ghostly blue sword pointed up at him, its point wavering. Behind it was the kid from earlier, scowling at him. He quickly let go of Ebony and held his empty hands up.

“Easy there, kid” he tried his best to sound non-threatening. “I’ve already been shish-kabobed enough for one day.”

The kid didn’t lower his guard. He was backed into the corner, obviously frightened. Dante slowly lowered himself down to one knee, putting himself closer to eye-level.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he said, getting no reply.

Being close to him, Dante could make out that one of his arms didn’t look right. The glow wasn’t just coming from the sword-which was still pointed at him-but also from his right hand. It was lit up in a pulsating blue and, from what he could tell, was covered in scales instead of skin. He could also make out shackles on his wrists and neck, a small link of chain still connected. His hair was shaggy and pale, so much so that it almost looked white.

“My name’s Dante,” he offered, “what’s yours?”

The kid regarded him warily, the sword slowly inching lower. He was unsure if it was from trust or if his arms were just too tired to hold it up.

“Nero.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nero.”

Dante sat down on the floor, giving his legs a rest. He’d been running around and fighting all day, it couldn’t hurt to take a little breather. Nero remained standing, watching him with a pinched-up expression. It kinda reminded him of the stubborn look Vergil got when they were kids, when he was scared but didn’t want to show it. He tried to wipe away the thought.

“So, what’s someone your age doing here?” He kept his tone light and watched as Nero curled into himself.

“I’m hiding,” was the only answer he got.

“Oh yeah?” He stretched his legs out, happy for the excuse to get off his feet, “What’re you hiding from? Is it all the demons?”

Nero nodded, but the moment of hesitation told him there was more to it than that. He decided not to push.

“Smart kid. But still, this place isn’t safe.” Nero’s grip on the sword was easing, his features softening. “It’d be best to find a way to get you off the island.”

“I’ll be fine,” the kid grumbled. “I have someone protecting me.”

He didn’t seem to want to elaborate on his own, so Dante pressed him. “Oh yeah? Do you know where they’re at now?”

Nero diverted his gaze, his arms crossed awkwardly with the sword still in hand. “He has to do something. But then he’ll be back to get me.”

Dante didn’t like the sound of that. There were a lot of demons running around and he doubted many people would be able to make it far before it became too much. Plus, he hadn’t seen anyone else besides him and Nero, so unless he had just missed this guy, it wasn’t looking so good.

“Why are you here?” Nero asked him, the first thing he’d said unprompted. Dante figured that was progress.

“Well, somewhere around here is a way to get to the demon king, Mundus.” Nero perked up at that. “I plan on taking him down.”

“Why are you doing that?”

He shrugged. “I’m a devil hunter. Getting rid of demons is kinda my job.” It wasn’t a lie, but he didn’t need to get into every reason he had for hunting down Mundus.

“Do you…” the kid was staring intensely at the ground. “Do you kill every demon you see?”

The question struck him as odd. He studied the kid, once again coming to his scaled hand. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to say it was demonic. Maybe the kid was worried Dante would see him as a demon?

“Usually just the ones that are attacking me.”

That didn’t seem to make Nero any less tense. “Are you good at fighting demons?”

“Kinda have to be in this line of work,” he grinned. “But yeah, I’d say I’m pretty good. In fact, I have yet to meet a demon I couldn’t beat.”

Nero turned his face even farther away, his shoulders hunched and shaky. Dante worried the kid was about to start crying and he really did not know how to handle that. Instead, he just made it clear he was done talking with Dante, ignoring further prodding.

“All right, I guess I oughta be going.” He gave up trying to talk. “Stay safe, Nero.”

Nero continued ignoring him as he pulled himself to his feet, stretching his arms above his head.

“I hope your friend makes it back to ya.” He crossed to the door.

“Me too.” Nero sounded spiteful.

The door thudded shut behind him.

It didn’t take long for Dante to realize he was being followed. After his encounter with Nightmare (he was really not looking forward to the inevitable second encounter), he noticed the sound of small footsteps in his wake. Not to mention that every door he went through would be opened again not long after. It was obviously Nero, the kid ducking out of sight whenever he glanced back, but Dante didn’t try and call out or tell him off. He seemed determined to follow, so Dante would let him. He did make sure to get rid of all the demons he came across, making sure not to just run by and leave them in the kid’s path.

He moved slowly through the castle, making sure Nero couldn’t lose sight of him and get lost. He did his best to finish the giant dinosaur skeleton off quickly, just in case the boy got himself in range of a fireball. And when he had to go out the way he came, he made sure not to notice the little feet hiding behind a curtain. How helpful of him.

Dante took the item he’d gotten and used it to unlock the doors he’d passed earlier. It let him into a large room with towering windows. Stairs circled the entryway, creating an upper platform behind him. Standing dramatically in front of the window was the knight-like demon he’d faced before. He was clearly waiting for Dante, turning to face him with a toss of his cape. Wind pushed him back, billowing around the demon as purple and blue light erupted from him. When it died down, Dante briefly registered that the demon’s helmet was gone before he was being attacked.

The demon charged him, sword lit with blue fire. He rolled out of the way, feeling the metal graze the air next to him. He covered himself with shots from Ebony and Ivory. They never seemed to harm the armored demon but could stall him long enough for Dante to recover. He righted himself and pulled out Alastor, the blade’s lightning clashing with the demon’s fire. The clash of swords reverberated through his arms, numbing him.

In between clashes, he could make out the lifeless skin of the demon’s face. His piercing red eyes the only real color on his surprisingly human form.

The demon teleported away, hovering around the window. Dante pulled out his guns to shoot him until he noticed the spinning blue swords ready to descend onto him. He jumped to the side as the first landed, the rest not far behind. They were similar to the one Nero had. He didn’t have time to dwell on that, as he was already parrying the devil’s next strike at him.

The room was fairly dark in the middle, only the perimeter and around the stairs being well lit. In the center, the demon’s aura was the brightest thing. He slashed through the glowing swords that shielded his opponent, quickly switching to Ifrit to get some kicks in. The demon responded in kind, an armored boot coming flying at Dante’s chest. He flew back, the breath momentarily knocked out of him. The demon taunted him, hand motioning at Dante, and then he was teleporting again. Chest definitely bruised, he rolled under the strike and swung Alastor at his back, slicing through the cape and clanging against the black armor. The demon retaliated, slicing back and teleporting away, ready to shoot some more swords at him. He tried to roll out of the way, a few catching him in the side. The demon charged at him, but Dante was ready and drove his sword into him. The demon staggered back. Wounded and on his back-foot, he pushed back towards the stairs. Dante lunged, ready to be done with this fight.

Something darted towards him. He shifted his momentum, his sword missing it by a wide berth.

Nero had run between him and the demon. He was staring up at Dante, blue sword raised and pointing towards him. Behind him, the demon raised its sword.

“Get out of here, kid!” he yelled.

The demon placed its sword in front of Nero. Point in the ground, the boy’s body was mostly shielded, just as the demon had defended himself in their fights. He didn’t move to attack Dante, remaining still, as if to protect Nero.

“You can’t kill him!” Nero was yelling at him. “I won’t let you!”

Dante stalled, processing the pair in front of him. Nero had said someone was protecting him, but why would it be a demon? At the moment, the demon was clearly more focused on defending Nero than attacking him. And wasn’t the room where he first saw the kid the same room as where the demon first approached him?
He lowered himself down to eye level. He loosened his grip on Alastor, trying to look at ease without leaving himself open. The room had better lighting than the study, illuminating Nero’s definitely white hair and blue eyes. His gaze flicked to the demon’s corpse-like face. His skin was gray, marked by purplish veins stretching from his neck to around his eyes. His hair was the same white as Nero’s, cleanly swept back despite having been under the helmet.

Nero’s ghostly sword caught his eye. It was different from the ones the demon had used during their fight, and not just in size. The demon’s had been thick, mimicking his greatsword. The kid’s was thinner and the guard bordered the blade itself. It looked like the Force Edge, he realized. It looked like the summoned swords he’d seen before.

Dante’s chest felt tight. It hurt more than when he’d been kicked earlier, his breaths getting ragged. He reached under his vest, grabbing the chain of his amulet. He pulled it out, letting the silver-lined gem dangle in view.

The demon reacted immediately. His sword clattered to the ground as his hands were clenched against his head, the clawed gauntlets digging into his hair. His facial features didn’t move nearly enough for the pained grunt he was making. The red glow to his eyes flickered, revealing blue beneath.

Dante felt like he was going to be sick.

He dropped Alastor and reached out towards the demon. The demon that had swept-back white hair. That used blue summoned swords. That was protecting a child that also had white hair and blue eyes and some sort of demonic blood.

“Vergil?” His voice was cracking.

The demon screamed.

Chapter Text

Dante knelt beside the Vergil-like demon. He didn’t want to acknowledge this as his brother. Didn’t want to acknowledge what it would mean if it was him. He was vaguely aware of Nero still hovering nearby, clutching his summoned sword. He didn’t step in as Dante knelt down to get a better look at the demon’s face. Didn’t step in as he repeated his brother’s name and the demon screamed like the sound was hurting him. Didn’t even step in when Dante grabbed the gauntlet covered wrists and pried them away from where they’d dug into his scalp, black blood flaking against white hair.

Without his helmet, Dante could just barely see what lay beneath the rest of the armor. Gray skin was the most of it, quickly consumed by the tight blackness, but it was enough to see some shoved tight against the throat. Something gold. He reached for it, having to wedge his fingers against the interior of the armor to get a grip on it. The armor was slightly cool and smooth. The skin was perfectly room temperature and stopped moving as soon as he touched it. He pulled on the gold chain. He already knew what it was but some small part of him still wanted to be wrong. The amulet caught against the armor and he had to force it loose, its edges cutting into the chest and drawing more black blood before coming free. The impression of the chain stayed in the skin, pressed in from-he didn’t want to think about how long it had been like that. How long he had been like that.

Vergil had stopped moving. His eyes were glossy and distant, dulled of all color. Dante was pretty sure he was unconscious. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing but he wasn’t sure he’d been doing that before so he let it go.

He wrapped his hands around to unhook the amulet’s clasp. The shaking of his hands made it take much longer than he cared to admit. With his arms hovering around him, floating where he didn’t have to touch the lifeless skin, this was the closest they’d been to a hug in about twenty years. He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to think about how hard he was going to kick Mundus’ ass the second he found a way to him. He wanted to think about how he was going to fix this and then hug Vergil and then kick his ass for being an idiot and then hug him again and then maybe kick his ass again because he still had to figure out how Nero played into all this.

Nero. He turned to the kid as the clasp finally came undone. His sword had disappeared and his hands twitched awkwardly in front of his chest. His expression rapidly switched between confusion and concern, eyes trained on the pair in front of him and at the amulet now resting in Dante’s hand, matching the one that hung around his neck.

He stared down into his reflection in the red jewel. He didn’t look nearly as bad as he felt, but he still didn’t look good. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He grabbed Alastor from where he’d dropped it and absorbed it. He thought about putting on the other amulet but that would mean dealing with the clasp again, so he shoved it into a pocket.

With that out of the way, he bent down and hefted Vergil up onto his shoulder. He was heavy. Or his armor was heavy. He didn’t really care, he still had to carry it. He grunted as he made his way out the door, stopping just long enough to make sure that Nero was following behind him. Kid in tow, he slowly headed back to the study he’d found Nero in.

He dropped Vergil as soon as he made it into the room. He would survive falling a few feet. Nero rushed to his side, pushing Dante aside to get between them.

“I’m not gonna hurt him, kid,” he sighed, not having the energy to deal with his anxious glare.

“You were before.”

Dante thought about if there were any weapons he could leave with Nero. Guns seemed like a bad idea, and he kinda needed his swords and Ifrit. He hoped no demons were left to come take interest in him.

“It’s a long story. Now stay put and keep an eye on him till I get back. Okay?”

He didn’t wait for the reply, slamming the door tight behind him. He would have to trust Nero to lock it or block anything from getting in. Or out.

He went back to the throne room and held the two amulets in his hand. It would make sense they’d still have portal-opening powers. They reacted to the Force Edge, the sword transforming to a larger blade, metal fused into a meaty substance. The Devil Sword Sparda.

Dante didn’t slow down until he was jumping through the portal to the Underworld he’d gotten open. He found himself dropped into a disgusting fleshy cavern, the whole place throbbing with red veins and pulsing membranes separating the rooms, if they could be called that. It reminded him too much of his time within Leviathan. He cut through one, the thin red substance peeling back to let him through. He charged in, finding the room dark besides for the red runes thrumming along the walls. Trish was laid out on the ground but as soon as he approached her, a force field circled to life around him. Nightmare’s black sludge oozed into being, the pieces floating around until it took its shape. He was more than ready to be done with the creature. Teals and greens formed a cage around him, trapping him with Nightmare and a sole switch to lighten the room and weaken it. He did his best to keep the lights on in between hacking away at the black goo and the cores that popped out. It went out again and he was already maneuvering himself back towards the switch. Black sludge licked at his feet and, before he could get above it, he was swallowed down.

He found himself in a small demonic plane, skulls poised and ready to bite at him. They weren’t too tough, only needing a few well-timed shotgun blasts. He blew out the last one and felt another presence appear in the arena with him.

He turned to see a black suit of armor slashing towards him. It wasn’t the real one, he reminded himself as he countered the move. He’d already learned this trick with the spider and the bird. It wasn’t the real one.

But it still fought like the real one. Not quite as strong but with the same calculated moves and taunt that mirrored his. Everything about it felt too familiar. Too recognizable now that he knew who was under the armor. He stabbed through the fake demon and breathed a sigh of relief as the portal out lit up.

Not long after re-entering the main fight, he felt himself get stuck in the back. He turned to see Trish towering over him, still safe behind the barrier. Yellow electricity surged around her. She was saying something to him, no doubt about how she was working for Mundus, but his ears were still ringing from the bolt and he couldn’t hear too well.

As he finished off Nightmare, the runes lining the ceiling flickered out. White lights surged from its dying form, slicing through the room. Debris crumpled around him and a large rock broke, threatening to fall on an unaware Trish. Even if she was trying to kill him, he had dealt with enough today without having someone with his mother’s face get squished in front of him. He tackled her, getting her clear of the rock.

He hurried up, half-way to the exit before she stopped him. When she ran towards him, he pulled Ebony on her. She was still a demon at the end of the day.

He ended up in another fleshy tunnel, tentacles stretching out to leech onto him. He slashed through everything without a second thought. Unless Mundus had some other ace-in-the-hole he’d been saving, Dante had finished off everything between him and the Prince of Darkness. There was a large heart in the center of a room, oversized veins stretching out around it. He could feel each thump through his feet. He followed the arteries, unclogging them as he went until the door was open in front of him.

The throne room spread out in front of him, white walls a strong contrast from the rest of the dingy underworld and abandoned island. His boots thunked against the shiny floors. He hoped he was tracking. White columns stretched up into oblivion. A blinding white light emanated from some void past them. Gray details were carved into everything, meaningless lines that broke up the white. Mundus watched him approach. He looked a bit like the Lincoln Memorial but he doubted Mundus knew what that was, so he kept the comment to himself. The demon’s still marble form sitting like he didn’t have a care in the world. It took all he had to not just throw himself at Mundus then and there.

The demon king waited until Dante was at his feet to acknowledge him. He stared straight up into his unmoving face as lights emanated from him, drawing his attention to the opposite wall where Trish was shackled above the door. With his attention drawn, Mundus shot something through him. His chest burned as the red beams pierced into him.

He was pissed. He was pissed and trying to yank out the red beams as Mundus readied another attack, overwhelmingly white light seeping from his third eye. He felt himself get pushed out of the way, looking up to see Trish take the hit. She collapsed immediately, still and unmoving on the cold floor. Mundus powered up again but Dante was ready for him. Ready to rip apart every part of that demon and then smash whatever remained. Whatever demonic instincts he had were all tuned towards the shaking form of the demon king as the stony exterior fractured and crumbled away, revealing a new form that Dante could not wait to hit.

The room fell away into a void, Mundus beckoning him to fight. He triggered, flying after the demon.

Chapter Text

Dante breathed heavily as the last stone feathers of Mundus’ form crumbled away. The volcanic pit they’d been fighting bled into the white hall from before, Trish still laying on the floor. The rage that had been fueling him was dissipating along with the last remains of Mundus’ presence. An icy pit was forming somewhere under his chest. His muscles ached and the cuts he’d taken seared against his skin as they slowly stitched back together. His exhaustion was surfacing, clawing at him from the inside out and begging him to collapse then and there. 

He took the few steps needed to get to Trish’s side. She hadn’t dissolved the way most demond do, still laid out where she’d fallen against the tile. He cradled her head, hoping for a flicker of movement in the familiar face. Her eyes stayed shut, features lax and at peace. She didn’t react to him. 

He placed her back down. He needed to get back to Nero and Vergil. Needed to get them off the island and to somewhere safe. He could feel the ground rumbling underneath his feet and he feared it wouldn’t be long until the place collapsed. 

Dante sprinted down the hallway, a few demons leaping around at his heels. The study door was still shut. 

“Kid, are you alright in there?” He drove Alastor through one of the demons. “We gotta go.”

There was shuffling on the other side, the sound of something scraping. He drove a fiery kick into the last demon, sending it flying into the wall. The door opened just a crack at first, Nero’s head poking out. At the sight of Dante, he fully opened it. Dante could see he was brandishing a broken chair leg. Vergil was still slumped over where he’d dropped him. He grabbed him, shoulders complaining at the effort, and herded Nero towards the airplane hanger. He was really hoping there was room for all of them in that thing. 

Nero yelped as the floor gave way beneath them, rubble flying up into the air. 

Dante triggered, grabbing Nero by the back of his shirt and keeping them afloat until the dust cleared. Nero was scrambling around, arms flailing and knees kicking. He lowered them down into the waterway below. Nero didn’t still until his feet were in the shallow water. White runes were starting to flash on the wall and he set Vergil down behind him. Nero stayed close to the unconscious demon, chair leg raised in his defense. 

A light flashed and then Mundus was crawling out of the wall, his body decaying and revealing the lava-like form flowing beneath. Dante readied his sword. He had really been hoping Mundus was gone for good but here they were. He didn’t give the towering demon any time to prepare, launching himself towards him in a furious slash. The stone exterior crumpled more with every hit, orange hands grabbing out at him and three blood-shot eyes madly taking him in. Mundus tried to crawl forward but Dante pushed back, not wanting him any closer to the pair behind him. 

He hacked the last of the exterior form off, leaving only the magmatic underneath to squirm and lash out at him. 

A pair of footsteps fell beside him. Trish was there, lightning sparking around her hands and growing to encapsulate her whole body. The yellow lit up the room, crackling with life and energy. She shot it into him, although this one shared with him a portion of her power. He felt it humm through him, warm and sparkling. It flowed down his arm, crackling into Ebony. He fueled his own power into Ivory, the pair blasting out at what was left of Mundus. 

He fired two last bullets at him, the “jackpot” past his lips before he even realized what he was doing. 

Mundus reared back, light piercing out of him as his body warped and was torn into the purple seal he had come out of. He scrambled, trying desperately to escape, but it was to no avail. Besides, even if he did get back out, Dante would take him on as many times as it would take. He would enjoy it too. 

Dante stepped back. The castle was crumbling around them, threatening to come down completely. Trish seemed recovered, standing confidently to his left. She kept glancing at Nero and Vergil out of the corner of her eye but she didn’t say anything. 

Something gave way in the ceiling. Dante jumped out of the way, propelling himself backwards to be closer to the kid. He noticed Trish doing the same, her hair arcing out behind her. When the dust settled, the plane was sitting in front of them. 

“That’ll work,” he muttered, already grabbing Nero to get him up to the seats. 

The kid didn’t like that. His chair leg clattered to the ground and he clawed at his arm and kicked at whatever he could get contact with. Dante set him down in the front seat. 

Trish had already picked Vergil up, carrying his form like it was nothing. She jumped up onto the wing in one leap, the metal made a distressed creak under her feet but didn’t break. She dropped him into the back seat and slid down with him. 

He followed them up and shuffled into the front with Nero. He maneuvered the kid to be sitting somewhat on his lap, close enough that Dante could protect him while still reaching the controls. Nero shifted himself, awkwardly pushing up to Dante. He realized the kid had moved to where he could see the back seat, probably to keep an eye on Vergil.

He could have cried from relief when the engine sputtered to life without a fuss, the rotors gaining speed and drowning out all other sound. Nero pressed his hands over his ears. 

Now, Dante had never flown a plane before, but he had flown himself and he knew how to drive. He hoped he could combine those two and be well enough off. He hoped. He wove through the debris of the collapsing island, narrowly avoiding rocks. He lost some faith in himself as the wing banged against something, thankfully staying intact, but soon he could see the sky open out above them and the sea stretch out below them. He tried to keep them level, not really sure which way he needed to go but opting to just go straight.

The sun dimmed at some point, dipping low and bleeding orange into the water. It was pretty. He figured Vergil could come up with a more poetic way to describe it, but he left it at pretty. 

Chapter Text

When Nelo Angelo woke, he could feel the sun against him. It burned. He could feel something warm on top of him. It scratched and felt like it was suffocating him. He twitched his fingers, pushing at what was on him. It felt agonizing when he brushed against it, every nerve lighting up. His body shifted and it hurt as he scraped against whatever was underneath him. 

Something moved around. It wasn’t right next to him, not an immediate danger, but he could hear the thumping footsteps and sense a demonic presence. 

He tried to move but his limbs felt simultaneously too light and too heavy. His eyes brushed open, the unfiltered light momentarily blinding him. As he adjusted, a dingy yellowed ceiling came into view. He was in the human realm, laying on his back. He let his head fall to the side, his view spilling to a sideways look at the room he had found himself in. There was a dresser, full and with someone’s clothing hastily shoved in. He was on a bed. There was a blanket thrown over him, covering everything but his head. 

The demon was getting closer. He struggled to move just one of his hands out from under the blanket, shoving down the pain it caused him. The edge of the blanket lifted and he was free to look at the pale, human hand that apparently belonged to him. His armor was gone. He watched with rapt attention as the hand twitched at his whims, seeming foreign. The skin was gray and pulled taut over bone. Black veins splayed out underneath. It shook horrifically when he tried to lift it up off the bed, making him realize he was at the mercy of the support. 

A door opened. The demon had entered the room with him. He laid still, hoping it would leave again soon. He was in no state to fight. The demon came closer, entering his view. It had a human shape and was dressed in red. He recognized it as the enemy his master had instructed him to defeat. Had he been taken prisoner? What would be the purpose of such a thing? His head felt heavy. He couldn’t recall anything past when he began his third fight with the man. The man had come into the room and then his memories grew distorted, nothing but the sound of clashing swords and someone screaming.

The man put a glass of water on the bedside table. Light bended through it, making the rim of the glass glow.

“You’re awake,” the man sounded tired. He didn’t sound hostile, something like concern etched on his features as he knelt down at the bedside.

“Do you-” the man took a shaky breath, “do you remember me?”

He did. He remembered his orders to defeat this man. To kill him. He remembered that much.

The man frowned. He grabbed the glass of water and pushed it to Nelo’s lips. He resisted at first but when the man kept persisting he hesitantly warily accepted the drink. It felt like ice was being poured down his throat, smooth and cold, yet burning all the same. 

The man reached out to touch his head. Nelo reared back, ready to defend himself from whatever attack he had planned. He may be weakened but he would not allow himself to be defeated without a struggle. 

The man blew out, an exhausted noise escaping from him as he pulled back. He didn’t fully move away, lowering himself to properly sit by the bedside. Nelo kept his gaze on the man, not wishing to give him an opportunity to strike. The man didn’t seem prepared to move any time soon. He kept to his spot, occasionally shifting his weight or stretching his arms out. His eyes would not meet Nelo’s, casting around the room but never on him for too long. His fingers drummed rhythmically against his knee, the bed, or whatever else was currently in his reach. Nelo noted that he was visibly unarmed. He had removed the holsters with which he had carried his guns and had on him neither his sword or gauntlets. He once again wondered what the man’s goal was.

He thought back to their last encounter. He had been given another chance to defeat him and had set out to do so. He knew he had engaged with the man, but there was nothing else to indicate how he found himself here. 

More strangely was that he did not feel particularly aggressive towards him. He would defend himself, naturally, but until the man initiated conflict he felt content to allow himself to rest. He could not feel the push to immediately do his master’s bidding. It was an odd sensation for him but not one he would solve at this moment. It could wait until he was recovered and in proper condition. 

He shut his eyes and listened to the movements in his surroundings. This part of the human world seemed quite different than Mallet Island. Far off, he could hear engines and other mechanical noises. He was somewhere with many humans, he presumed. Closer to him was another sign of life, this one lighter and moving quietly. It was moving around below him, he guessed it to be a lower floor. More than once it tried to approach, creaking wood matching its upwards steps, and would soon retreat back down and go quiet again.

He knew the man was listening as well. After one such retreat, he finally stood up. He moved steadily, as if it was his intent to broadcast his movements. The door opened and shut, the man’s steps thunking down the stairs. He was saying something, although he couldn’t make out what. 

The sun was not burning so much by now. The blanket was not so rough and heavy. Combined, they made him feel warm. Warm and pleasant. His armor had not felt like this. Had not allowed him to feel like this. He wondered if this pleasantness was why Nero gravitated towards the blanket-covered bed.

His breath came in labored heaves, his body resisting as he demanded it to get up. He did not know where Nero was. In his haze, the boy had been pushed back in his mind. If he was not on Mallet Island, Nero was there alone, vulnerable to any demon that wished him harm. Worse was the thought that he was already dead. Perhaps the man had killed him before taking Nelo. Perhaps it had been his master, displeased by his failure. 

He pushed himself to the edge of the bed. His muscles shook but he ignored it, grasping at the nightstand. The wood’s edge was sharp and pressed into his palm. One of his legs made it off the edge and he tumbled to the ground. The noise was deafening to him and surely heard by the other inhabitants. He could already hear the man racing back towards him. He tried to steady himself and get to his feet. He took one wobbly step. Another. His knees buckled and he spilt onto the floor, wrists aching from trying to catch himself. 

The door flung open. The man’s arms were around him, lifting him back to the bed. He was saying something, his tone somewhere between yelling and exasperation. Nelo pushed back against him, furious with how easily he was being overpowered. 

The man laid him down on the bed. “Only you could be this averse to rest.”

Nelo waited until he stepped back and then began the process of dragging himself off the bed again. The man seemed ready to scream.

“Would you knock it off?” He righted Nelo and threw the blanket over him, as if that would sufficiently keep him detained. “I am trying to help you, idiot.”

He clawed at the man’s chest. His hands felt soft and frail without the armor. He struggled to push the man off him. Whoever else was in the building was coming up the stairs. 

“Not now kid!” The man turned away. 

He stopped. Nero was standing in the doorway. He was looking at him, shifting from one foot to the other and kept a hand hovering on the handle. He appeared unharmed and the thought comforted him. In fact, he seemed to have been cleaned up. The shackles around his wrists and neck were gone, although a red band remained in their place. His tattered shirt had been swapped for one that must have belonged to the man, as it was far too large and covered most of the boy’s body. 

The man took a step back from him. “What, you’re good now?” 

He looked between Nelo and the younger boy, seeming to come to a realization. He gave the boy a nod that he could come in, and Nero eagerly climbed up onto the bed. 

“You were asleep for a while,” Nero sat on top of the blankets to his side. “Are you feeling better now?”

Nelo thought about that. He wasn’t feeling good , but he could tell his injuries were healing. Slowly, leaving him weak and powerless in the meantime, but they were healing. He nodded for the boy. 

Nero laid his clawed hand on top of one of his. His skin prickled under the contant. He curled his fingers around the smaller hand. The edges of the scales bit into his skin. Nero’s hand was warm. 

The man had withdrawn to the edge of the room. He seemed hesitant to leave fully but also seemed to not want to interrupt. He ignored the man and let himself take in the warmth of everything.

He awoke sometime later. Nero was still beside him, curled up in the bed and hand still clutched in his.

The sun had gone down. Orange artificial lights dotting the area outside the window kept it from being completely dark. There was light seeping in from under the door as well. The man was talking downstairs despite the lack of another presence in the building.

Something new had been left on the bedside table. He stretched out, brushing his fingers over it. He found movement to come easier now. While certainly not effortless, he could sit up and make small moves without his body exploding in pain and exhaustion. Careful not to disturb Nero, he grabbed onto the fabric. 

It was a black glove, he soon recognized, although a large gash cut down one side of it. It seemed odd, he thought, that the man would keep such an obviously ruined thing. And not just keep it, but find it important enough to leave where he could see it. It had not been there when he had first woken up, nor had the man been wearing gloves before. It had purposefully been set there. 

His head began to ache, pain sprouting like there was a thought trying to claw its way out and to the forefront. He had felt this specific pain before, when he saw the amulet the man wore. He inspected the glove more. It offered him no more information. He could not help but be reminded of the fact that he seemed to be missing memories.

The man was talking louder all of a sudden and he was able to catch snippets of what he was saying.

“If you’re not gonna be helpful, could you just piss off?” The man yelled. “I’ve got enough shit to deal with right now, Lady.” 

There was a moment of silence before something was slammed down. Nero was stirring beside him, woken up by the noise. His hand squeezed into Nelo’s. 

“He left that for you.” Nero, still yawning, motioned at the glove. “He said he ‘hopes you recognize it.’” 

Nelo was not sure what to do with his words. It confirmed his suspicion that it had been left specifically for him, but aroused more questions. The man must know that his belongings cause something to stir within Nelo, yet how would he know such a thing? What connection would they have? 

“Do you?” The boy looked up at him, curiosity gleaning in his eyes. “Do you recognize it?”

He was unsure. He felt as though he should recognize it. He felt he recognized the idea of it. And yet, he could recall no memories with the glove, or with the amulet, or with the man who seemed to know him. He tilted his head back and forth, not a nod but not a shake.

“Sort of?” Nero translated, to which he agreed.

The boy leapt out of the bed. Nelo wished to follow him, already struggling to the floor. By the time he had managed to get one foot onto the wood floor, Nero was already back with the man in tow.

He was pushing the man towards Nelo, whispering something to him. He had lost his red jacket and had on a loose shirt. A glimmer of a silver chain was visible around the collar. 

Nero waited by the door, watching them with wide eyes as the man sat down beside him on the bed. He was taller than the man, although he had the feeling the difference was less than when he had faced him prior. His eyes were rimmed with red and underlined with dark circles. The aggression he had heard the man speak with was empty now, drained out and leaving nothing in its place.

“Kid says you recognize it?” He was eying the glove still in Nelo’s hand. 

He gave the same motion he had given before. The man watched, nodding as if he could understand Nelo’s thoughts just from the simple movement.

“You know you’ve seen it before?” 

He nodded. 

“But not from where?”

The man laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He chuckled, “It’s better than nothing, I guess.” 

Something was making noise outside. It was loud and beeping, and soon there were voices angrily calling out. 

“Do you know who I am at all?”

He shook his head. He still knew the man as Mund-his master’s enemy, but with the new information he had, he doubted this was what the man was referring to. 

“My name’s Dante. Don’t suppose that’ll knock anything loose.”

Dante. Nelo parsed over the sound of it. Dante. He could hear it being yelled. A thousand different voices saying it over and over. No, not a thousand different voices, just one saying it a thousand different ways. He could see Dante was saying something again, his mouth forming words, but it seemed very far away. He could hear a child calling out the name, tinged with desperation. He could hear it from an older voice, slithering out with loathing and something lonely underneath. He could hear it being croaked out by his disused vocal chords, the sound wheezy and barely audible. It did not go unnoticed, Dante’s attention snapping back to him.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks-it was odd, being able to tell time so easily-Nelo regained enough strength to functionally move around. He never ventured from the room he had been residing in, choosing to slowly pace around its perimeter. His limbs felt disproportionate and wrong. They were long and thin and breakable. 

Nero was almost always with him in the room. He remained talkative and would ask what Nelo remembered, if he was feeling better, or just tell him about the goings-on of Dante and what happened downstairs. Once he had summoned a sword so Nero could resume training with it, but he quickly found the effort to be too much and it sputtered into particles as his vision flickered and was droned out by dark splotches. 

Dante often joined them

Dante. When the name came to his mind, it repeated and doubled over itself, becoming the forefront of his attention. His mind raked over the name, desperate to find something within it. There was something more, something holding the key to what he could not remember, but it was too far from his reach.

Dante would often leave things for him to find. The glove was the first, but then there was a book on the edge of the dresser and a different pair of gauntlets and grieves by the foot of the bed. Human clothes fit to his proportions were left for him, all in shades of either black or blue. Dante never outright handed him any of these sorts of things, they always appeared after a bout of sleep. The man would appear sometime after, perhaps gauging his reaction to them. He had found the book pleasing. The Devil Arm was familiar, although it did not respond to him. He noted that Dante kept his amulet tucked away, never directly showing it to him, even though the chain was often visible around his neck. 

Dante and Nero sat with him on the bed while they ate. Nero kept close to him. He offered his food to Nelo, even though the demon always refused. Dante sat at the opposite edge, keeping distance between them. He was wearing his red coat again, demonic blood staining the bottom. The shirt underneath had been ripped through by something clawed, revealing flesh underneath. 

Something screeched right outside. A bell clattered about, indicating someone had entered the building. He could sense the human downstairs but it was all unneeded as she quickly made herself known, yelling out for Dante.

He must know her, he thought, as the man quickly dismissed himself. He shut the door behind him, closing them off. 

Nero continued to pick at his food. He fiddled with his utensil, often switching between his right and left hands. He seemed unsteady with it in his left, yet frowned at his clawed right hand whenever he tried to use it. He wondered how long the boy had had the scaly arm for. Appropriately fitting clothes had been acquired for him as well and he could see the majority of the scales climbing up his arm and disappearing under the sleeve. Around his neck, the last remains of the red ring was fading. He still itched around the area, picking at the scabs and at the scales on his arm. There was something new around his neck, a gold chain disappearing under the collar. He played with that too, toying with the chain and with what laid beneath, never quite revealing it. 

The visitor didn’t stay long, slamming the door shut as she stormed out. Dante returned soon after, looking agitated. He didn’t say anything and grabbed his and Nero’s plates. He went back out, came back in with cups of water, left again, and then back a final time. He laid down across the bed, still keeping a fair distance from Nelo. He noticed the man had a tendency to spread himself out. Although, considering the filled wardrobe and spread of other items, most of which had been shoved under the bed, he assumed that this was his bedroom and he was simply being held here temporarily. 

Being held until what, he was still unsure. The man seemed to want Nelo to regain his strength and memories. What end that would serve, he did not know. Perhaps there was some plan once he had those memories. Perhaps he simply wished for Nelo to remember him. The more he was around Dante…the more he brought things to spark his memory or simply help him recover, the more Nero seemed at ease more than he ever had at Mallet Island, the harder it was to see Dante as his enemy. They were not allies. They were co-existing. He was here for himself, as a place to rest and to be sure Nero was safe. He was, for the moment, safe.

Sounds from the human world drifted in through the window, which was always left open. 

The first time it had been closed was when it began to rain one day. The sky had darkened, highlighting the blurry lights of other buildings. He stood by the open window as rain pelleted in, cold to his skin. It dripped down his arms and face and wherever else it could find to hit, leaving a barely visible trail down his body. It was still odd to him, feeling the cold droplets against him, then seeing them on the pale human body and having to connect that that was him . That he was the frail, too-thin human shaped thing that shook with cold until Dante found him much much later and shut the window and placed a blanket over his shoulders. 

He could still hear the rain, tapping away at the glass, begging to be let back in. There was a wet spot on the floor, which Dante ignored. Nelo was steered towards the bed and told to warm up. He sat still, feeling the weight of the blanket on his back. It got damp and heavy where it touched him. The water made his clothes cling to him and feel unpleasant. If he were asked, he would not express that he thought he was cold, but his body had other ideas. It twitched and shivered with no regard for how he thought he should feel. Nero came in some time later. Later enough that the storm was quieting down and the bed was wet and clammy beneath him. He carried towels in his arms. One was placed gently on Nelo’s shoulders, replacing the blanket. The other he kept for himself. He was also wet, it seemed. 

Nero sat on the bed beside him. He rubbed the towel against his hair, squeezing the moisture out. He tried to mimic the movement, sopping up the water on his neck and face at the same time. Afterwards, the towel was pulled over his shoulders to cover his body. It felt rough against his skin, very different from the bedding. He was not sure how he felt about it. Nero wrapped his towel completely around his body and tucked himself into his side. The boy’s hair tickled his arm, leaving pinpricks of pressure against it. He pulled a dry blanket over the boy, assuming he wished to be warm.

The little one maneuvered himself so the blanket covered him better. In doing so, the chain around his neck shifted to where Nelo could see it. It seemed too large for him, resting wide on his small frame. He wondered if Dante had given it to him, as it had certainly not been there during their time at Mallet Island. 

He placed a finger on the chain, the metal surprisingly warm. Nero huddled into himself, pulling his towel so that it covered any access to the chain. He hadn’t moved away from the demon, but he still wondered if he had done something wrong. 

“I’m not supposed to let you see it,” Nero said, face pressed into his knees. 

It confused him, why he would not be allowed to see the necklace. He presumed Dante had been the one to place such a rule, as very few others entered the building and no others had been up the stairs to where he inhabited. Nero seemed lost in thought, glancing up at the demon and then back to the chain he was fiddling with. 

Dante was still downstairs. He was cooking food, if the smell was anything to go by. Most things he cooked smelt somewhat burnt and he wasn’t sure if it was any less unappealing to the other two as it was to him. Nero never seemed to mind, often finishing his meal and going to get seconds before slowing down. Nelo was always given water to drink while they ate. 

Nero shifted beside him. He had unclasped the necklace and had it clutched in his palms. The boy was biting at his lip but pressed the necklace into Nelo’s hand all the same. 

It was heavier than he was expecting, yet the weight felt familiar. He looked down at the amulet resting there. Besides the metal’s color, it was an exact match to the one Dante wore. It’s twin,  he thought. That wording seemed very important to him. 

The amulet made a loud thunk when it hit the floor below. It hurt. It hurt when the black substance in his veins burned through him. It hurt when his knees hit the floor. It hurt when his lungs couldn’t get enough air and his chest felt too tight around them. The world buzzed around him. He felt dizzy and everything seemed to sway. Nero was upset. Upset and panicking. That thought warred for dominance in his mind, going against every other image popping up. 

He could see Nero. Nero? No, he could see Dante. He could see a young Dante, even in height and smiling at him. The silver amulet was around his neck and he had two wooden practice swords in his arms. There were two other figures, these ones much taller, somewhere just out of sight. He wanted to look at them. He was frightened by what would happen if he looked at them. 

Something was holding him. He tried to buck it off. Dante was in front of him, hands on his shoulders. He was saying something. Repeating a noise over and over. He couldn’t understand what it was. He wouldn’t understand, because he knew that if he let himself understand, it would hurt more. It echoed around his mind, just out of his comprehension. All the figures in his mind's eye referred to him with it. The two he couldn’t quite see, the young Dante, a woman he couldn’t place, and an endless, so very endless, horde of snarling demons. 

Dante was taking the amulet out of his line of sight. He threw himself at the man, putting all his regained strength into it. He couldn’t take it from him. It was his amulet and he wanted it. He needed it. He wouldn't let it be taken from him. He clawed at Dante until the amulet was pressed into his palm, familiar and warm and comforting. He cradled it close to his chest. If he just held it close enough… If he just held it close then everything would stop hurting. Then the images and sounds running through his mind would make sense. 

Dante was holding him again. His arms were around him and his face was pressed against the man’s shoulder. He must not have done a good job drying himself because his cheeks were wet and were soaking into the shirt he was pushed up against. 

Under the shirt, he could see the outline of the other amulet. The twin to his amulet. Its…

Even if nothing else in his mind cleared, he felt a piece click together with certainty. 

“Dan-te.” He felt like his throat was being ripped apart with the effort to speak. He had to claw through his words one syllable at a time. “Bro-ther.”

Chapter Text

Nelo Angelo was somewhere new when he woke up. He had felt his consciousness slip not long after he tried speaking, the strain being too much. Now, he was in what he assumed to be the downstairs of Dante’s home. Both the man and Nero were in the room with him.

Nero was sitting on a desk that resided in the back of the room. He was sniffling and refused to look at either him or Dante. The man was standing beside the desk, phone receiver by his ear. He wasn’t saying anything, merely listening and toying with the edge of a frame that lay face-down on the desk. 

Nelo resituated himself. He had woken up lying down on a sofa and as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, Nero and Dante took notice of him. Dante quickly cut off whoever was speaking to him and placed the phone onto the base. It made a harsh clanging sound as he did.

“How’re you feeling?” Dante was walking towards him. 

Nelo felt Dante’s weight sink into the couch beside him. There was a glass of water being handed to him. He hadn’t noticed the glass being there before. 

He felt numb. The pain had subsided but he felt too burnt out to feel much of anything else. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘not great.’” Dante chuckled. It sounded as hollow as he felt.

Nero’s feet dropped to the hard floors and the boy was attempting to creep out of the room. Nelo wished to follow after but Dante hovered a hand by his shoulder, ready to keep him in place.

“He’s okay,” the man reassured. “I think he got a little freaked out, seeing you drop the way you did.”

He cast his senses out, making sure the boy wasn’t too far away. He had only gone to the other room and there was currently no other presence near him. Nelo let it be. 

“Do you remember everything from last night?”

He did. He remembered that Dante was his brother, even if he could not remember the rest of his life. He could see him as a child, excitable and smiling, and as a teenager, angry and bloodied. The full extent of the memories had not returned and the few pieces he did have were simply floating, devoid of context. 

“That’s good,” Dante muttered. 

“Mundus-” the man let out a deep sigh, words coming out slowly and carefully “Mundus was the one who took your memories. He’s gone now though, I sealed him away.”

Nelo took in a shaky breath. The world began to spin again, jittering along its axis. No pain accompanied it this time, instead replaced by what he could only imagine was relief. Nero would be safe from Mundus’ wrath. That thought occurred to him first. Second came the realization that he would be safe from Mundus’ wrath. He would not be laid bare beneath the demon’s feet, squirming in agony because he had not completed a task quite right. He would not exist only to serve Mundus’ will, a purpose that seemed more and more like a lie with every new memory. Or every recovered memory, he supposed. 

Still, he was unsure about his newfound freedom. Outside of protecting Nero, he had no idea what he should do. What he could do. He wished to relearn what had been taken from him, he determined, but other than that he felt lost. 

He jerked back to attention as something brushed against him. He threw his hands up, ready to rip off the threat, only to be met with Dante’s head. The man had come forward, resting his head on his shoulder. He lowered his hands. He placed his chin on the man’s shoulder. It felt acceptable, sitting with him like this. It felt good. 

Metal hinges squeaked and Nero’s head poked in from the other room. The boy tip-toed closer to them, ready to retreat, should need be. Making it to the couch with no problem, Nero climbed up to nestle between them, leaning into Nelo’s chest. He wrapped his arms loosely around the little one. Dante’s arms hugged around them both. It felt good. 

Dante felt as his new little family slowly feel normal in his life. He had come back from a job, taking in the moment of silence as he put his feet up on his desk. He had barely slept since coming back from Mallet Island, either from taking care of Nero and Vergil or just from worry. Every time he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes, he saw Vergil’s hollow eyes as he stabbed through him, killing what he thought was a normal demon. If it got too quiet, he heard his brother’s agonized scream as his mind wondered what Mundus did to make him be like that. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard footsteps. Nero padded down the steps, stopping after every couple. Vergil trailed after him, steps unsure and wary. He had been moving around more, always trying to trail after the kid, but he still seemed unsteady. 

He wouldn’t say his brother was back to being himself, not by a longshot, but there was improvement. After he had defeated Mundus, the black armor encasing him began to dissolve as most demons do. Underneath, he had been pale, barely more than a pile of bones and skin that seemed to be stretched out. Scraps of ruined, bloody fabric were melded into his legs and chest and he’d had to slowly cut them out. A congealed black spot spread from the center of his chest, over his heart.

The pair made it downstairs. Nero was holding onto the older man’s pant leg, leading him towards Dante. 

“Miss me, kid?” He grabbed Nero by the waist and set him on the desk. The boy only squirmed a little bit. Progress.

“How about we get some dinner?”

The younger boy perked up at that. His legs kicked back and forth while Dante went to the kitchen. He’d had to invest in something more than ordering pizza and had gotten to the point where he could cook pasta without almost burning the place down. Vergil still hadn’t eaten food, but when Dante put water in front of him he drank it without putting up a fight. 

He’d learned to cook more than he thought he’d need, since Nero seemed ready to scarf down enough food for a full-grown adult. The boy had started to look a bit less malnourished, his cheeks filling out some more. 

From the kitchen, he could see Nero talking to Vergil. He did that a lot, just talking while Vergil watched over him. If they were lucky, the man would nod or shake his head, but most of the time he just stood. 

He watched as Nero gestured for the man to sit down in Dante’s desk chair. He followed along stiffly, placing himself on the edge of the chair. It put the two at a more even level. The water was boiling and he dumped the box of pasta in. 

“Nero.” Vergil’s cracked voice was nearly hidden under the hissing pot. 

The boy’s face lit up at hearing his name. Dante couldn’t help the small smile on his face. 

Vergil turned his head towards the kitchen. “Dante?”

“Yup, still my name.” he turned his attention towards the pot. Last thing he needed was to get emotional again.

He finished making dinner, listening to the boy’s attempts to get Vergil to say more. The man would shake his head, placing one hand to his throat.

Dante made sure to bring him more water. 

After dinner, Nero soon fell asleep. It left Dante sitting with his brother on the edge of the bed. They were about the same height again, as Vergil had slowly returned to his normal proportions. 

Vergil reached out and placed a hand on top of Dante’s. He only startled a little bit, not expecting the man to initiate touch. 

“Dante.” He sounded so broken, so unlike how he had been last they met. He wished he’d tried harder to make him stay.

“Nero…” he continued choking out words, “nestling?”

He let the words sink in. He’d suspected Nero was Vergil’s kid, more as a process of elimination than anything else. The kid himself didn’t seem to know his relation to the two men, but he wasn’t sure about his brother.

“Is he your’s?” 

He watched as the older took a second before slowly nodding, only to stop half-way.

“You don’t know?” he reasoned. This got him a nod.

He patted the man’s hand. “I think he probably is.”

Vergil looked at him for a long time. Traffic buzzed around outside, engines sputtering. 

“Vergil, you okay?” 

He waited for a response but the man had gone still, lost in his mind. When he tried to move his hand, he found the man had a tight grip on him. He was breathing heavily and his eyes looked far past Dante. His mouth was moving, trembling to form a word.

Dante gently pushed Vergil’s head to his shoulder, trying to soothe him. He listened closely as his brother tried to form his own name.

Chapter Text

Vergil. That was his name. It’s what Dante called him and was what echoed throughout his memories. It felt wrong. It felt foreign and strange and made his chest ache with longing for something he couldn’t place. He did not know how to be Vergil, nor did he wish to be Nelo Angelo. Not anymore. 

He was sitting on the couch in the downstairs area. A chill had overtaken the area and it happily bit at whatever exposed skin it could find. 

Nero was sitting on the side of the pool table in the corner, Dante guiding him through how to play. Their voices were overlaid with the clacking of balls being hit into each other. A sharp punctuation to the man’s instruction or a softer, wavering response from Nero. They went back and forth, hitting things across the table. Dante pointed out where to aim, where to hit, how much force to use. 

The office smelled herbal, a result of the drink Dante had placed in front of him. Steam rolled off it in fleeting wisps. Dante had told him it was hot. That he should be careful not to burn himself. His hands shook as he took the cup by its thin handle. The dark liquid swirled around the edge, coming close to spilling. He steadied it with his other hand. The cup was warm on his fingers. He sipped at it. He could have easily traced the path it made through him, leaving a pleasant burning in his throat and chest. The taste was pleasant. He wasn’t sure when he last tasted anything.

When was the last time he tasted anything? How long had he stood under Mundus? The Dante in his fleeting memories was smaller, younger than the one before him. The brother Dante had last seen must have been that way too. 

Was there enough of that person buried within him to go back to? Perhaps the cracked fragments he was finding could never be fixed. Perhaps he could never be fixed. Could never be put back into the person he had originally been. 

His hands were cold again. Dante had taken the cup from him, placing it back onto the table. There was less of it than before. He realized there was a warm spot on one leg, a dark stain spreading over his pant leg as the drink seeped deeper in. It didn’t hurt, but applied a constant heat to the spot.

A small towel was dropped into his lap. He pushed it into the damp spot, letting it soak up what it could. 

Nero pushed himself off the table, his feet hitting the floor with a muted thump. He padded after Dante, following him into the other room and back out a few moments later. The boy tended to keep close to them. If Nero wanted to go somewhere else in the building, he would follow the boy. It felt easier, knowing the boy was safely in his sight. 

Whenever the boy disappeared for too long, often just seeing what Dante was doing, his mind brought forth the idea that Mundus had taken him as punishment. He saw the boy bloody and torn apart by demons on the throne room floor. He heard him crying out for help while he could do nothing but stand and watch, the knowledge that this was his fault sitting on his skin, dragging him down. Mundus was watching him, reminding him that this is because he disobeyed. 

Nero took his hand. It was pale, free of injury. His hair was white now that it got regularly washed. There was no matted blood clumped within it. Nero was looking at him, his eyes worried, but the concern wasn’t from pain. He wasn’t screaming out his hopes to stay alive. He placed a hand on the boy’s head. The motion tended to placate his concern. 

It wasn’t long before Nero pulled away. The phone had rung, vibrating out through the room. Nero raced to answer it, pulling himself onto the chair. He got excited to talk on the phone until Dante came and plucked the receiver from his grasp. 

He scowled at the person on the other line. Nero stayed on the chair, craning to hear the conversation. 

“It’s not what you think,” he sighed out. “Yeah, yeah. It’s complicated, okay?”

Nero slipped off the chair, banging into the floor. He scrambled to check on the boy, although the fall was rather small. He rubbed at his knees, his face pouty, but otherwise seemed alright. 

“Like today? I really don’t think that’s-” Dante stopped mid sentence, staring at the receiver in annoyance.“-And she hung up on me.” 

He threw the receiver back to the holder, bending down to face Nero. 

“Who was that?” He appeared over his fall.

“Friend of mine,” Dante blew his bangs from his face. “She’s gonna be coming over soon. Might seem a bit scary at first but she’s pretty cool.”

Nero nodded. The boy grabbed his hand and led them back to the couch where he sat down with a nervous silence.

The woman came in with a huff. She took one look at the pair sitting on the couch before storming off into the office yelling for Dante. The man had retreated upstairs after the phone call. He would go so far to say the man was hiding. 

Nero pulled closer to him. He glared at the woman but as soon as she glanced towards them, his face turned to the floor. Her eyes were different colors and watched them like she was ready to attack at a moment’s notice. She was covered in firearms, the largest being slung over her back. She made it half-way up the staircase, the wood enunciating every step, before Dante met her at the landing. The man was trying to quiet her down, casting nervous looks down at them. 

“What is he doing here?” She waved a hand at them. He wondered if they’d met before.

“What the fuck is going on?” Dante had grabbed her wrist, dragging her the rest of the way up. “And there better be a good explanation for the kid.”

The bedroom door pulled shut. While it muffled them, chunks of their voices still echoed through the floors of the otherwise quiet office. 

Something about her eyes seemed familiar. Not attached to her, but on the face of a man. They followed him with icy distrust. He had stabbed that man. Had watched those eyes glow with pain before he crumpled to the floor. He got the feeling that there was much more to the story that he was missing. The feeling of piercing the man with his sword, how easy it was, the image of his eyes shooting open in an involuntary response, the sound of blood hitting the floor in rapid droplets, they all spun through his mind in disordered chunks. 

Another memory overlapped with it, the same except it was Dante, his younger self, that he was stabbing. He was cold and wet, rain bulleting down the back of his neck although he was so soaked it no longer mattered. His hair was in his face, sticky strands hovering in his vision. Dante doubled over, hands curling towards his chest. One of his palms stung and he could feel the impression of Dante’s amulet on his skin. 

Nero jerked. The pair was coming back downstairs, footsteps rattling the boy who had been trying to eavesdrop. 

He had been fighting with Dante even before he stood under Mundus. Did Dante still wish to fight him now? Why had they been fighting at that time?

The woman sneered at him as she stopped to stand by the desk. 

“This is Lady, she’s a friend of mine,” Dante said. “You can trust her.” 

He had the feeling the last part was as directed at Lady as it was to him.

“I’m Nero.” The boy seemed hesitant to interact with the woman, although he did not sound particularly fearful.

He chose to nod at her as an introduction. Based on what he had heard, the woman may know him more than he knew himself.

Chapter Text

Dante settled next to his brother on the couch. Lady had made it her personal mission to oversee the office, just in case, and was hanging around for the third day in a row. She had made herself at home, taking advantage of his newfound ability to cook. Now, she was lounging on his desk chair, which she had pulled over to the coffee table across from them. 

Lady was glaring at Vergil. She had been on edge whenever she came around, although it was hard to tell if you didn’t know her. Her shoulders were tight, her eyes keeping a close watch on him, only switching when something moved. One hand rested on her thigh, rubbing at the faded scar from where she’d been stabbed. It was far from the only scar littering her body, but was one of the most prominent. 

Vergil would often zone out, looking out with a lost look to his eyes. They had gone back to blue, although the skin around was sunken and dark. He seemed to notice her watching, meeting her eyes every so often and then going back to his unfocused watch. He was still, posture stiff, hands occasionally twitching in his lap. He had his good moments too, where he would move around and respond, usually non-verbally, to prompting. It was like he was there with them and then his eyes would fix on nothing and he’d close off. 

Lady dealt out a round of cards. She had been teaching Nero to play poker. The kid picked it up quickly and was currently scowling over his cards. He was on the floor at Vergil’s feet. He would show his cards to the man, like they were playing as a team, but the man didn’t offer much acknowledgement. 

He had been dealt a shit hand, but he kept in the game as the cards were laid out in the center of the coffee table. They’d found some old plastic poker chips to bet with and Nero’s stack was the biggest. He watched Lady fold again. She had been letting the kid win, smiling and congratulating him every round he won. He would shyly smile back. Dante got the impression he still wasn’t sure about her. 

He had taken time to warm up to Dante too though. They had made it back to the office, Vergil’s unconscious body thrown over his shoulders, Nero a few steps behind him, switching between glaring at him or glancing at Trish. Trish trailed behind. She had stayed the first day but with Nero and Vergil around, had decided to go off on her own and try out being a devil hunter. She promised to stop in at some point but it didn’t sound like he’d be seeing her any time soon.

The kid didn’t really talk to him the first few days. He sat by Vergil’s bedside and warily accepted food placed by him. He had tried to look at the kid’s arm, figure out why it was like that. Nero had kicked at him until he let go and scrambled under the bed. He didn’t come out till the next day and they hadn’t mentioned the incident. 

Dante was pretty sure the kid only warmed up as quickly as he did because he was taking care of Vergil. The man’s armor had dissolved and he was left trying to remove the scraps of fabric half-melded into his skin. He had gotten Nero out of the room for that part, but he still must’ve seen some of it because he came up to Dante and asked if he could get the shackles off of him. He’d sat the kid down on the desk, trying to joke with him as he held a sword up to the metal at his neck. 

After that, Nero would interact with him more. Would leave the bedroom to follow him around and see what he’s up to. Would respond if Dante talked to him. Would ask for more food if he was still hungry. 

Dante idly watched Nero win the round, scooping the pot over to his side of the table. He put them together in neat stacks as Lady collected the cards. The ones he’d found were a black and white set and the kid was having fun stacking them in alternating order. Black chip, white chip, black chip, white chip. His newest pile rose up. When he had too many of one color, that’s what he’d play with in the next round. 

By the time Nero had collected almost all the chips, his stomach was grumbling. 

Nero definitely heard it, losing interest in the dregs of the card game. 

“What'd ya say we go out for lunch?” He offered. “Get you out of the office for a bit.” 

He’d been meaning to take Nero out somewhere. It probably wasn’t good to keep him cooped up in one place for so long. Plus, getting used to other people could do him some good.

He agreed, a mix of curiosity and caution. Dante sent him upstairs to get ready.

“I’ll be back later.” Nero waved at Vergil, who was watching from the couch. 

The man looked at Dante, worried. 

He smiled back. “We’ll be back soon. Try not to do anything stupid while we’re out.”

The bell rang as he shut the door behind them. Thankfully, it was a particularly cold day for the season and people might not notice Nero being bundled up in long sleeves and a glove over one hand. Lady was already waiting in the passenger seat, apparently not passing up a free ride. She had her legs up on the dashboard. Nero climbed in behind her, leaving Dante on the curb. 

They went to the diner he liked. It was pretty slow, but Nero still kept close when they passed by a couple on the sidewalk. 

The door pushed in with a hearty jingle. The sound of wheels scraping the floors echoed around, courtesy of the roller-skating waitress. He ushered Nero towards one of the several empty booths, the plastic lining squeaking under them. He sat across from the kid, Lady sliding in next to him. 

The owner gave him a side-eye. He was cleaning a glass behind the counter, eyes trained on their table. He didn’t meet his eye. 

The menus were a single piece of laminated paper. They were stained and sticky from years of use. He didn’t need his-already knew what he wanted-but Nero was hidden behind his. He had a moment of panic. The kid could read, right? He’d never actually asked. 

“Anything sound good?” He pushed the plastic down to see the boy’s face. 

He was frowning, mostly at Dante for interrupting him. His right hand was stuffed under the table, despite already being completely covered. 

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he muttered.

He shrugged. “Guess so.”

The waitress skidded over, tray with water in hand. She tended to be chatty, uncaring if he was paying attention or not. She made it all of three seconds before noticing Nero. 

“You never mentioned having a kid, Dante!” She sat the water glasses down in front of them, sounding offended.

“I don’t.”

He’d been expecting some questioning. That was the trouble of going to the same place so often. 

She squatted down to be at Nero’s height, having to hold onto the rim of the table to keep steady. He glanced nervously back to Dante, squirming at the attention. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Nero.” He had his hands shoved into his lap. He didn’t look her in the eyes. 

“He’s my nephew.”

She stood up, pouting a little at him. She took their orders. Nero didn’t seem to have any trouble so Dante figured he was good. 

“You’ve never mentioned having siblings either,” He heard her mutter as she skated off.

They sat mostly in silence. Nero glanced around at other people, keeping his head down if someone looked his way. Lady tried to talk with him a few times but he seemed pretty unwilling to talk. 

He looked excited when their food came though. He’d gotten a burger. It looked like way too much for a kid but, knowing Nero’s appetite, he’d finish it easily. A sundae was put down in front of him. Lady rolled her eyes a bit but that didn’t stop her from trying to steal some. 

Nero still didn’t speak much as they ate, but he was smiling in between bites. He even followed Lady’s lead and tried to steal some of his ice cream. 

When they got back home, Nero ran back into the office ahead of them. He waited for Dante at the door, although he looked impatient. 

Vergil was still on the couch. He looked up at them, greeting Nero with a nod as the kid jumped up to sit next to him. There was a book in his lap. It was just one that Dante had lying around, probably stories about demons, the kind he just ended up with over time and never got around to getting rid of. But Vergil was reading it. There was also a glass of water on the table that hadn’t been there earlier, meaning he’d gone and gotten it himself. 

Nero was recounting what they’d done and he was watching, fingers lingering over the page he was on. It almost looked normal. Like a normal family interacting.

Chapter Text

Dante was in the midst of a well-deserved nap when the door opened. 

He had been taking any job that passed by, no matter how shitty or non-demonic. Apparently, having to be responsible for one child and one barely functioning brother meant he couldn’t be picky. Especially with the cold months rolling in, he needed to make sure he was actually paying the bills. Lady had had a good laugh about that, saying it was about time. Still, she tossed him jobs, claiming she didn’t have time for them or she just didn’t want to. 

The woman who had come in was older, hair starting to gray. She had called the night before for a job, password and all. Something about her family farm being overrun by demons. He didn’t care too much about the details. Just point him in the right direction and pay him at the end and he’d be happy. 

He beckoned her farther in, sitting up straight. Over in the corner, Vergil was giving Nero some sword training. He’d noticed the kid training with one of Vergil’s summoned swords, being walked through motions by the man. He’d gotten the kid a practice sword since then, figuring it was safer and also required less energy from his brother. He was using that now, swinging at the air while Vergil sat beside him. 

The woman noticed them, giving Nero a small wave. He actually waved back, although he shifted so his right hand was behind his back. It was completely covered, but the kid didn’t seem to like people noticing it at all. Vergil nodded to her as well, eyes tracking her as she went towards them.

She bent down towards Nero, “Are you the young man I heard on the phone?”

Nero had gotten into the habit of answering the phone. Whenever it went off, the kid dropped whatever he was doing to try and get it before Dante. He’d even started saying Devil May Cry when he answered after hearing Dante do it. He didn’t seem to mind speaking to people until they were looking at him.

Dante grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the coffee table while his client was distracted by the kid. It wasn’t long before Nero ran by him and into the back room, Vergil in tow. 

The woman sat down on the couch across from him. 

“He’s a cute one,” she said with a small smile directed towards the back. “What’s his name?”

“Nero,” he told her. “Sorry about him running off, he gets shy around new people.”

“It’s no problem,” she laughed. “That’s quite the family resemblance you three have.” 

“I bet you and your brother looked just like him at that age,” she continued on. 

“Pretty damn close, that’s for sure.” 

“Is he your’s or your brother’s?” 

“My brother’s. They’re staying with me for the time being.”

“I bet he appreciates it. When my boys were little, I remember they could be quite a handful at times.”

He nodded along as she started rambling about her sons, apparently now both adults. Probably not too far from Vergil's and his age. He wondered if it would be rude to interrupt and steer the conversation back to the job, or if he was supposed to let her keep talking. Killing demons was a lot easier than dealing with people. 

Once upon a time, Vergil had been the shy one and he was the one always trying to talk with people. They mostly stayed at the house, but when they did go to town he was trying to talk to anyone who’d listen, dragging Vergil along behind him. That died out as he got older. People tended to avoid him. They could sense that something was off about him, even if they didn’t realize it. It wasn’t everyone, sure, but it was enough for him to get the point.

He waited for her to finish the story she was telling before asking about the demon problem she’d come for. 

She looked embarrassed, apologizing for getting so distracted. The place they were headed was a good hour away, so he should probably leave sooner rather than later if he wanted to be back that night. He got the directions and thanked her. On her way out, she gave a half-wave towards the back and he turned just in time to see Nero’s head ducking out of sight. 

Dante went upstairs to find his jacket. His room was cleaner than it ever had been. When he’d first gotten back from Mallet Island, he’d shoved his pile of clothes into a drawer just to get it out of the way. Since then, some semblance of organization had been put in place as clothes for Nero and Vergil were acquired. Each now had their own drawer in the large dresser and Dante did his best to keep things regularly washed and put in the correct spot. 

Of all the things Vergil still had some concept of, he was really glad clothing was one of them. He’d been a bit worried about that at first, leaving some stuff where it would be clear it was for him, and thankfully there hadn’t been any problems. When Dante had been busy and forgot to put the laundry away, he’d even gone through the pile and sorted out what was his and what was Dante’s.

Eventually he would need to get them out of his room, but he figured that could wait. He’d only just started the process of cleaning out his spare room. If nothing else he could at least get a second bed and stop sleeping in chairs or on the couch. While they could all technically fit on his one bed, and Vergil had been doing fine with him being close, he was prone to nightmares. He’d wake up shaken in the middle of the night and then his movements would wake Vergil up. Nero at least seemed ready to sleep through anything except the occasional loud noise.  

His jacket was slung over the foot of the bed. Other things might be neat, but he still tended to throw that over whatever was closest. 

He realized there were little feet padding up the stairs after him, slipping into the room. Nero didn’t shut the door all the way, just pulling it most of the way and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. His feet kicked at the air, his eyes downcast and preoccupied. 

“Something up?” He bent down to grab one of his boots from where he’d kicked it off. 

Nero pulled his legs up to his chest. He wasn’t making eye contact with Dante.

“What’s a nestling?”

Dante did not drop his boot, but he came very close. He didn’t know where Nero would have heard that, nor why he’d be asking about it now. It’s not like it was something that came up with normal people, and it wasn’t really a major part of his vocabulary.

“It’s demon-talk for a kid,” he tried to smile at him but Nero still wasn’t looking his way. “What brought that on?”

Nero pulled at the rim of his sleeves, idly running a finger over the scales around his wrist. 

“Mundus called me that.”

He gave up on putting his shoes on, dropping down onto the bed next to him. It’s not that he avoided talking about Mallet Island, but it certainly wasn’t a topic they brought up often. Not that Vergil talked much anyways, but he tended to get distant when that sort of thing came up. He hadn’t even known that Nero interacted with Mundus, although he supposed it was to be expected.

“It just means that you’re a kid,” he tried to keep his tone light but he doubted this was the end of the conversation. 

Nero nodded. His brows were furrowed somewhere between focused and worried. 

“Mundus said I was Vergil’s nestling-” Nero’s words came out a bit choked, “and when people see me you say I’m your nephew or that- or that he’s my-”

His words broke off in a hiccup. He’d never seen Nero cry but this was certainly the closest he’d come. 

“He’s your dad?” Dante finished his thought. 

Nero nodded. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was shoved into his knees.

Dante sighed. He knew he’d been putting this off, but in his defense, he’d wanted Vergil to recover as much as possible before they talked about it. 

“We’re pretty certain he is.” 

Nero finally looked at him. He looked hopeful and somewhat relieved. He was also going to be needing some tissues.

“Really?”
He placed a hand on the kid’s head, rubbing gently when he wasn’t met with protest. 

“Yeah. Vergil… he thinks he’s your dad. I do too. It’s just what Mundus did to him, it messed up his memories, so he can’t say for sure.”

“But he thinks he is?” 

“Yup.” Nero was wiping his eyes with his sleeves. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re his kid and my nephew. You’re stuck with us now.”

Nero threw his arms around him and squeezed. It took a second for him to process the hug, but Nero had let go and was out the door before he could hug back. 

He finished getting ready. By the time he went downstairs, Nero was sitting on the couch with Vergil, looking like nothing had happened. He even looked a little extra cheery as he waved Dante off.

Nero seemed particularly energetic that evening. Dante had left them for his job, claiming he might be back late and that there was food in the fridge. They had already eaten and the light from outside had turned to the bleeding yellow he had come to know to be an indicator that it would be dark soon.

He had been making Vergil soup for the past week or two. It was thicker than the water or tea he’d been having, and sometimes the taste was too much, but Dante seemed adamant that he needed to start consuming things that were considered a food and not a drink. It made him feel somewhat steadier on his feet, so he supposed there was something to the distinction.

 He wasn’t sure he felt like a complete person, but it was better. His mind felt clearer, not heavy with the fog of Mundus’ control over him. His memories weren’t all there-he wasn’t sure they ever would be- but he had a better grasp on his life prior to being under Mundus’ reign. Dante was his twin brother. They were half-demons, with their father being Sparda. He recognized the name from the demon realm, although it was strange to hear it mentioned without an underlying loathing. Their mother was named Eva. Dante had shown him the picture of her, and promptly explained that Trish was created in her image. 

He could see them in some of his memories, although they felt separate from the names and descriptions he had been given. He could feel the warmth of blankets as his and Dante’s child selves were tucked into bed by their mother. Could hear the amused voice of their father. But the woman in the photo seemed alien, and Sparda was nothing more than a demon he could hear or read about if he wished. 

Nero was glancing at the office’s door, restless in his movements. Dante took him out every so often, although Vergil had always stayed behind. Not that he couldn’t leave, or that Dante had told him not to, but he was doubtful of his returning strength in regards to going against demons. The office was secure. He supposed it could also be called boring, at least to an energetic child. 

He tapped Nero’s shoulder and pointed towards the door.

“Can we go out?” He was smiling and bouncing from foot to foot.

“We can.” His throat scratched when he spoke, but he didn’t feel as though he were fighting with every word. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“There’s a park nearby, can we go there? I remember how to get there!” 

He nodded, letting Nero pull him to get ready to leave. He had to borrow a pair of Dante’s shoes. Nero also insisted he put another layer over his shirt to avoid getting cold. 

It was cold outside, he soon learned. At least compared to the building. It was also loud. Nero kept close, hand in his. The farther they got from the office, the more people they came across. He could hear them talking, multiple conversations going over each other, people yelling over the phone as they went by him, cars sputtering by with music screaming out the windows. It made his head ache. His senses thrashed between each new piece of information, trying to parse out if any of it was directed at him and Nero or if any of the passer-byers seemed to be a threat. He hoped the park was quieter. 

By the time they arrived, the sun was sitting low and blurry in the horizon. Lights lined the area, keeping it bright. There was a center area where stones indicated where it separated from the paved streets, a statue and fountain sitting in the middle with benches around it. Nero led him past that, to where the stones turned to neat grass and a section with large structures for children to play on. Five children were scattered around, oblivious to the world outside of their games.

Nero let go of his hand, running off to climb over the metal equipment. 

He kept to the perimeter. There were four adults, all half-hazardly keeping watch over the children. They were off on benches or loitered around the scattered trees. Two women were talking with each other. 

He steered clear of them, finding a tree farther away from the adults where he had a clear view of what Nero was doing, as well as the park’s main entrance. 

He leaned back against the tree. The bark was rough through his clothes, not nearly as tough as the armor he’d been in. Grass tickled his hands and ankles, wherever his skin was exposed. It was cool and slightly damp, and dirt left light brown smudges on his palms when he lifted them. It smelt clean, fresh. He didn’t realize freshness had a scent. He liked it. The office smelt like Dante. He didn’t know that the scent was pleasant, but it was familiar and safe so he liked it all the same. This was new. It was human and bright and far away from the demon realm or the demon-infested Mallet Island. 

Two boys approached Nero. They were similar in height to him, although one was clearly bigger and perhaps slightly older. Nero glanced back at him, his posture growing anxious. He readied himself to be at Nero’s side should help be needed, but then Nero’s face lightened up. One of the boys tapped his shoulder and ran off, the second running in the other direction and Nero was on his feet running after them. He watched them go at that, changing off who chased who. Nero was fast, he began to recognize. The other boys were having a hard time catching him, to the point that the game became the other two trying to catch Nero. They pursued him around and over the equipment until one of them, the older one, was called by one of the women and left. 

Most of them had left already, he realized, with the two boys and one other man being the only others in the park. The sun had gone down long before. The park still seemed so bright, he questioned if it was the lamps or if his demonic senses were more tuned towards the dark. 

The other man was walking towards him. His gait wasn’t threatening, and he couldn’t sense anything demonic about him. 

“Mind if I sit?” the man stopped in front of him. 

He wasn’t sure if it was a trick question or not. Lady had been telling Dante to be polite to those coming to the office for jobs. He reasoned he was also supposed to act polite to those wanting to interact with him, at least where Nero was concerned. He gestured for the man to sit. 

He lounged over the grass, carefree in his movements. He decided the man would not be a threat to himself or Nero. His movements were much too easy to hide hostility. Even when Dante moved about, taking up space around him, there was a calculated nature to them that was absent in this man. 

“I haven’t seen you two around before. Are you new to the area?”

The man was watching him. He was supposed to answer. While Nero was content talking at him and not receiving replies, he recognized that when people spoke to him it was expected he said something back. 

“We are.”

That was enough, the man continuing to talk. “Always nice to see new faces. But I guess most faces are new in a place like this, it’d be pretty hard to know everyone.”

“What brought you to the city, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Ah, that was a question and he was going to have to answer again. Was it normal for people to ask questions such as that? Or would it be within reason for him to deny?

“My brother. He lives here.”

“Nice, nice. I bet he-” the man gestured towards Nero, “-will appreciate having family around as he gets older.”

He nodded. Nero seemed happier here than on Mallet Island, although that was likely not just Dante’s proximity. He did seem to enjoy Dante’s company though. Lady, as well, to an extent. Vergil still wasn’t at ease around her, her own demeanor being much too aggressive for such a thing. She showed no hostility towards the boy, though, tending to entertain him with card games, winning over his favor over time. 

A demonic presence approached the park. His head swiveled around, he needed to find it as quickly as possible.
He located the source as the figure that had entered the park and was now running towards him. He relaxed only after seeing it was Dante, out of breath and scowling at him. 

The man looked between the two, half–laughing. “I’m guessing you’re the brother then.”

Dante looked caught off-guard. He sat down next to Vergil, eyes questioning. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m John.” The man held up a hand in greeting. Dante still looked confused but he returned the greeting.

“Here we are talking and I never asked your name,” he chuckled, directing his words to him.

“Vergil.” 

“You two have been talking?” Dante was eyeing him. “Like an actual conversation?”

Now the man looked mildly suspicious. “Yes? Is that weird?”

Dante recovered himself, leaning into him and grinning wide. “He’s shy. Doesn’t normally talk much.”

That seemed an acceptable answer. The man laughed it off, agreeing that he was quiet. Nero and the other boy were running over to them. He was glad, hoping it meant less talking.

The boy looked at him and Dante. “You two look a lot alike.”

“We’re twins,” Dante said at the same time as the man softly scolded him for being rude. Had that been rude?

“How do you know who’s who?” That was towards Nero. 

Nero looked between them, brows furrowed. “It’s not that hard. That’s Dante-” he pointed as he spoke, “-and that's my dad.”

There was a lump in his throat, his breath coming in one sharp inhale. He knew Nero was his child, Dante agreed that Mundus had not been lying about that. It still felt strange to hear it said, especially from the boy, and in such a human way. It felt different in a way he could not describe. Not the demonic nestling or spawn Mundus had called him, nor the passive father Dante used when telling him about Sparda. It seemed so strange to him. He liked it, though, of that he was sure.

Nero had taken his hand. Had tugged to get him to his feet and then to walk with him. He was following Dante. The man and boy were gone. 

Dante was saying something. It was much quieter on the streets than when they left, but the words seemed so distant. Dante had been worried about them, he caught. Had wondered where they were. He was thankful when they reached the office. The familiarity blanketing around him.

Nero let go of his hand as they stopped in the center of the room. He hugged Vergil, arms tight. He had enough mind to return the gesture, grounding himself in the warm feeling in his chest. The boy ran off upstairs, leaving him standing with Dante staring at him with shock written over his face.

Dante stopped to lean on his desk. He’d about had a heart attack when he came home to find the office empty. He’d have to try and explain to Vergil the concept of “letting me know where you went” later. Right now, he was more than happy to watch the way his brother relaxed as Nero hugged him. All his features softened and, for the first time, he was smiling.