Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After returning from Hell, Vergil finds himself at a loss.

He feels… out of place, for lack of a better term. 

The thing is, Vergil barely knows anything about being a good brother— in fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Dante had disowned him as such, given all he’s done to him. 

He cannot even muster the feelings of guilt that a ‘normal person’ –someone who isn't a sociopath, as Dante had accused him once– would have for all the blood shed he has caused. 

He’s never been an empathetic person.

He is, by all means, unsuitable for emotional connections, even with his own blood.

…So of course, he fears he knows even less about being a father. 

And wasn’t that a surprise? He never gave thought to the continuation of Sparda’s line— actually, that was a lie. 

He just figured that if anyone were to continue it, it would have been his brother, so human in all the ways that Vergil found weak. 

Dante, who would have settled down and found a nice human woman with the gentle disposition of their mother, suitable to raise whatever offspring they may have. 

Yet, it was Vergil, instead. And here’s the real kicker— he barely remembers what had led to Nero’s conception. 

Vergil will never admit it, but his memories have become foggy ever since his time as Nelo Angelo. Everything before the fateful decision to drop down to Hell had become blurred and murky from Mundus’ interference.

Everything, except for Dante. Within the murky waters of his head, his brother’s red coat and red blood and red flames remained vivid, a spot of warmth in the shackles of his own mind. 

Mundus could try and take everything from him, but he could not make him forget Dante— after all, they were twins. Two parts of a whole. One cannot exist without the other.

Even as the Yamato slipped from his grasp, even as he gave up everything for that amulet, Dante was–as much as it’s embarrassing to admit now–the light in his darkness.

If anything, Dante is a better father figure to Nero than Vergil could ever be. Even if he had been with Nero since his birth, he doubts he’d be as good for him as Dante would.

Sure, Dante is an idiot sometimes, dresses like a slob, lives off of junk food, and never keeps his place clean… but he’s still better for Nero than Vergil, the frigid man he is, could fathom being.

But… Vergil is Nero’s biological father. Nothing can change that. Not even their disastrous first meeting, resulting in gifting his son with grievous physical trauma in the form of an impromptu amputation, and a month-long coma. Nero has every right to never want to see him again, to want Vergil to stay as far away from him and the people around him. 

Yet, to his surprise, Nero seems to… want him in his life? 

He’s awkward and shy about it, but he checks up on them every now and then. Nero may claim it's to check with the main branch of Devil May Cry, but he could easily choose times Vergil is out if he didn’t want to see him; he always seems to put some effort into making some small talk with Vergil in his own unsure yet blunt way that belies his youth.

Vergil doesn’t know how to respond to his efforts, though. He was never an affectionate person, even as a child— that was Dante.

Their father was a busy man, but he cared for them at the very least; he was there during their early childhood, and was also affectionate despite his demonic nature. A good father.

(Another thing he can never live up to.)

Still, though, he was much older than Nero when his father had left, and never returned. So, his lacklustre knowledge was not particularly applicable to Nero, who had essentially never met him until he was already an adult.  

Dante offers minimal help. He seems torn between wanting to separate the two (with good reason), and staring at him as though trying to signal him to do something whenever Nero interacts with him. Vergil cannot interpret the dance that Dante does with his eyebrows whenever the latter happens, though, so it is not of much use. 

As it is, Dante is not present at the time when Nero visits. Vergil’s sitting in a spot under a large window that casts a ray of sunlight that illuminates the seat on the raggedy couch Dante never replaced. The sunlight is warm against his skin, having shed his jacket for once after a particularly messy commission. 

Nero knocks on the door before walking in, peeking inside the lobby, his eyes darting around until he spots Vergil. He has a plastic bag hooked around his new, unblemished arm.

“Hey, Vergil.”

“Hello, Nero,” Vergil responds. He internally grimaces at the stiff dialogue, but if Nero notices, he makes no indication. 

“Brought some food from Kyrie for you guys!” Nero exclaims, quickly turning to the kitchenette that has been sustained through none of Vergil nor Dante’s own efforts. Almost everything in the fridge has been from Nero, outside of the strawberry sundaes and frozen pizzas Dante buys in bulk in the freezer. 

Their kitchenette has only a kettle and a shabby microwave used exclusively for heating leftovers; the kettle is a new one, out of Vergil’s newfound interest in tea. 

Vergil lets his gaze fall back to the book. It’s one of Dante’s– a dusty old memoir of some demon hunter decades ago. It doesn’t seem the most factually accurate, but the author’s style of writing is rather captivating as they recount their journeys. 

Nero bustles around in the kitchenette. His heightened senses allows him to hear every action, including the “fuck” Nero mutters under his breath after a dull thud against a countertop. The crinkling of the plastic bag is obnoxiously loud, but Vergil makes no comment. 

After shutting the fridge, Vergil hears Nero roll up the plastic bag to shove it in one of the cupboards. He hears Nero pause, as though contemplating something, before a murmured “screw it” and footsteps closing in on him.

Vergil raises his head as Nero walks to the threshold between the kitchenette and the living room, leaning against the wall. He observes the young man scratch his cheek in nervousness, eyes averted. “I… got you some tea, by the way. They’re in the cupboard above the microwave.”

Vergil pauses, not allowing the stunned expression to show on his face. He quickly recovers, though, and dismisses him coolly– “Thank you. I will try them myself later.”

Nero meets his eyes briefly, eyes wide, before nodding quickly, “...Yeah. If you don’t like them, just throw them out. I’ll get you something else.” He says, mumbling the last part. 

“It's fine. I am not particular about those matters,” Vergil says, tilting his head. He doesn’t know why Nero would expect him to do that. Hell doesn’t offer many luxuries, so he takes what he can get. Now, in the human world, he is rather spoiled for choices. And a gift received is not one that can be thrown away so easily, especially not one from Nero. 

Nero seems to deflate a bit at his words. “Yeah,” he sighs, “Well. I’ll be going now. Tell Dante I said hi, I guess.” 

Vergil ignores the small niggling feeling in his chest as he watches Nero take his leave. “I will.”

Nero nods. 

And he’s gone.

Leaving him feeling oddly empty. Dissatisfied, perhaps. That could have gone better, Vergil supposes, but he’s also not sure how to do so. Nero seemed like he was expecting something, and that Vergil had fallen short. 

(Like always.)

He closes his eyes, feeling a migraine building behind his skull. He’s never lived up to expectations, has he? Only failed them, over and over. 

Mother’s expectations for him to be the man of the household after their father had left, to protect them…. and look how that turned out. With a house on fire, Mother gone, and Dante estranged from him forever. Even after their truce in Hell, they would never be as close as before. He’d done the very opposite of protecting him, of protecting his family.  

Father’s legacy. Raising the Temen-ni-gru, and still being bested by his brother. Leaving him behind. Being the very fool he had accused Dante of by challenging Mundus while yet to recover from his fight with Dante. 

Giving up so easily. Mundus made him unravel without much effort. A few months of torture and defeat, and he crumbles when his mind is invaded, taken over by the shadows. The Yamato breaking was simply the tipping point. A true signal of defeat, that he’d never live up to the expectations his father had when giving him the sword in the first place. 

He opens his eyes, massaging his temples in an effort to will the thoughts away. What a waste of time, spending it on things that he cannot change.

Vergil lets his gaze fall back down to the memoir, but he doesn't absorb any of the information he reads. He's more disturbed than he’d ever like to admit. 

Fortunately, for once, his brother interrupts his wayward train of thought by slamming open the door with a sharp grin on his face, eyes pinpointing Vergil immediately. “So! The kid was here just now. How did it go?”

He blinks. “As usual. He says ‘hi’.”

“Aw,” Dante flops gracelessly down onto the couch. He props a leg onto the table, to which Vergil glares at him for, but only receives an innocent grin. “So still awkward, eh? Where's all the flowery emotional words that you learned in your little story book?”

“It is a poetry collection.” He emphasizes with a hiss.

“Same thing,” Dante sighs, waving his hand bonelessly, “Well, I guess you have to take things slow.”

“...Actually…” Vergil hesitates, which makes Dante perk up— He spares a thought to think that his brother, with the look and his shaggy hair, looks remarkably like an old mutt that he’d seen once on the streets. 

“Yeah?” His brother prompts him when he trails off, lost in that stupid little thought.

“Nero gave me some tea today.” Vergil says, turning away from Dante’s incessant, probing look. He raises the memoir on his lap to cover his face as Dante laughs delightedly. 

“Aw, a gift! Are you going to give him anything in return?”

“Give him…?” Vergil pauses, turning the thought in his mind. A gift. He hadn’t thought of reciprocating Nero’s act. 

Dante seems to understand, somehow, maybe with that “sibling intuition” he liked to spout. He smiles at him– less boisterous than usual, but still unsuitably warm for whom it's directed to. 

“It's alright. You don't have to get one right now. Just think about it.” Dante says, patting Vergil’s shoulder. He suppresses an involuntary jerk at the sudden touch, but Dante quickly removes his hand from him as though also uncomfortable with the contact.

Makes sense. Ever since combining back together from Urizen and V, he’s run inhumanly cold, much like a corpse despite his new health. It would be obvious why anyone would be uncomfortable with touching him –if he allowed them to get close in the first place– and especially Dante, as a reminder of those past events.

Dante always runs hot. Maybe because he was a fiery youth, preferring to soak up the sunshine playing outside while Vergil preferred sitting in a cool alcove to read when they were kids, and that's translated to now, even when they are no longer so innocent and young.

Either way, his touch always feels burning hot, but not in a painful way like Mundus. The warmth seems to spread through his skin and diffuse into his bones, momentarily chasing away the chill that he always seems to be suffused in.

He doesn't mourn the lack of contact when Dante retracts his hand. 

 “What…” Vergil hesitates, “is Nero interested in?”

Dante blinks, "Huh? Kyrie, obviously.”

Vergil shoots him an unimpressed look. “As a gift.”

“Eh… I don't know.," He shrugs flippantly, scratching his scruffy beard, "I think he’ll be glad to receive anything at all from you.”

“I don't want to give him just ‘anything’,” Vergil frowns. “It needs to be something more.”

Dante grins at him. “That's surprisingly nice of you to say.”

“It’s just basic etiquette, you fool. Nothing more to it.” He denies, raising the book up again to cover the warmth rising on his face. 

“Uh huh,” Dante nods slyly, “So how are you going to know what to get him?”

“...”

Dante stares at him with that damned grin on his face.

“...” Vergil will not break under his brother's gaze, absolutely not.

Dante looks more and more mischievous as his eyes slowly curve into crescents.

“...I’ll ask him.”

Dante’s smile drops. He throws up his hands, groaning, “That's not a surprise!”

“Who said it had to be a surprise?” Vergil questions. 

“It will be more meaningful if it's a surprise!”

He thinks about it. “...But how else will I know what he wants?”

Dante blows a raspberry at him, “Psh, just ask around!”

“Didn't you just say not to?”

“No, dumbass, I meant ask around, not Nero. Ask the people around him. Like that Goldstein girl.”

“Nicoletta?” He vaguely remembers her from his time as V. Maybe it would be easier to make V talk to her. 

“I think she prefers Nico, but yeah.” 

“If I encounter her, I shall ask.” He resolves.

“Encounter?” Dante scoffs, “Where's the proactivity you showed before? Just call her.”

“...Hm.” Vergil thinks of his time as V. Nicoletta was a boisterous but ultimately well-intentioned individual that he had taken advantage of as well. Her van was always a welcome respite for his crumbling body and weary mind. 

“You got this. If you can raise a tower and a tree and kill thousands of people, you can certainly brave a phone call.”

Vergil sensed the hidden jab, but did not respond to the sudden drop in atmosphere. After all, Dante was right. And, there was no point in denial.

“Okay, I will.”

Dante nods. They sit there in silence for a while, only broken by the sound of Vergil flipping the page in his book, while Dante stares into space, seemingly thinking about something.

The silence is cut through by the shrill rrrrrrriiing! of the phone. Dante sighs, making a show of trudging to the desk to pick up the old phone. 

“Devil May Cry,” He says as he flops down onto the creaky chair behind the desk, throwing up his feet on the table. 

Vergil zones out a bit. Devil May Cry is an odd name to choose for any business, let alone a demon hunting one. Maybe it's a threat? A power play? That they'll make even the devils cry from fear? 

Dante’s had his shop ever since Temen-ni-gru, but he hadn't named it then. What made him name it that, he wonders. 

“Yeah, yeah. Kay. I’ll be there…” Dante looks at the clock, “...at five.” He listens a moment longer, before grunting and placing the telephone back onto its rack. 

Vergil tilts his head at him. “New commission?”

“Nah. Just Lady. I’ll be out for a day. You should call Nico in the meantime.” Dante says, shrugging his coat on. 

“Hm. I’ll see.”

“Get out of your comfort zone a bit. You had no problem as V,” Dante calls behind him as he walks out the door, shooting him a lazy wave. 

As V… 

He could make V handle it. Nicoletta might respond to him better than the person who sent his own son into a coma. 

He sighs. Why was he so uneasy? 

Vergil shuts the book gently, getting up and out of the sunlight to make his way to the telephone. 

He dials the number with practiced ease, before picking up the phone. 

It rings once.

Twice. 

Three times.

“Nico here! I'm prob’ busy at the moment, so leave a message! I’ll get back to ya soon!”

Beep. 

Vergil sighs. “Hello, Nicolet… Nico. This is Vergil speaking. I’d like to request your help with… a matter. Do call back when you are available.”

He hangs up, pinching the bridge of his nose. How troublesome.

How would the girl react? Hostility? It would be justified. But who else could he turn to? The only other person Nero was close to was that girlfriend of his, but Nero had made the completely sane decision of not introducing her to the man who had injured him so grievously in his own home. 

Within a few minutes, the phone rings. He picks it up, intoning a cool “Devil May Cry.” 

“Yo, V-man. I was just working on something earlier, my bad, yeah? Imagine my surprise when I got a voicemail from you, of all people!” 

“Ah. Nicoletta.”

“You called me Nico just fine earlier. …And don't say it like that, will ya? You sound exactly like my old man.”

Vergil notices the way her tone dips at the mention. He clears his throat, “My apologies. Nico,” He corrects.

“You got that down. So. Whatcha need?” There's the noise of something moving around in the background, like she’s working on something as she talks. 

“Tell me about Nero.”

There's a silence, a sudden thud, and a litany of curses that suddenly fill the speaker. 

“Ah, shit, ow, fuck, ahem. Uh, you said what? Nero?” Nico sounds both confused and astounded.

Vergil pauses as he waits for the background noise to lessen. “Yes. Nero. What does he like.”

“Wait wait wait, hol’ up, V-man. You don't mind that I call you that, right? Uh, anyway, whaddaya mean- Why are ya askin’ ‘bout Nero?”

He rubs his temples. His headache throbs slightly at the spikes in volume. “...I wish to give him a gift.”

“A gift, eh?” Nico repeats. Vergil can hear the gears turning in her head. 

“Yes. He gave something today. I need to reciprocate that.”

“So it's some kind of pride thing?" Nico's voice turns cool, "Eh, y’know, I still don’t forgive ya for what ya did to Nero.”

“…I did what I needed to do.”

“That ain't any of my business. You still hurt my best friend, man.”

“...I know.” He lowers his eyes, eyes catching the book. He had given Nero his poetry collection. What did he do with it? Thrown it out? Left it somewhere to collect dust? Forgotten about it, maybe. 

“Hm. Least you could do, I guess. Well, Nero wants you around for whatever reason so I guess I can help a bit. You gotta step up your game if ya wanna have a basic functioning relationship with your son.” 

Vergil doesn't respond.

“Well. I know the perfect gift for him. I was working on it earlier– did ya even know his birthday's in a month? But I need help getting the stuff for it, so, I guess we can work on it together.”

“What is it?”

“Nuh uh, you're in charge of the materials, not the makin’. I just need you to for some tests and getting samples. You should be able to handle that at the very least, eh?”

Deciding not to push her more, he agrees. “Alright,” but then, he thinks about it. “I need assurance of the quality, at the very minimum.”

Nico doesn't miss a beat. “Kyrie approves.”

“I see. I accept, then.”

“Alrighty. I’ll drop by tomorrow. See ya.” She promptly hangs up, and Vergil tiredly drops the phone onto its rack, leaning back in the creaky chair and smoothing his hair. Just one social interaction and he’s already drained…

Still, he lets the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Progress was being made. As to how well it works, he’ll have to see.

Chapter Text

“Do you really need to be touching me this much?”

“What, you uncomfortable with a bit of poking?”

“I could do with less,” Vergil huffs, tail swishing in the air behind him.

“Oi, no moving!” Nico says, slapping it with her glove to cause it to still.

Vergil lets out a low growl. The audacity…

Nico tuts, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “None of that now, you agreed to this.”

“And I am regretting that with every passing second.”

As it turns out, whatever Nico is working on for Nero requires some demonic samples. From him, no less. She didn't explain much, just told him to transform and sit there without moving, no matter how much she prods him with her sharp instruments.

It's still an uncomfortable feeling, especially due to the fact that she needs to poke between the gaps of his scales to even get far enough through the tough outer layer to take a blood sample.

“Say, V-man,” Nico starts, a glint in her eye which makes Vergil shift back a bit, “Do you shed?”

“Do I… what?” Vergil asks, bewildered. 

“Shed. You know,” She makes a vague gesture that does not, in fact, let him know what she is trying to convey. “If ya do, can I get a scale or two?”

Vergil takes a few seconds to process her words, before huffing, “I don't know. I don't stay long enough in this form to do so, I suppose.” 

"Aww." Nico makes a noise of disappointment.

He pauses before continuing on, “If you want scales…” He simply plucks out a few, a glowing blue substance trailing from the opening, before it closes and regrows. “Just take them. I regenerate fast enough anyway.”

Nico stares at him, then at the scales, and then at the closed wound that looked no different than before, “That’s cold, boss man,” She breathes, looking both vaguely horrified and delighted at the same time. 

Vergil tilts his head, the flames from his horns moving along with and casting light upon Nico’s features. “...I’m not sure what you mean. Just continue.” Did she forget his healing factor? How strange.

Nico takes the scales and puts them in a box with extreme care, which makes Vergil feel a tad odd at the treatment, but quickly dismisses it as Nico enthusiastically starts jabbing him with needles again.

“Woah…” 

Vergil ignores whatever Nico’s discovering, remaining still on the couch he’s lying—not sprawled!— on. His hands are folded over his stomach, and he is now, thankfully, human.

Not a sentiment he ever thought he’d think, but Nico, he has found out, has a way of motivating someone to explore new avenues of thinking. 

He closes his eyes to take a rest until whatever Nico wants from him next. This is all for Nero, he repeats to himself in his head. 

He’s close to dozing off when suddenly the door to the van slams open. 

“Oi, watch it!” Nico yells, not bothering to look up.

“Hm. Was wondering what you guys were doing in here.” Dante says, taking a seat across from Vergil.

“D-D-Dante?!” Nico yelps, peeking around the corner, eyes wide. Vergil scoffs at the difference in reception. He is not jealous of his brother, absolutely no way in Hell. He is a grown man who has no need for idolatry. 

“Hey, Nico.” Dante shoots her a lazy salute, but keeps his eyes focused on Vergil. “So, what are you guys up to? I’m afraid even I, the legendary devil hunter, would have trouble dealing with Vergil’s evil plans if you helped him.”

Nico seems torn between preening at the praise and stammering her defense that she would never do such a thing, but it only comes out in a strange mishmash of “No way! Th-thanks?”

“Why do you idolize this slob?” Vergil asks Nico, scoffing. 

“Hey!” Dante pouts at his remark. It is very disconcerting to watch a middle-aged man do that with his face. Even Nico seems to agree, since a look of… something crosses her face, like she doesn't want to show outward disgust in front of her idol, yet at the same time reconsidering if she really wants him as her idol in the first place. 

Dante rolls his eyes at their reaction, but his eyes sharpen as he leans forward, “So. You didn't deny the evil plans. Should I be worried?”

“No,” Vergil responds serenely, as if there was no way he’d ever do something remotely evil.

Obviously, his brother does not believe him, because he raises his brows and shoots him a skeptical look. 

Nico, thankfully, interjects quickly, “V-man’s helping with Nero’s birthday gift!” 

Dante blinks, attention turning away from Vergil. “Huh. Birthday gift…” He trails off, stroking his chin.

“You didn't know?” Vergil asks his brother, crossing his arms. 

“Uh. No, I knew.” Dante says, not particularly convincingly. 

Vergil raises a brow. 

Dante holds his hands up, “I swear.”

Vergil raises his other brow. 

“Okay, okay. Fine. It might have slipped my mind,” he concedes. 

“Hmph.”

“Wipe that smug smile off your face, brother. I’ll bet that you didn't know either.”

“Yep, that's why we're working together,” Nico calls from behind the counter she's working at. 

“Oh? Making something for Nero?”

“Yes, but it's a secret,” Nico winks, “Still have to do more research to see if it’ll even work, though.”

“Well, now I’m even more curious as to what you're making,” Dante despairs, jokingly. 

Vergil tunes out their dialogue and closes his eyes again. Using the transformation for so long had expended more of his energy than he had expected, especially in a non-combative environment. 

Demons thrive in battle; that is a fact. He isn't completely sure what Nico wants to do with his magic samples and scales, but he has an idea of what could be possible if she were successful. 

It isn't the first time humans have tried to harness demonic power. He never had any interest. But now, that's changed. For his son, for Nero, he will venture into the unknown. 

He doesn't know what Nico will do with the knowledge after she makes Nero’s gift. The only reassurances he has are the fact that Nico has given no reason to distrust her and that Nero trusts her. 

And that's good enough. 

He tunes back into the background noise, but quickly realizes that Dante and Nico are no longer in the van. They are outside, conversing quietly. Fortunately, his senses are sharp enough to glean what they are talking about.

“He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?” Dante asks.

“V-man? Nah, he’s cool.”

“...If he does anything suspicious–”

“Yeah, I’ll let ya know. But honestly, he ain't that bad.”

“You'd think differently if you knew everything he did.”

“I got a pretty good idea. Doesn't mean I think he's in the right or forgive him for stealing Nero’s arm like that, but…”

“But?” Dante sounds incredulous.

“He reminds me of V, y’know?”

“They're the same person.”

“I know that. Nero told me what happened on the top of that wacky tree. It’s just, V wasn't all bad, and V-man ain't terrible to be around either.”

There's a lull in conversation, like Dante's contemplating her words. 

“You sure it isn't just because it's a great research opportunity for you?” He finally asks. 

Nico laughs, “That too,” She admits. She sounds remarkably less starstruck than a while before, but Vergil understands. It’s hard to keep up the respect for someone you idolize who doesn’t exactly meet your expectations when you interact with them for longer.

“Well,” Dante concludes, “If he gives you trouble, let Nero or me know.”

“I gotchu,” Nico says. Vergil can visualize the finger guns she’s likely giving Dante, and only shakes his head. Of course she’d be so casual about working with a mass murderer.

As he hears Dante’s footsteps recede, and Nico opening the door, he lies prone and folds his arms, feigning sleep. Nico seems to take care not to disturb him as she creeps by carefully, which is a foolish sentiment, but one he can find himself appreciating nonetheless. 

He thinks about Dante’s words. 

Dante is justified in being cautious of Vergil. For all he knows, Vergil is power-hungry for the sake of nothing but getting stronger.

But that isn’t it. He needs to get stronger because he knows what happens when he’s weak. 

He knows too intimately.

Dante will not understand. He doubts that his brother would ever understand his struggle for strength.

To put it simply, Dante is a genius. Plain and simple, his younger twin brother is more talented than him. 

Since a child, Dante has had an affinity for weapons. For fighting with them and easily getting the hang of it. 

It used to embarrass Vergil. When they would spar with their wooden sticks, they were evenly matched, because they had grown up learning with them. Vergil’s reflexes were fast, but they weren’t so much better then Dante that he would be able to catch his brother off guard easily.

Dante was talented in the way that any weapon he picked up he could use like a master. He understood weapons, even non-devil arms that didn't have consciousness. He could use them instinctively, innovatively. 

Dante loved fighting. He was extremely passionate about it, but he didn’t like to practice and hone that talent into skill. 

He liked sparring with Vergil. To be honest, his brother didn’t even seem to like fighting for the sake of winning. Somehow, that was worse than if he was simply fighting to prove his superiority. 

Vergil liked to win. He fought for purpose. He knew that, ever since their father sat him down in the office they rarely entered and spoke to him firmly, “If I ever leave, Vergil, you’re the man of the house. I trust you to keep them safe, okay?” 

And Sparda gave him a long, wrapped sword, “Learn the basics before using this.”

So he practiced, studied theory and tried that out. He got frustrated sometimes, and Dante would come over, take a look, and execute the move without much trouble. 

It motivated Vergil to work harder, but he couldn’t help but feel inadequate, unable to catch up to his brother. 

He stayed up at night, snuck out after his brother fell asleep, snoring. He held the wooden sword and practiced the move over and over until his hands were red and raw. But it would heal.

The next day, he pulled it off. Dante grinned at him, “I knew you could do it!” as their mother smiled at them, applauding. 

And that would repeat with the other moves he learned. But as he learned more, Dante wanted to fight more. So he would fight with Dante during the day and practiced twice as hard at night.

Sleep deprivation for a young half-demon had a noticeable impact. His father noticed, and stopped him. 

“Vergil, you don’t need to practice this often,” He admonished gently.

“But I am supposed to protect them,” He protested.

His father sighed helplessly, “If I’m not here anymore. But I won’t be leaving anytime soon. You’re very mature, but I want you to live out your childhood, Vergil.” His large, clawed hand ruffles his meticulously spiked hair, gentle and comforting. 

Vergil believed his father. How could he not? So he slowed down. He pursued things other than practicing. He fell in love with words, with poetry. His first prized possession was his William Blake poetry collection.

He lived life as his father suggested. For a few years, at least.

When the demons came, he regretted it. He didn't like to doubt his father, but the truth was obvious: he failed. His father's expectations: To be strong. To keep them safe.

But he couldn’t. He was too weak.

While he wandered, alone, unaware of his brother's survival, he mused it over.

If he had been stronger, he would have been able to protect them. 

If he was stronger, those demons wouldn't have pinned him to the ground, unable to move, his weak body wracked with pain.

If he was stronger, he wouldn't have had to watch the house go up in flames, burning. A fire reflected in his wide eyes. 

There was no chance of survival for them. And for him, he wouldn't, either, if it weren't for Yamato.

Yamato, which father said to learn before using.

He was too weak. He could only save himself. He wasn't strong enough to protect anyone but himself. 

But Yamato spoke to him. He held it close, the residue signature having enough of his father's magic to feel as though he was still by his side, gentle and there. 

“Without power, you cannot protect yourself, let alone others,” She whispers to him when he’s consumed by his sorrow, unable to move on. “Get strong enough to protect yourself. To watch your own back. And then, you can think about everything else.”

It was a distraction tactic, he knows. But it's what kept him afloat in his grief. So he devoted everything to power, to strength, to protecting himself. 

(So much so that he lost sight of his original goal.)

He manages to catch a few minutes of shut-eye before Nico wakes him up, bright-eyed, with a question:

“Say, how do you summon that blue sword of yours?” 

Vergil tilts his head from where he’s now seated upright on the couch. “The Yamato?” He asks, thumbing the katana by his side. 

And wasn’t it a relief to have her by his side after all this time. 

(Even despite the way you retrieved it?)

…Although he does feel a little sorry that he needed to injure Nero to get it back, he cannot help the relief that overpowers his guilt. 

The Yamato is his. His father’s power, now his power. It was an extension of his own being. When the Yamato broke, it was like losing a part of his soul. 

Though that could also have been Mundus messing with his brain, the Yamato fragmenting into pieces was something that haunted him for a very long time. 

Even now, he is on edge about it being separated from him.

In a way, the Yamato is literally a part of him. He stored so much of his own power in it that his father’s magical trace was like a drop in the ocean, now. 

And when it was gone, it was disorienting. Painful. He was unbalanced. Like he was the one missing a limb. 

When he had finally reassembled himself after who knows how long, he staggered after the trail of his own power, until it led him to a garage with a man in it. 

He was fragmenting—like the Yamato, a tear in his soul that bled everywhere he went— when he found his power in the arm of a stranger. 

He didn’t stop to think who it was. 

Why they had the Yamato. 

He didn’t even hear Nero’s sounds of pain when he ripped (what was his—) the Yamato from its holder. 

He didn’t stop to wonder why the Yamato cried out as he left, his son bleeding and shouting and hurt.

Nico snaps in front of his face, breaking him out of his brief trance. “No! I mean the glowy one.”

The ‘glowy one’… ?

“Ah. This?” He opens his hand in a way reminiscent of Dante summoning his newly obtained weapon. A shimmering blue condenses in his hand into a sword. 

“Yes!” Nico exclaims, delighted, “How do you do it?”

Vergil hums, “Simply condensing magic power. Same with these,” he summons little blue daggers that swirl around his head, “And these,” more blue swords line up behind him.

Nico pokes one. “Ooh. Solid. And can you only make weapons?”

Vergil frowns. “What else would I need to make? They serve their purpose.” At Nico’s looks, though, he answers, “But to answer your question, I can.”

“Let’s see it?”

Vergil summons his Doppelgänger, who stands still as Nico pokes it as well. 

Once she’s satisfied, he dismisses it. Nico comments, “Well, that’s still something you use in battle, so what about something else?”

Vergil falters, apprehensive. His magic swirls in his hand as he remains conflicted; it condenses, and a teal blue copy of his poetry collection that V had held before materializes in his grasp.

Nico holds a hand out, and he passes it to her. Her eyes widen when she flips through the pages and notices the legible text faithfully copied from his memories. 

“How long does this stay solid?” She asks, running her finger down a sentence, tracing the winding cursive letters. 

“As long as there is magic power running through it. Or until I dismiss it.”

"Ooh. Can you recharge it?” 

He nods, “Yes, though it requires more effort than simply remaking it.” 

Nico puts a finger on her chin, tapping, “Is it considerably more? And how do you regenerate your magic, anyway?”

“Not particularly, but it is a noticeable amount that most demons that have learned to use their power efficiently will regard it as a waste,” He hums, “As for how, it is simple: absorbing energy. Over time, it can be restored from absorbing ambient energy that naturally replenishes, but a more efficient method…”

“Yes?” Nico leans in, eyes gleaming.

He smirks. “Blood,” he declares, amused as she reels back.

“Uh… Does- does it have to be human?” She asks anxiously.

“Of course not,” he scoffs, “Anything with blood works. After all, blood is the source of magic. It’s just that human blood is a lot more pure in energy than demonic blood that has been mixed with whatever dirty ambient energy they absorb.”

Nico ponders his words, “So, how, exactly, do you absorb it? Your skin?”

Vergil hums, “I suppose. Humans are unable to absorb magic, so it is much more difficult in this form. However, in my other form, I would say it is like absorbing it through skin, yes.”

“But your skin is… scales…” She makes a realization, and it’s like a lightbulb lights up above her head. “I have to try that out!”

Vergil watches her rummage around, darting between samples with excitement. He checks the time– 8 PM. 

He stands up and readies himself to leave. She calls to him, “Thanks for your help, V-man, but I gotta do some tests before we can move on. Can you get me some demon blood?”

“Demon blood? As in, mine?”

“No, no, lower-level demons are fine.”

“Alright. When do you need them by?”

“Oh, whenever’s fine.”

“Hm. I will see what I can do.” He says, rubbing Yamato’s hilt as he leaves the van. “See you, Nico.”

“Seeya!”

As he strides back towards the shop, he observes the other buildings on the street. There’s a bar next block that Dante has mentioned frequenting in the past. A bus stop near the intersection he passes. 

A run-down record shop that barely ever has anyone manning it– it seems the owner has been sick for a while, he recalls Dante mentioning. 

A… strip club. He averts his eyes from the provocative imagery on the windows and the flashing lights from within, loosening his vest at the sudden heat that rises to his skin. He quickens his pace, eyes on the semi-hidden shop at the end of the road. 

The bell to Devil May Cry rings as he enters. Dante doesn’t look up from where he’s immersed in one of his deplorable magazines, likely having sensed his magic presence before he even stepped foot inside. He merely calls out a lazy “Hey, Verg!” as Vergil beelines upstairs. 

He goes through the motions of a night routine. 

He changes clothes into more ‘appropriate’ nightwear that Dante had practically forced upon him after seeing him sleep in his regular clothes.

He brushes his teeth, noticing that his fangs seem especially prominent– it seems the long time he spent in his demonic form left traces behind. His eyes are also bluer than his usual pale silver, swirling with leftover energy. His pupils are a bit more slitted than normal as well.

The shower is always hotter than their water bill can afford to be, as Dante complains, but Vergil finds it to be one of the few human inventions worth praising. The hot water and the steam surrounding him chase away the chill in his bones, however briefly, and it is almost akin to an embrace around his human form.

Vergil sighs when he notices his expensive luxury shampoo seems lighter than usual. His damned brother must have used it. He’d have to chew him out for that later. 

Soap glides over his pale, smooth skin. His body feels almost unnatural, the way it is unmarked, unblemished. 

Vergil has no markings of chains around his neck and limbs. He has no cracks running down his face. He is, in his physical form, completely free from Nelo Angelo. He is free from Mundus.

…So why does he still feel so cold?

Why does it feel like he's still powerless?

Chapter Text

“I think you should leave the Yamato.”

“...Leave Yamato,” Vergil echoes blankly.

Dante nods. He doesn't seem to be joking.

“...Why?” Vergil asks. He feels a dull sense of shock at both the question and the audacity to ask him to leave her behind. 

If he were someone more inclined to, he'd laugh at the joke. Because that had to be a joke, right?

Dante shifts on his feet, “You're going to Fortuna with Nico,” he starts.

“Yes.”

“So you don't need the Yamato,” His brother reasons, as though it made any sense.

Vergil crosses his arms with the Yamato secured between, sending a silent message of ‘really?’ with just his eyes. 

Dante, undeterred, steps closer to him, “Just think about it. Nero’s invited you over, to his house. To meet Kyrie.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’d be calm with you around his lover if you had Yamato with you the entire time?”

“...” Vergil contemplates this. 

Unfortunately, his brother had a point. He knew that the girl had been in the house when he tore off his son's arm. 

The Yamato, having been Nero’s arm and all, would be impolite to bring and dangle in front of them, reminding them of their tormentor. 

…It's unlikely Nero would want to make amends with him if she made an enemy of her, as well.

However, the Yamato isn’t just a weapon to him, she’s more than that; she is his power, a part of him stored within it.

But still. He doesn't really need it, does he? He doesn't have to rely on it so much to survive; this isn't Hell.

His brother shoots him a final look, “Just… Think about what you want to do,” he says, beginning to walk away, “With your life, and your… family.”

Family. Vergil doesn't show any surprise on his face.

Family. Because at the end of the day, that's what Nero wants, doesn't he?

From V’s memories, he knows this:

Nero has lived with humans his whole life. 

He grew up with human morals and human ideals. 

He is a morally upright boy whose brash exterior belies a caring heart. 

And…

He wants his family. 

After all, why else would he care about someone who hurt those he loved? Why would he care about someone who has done so much harm?

If not for their blood relation, he has no doubt Nero would have fought him to his last breath. 

There is a high chance that Nero had likely believed Dante to be his father before. And Vergil has hurt his brother in so many ways before, not just counting the ones Nero has seen. 

The boy cares for Dante– easily more than he cares for Vergil. It's no blind guess to believe that Nero would want to avenge Dante if Vergil weren't related to him.

If he still wants Vergil as part of his family despite all he's done, despite Nero’s morals, Vergil should make an effort to meet him at least halfway. It would be unbecoming otherwise.

He holds the Yamato in his hands, staring down at its matte sheath and rubbing the sageo rope between his fingers. 

It's a comforting feeling to him, one well-practiced and almost instinctive; soothing his disrupted thoughts and lulling his mind back into the calm it should be in.

“Should I leave you?” He asks her quietly. 

“It’s not leaving if you’re coming back,” The Yamato whispers back, her ghostly voice an uncanny facsimile of his mother’s tone. Yet, it’s comforting. After all, she was his only companion for most of his life. He trusts her.

Familiar and reliable. Understandable. 

He would never leave her behind. Every rational thought tells him not to. After all, she was the only one there when he needed someone, anyone. It wouldn’t be right to leave her, now, after just having gotten her back, right?

He doesn’t take her to Fortuna.

Every step he takes away from her feels like a pressing weight on his shoulders. The weight of leaving his most trusted companion behind should be crushing, but he cannot help but breathe clearly despite the knot in his heart. It’s a strange feeling he is unable to decipher.

Nico waves at him from her van, ready for the trip. They have finished Nero’s gift, and it is truly a work of genius engineering on Nico’s part, he can admit. It takes a certain mind that Vergil respects to accomplish such feats as a human. 

Vergil thinks Nero will appreciate it too, but he is torn between wanting him to understand while also not, because the underlying message is rather embarrassing for him to admit to out loud.

He may be making an effort to meet him halfway, but there are some things that go better off unsaid.

Such as wanting to protect his grown son.

Nico lights a cigarette in the van despite Vergil’s glare, shrugging, “A girl’s gotta do what she gotta do.”

“What is the point of those death sticks outside of harming your body?”

“Helps ya deal with shit easier,” Nico says bluntly, puffing out a smoke ring as she drives. “Calms you down, makes things more tolerable. Plus, the nicotine makes it hard to put down.”

Vergil frowns disapprovingly, “Why do that instead of facing your fears?”

Nico snorts, “You’re one to talk, V. I know you got problems of your own too.”

He doesn't flinch. But she is right, of course, despite his reluctance to admit so. Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare were proof of that, things he tried to shed instead of face.

They had disappeared, but the memories still persist. It stings less now, though; he supposes he should be grateful to the embodiments of those terrible times.

So he doesn't respond to her, instead diverting his attention to the scenery out of the window. 

There aren't a lot of people milling about at this hour. They had left early to reach Fortuna at the time they had agreed on.

“So why ain't Dante coming along, again?” Nico asks abruptly, curious.

He shakes his head, “I’m not sure,” he lowers his voice, “Though between you and me, I think that it has something to do with not having Nero’s present prepared yet.”

Nico laughs, “Ah, that guy never has. Is he gonna find transportation by himself then?”

“Yes. He has his bike.”

Her eyes light up at the mention of the devil arm, “Right! Cavaliere, was it?” She stares at him pleadingly, “Can you ask him to let me see how it works?”

Vergil turns away. “Ask him yourself.”

Nico sighs, but shrugs and continues to focus on the road like she should have been, occasionally tapping her cigarette out the window to dislodge ash.

Vergil's mind wanders back to his brother. While he isn't surprised by Dante’s laziness and procrastination, he doesn't feel like that's the only reason why he stayed behind.

Plus, the fact that the Yamato was still at the shop…

He discards those thoughts. Dante wouldn't do anything to the Yamato. After all, even (or rather, especially) with the sheer number of weapons his brother had, he was an expert in handling them and treating them well. 

Speaking of his weapons, though… He remembers the various weapons that Dante had before, ever-changing. Where had they all gone? He makes a note to ask Dante at some point; it might be interesting to study to pass the time.

There's a lot to catch up on after decades of separation. Things that cannot be said, things that should have been experienced together, things that happened due to Vergil's past actions— his past mistakes.

The scenery outside the window blurs into melancholic grey, rain pitter-pattering against the glass. Nico reaches out and turns on the music to play some soft, unobtrusive tunes. It is… acceptable. Though not the classical he prefers, it is light and calm.

They sit in silence, with only the sound of rain and the van’s engine and windshield wipers accompanying the music. It's not exactly awkward, but simply a wordless agreement to not speak for the time being, both caught up in their own thoughts.

When he had nothing to do or too much to think about, he would study the blade that had stayed by his side since that fateful day. Practice the movements, honing his skills. 

But without the Yamato, he cannot distract himself from his tumultuous thoughts. He can't classify them as 'worries', per se, but they make him uneasy. There's a lot— concerns about Nero, about Dante, about meeting Nero's lover, about the past, about the future, about the present... He isn't sure how much time has passed as they toss around in his head.

Thankfully, Nico saves him by stopping at a gas station. She disposes of her cigarette and fills the gas, a hand propped up on her hip as she calls through the window, “Yo, want anything from the convenience store?”

Vergil steps out to stretch his legs. “I shall give it a check.”

“Gotcha.”

The convenience store is empty except for an old man behind the counter, who looks at his outfit strangely but turns back to reading his newspaper.

He peruses the selection, but there's not much he’s interested in. 

That is, until he spots something familiar.

“I’ll take two of these.”

The man grunts, “Twenty bucks.”

Vergil frowns, “Do not try to fool me with your prices.”

The old man crinkles his nose in dissatisfaction, pointing the now rolled up newspaper at him, “You ain’t sparing any change for an old man like me? If your clothes are any indication, you should be able to afford it.”

Vergil crosses his arms, “Lower the price.”

“Fine. Fifteen.” The man grumbles, holding a hand out. Vergil frowns but relents and drops the exact amount into his hand, making sure not to touch him. “See you never,” the man comments absently as Vergil takes his leave.

When he enters the van again, Nico takes one look at what he bought and bursts into laughter.

“What?” Vergil frowns, cupping his strawberry sundaes closer to him.

“No, nothing, it’s just… Haha! Y’all are always fighting when together, but when you’re apart, you guys are like this…” 

“Do you want one or not?” 

Nico perks up, “Oh shit, for real? Thanks man!” and deftly snatches one. “I didn’t even know that they sold these in convenience stores!”

Vergil merely hums as he removes the plastic lid. With a simple pinch of his fingers, he forms a blue spoon from his magic, scooping a small amount of the sundae to taste.

He hears a crash and turns to see Nico guffawing again, pointing at his spoon, “I was just about to offer you one, but it looks like you got it!” 

“Magic has very practical applications,” he says simply, going for another spoonful of sundae. “I don’t understand Dante’s love for this.”

Nico, on the other hand, is devouring it. “Whaddaya mean? It tastes pretty good for a convenience store sundae.”

“It’s too sweet.” 

She opens her hand, “If you ain’t eating it, hand it over.”

Vergil holds the sundae close, “I paid for this.”

“Oh, how much was it?” Nico asks, curious.

“The owner tried to say it was twenty bucks, but I made him lower it to fifteen.”

Nico instantly understands with a shit-eating grin, “So you threatened him over strawberry sundae ? Dante won’t be sure if he should compliment or condemn you for that.”

“I did not threaten him,” Vergil says calmly, “I simply asked.”

“Uh huh.”

“What is unbelievable about that?”

Nico gives him a look, “Well, you’re, you.”

Vergil frowns, but accepts the answer anyway.

“Anyway,” Nico says, throwing the sundae container out the window and scoring into the trash can, “Time to go.”

The van zooms off. Vergil holds the sundae tightly to prevent it from splattering, slowly eating the oversweetened dessert.

As they roll up to a quaint house, one vaguely familiar, Vergil spots Nero, who is standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets, headphones on.

“Yo, we’re here!” Nico calls out the window, beaming.

Nero rolls his eyes, hanging his headphones around his neck, “Yeah, I have eyes.”

Nico simply sticks out her tongue as she rolls up the driveway.  She parks and hops out of the van to slap Nero's shoulder good-naturedly, before heading inside the house with a yawn, “Imma take a nap, don't kill each other!”

Nero shouts something back at her as Vergil steps out of the van, an odd feeling in his chest as he watches the two argue. 

He still hasn't adjusted to Yamato’s absence, especially now in a familiar place with a much different context associated with it than before. 

“Uh. Hey, Vergil.” Nero says, face pinched. He drops the look when Vergil turns his gaze towards him, standing up straight like a soldier. 

“Hello, Nero.”

Without much better to say, Nero mumbles, “Well, let's just go inside.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, walking toward the door that Nico has left ajar.

Vergil follows behind him with steady steps, leaving a respectable distance between but not trailing behind him. 

When he enters, he smells something that is very appetizing. 

“Take off your shoes… Please.” Nero requests, changing into some slippers and dropping another pair in front of Vergil.

Vergil blinks at him. 

Oh well. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, he thinks, before bending and unbuckling each buckle on his boot covers. There's another awkward moment as Nero stands there, watching him in silence broken only by the clicks of the belts unlatching. 

Thankfully, his actions are methodical and efficient enough to quickly change into the slippers Nero had offered. Nero nods approvingly and leads him into the living room.

It's a small place, but cozy with a fire in the fireplace that casts the room in a warm, soft glow. It is the perfect place to curl up and read a book in, he cannot help thinking.

Nero clears his throat. 

“Kyrie’s with the kids right now, she’ll be back in a bit,” He says.  

“Kids? I was not aware that you two had procreated.” More than once, at that.

Nero flushes a bright red. “No no no! It isn’t like that! And please don’t say ‘procreated’,” He stumbles over his words in a rush to get them out, covering his red face to no avail.

“...What is it, then?”

His son hesitates, “They’re orphans. No parents. We operate an orphanage for them— Kyrie, mostly, since I work with the mobile branch of Devil May Cry nowadays.”

“I see,” he says neutrally. There's an awkward silence, words unspoken about Vergil's own absence in his son's life.

Nero’s eyes dart around before he raises an arm to cough into his fist, “Uh, anyways…” 

Knock knock knock.

“Lemme get that.” Nero stands up quickly, walking to the door. 

“Nero! Happy birthday!” A woman’s voice says. A brief shuffling of fabric– likely a hug. 

“Happy birthday,” A startlingly familiar voice says. Vergil takes care not to react to the presence of the demon that shares both his mother’s appearance and his own past relations. 

A human woman walks in. He has seen her before, a long time ago… at the top of the Temen-ni-gru? His memory is a bit blurry, but he recalls her mismatched eyes and her strong personality that she displays by immediately turning a gun on him. 

“You,” She hisses.

A blue sword almost forms at his fingertips, but he’s surprised by Nero stepping in front of him. 

“Move out of the way, Nero,” The woman says, “He might be your father, but he’s still a lying demon.”

“Hold on, Lady. He’s…” Nero hesitates, searching for his words, “peaceful.” 

He immediately seems to regret his words, with good reason, too, because everyone in the room shoots him a disbelieving look. 

“Okay, that’s not the word I was looking for,” Nero admits sheepishly, “But can we just calm down and have some tea before we mess up Kyrie’s living room? She’s looking forward to meeting Vergil.” 

Lady crosses her arms after reluctantly tucking the gun back to its harness, “You can’t always use Kyrie as an excuse.”

“I don’t always –”

The demon with his mother’s appearance shoots an amused look at Vergil as they argue. He stares back impassively, hiding the turmoil within his chest. 

It seems Dante had let her live despite her appearance and the purpose for which Mundus had created her. An interesting choice, but not an unexpected one. After all, despite his brother’s power, Vergil knew that he was soft-hearted at his core. It is likely that he found some redeeming qualities in her, even if she was a servant of Mundus.

Lady finally relents with a little more coaxing and bribery from Nero and sits down in front of Vergil. Her hand hovers near her gun as she glares daggers at him.

Nero rubs his temples and sighs, “Please, guys. Don’t kill each other.”

“Anything for the birthday boy,” The blonde demon smiles.

“Thanks, Trish. I’ll go make some tea,” Nero says tiredly.

He leaves. There’s a tense silence before Lady speaks tersely, “I’ve got my eye on you. People like you don’t change that easily.” 

Vergil says impassively, “That’s true.”

“You’ve already hurt all your remaining family members. You should be fucking grateful they’re giving you so many chances despite your actions,” she snarls, “But knowing you, you’ll just abandon them at the slightest opportunity for more ‘power’.”

She has a point, but Vergil isn’t going to show weakness in front of her so easily. “That is not my goal anymore,” He says plainly.

Lady huffs, “Whatever. Guys like you can’t be reasoned with. Just take this as a warning,” She says, eyes piercing, ”When you mess up, I won’t hesitate.”

Vergil isn’t particularly bothered by her threat– there's not much people can do to kill him at his current standing, without being Dante into the question.

“Now, now, Lady,” Trish coaxes, “Leave him be. Let's play nice for Nero’s birthday.”

“Tch.” Lady rolls her eyes but relents from staring at him, instead inspecting her gun. 

Nero breaks the silence by walking in, holding a tea tray and placing it between them. He pours into one of the fine china cups, spilling a bit in the beginning before filling it up and handing the cup to Vergil.

He picks it up delicately, careful and blowing on the tea before tasting it. A mild taste spreads over his tongue. 

It's rather refreshing compared to the sugary monstrosity of the sundae he had only barely finished before arrival. 

He voices his opinion, “This tea isn't bad.”

Nero lights up, a smile spreading on his face, “Really? It's Oolong tea that I had shipped from this place in China, I wasn't sure if you’d like it–” He cuts himself off, flushing pink at his own enthusiasm. 

Lady has an unreadable look in her eyes, while Trish hides an amused smile behind her hand.

“I do,” Vergil says to reassure him. 

It doesn't seem to work, because Nero still stammers, “Uh, that's great! I’m glad!” with a face red enough he could almost see the steam rising off his skin.

Trish chuckles. “Now I'm curious as to what it tastes like.”

Nero manages to snap out of his daze and pours her a cup, to which she accepts graciously.

“Lady?” He asks, but the woman in question shakes her head. 

Nero sits down, hands on his knees as he watches Trish nod appreciatively, “Pretty good. You have good taste. How do you like it?”

“Oh, I haven't tried it yet…” Nero says, grabbing a cup.

“Allow me,” Vergil interrupts, grasping the teapot gently and pouring into the cup Nero holds in still shock.

“Th-Thanks.” 

Lady looks away from them, pulling out a cloth to wipe down another one of her guns. Trish leans back on the couch, whispering into Lady’s ear: “I know how you feel, dear, but Vergil isn't Arkham.”

“I know,” Lady responds quietly. Nero doesn't seem to catch it, busy blowing on the tea in his cup to prevent himself from burning his tongue.

“Give him a chance. For Nero and Dante, at the very least,” Trish says. She knows he's listening– she shoots him a meaningful look, like telling him ‘ You owe me for this’ . 

“He’ll hurt them again.”

“And they will recover. But will you take Nero’s chance of having a father and Dante having his brother back away from them? Can you?”

Lady doesn't speak for a while. Reluctantly, she sighs, “...Fine. I’ll see how it goes.”

“That's all I ask from you, dear.”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Nero questions, furrowing his brows, “ You guys better not try and fight here. Blood is hard to get out of the couch.”

“Don't worry, we aren't,” Trish says.

At the same time, Lady says, “I won't. At least not now.”

“Real reassuring,” Nero sighs. 

A beat passes..

“Where's Dante?” Lady asks.

“He's taking Cavaliere over,” Vergil replies to her question. She obviously doesn't appreciate it, because she turns away from him.

Nero shrugs helplessly, “Who knows. He’s probably busy.”

Vergil tilts his head at the bitterness he hears in Nero’s voice. “He's probably getting you a last-minute gift.”

Nero’s eyes widen, “A gift? For me?”

“Who else?” Vergil asks, frowning.

The youngest in the room scratches his cheek as he mumbles, “Oh. I just didn’t expect that, that’s all.”

Vergil tilts his head at that. “Has he not given you anything in the past?” He procrsses this— it doesn’t seem likely that the brother he knew would do that, but, did he really know Dante as well as he thought?

“No! No, it’s just that, uh, he’s normally busy around this time. And he usually does a favour for me and says it's for my birthday? So I don’t expect anything.”

Lady cracks her knuckles, “That idiot…”

“Hold on. Did you ever tell him when your birthday was?” Trish cuts in. 

Nero blinks. He slowly shakes his head, “Now that you mention it…”

Lady stops and buries her head in her hands. “…Maybe you’re just both idiots…”

Vergil crosses his arms, ‘So he was lying about even knowing it in the first place.'

Nero chuckles awkwardly.

Trish nods, “Do you know when his birthday is? Have you ever asked each other?”

“...No…” Nero wilts.

“I underestimated how bad your whole family’s communication skills are. Especially you,” Lady says, catching Vergil’s frown. 

“My communication skills are fine.”

“Biggest lie of the year contender right there,” Heterochromic eyes bore into him, deadpan. “How many problems do you think could have been avoided if you and Dante just talked more often? How many deaths?”

He remains quiet. Nero is looking away from him. The blonde devil is merely giving him a knowing smile. 

Lady seems satisfied enough by his silence. She stands up, stretching, “Anyways! I’m pretty hungry. Nero, you got anything?”

“Oh!” Nero perks up, “Yes, I’ll make some. Want to help?”

“Sur-” 

“Actually,” Trish interjects smoothly, holding onto Lady’s shoulder, “We need to discuss something. How about Vergil helping you instead?” 

The two freeze. 

Nero coughs, “Uh…. If you, if you want,” He says, glancing at Vergil.

Vergil nods after a beat, “I do not mind.”

“Great, have fun!” Trish waves, steering a confused Lady to sit back down. 

The two remaining look at each other, Nero with an anxious look plain as day, and Vergil with a careful mask of indifference. 

In fact, he feels unsure. His cooking skills were not much– Hell didn’t offer much that could be considered edible in the first place, outside of other demons. Even then, there was no time nor space to cook anything. 

He doubts Nero wants to serve everyone raw demon flesh. 

“Well, uh, kitchen’s this way,” Nero leads him to a modest kitchen. Much larger than the kitchenette at Devil May Cry, of course. More furnished, too.

“What are you making?”

“Well, Kyrie said to leave the main course to her, so I guess I’ll just make something small,” Nero answers. He heads to a door by the kitchen, “A bunch of stuff we grew are ready for harvest, so maybe something with those…”

Vergil leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, as he watches Nero harvest their spoils. The backyard is extremely large, with a garden by the fence growing various herbs and vegetables. 

He’s reminded of simpler times. Of sunny days in Redgrave, the breeze ruffling his clothes as he leaned against a tree, reading. Until Dante would interrupt him and ask for a fight, which would always end up with them muddy and bruised. But it would be fine, because their mother would call them in for lunch, wipe their faces, and give them a kiss on the forehead each that would soothe whatever pain or discontent they might have.

What would she think of Nero?

She’d be proud of him too, no doubt. Nero was a fine young man that had grown up without him. He had a life he crafted for himself. A home. He was strong enough to protect his own values and the people he cared about. To stop a decades old sibling rivalry, as Nero had called it. 

As Nero picks tomatoes, carrots, and a variety of leafy greens, Vergil shifts uncomfortably against the doorframe. The entire sight is too nostalgic, too peaceful. His hand drops to his side for the soothing comfort of a familiar motion, but the Yamato is not there. 

(You left her behind.)  

Nero returns, an armful of ingredients hauled in his hands. His eyes follow the movement, catching on the twitch of Vergil’s fingers.

“...You left the Yamato?” Nero’s eyes widen, disbelief colouring his voice.

Vergil follows his line of sight to his own empty hand. “Yes. …There was no need for her, here.”

Nero seems to be at a loss of what to say, mind spinning. Vergil can relate. 

“Fucking hell,” Nero curses, suddenly, “For real?” Vergil frowns at the language, but lets it go– It’s not his place to discipline him.

“Yes.”

Nero is a very expressive person– he wears his heart on his sleeve. The emotions on his face are bare to see, and yet, Vergil cannot particularly understand what Nero is feeling from the mixed expression on his face.

Nero seems to want to ask why, but is also torn between holding himself back from doing so. Vergil isn’t sure if he wants him to ask, either. 

“Uh, why?” Nero finally asks, after a brief mental struggle.

“...It wouldn’t be particularly appropriate,” Vergil says, but is reminded of Lady’s gear she had brought and not hesitated to use. He pauses, before replying more truthfully, “And I… I understand that it holds some… bad memories for you.”

After all, he had been V. He had seen Nero’s rage and his suffering as he adapted to being without an arm. V was… he was guilty. Urizen and V were two from the same soul. 

Nero snorts, seeming exasperated by his statement, “Sure does.”

Vergil falls silent. 

Nero walks past him into the kitchen, setting down the fruits (or rather, vegetables) of labour down in the sink. He rolls up his sleeves, flexing his right hand, and picks up a carrot. The sound of water rushing drowns out a creak as Vergil slowly closes the door Nero had left open. 

“...Well, I can appreciate it. That’s surprisingly considerate of you,” Nero speaks, after a moment with only the sound of water running over vegetables being heard.

Vergil nods noncommittally, before realizing Nero can’t see him, so he grunts in a neutral response. 

The silence is awkward, again. 

Or maybe Vergil’s overthinking it? 

He sighs, clearing his throat, “Where’s Nico?”

Nero doesn't turn around. “Upstairs. She’s sleeping; I’ll call her down for dinner later.” 

“Mm.”

Nero finishes washing the vegetables, drying his hands on a towel hanging on the oven. He raises his head to look at Vergil again. His face is neutral, but his eyes betray his nerves. That, and the way his heart pounds nervously in his chest. 

“Do you… You know how to cut things, right? Well, I mean, you definitely do, but do you know how to cut vegetables?”

Vergil tilts his head up, “I can.”

“So you have, before?”

“...”

Nero’s mouth twists into a wry smile, “There’s nothing shameful in not knowing something. I can teach you.”

Vergil disagrees. Knowledge is a form of power, too. But he’s not unreasonable– he relents, “...Alright.”

“Let’s start with the basics, then.” Nero beams, pulling a knife out of nowhere. 

Vergil isn’t sure whether he should be glad that it's not going too poorly, or dread whatever outcomes result from… this.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Mr. Vergil,” Kyrie smiles sweetly, “It’s nice to finally meet Nero’s father.”

There is an audible thud as Nero bumps into something in his hurry towards her. “Kyrie! You’re back already?”

“Yes. We closed early today,” Kyrie says, her eyes still fixed on Vergil, who is standing still in the middle of the hallway. 

He holds a plate of vegetables on sticks–Nero calls them “veggie skewers”. He must make an odd sight, with his coat removed and an apron that Nero had struggled to get him to wear, he thinks to himself. 

He tries to ignore the fact that the apron says “Mr. Good Lookin is Cookin” on it. Kyrie, however, does not, and by the way she covers her mouth, is quite amused by the sight. 

…Overall, not an ideal first impression. 

To be fair, at least he isn’t wearing the one Nero is wearing– it’s smaller and has the words “Kiss the Cook” inside a bright pink heart on it. That, and it also has a big bow at the back. 

Hiding her laugh, Kyrie turns to Nero, spots the apron, and leans up to peck him on the cheek. “It suits you better than me,” She comments, eyeing the words on the apron. 

Nero’s ears turn red as he hugs her close. Vergil takes one look at them leaning in for a kiss and walks steadily out of the hallway and into the dining room, where he sets down the plate. 

“Hm. Is something burning?” Vergil hears Kyrie say. 

“Oh shi– shoot, uh, hold on a sec, I’ll be right back,” Nero stammers, rushing past Vergil to the kitchen. Vergil tilts his head Nero’s close use of profanity in front of Kyrie, and his rushed cover up. He hadn’t done so in front of V or Nico, and it makes it obvious how special Kyrie is to him. Vergil’s understanding of this kind of relationship is lackluster, but even he can see Nero’s devotion to her. 

Kyrie follows him into the dining room with a small smile on her face. “He’s so earnest, isn’t he?” 

Vergil takes a moment to process that her question is directed at him, and nods stiffly.  

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” The brunette says, walking closer to him. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Kyrie. It’s nice to meet you.”

She holds out a hand without hesitation, clear brown eyes staring at him. A beat passes before Vergil reciprocates, shaking her hand. He’s mindful to keep his grip loose– even though he takes pride in his control over his strength, he takes a fair bit of caution while interacting with those in Nero’s circle–, but she has a hearty grip as she shakes his hand perfunctorily.

“Yes. Nero talks about you often,” Vergil says, watching her, observing her expression.

Kyrie smiles. She’s much like Dante, Vergil thinks. All smiles against danger. And all the more difficult to read for that, unlike Nero. “I could say the same about you, Mr. Vergil.”

“Just Vergil, if you may,” Vergil says. The honorific is… he’s unused to it. It doesn’t seem right to have Nero’s lover be so respectful to him like that. 

Thankfully, Kyrie acquiesces easily with a nod, “Of course.”

Before Vergil tries to make another attempt at words, Nero returns, drooping. “It burnt…”

Kyrie chuckles and pats his shoulder, “It’s okay, dear.”

“At least we have the appetizers,” Nero perks up, “Vergil helped with these.” 

“Is that so?” Kyrie asks, eyes alight with interest. 

Nero gives him an expectant look.

“...I assisted with the cutting. That is all,” Vergil relents to the couple’s gaze.

“I appreciate your hard work, you two,” She smiles graciously, “But I’ll take it from here. If you do not mind, could you call Nico down?” 

“She's asleep,” Nero says. 

“Tell her that the party's starting soon.”

“... Alrighty then.” He leaves, shouting Nico’s name up the stairs. 

Vergil's left alone again with Nero's lover, and still, he finds himself simply standing there without any meaningful words to say. 

Kyrie chuckles when she catches sight of him. “Well, since you're still dressed in that apron, how about you help me with this?” 

He watches Kyrie's natural movements. She doesn't seem to mind his silence as she hums a small tune. “Okay.”

Kyrie's methods of teaching is quite different compared to Nero. In addition, he's not just relegated to chopping, she instructs him on how to use the stove and narrates her actions with a precision and confidence that shows her mastery of the skill 

It's not a bad experience, all things considered. When Nero returns, Kyrie shoos him out with a “Your father has quite the talent for this, we can handle it.”

Vergil blinks at the compliment, and looks away. Cooking wasn't skill he has ever found any use for trying to master in the past before. But maybe, now… 

At long last, after they finish a delightful meal that even Dante, –who had showed up just in time for dinner, though strangely carrying nothing like a gift in visible sight– had given his acknowledgement of Vergil's contribution. 

Then comes the gift giving.

“Alright, me first!” Nico jumps off the couch. She picks up a gift wrapped box from behind it and plops it onto the table.

“Nero, you’re my best friend,” Nico announces, hands on her hips. “So you probably understand that, as your best friend, I’m pretty concerned over your wellbeing.”

“Um…”

Nico points a finger at him, into his face, “Not just me, by the way. Kyrie’s also worried,” The woman in question nods, as Nico continues, “Everyone else also cares about you.” 

She pats the box. “Even Vergil cares, by the way. So, we made this for you!”

Nero’s eyes shift to look at Vergil, uncertain, as he accepts the gift. Vergil’s not sure what he’s feeling at the moment– anticipation? Worry? 

As his son unwraps the gift carefully in front of everyone, Dante bumps his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts as his brother tries to peek closer. Trish is recording a video. Lady has her hands on her hips, intrigued. Kyrie has her hands clasped in front of her, smiling demurely. Nico has an excited grin on her face, exchanging a silent look with him. 

Nero takes out a long swath of dark, rippling material. It’s almost black, though with a purple-blue undertone. There’s a strange texture that wouldn’t be visible if not for half-demon eyesight. Dante notices too, head tilted in interest. 

It’s not only the texture, though. There’s a distinct aura around it. One both familiar and not. 

“A Devil Arm?” Dante asks.

“A what?” Nero sputters, head snapping up.

Nico grins, “Something like that. Try it on.”

The material unfolds into a long coat, slightly shorter than Vergil and Dante’s signature ones. There are silvery accents and looks rather similar to Nero’s usual jacket, though there is something distinctly obvious, even to the naked eye:

“Are these… scales?” Nero asks, thumbing the shoulder of the coat. Indeed, there a low-key, scaly pattern there with lines running down. 

“Your father’s, to be precise,” She crows, pointing Vergil out. All eyes turn to him with varying reactions that he doesn’t care to decipher. What’s most important, and most notable, is Nero’s bafflement that quickly morphs into something akin to bashfulness.

Nico taps her foot, “Try it on. You’ll see why.”

Nero hurriedly tries on the coat. It suits him well, and he seems to find it rather comfortable as well, given his languid stretch with the coat on. “Huh.”

“Notice anything different?”

“A little, yeah. I feel…” Nero trails off, searching for a word, flushing slightly. “Secure?”

Nico nods happily, “That’s good to hear. Wanna know about the schematics, then?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“It’s a devil arm in a loose sense. Kinda like Dr. Faust,” She tilts her head to Dante, who smiles, “but also not really. It isn’t completely manmade, and it isn’t exactly a weapon. More like… armor.”

“Armor?” Lady interjects, interested. Trish is still recording, for some reason, but she has a curious look as well. 

“Uh huh!” Nico affirms, before going on to explain Nero’s gift. Vergil listens, as well, trying not to let his interest show on his face. He wasn’t entirely privy to all the details, even if he knew more than most about the intricacies of this project. 

Nico gushes proudly over the ability of the faux Devil Arm’s extreme defensive capabilities as its main strength, which Vergil finds appropriate. As a quarter demon, Nero didn’t have the same self-healing speed or reliability on his devil form as the two half demons did, as far as he knew. 

It was quite reassuring to have something else to protect him; a sentiment many others seemed to share based on their own nods of approval. 

It was quite eye-opening, seeing how many people Nero had around him that valued him. He had made his own circle of close people. A family, even. And Vergil was here, too.

Dante raises his hand, “What if the coat gets ripped up?”

“Well,” Nico smirks, “Good thing it’s made of demonic material and magic. While not exactly living, it can heal on its own the same way you and Vergil do in your demon forms. Basically, a self-mending impenetrable coat.”

“So that’s what you needed my help for,” Vergil muses, to which Nico winks at him. 

“Yep. Vergil, you’ve been a real big help with this, probably couldn’t have done it without you. So, thanks.” Nico claps him on the shoulder firmly. Surprisingly, he finds that he doesn’t mind the touch, actually. He’s not sure how to respond outside of a noncommittal grunt, but no one pushes his silence.

Neeo ducks his head down, hiding his face as he mumbles, “Thanks, Nico. I appreciate it a lot.”

Nico’s smirk softens into a smile. She doesn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. 

Nero looks up at Vergil, a complicated but overall happy expression on his face. “And… thanks, Vergil.”

Vergil’s impassive facade slips slightly at the heartfelt gratitude in his son’s voice. He hesitates to say anything. In the end, he is, for once, unable to find any words to put his thoughts into. So, he simply nods at Nero, who gives him a small smile in return.

Something settles in his chest. Warm, but still not entirely satisfied. There’s more he can do, and more he should do.

Nico whoops, “Family bonding! But let’s get the rest of the presents out, you can ask for details later.”

The others nod, grabbing their gifts and presenting them to Nero.

“I feel like my gift is a bit lacking in comparison now,” Trish comments good-naturedly.

Lady laughs, “Yeah.”

Kyrie’s bought Nero a new apron decorated with a rather cute —though Vergil would deny thinking that— rabbit and the words “This is me if you even care” framing it. It seems like some inside joke between the two of them, as Nero breaks out into a massive grin and laughs heartily, sweeping Kyrie off her feet in joy. 

Nico laughs at the sight of Kyrie being swung around by Nero. It is quite humorous, especially when Nero immediately puts her down with a blush at the realization of his actions. Kyrie consoles him with a kiss to his temple.

Lady’s gift is a gun-cleaning kit. Nico and Nero both go “Ooh” when it is unwrapped. 

Trish’s gift is a shiny new holster for Blue Rose. When Nero tries it on, it pairs surprisingly well with the new coat. 

Last but not least…

Dante rubs his neck sheepishly, “Well, this is a bit awkward. My gift is pretty bad in comparison to yours.” 

Vergil isn’t quite sure what to expect of Dante. He doubts it could be that bad, though. 

Nero shakes his head, “It’s fine. I don’t care if you brought a gift or not. I’m just… I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Aww shucks, kid.” Dante shifts. “Well, I guess I’ll do it. Open your hand.”

Nero looks confused, but complies. Dante takes something out of his pocket and drops it into Nero’s hand, covering it with his own. Vergil cannot see what it is, but he has an idea.

“I’ve never formally done this, but it only makes sense given everything that’s happened lately. I know I’m not a great influence,” He nods at Kyrie, who smiles but shakes her head gently, “nor a particularly reliable person.” He sends an apologetic look to Lady and Trish, who seem torn between agreeing and disagreeing at the same time. 

Nero stays silent, letting him continue. Or simply frozen in surprise.

“And I’ve definitely got a lot of issues with family. Though honestly, I think all of us do.” He says, but looks at Vergil. Vergil is thrown off guard by Dante’s stare, though tries not to let it show. Dante’s right, of course. Even Vergil can see the problems he has with his family. 

“But. You don’t have to reciprocate at all. I just want to say that…” Dante hesitates. Everyone holds their breath. “You’re my nephew. You’re family. You can count on me— us.” He says. Vergil nods in agreement, as subtle as possible, but Nero catches him, his eyes flickering to him quickly.

Dante coughs, looking away from them as Nero focuses on him again. “Let me know if you need help. Devil May Cry is usually unlocked, but–”

Nero blinks rapidly, wiping the side of his eye as everyone politely looks away from his face. His hand opens to reveal a set of… keys. 

Vergil watches as Nero walks up to Dante. He’s almost concerned that Nero might be upset until he sees Dante open his arms and embrace him. 

The girls aww at the sight. Nico even starts clapping until Kyrie gently covers her hands to get her to cease.

It's a strange sight, but also a familiar one. From the depths of his memory, he remembers his mother's embraces and the ones that Dante, a once touchy child, would force upon him. 

He had always pushed his brother away when Dante would tackle him into a hug (that usually escalated into a headlock and a fight) citing the dirt under his nails ruining his pristine shirt.

He didn't realize how much time had passed since the last time Dante had gone for an embrace. It's different, at first, with an odd stiffness that belies a long period of not doing such an act. But he relaxes as Nero accepts, like a core memory clicking into place. 

He's broken out of his thoughts by a surprise, though. Nero steps back from the embrace, thanking Dante with a bashfulness that looks almost uncharacteristic compared to his personality. 

Dante smiles at him, pats his shoulder, and stretches, “Whew! Enough for today, I’m gonna go eat some more food.”

The girls also decide to leave. Nico lingers a moment to shoot him a look between him and Nero. 

“Uh, Vergil.” Nero clears his throat, “It was a bit awkward with everyone else around, but, um, thank you.”

“No need.”

Nero falters a bit, but trudges on. “About the gift you gave me…”

“Nico’s gift?”

“No, yours and hers. But… is it really your scales?”

Vergil tilts his head, “Why would it not be?”

“That's…” He watches his son struggle to find a word, before it clicks to him what his son may be concerned about.

“Barbaric? Not really. I have regeneration, remember? It wasn't much of an issue.”

“...Well, I was gonna say it's pretty insane, but if you don't mind…”

“I do not,” Vergil interjects softly. He pauses for a second, but ultimately relents in keeping back his words. “If anything, I am… pleased to be able to contribute in the making of this gift.”

Nero smiles a small, hesitant, but bright smile. It brings warmth to his chest and satisfaction to his long dormant parental instincts.

“I appreciate it a lot… Dad.”

Vergil tries not to show how shaken he is by the comment. He doesn't offer a hug like Dante does. He simply reaches out, slowly and telegraphed, to lay a gentle –almost impossibly so– hand on his son's shoulder. He says nothing. For all his eloquence and well-spokenness, he lacks the words that can contribute further without ruining the moment. 

Nero, more intelligent than he is given credit for, and miles more emotionally competent than the rest of the Sparda bloodline, seems to understand, placing a hand over Vergil's. 

It's good. A major step in their relationship. Vergil is unsure if they will ever be able to fully reconciliate– after all, he is quite familiar with how long trauma persists and how absence from his family shapes an individual. 

But he can try. He can do what he can to make up for the lost time and the actions he’s done in the past.

And not just to Nero. His brother, too. 

He's with his family again.

The whole thing would have been ludicrous to him a year prior. But, to his quiet disbelief, it is reality. 

And be intends to make the most of it.