Chapter Text
Nico's beaten him to the kitchen by the time Nero wakes up the next morning. He can hear her jabbering from all the way down the hall, and he supposes he should get in there before she talks his ear right off. It can wait until after he has his coffee though.
"You must be Dante!"
He walks in to see her buzzing around Dante excitedly, who is sitting at the table. How she has the energy this early is anyone's guess.
"I'm Nicoletta Goldstein. Sound familiar? Um, my grandmother is Nell Goldstein. The gunsmith that made, uh-" Now that's a brow raiser. Is she actually getting shy about who she's talking to? Her bravado falters for a moment as she makes a few abstract gestures with her hands. "Well they're in the garage right now. ‘No weapons in the house’ policy and all. But she made 'em!"
Just by looking at him it's obvious Dante hasn't slept a wink. He ended up taking the couch, and Nero knew that because he hadn't slept much either. Has it always been like this? He doesn't remember being so… agitated around Dante last time. His very presence feels intrusive- like an invasion of his territory, as ridiculous as that sounds. His demon is itching for a fight with someone that could match him.
It's stupid, and he doesn't have time for demon bullshit right now.
Dante plasters on a polite smile, considering Nico for an awkward moment. "You don't much look like her…"
"Yeah, I got my looks from my daddy, but that's about all I got from him." Nico's expression darkens for a moment, but she pipes up again just as quickly. "His research sure as shit helped though, so no hard feelings about the rest of it!"
Dante is understandably confused, slowly clicking his tongue and nodding with an open mouth, like he doesn't have a clue what to say to that. No normal conversations could ever happen under this roof it seems. Nero rolls his eyes, deciding to throw Dante a bone to jog his memory.
"The Order. That asshole, Agnus."
Dante mouths a silent 'ohh' and then the full implications of that seem to hit. For once, he actually looks slightly mortified, but if Nico gave a shit she was talking to her father's killer, she doesn't show it one bit.
"But enough about me!" She claps her hands once. "V's your brother, huh? Didn't know the legendary devil hunter had one. Back from the dead too. Would make one hell of a story."
The expression on Dante's face is like a shadow passing over a grave. The way he gives a 'casual' smile and a sorry excuse for a chuckle to cover it up makes it even worse. Dante's a master of hiding shit, but even his mask slips sometimes.
"She's just talking for the sake of talking," Nero offers. Nico shoots him a glare.
"What am I supposed to do? Mope about? Brood? That sickness of V's ain't going anywhere so if we could get something done that would be swell." There's a familiar shuffling from outside in the hall: the sound of shifting sands and the click of talons on the floor. "Speak of the devil."
"Well, if it isn't the infamous Dante…" Griffon's voice fills the space as he struts into the kitchen with Shadow in tow. "Long time no see."
Dante does a double take, squinting at the two like he recognizes them somehow. At least it's a distraction from the awkward direction of the conversation- though not by much. "Huh. This… ‘power’ V was talking about…"
"You're looking at it." Griffon sounds different than usual- more strained, exhausted. He hops up onto the counter, and then immediately flops onto his side, his wings glowing dimly. Nero can see he's shed a trail of feathers from here, presumably up to V's bedroom. "What's left of it anyway."
"Little chickee…?" Nico's voice is tinged with unease as she glances between him and Shadow- the latter slumping at her feet and giving a weak chuff.
Griffon gives a deep, exasperated sigh. "V's not gonna say it. I hate saying it but I'll say it so his sorry, prideful ass doesn't rot away with it. We don't have much time left. A week- at best." He manages to raise his wing and give it a little wave. "If you've got any brilliant ideas, now's the time to share with the class."
Nero purses his lips, the ripple of tension around the room clamping down like a vice. They knew this was coming, but a week? That wasn't any time at all. Dammit. "Where's that last demon V keeps talking about?"
"Don't know, superstar." With a groan of effort, Griffon manages to pull himself back into a sitting position so he can speak with some dignity. "Doesn't matter if we find it. Might buy us a few more days, then what?" He gives a humorless chuckle. "We're right back where we started. With Mundus's gunk flowing through our veins we're dead anyway."
He swivels his head towards Dante, his half a dozen pupils narrowing in on him. "I hope you brought some genius plan with you, Dante. If not, well… it was nice seeing your ugly mug again, I guess. Shame I couldn't kill you this time."
Dante just stares at him for a moment, mask fully back up. Then he nods once and pushes himself up. "I'm gonna go talk to him again."
Nero automatically goes to follow him as he starts out the kitchen, but Dante turns and fixes him with a meaningful look, a thin smile on his face. "Privately."
Nero doesn't really want to be left out, not after seeing how disastrous the two were at interacting, but what's he gonna do? Tell him he can't talk to his brother without a babysitter?
Nero only nods, watching him stalk down the hallway and out of sight, feeling less than useless.
…
Dante can't even name the emotion running rampant through his body right now. It's like he's back on that island, filtered through years of grief and exhaustion, body tensed up as if for a fight, even though there's none to be had. Part of him wishes there was. It would be so much easier to deal with Vergil if this had been like any other time. They were made for raw fights and blood. They weren't made for such bitter complications. This wasn't something that could be hacked away with swords.
Rebellion seemed to have a mind of its own however, appearing on his back again without him consciously summoning it as he marches to V's room. He doesn't know why. Its counterpart is sleeping in Nero's arm and wouldn't meet it for battle any time soon.
Or possibly ever again.
He pushes open the door. V is seated against the headboard, eyes closed, white hair hanging limply around his face. He isn't sleeping, because he opens his eyes when Dante enters the room, blearily focusing on him.
"Flattering." V's voice sounds raspier than yesterday- weaker, though it could be because he's probably just woken up. "I'm nearly bedridden and confined to the limits of this fragile body, yet you still broke the 'no weapons' rule." He gives a faint groan, pushing himself up so he's sitting cross legged, the minute action seemingly taking a great deal of effort from him. He regards Dante with indifference. "What are you hoping to find, Dante?"
This isn't Vergil at all. Vergil wouldn't show weakness like this if he could help it, nor radiate such apathy to his very presence. It cuts so much more sharply than any blow Vergil had landed on him in the past. Hardly anything remained of his brother.
This can't be all there is. Some part of him - a childish part maybe - still whispers that Vergil is going to pull some magic trick from a hat and reveal himself again, all part of some master plan. Dante sighs. He really isn't here to fight him, as much as his instincts scream that's what he has to do- that it's all he knows how to do. "V or Vergil- I don't care at this point who you are. What do you need?"
V tilts his head ever so slightly. "Haven't I already told you?"
"I want to help."
Something passes through V's expression, almost like amusement, like he'd told a joke. "How very noble of you."
Dante gnashes his teeth behind his lips, ignoring the deflective bullshit. He expects it, no matter what form Vergil takes, and it's still as annoying as ever. "You came here for the Yamato. You had a plan, didn't you?"
"Vergil had a plan. A plan that is so vile and destructive that I, in my newfound separation, can perceive the full scope of. I must never allow it to come to fruition."
That answer is as surprising as it is not. There's nothing but grim certainty in V's expression, and maybe (if Dante is convinced his eyes aren't playing tricks on him) a hint of remorse. He doesn't doubt V; they both know what Vergil is capable of, but how bad must it have been if even a part of Vergil wouldn't dare try it? V grimaces, his gaze falling to his lap. "The Yamato will do me no good. It would end the same."
"There has to be something." Maybe he could ask Trish? She knew more about Mundus and the horribly fucked up shit he did than anyone.
"If you want to make yourself useful…" V raises a slightly trembling arm and points to a nearby shelf. "Grab that for me."
Dante glances over, walking over to pick up the book he's indicating. Is it a magical artifact of some kind that might help him out? No, Dante can see it's just a regular old poetry collection.
A faint memory stirs in the back of his mind. This… is familiar. Trying to get Vergil's attention while his brother shoves his nose in a book and tries his hardest to ignore him. Only there's more at stake now than an afternoon of boredom. Dante sighs, tossing the book onto the bed beside V.
"How much time do you have?" The bird had said a week, but a part of Dante refused to believe it.
"Is there a point to these questions?" V sounds exhausted with him already, opening the book and slipping out a bookmark. "You truly haven't changed, least of all your manners."
V seems to be scanning the pages but his eyes aren't seeing anything. Apparently giving up, he shuts the book again and sets it on the bedside table. "I can't give you Vergil right now, and I don't know if I ever will be able to again. Not that I'm sure it makes a difference to you."
Dante gnashes his teeth. "Dammit V, that's bullshit."
"What is." V doesn't even seem to have the energy to phrase his questions like questions anymore.
"There has to be a way to put you back together again." Dante feels like that hopeless kid begging for his brother's attention again. And he's never going to get it.
"You think so?" V's voice falls quieter, but more dangerous, like the rumbling of a storm on the horizon. "What would you know about piecing me back together? You, who would turn your back on your heritage-" His eyes widen, and he seems to retreat into himself with cold realization. "-just like Vergil did."
V looks so broken then suddenly, and Dante sees him for what he truly is- as scared of the inevitable as Dante himself. Neither of them know what to do, so Dante just gives a mirthless, stupid little chuckle.
"Okay, I'm sensing a bit of self loathing here…"
That is not the thing to say right now. When V re-emerges, it's with a scorching fury that has Dante more scared for him than anything. V throws the blanket off of himself and pushes his feeble body out of bed, towards him, and like always, Dante is powerless to stop him.
…
"If only you'd never existed-"
Every word is acid on V's tongue- spitting bile, pure and unfiltered and raw.
"If only you'd never been born-"
His hands seize the front of Dante's coat, clawing at him. Shadow responds to his call, materializing around their feet, a cloud of shifting sands.
"Then I-"
V's thoughts are a broken, jagged mess. He hates this. He hates Vergil. He hates being caught somewhere between selves with the full force of his emotions dominating his every action. There's no buffer, no safety in power. He feels what Vergil has been afraid to feel for so many years, and he'd do anything to destroy it.
Black spikes puncture through Dante, again and again, stabbing through his back, his shoulders, his ribs. V hears him wheeze with a punctured lung, but there's no resistance. He merely stands there and takes it.
It doesn't calm the rage burning a hole through V's chest. Nothing would.
"If you truly care about getting Vergil back, you'll throw yourself to Urizen and let him drain you dry." V snarls at him, fists clenching in the blood-soaked fabric of Dante's shirt. "At least then you'd have something resembling Vergil again. Perhaps even enough to justify cutting down."
Dante's looks gutted by the words , even more so than while Shadow is quite literally in the process of partially disemboweling him. "Shit, you think I want that?"
"Is that not why you're here?" V tilts his head. "Or would you prefer to draw this out? That doesn't seem like your style, but it has been a while after all."
"Yeah, no fucking shit it has. V, stop-" Dante pleads with him, hands grabbing his upper arms. Humiliatingly, his grip is the only thing that keeps V from crumpling to the floor as the blowback from expending what little power he has left hits him. He has to dismiss Shadow, and he hears Dante grunt as the spikes retract from his flesh.
V fights to stay conscious, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as Griffon calls him a dumbass in the back of his mind. He glares up at Dante, the moment of vulnerability too much for either of them. Dante should just let him fall to the floor instead of extending him help he doesn't want.
"I never meant to kill you, not after Mundus did… that to you."
V huffs an exhausted laugh. "But before that point was fair game?"
"Like you weren't trying to do the same!"
"You're more of a fool than I thought." V manages to regain his balance, regarding Dante with resentment. "I wanted- Vergil wanted…" He tries to recall the past, back to that moment before his descent into the underworld, but it's muddy and unfocused. "It doesn't matter anymore."
Dante's fingers dig into his upper arms, his grip tightening as to be painful.
"You don't get to do this." His voice drags through a lower register, almost demonic in nature like he's having trouble controlling it. "You don't get to disappear for twenty years, die in front of me, and then come back to dangle this in front of my face again. That's not fair."
"It's you. It always has to be you." V spits back. "Your whims. Your protection. Your adoration and love. You have to have it all, of course. Don't talk to me about fair." He squirms, trying to twist out of Dante's grasp. "Don't touch me-"
"Even as a human you're still such a goddamn asshole!" Dante drags him back over to the bed and shoves him back onto it. "Do you think this has been easy- any of it?! You don't know a goddamn thing- how hard it's been all these years-!" V watches him struggle with his words, feeling the air heat up like an inferno, nearly scalding him. "I want to help you! For once, give me the chance to help you."
A sudden laugh bursts from Dante and his demonic power dissipates. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head, pacing back and forth. So much energy with nowhere to go. "You don't even know-"
"What don't I know."
"Nero, the kid you steered your bullshit ship right into." At the puzzled look V gives him, Dante only grows more exasperated. "Come on, I had a hunch the first time I saw him. You're telling me you never put it together?"
An itch at the back of V's mind, a nagging bit of logic he'd been unwilling to confront, suddenly ripped up and dragged out by the roots. If V wasn't already limply slumped on the bed, he'd have collapsed even further into himself.
“The Yamato chose him,” Dante presses, and V can deny it no longer.
"He isn't yours." He says, listless. And then, even quieter, "but this changes nothing."
Dante gives a final, weak chuckle.
"Yeah, I guess it doesn't."
…
Nero wasn't eavesdropping, but his hearing was much better than the average humans. He'd caught some of the shouting, most of what V had said was too low even for his senses, but the scent of blood was unmistakable. By the time he started heading upstairs to check on them, Dante was coming back down, soaked in his own blood. Not unusual but still concerning.
"Hey, Nero,” he greets him at the bottom of the stairs, and by the faux-casual tone of his voice Nero can tell something is very wrong. He's not even going to ask if everything was fine.
“What did V say?”
“He, uh…” Dante throws a brief glance back in the vague direction of his room. "Well, he's in bad shape."
Not the answer to his question. "I can see that." Nero sighs. Fuck, this whole situation was awful. The guilt had been eating at him, try as he might to just shove it back down and tell himself he didn't owe Dante shit. Dante's brother had days to live. "I should have called you earlier. I thought about it, I just…"
Dante shakes his head, holding up a hand. "I'm not mad about that so don't worry. There's just something I think you should know at this point."
"What is it?" There's an itch running along Nero's skin, Dante's tension rolling off him in waves and causing his own nerves to respond. Seconds drew out in agony as Dante just stood there chewing on whatever it was, staring at him in a way that made Nero want to claw out of his skin. "Fucking hell, just spit it out alre-"
"Vergil is your father."
"My-" Nero's demonic hand flies out to seize the stair railing, like the rug’s been pulled out from under him. "My what-"
He'd misheard, surely. He gapes like a fish at Dante, waiting for the sike! When Dante only stares back at him with a complete sobriety that looks foreign on his face, the stair railing splinters in Nero's hand.
"Vergil- V is my-" He's going to be sick. There was no way Dante was just going to come up and tell him he's been watching his father die for the past several weeks. "Did he tell you that? Has he known this whole…?"
"No. I don't think he put it together until now either. I had a feeling the first time I saw you but I just wasn't sure." Dante keeps talking but he sounds so far away. "Then I saw how the Yamato reacted and I was certain. He's your father."
"My father." Nero repeats, his blood pounding, a deafening drumbeat in his ears as the full implications start to settle in. "You knew."
Nero thinks he's too numb to feel angry but his body is already moving, seizing Dante by the front of his shirt and dragging him out the front door because somehow, even in his mental state, he knows Kyrie would be sad if he broke down one of the walls.
"For five years you knew and you never told me." Nero shoves Dante away from the house, his Bringer flaring with a sharp, furious energy.
"Look, kid, Vergil's not exactly what I'd call a role model-"
Nero's senses narrow to a point, his vision becoming a long, dark tunnel, a rushing current in his ears. Weeks of tension, thinly contained violence with no outlet, funneled through the last strands of his sanity.
His power explodes out of him, and then Dante is crashing through the treeline near the house, a trunk splintering everywhere. Nero's fist rings, his blood singing. He stalks after the other man- his family. His family.
"Five years. And you didn't think it was important to mention. Am I not important?” Nero shoves through brambles and pushes leaves aside as he follows the line of destruction carved through the forest by his blow. “Who cares where I came from, right? Didn't think I'd want to know you were my uncle?"
Dante is already picking himself up, setting his jaw back into place. Blood streams from his lips and nose, adding to the mess already staining his clothing. "That's not it-"
"Five years!"
Nero can't see. Can't think. His vision burns red, grief and rage seizing hold of him. He can scarcely hear his own voice over the din of it.
His body moves of its own accord, and then Dante is beneath him. All he feels is the impact of his Bringer meeting his face over and over again in a manner that's vaguely reminiscent of when they’d first met what feels like an eternity ago in that church.
"You knew. And for five years you- said- nothing!" Each frayed word torn from his throat is punctuated by another blow. " What the FUCK, Dante!"
“Nero!”
A voice from far away, not enough to pierce through the haze.
Dante isn't fighting back and that pisses him off even more. Half his face is caved in by now, bone working to repair itself, skin stitching back together. The look he gives Nero is just- nothing. It's nothing. It's beyond even pity. He just takes it like he knows nothing will fix this and that's all there is to it.
“Five fucking years and I thought it was you.” Nero's voice wavers, dizziness washing over him. He drops Dante and staggers back to his feet. He feels that gulf of time in an instant, all that guilt and longing he would never get back. “What a sick joke.”
“Nero, please!” Kyrie's voice finally comes into focus from somewhere behind him.
It's deeply unpleasant when reality begins to set in once more. Nero turns, gazing back through the trail of destruction, finding Kyrie standing in the yard. Her eyes are wide with concern and it cuts through him sharper than any weapon. He stares blankly down at his blood covered hands and picks his way back through the treeline. It hadn't even been a fight, just an explosion with no real release, and now all that anger begins to collapse in on itself.
Nothing would fix this.
Kyrie isn't the only one there. Nico had joined her at some point, looking just as horrified at the destruction. More importantly than that, however, was V standing near the front door, his expression that of indescribable shock.
Nero starts to laugh then, brushing past Kyrie and Nico, heading towards the man who could be called his father.
“This ‘changes nothing.’” Nero's voice catches for a moment. “Does it, V? Or should I call you Vergil now? Does any of it even fucking matter?”
He well and truly hates himself when his anger reaches the end of its wick and sputters out completely, leaving only an ugly sob to claw up his throat.
…
V has never realized the depths of his mistakes as vividly as when the boy before him crumbles into his arms.
Nero stumbles towards him like he might do the same to him as he did to Dante, or like he wants to. His Devil Bringer still glows, his bloodied fingers twitching, but then he falters and V has to catch him.
It's almost surprising how easy it is to draw Nero close as the boy begins to shake. V's hands slide over his back, barely a sturdy presence for Nero to lean on, numb in his own shock.
Vergil's son. His son.
It changed more than he could ever, in his own foolishness, envision it would.
“You deserved better.” Nothing but that fact remains. Of all the failures in his life, this feels like the most significant. Following in Sparda's footsteps, but not in the way he thought. V sees it plainly for what it is: a cycle that he himself has perpetuated. “Better than what I could provide.”
And even if V doesn't deserve it, his arms tighten around Nero, holding him closer as if the meager comfort could make up for the gulf of loneliness he'd left between them. “I'm nothing more than a shell of my former self who lost everything…”
“Shut up,” Nero chokes. “Just shut the fuck up. You're dying. You were never here and now you're dying.”
V's fingers find their way into his short hair, absently carding through it. Would Vergil have ever offered such comforts? Could he swallow his pride and lower himself to such sentiments? Does it matter at this point?
His gaze briefly wanders over Nero's shoulder, to Kyrie and Nico who watch them silently, to Dante who has pulled himself from the forest. All of them stand at a respectable distance, regarding them with that same pity. There are no answers for any of this, only unfathomable tragedy. A mess he must clean up as half the man he was.
And it kindles a new resolve in him. V turns his attention back to the boy in his arms that in another life he would have been able to give the love and protection that Vergil himself had always desired.
“I have no right to ask anything more of you, Nero.”
“Just ask it.”
“I know where the last demon is.”
Nero sniffles, his tears drying up. He draws away slightly, brow furrowed as he stares up at V.
“I know where that part of me would have hidden itself,” V goes on with steely determination. “And I know what must be done.”