Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dante felt it the moment the presence of that incandescent blue fire turned the corner. But what stung him most was how its vivacity was crumbling into dying, opaque fragments of what it once used to be.

He let it get closer, as slowly as the core he hadn’t felt in so many years was coming towards him; whether it was involuntary or not, savoring the moment seemed the only joy he could allow himself before having to face the reality of it. Someone was pulling off a bad joke on him, one he wouldn't go easy on repaying back.

Boots fell to the ground as he stood from his usual desk chair and went down the stairs to meet his newfound foe. Knuckles cracked as he put an insane amount of pressure on them, readying himself for the fight waiting for him.

Once down the stairs and finally meeting the desolate street the Devil May Cry lived on, the dying core that had caught his senses was just about to appear at his right, a few meters away behind the corner of the building; with heavy steps and his emotions taking the reins of his body, his vision turned slightly red and his demon side rumbled to destroy. He was pissed.

Then a humanoid form appeared, covered in a rotten and filthy cloth that covered its entire silhouette, leaving everything to imagination; its core was weak and similar, but Dante didn’t let himself get fooled for such a bittersweet taste coming back on his tongue. His twin's presence had always been a burning, everlasting pulse in his mind, but this right here, couldn't stand a chance to match that connection.

Dante eyed him furiously as the creature had done him wrong before even attempting an attack; its figure was trembling and seemingly weak as it walked with a hand on the wall for support. What a pathetic excuse of a joke, they haven't even managed to get right the stubbornness that had always defined Vergil’s rejection for any type of help.

The demon hunter turned to face the demon as it got closer, waiting for it to say something resembling a growl and finally began this irritating dance, but the figure was limp in its steps, coughing blood and almost unfazed by Dante’s presence; as if one of Sparda’s offspring didn't mean much of anything, not even a small threat.

“You should hurry up some more.” Dante spat as he approached the lurking figure as the sun was setting for the night ahead, ready to drown the memories of his dear lost brother in bottles of cheap booze and boxes of pizza.

The figure stopped at the words, but just for a second, enough time to gather the strength to raise its head and look Dante’s way. What the man saw was nothing short of unexpected.

Sharp, glacier blue eyes stared at him for a second, their usual thunder rumbling within the color gone; numbness was what Dante saw in those irises that should've made his heart leap in delight and not overall fury. His brother was dead, he had done that himself and there was nothing that could bring even a son of Sparda back from the endless void at the end of life.

Dante stilled himself on his feet, vertigo catching up on him as that copycat seemed to have failed to the basics of camouflage. The red half-devil’s vision turned in shades of crimson and there was no coming back from that; that dying core would be dead soon and he was going to speed up the process a little.

“You shouldn't have come.”

With quick footwork he appeared in front of the demon, feeling its essence similar but shaken way too much to be his twin’s. Dante made sure to believe that statement over anything else; over the small, childish bit of hope that had blossomed in his heart.

The clothed figure didn't budge an inch when the red half-devil got his fingers around its throat strong enough to cut off breathing but not yet to snap bones. “Look at me.” Dante snapped at the intruder, fury running wild in its veins as he had been disturbed in such a tremendous way by a stranger, nonetheless a demon at it.

Those wrong copycats of his twin's eyes slowly rose to meet his, but the look he received had nothing resembling fear, terror or concern for its own life; it was pleading in a discreet way, almost accepting whatever fate Dante decided to cast upon it.

Slowly, it even seemed to welcome the dangerous touch around its throat as if it was the most tender contact it had received in decades. It made the hunter suspicious; this was no ordinary bad camouflage or high rank shape-shifting demon. And the confirmation arrived rather quickly.

“Dante…”

That strained voice, breathy and low, as if gravel was within the figure's airways; a shiver ran down the hunter’s spine and his hand fell back at his side. That tone so condescending, borderline on annoyance, was the only sound that came out of that broken silhouette before it crumbled to the ground, going down face first in the sidewalk; Dante saw the man’s cheek getting bloody at the contact with the concrete, how it coughed up blood and went unmoving.

But the hunter caught its arm, only its face and lower body hitting the ground before he fetched it back up. The skin he wrapped his fingers around was cold, deadly cold. It froze every single drop of blood in his system.

Was this really his brother, who he had killed on Mallet Island all those years ago? Had fate decided to throw him a bone for once?

⁜

Vergil felt his brother's core close to his, its everlasting and incandescent fire tiptoeing on his senses, enlightening his skin with needle picks that didn’t hurt once; the hand around his neck was almost welcomed by his demonic side, enjoying the contact with his own flesh and blood, the remaining glimpse of family he had. How could touch be so tender even when it was meant to be frightening?

The man didn’t care, had no energy to do so, just stayed limp in his brother’s closure, letting those fingers almost suffocate him but willing to risk it to see Dante one last time.

He had slithered out of Mundus’ claws a week ago and on the how, he was still unsure; his memories were blurred at best and nonexistent at worst. Everything he knew once free was his need to see his brother, no matter how irrational and out of character it was for him. He had little time left, he wanted to spend it well at least at the very end.

And now, in front of his last remaining family, he wondered if death wasn't too bad when his dying wish had been fulfilled; Dante was fine, strong and healthy, irrational as always and ready to fight head on everything on his path. Vergil felt a sparkle of pride swell in his chest, but once he uttered a single word, one he wished to be his last, in which he tried to convey all his feelings he had never spoken about, every grain of power slipped past his control.

“Dante…” The single word, that weight it carried, was too much to bear.

The hard concrete hit his face and bruised his fragile skin; he internally damned himself for showing such a vulnerable state in front of his twin, but he didn’t have any other choice if he wanted to greet death with at last a small consolation before he began his new journey on the other side.

Although, a hand grabbed his upper arm and kept him suspended mid air, his cheek still on the ground as he saw he had coughed up blood once more; the small crimson spots of it were almost fascinating to see given how much blood had been lost to reach his destination.

Dante said nothing, stood motionless but held onto him regardless and Vergil understood very well why; he was presumably dead by his twin’s hand and coming back so abruptly, so broken, was not something his brother was expecting. It also explained his ire as he approached the shop; it was reasonable for Dante to think he was a clone, he didn’t even know if he was even himself anymore as well.

In fact, he silently and carefully picked up his weak body and picked it up in a bridal carry; if Vergil had the strength to fight back, he'd be sending his twin against the farthest building possible and slicing his hands off. But he couldn’t and so he just let his brother do as he pleaded, enjoying the care even though covered in a veil of wary scrutiny; he'd never admit that to anyone anyway, so there was no point in denying himself the small pleasures of life.

At least the last remaining bit he had.

Then, he felt his brother analyzing his face, peeking through the hood over his head and walking back the way he came from, his pace a bit more hurried than his usual one; ‘Do you recognize me at last, Dante?’ he wanted to question, but sealed lips didn't allow him to speak.

Besides, he didn’t really wonder much about it as time slowed down, feeling his body growing faint through each moment his brother carried him along the street and up the stairs; every single movement sent a shiver of pain down his dislocated spine, but no sounds evaded his mouth. In part, he was glad to not be able to make any pathetic sound.

Before he knew it, Dante had draped down his body on a bed, or something that vaguely resembled it; either way, it was soft on his cracked ribs and punctured lungs. His eyes kept staying close but he could sense the presence of his twin slowly going away, maybe to fetch something in another room; in the meantime he had time to dwell on his surroundings, scanning them with his other senses. How the walls seemed to stink of blood, not Dante’s, or how the air was heavy with a dull smell of gunpowder and cleaning products; he crushed his nose at the pizza and booze scattered around the place even if he couldn't see it.

The Devil May Cry surely saw better days and even though Vergil wanted to comment on it, his tongue was tied in a tight knot he couldn't undo, especially when Dante’s face came into view as his brother lifted his hood and exposed his sore eyes; the whine of discomfort was barely audible but the red twin still caught on it.

“Hush, brother. I know you don’t like this, but you gotta let me take care of you.” The raspy voice was layered with tenderness, one Vergil wasn’t sure he deserved but he let it wash over him regardless; a small joy before leaving, before hurting Dante again.

His eyes then opened, greeting another set of pale azurine eyes identical to his own, although lingered in a veil of sorrow and concern the blue twin didn’t quite understand; he wanted to mock his brother for his feelings, for wearing his heart on his sleeve and getting it beaten to the ground, but it wouldn’t be fair since he had done the same for years, although differently but with the same result. No matter how, they got bashed deep down at every chance and it showed.

In fact, his foolish brother with sentimental tendencies soon placed a warm hand on his forehead, careful not to bruise too much of his already cracked skin. When Dante made up his mind about it, letting his hand linger on his form for a minute longer than necessary and basking in the closure, he changed it for a warm, soaked washcloth.

“You need to rest, dumbass brother.” Dante reflected out loud, “you look like shit.”

Vergil knew. He made a non-committal sound and tilted his head slightly towards his brother; Dante caressed his cheek before he fell to slumber and his consciousness retrieved to the deepest part of his mind.

Chapter Text

When Dante felt the realization hit the day before, something in him shattered to pieces. He brought his brother inside his shop, making him as comfortable as possible on the old leather couch that squeaked under his lightweight twin; that alone was alarming if he hadn't seen the way his skin was broken porcelain and how his usual sharp remarks were gone.

Still, he was quick to fetch two bowls of water, one hot and one cold, before checking his brother’s temperature with a careful hand on his head; it was tremendously freezing. Dante had always been the one running hot between them, but Vergil was a close second and his skin had never felt so cold under the red half-devil’s touch. When he withdrew his hand to place a warm washcloth, grains of dust glistered the skin of his palm and looking back at his brother, the sight was decaying too fast for his tastes.

When he told him to rest, Vergil leaned towards him and Dante saw a floodgate opening at full force; he was glad his twin was out the second he touched his cheek or he’d be shamed by the sleeping form on the couch later for crying like a child at having his brother back.

Now, a few days later, Vergil was still out cold. He had moved him from the couch to his own bed upstairs, his instinct damning him for even thinking about letting him rest in a stranger’s bed – it was the guest’s actually, but his demonic side thought otherwise.

The cloth his twin used as clothing had been changed for one of his own black shirts and a pair of sweatpants Dante didn’t remember owing; he should ravish through his drawers more often and see if they contained any other interesting things. But his mind was soon drawn back to his brother, now smelling of him thanks to the shirt, and how his demonic instincts were reaching new highs.

The blue half-devil was pale, skin cracked but not on the verge of collapsing anytime soon, eyes sulky with deep, black circles under them; his frame was thin and lightweight, which worried Dante a whole damn lot. How long has it been since Vergil had eaten anything? Would Dante survive the answer, was he to get one?

Besides, as time hit the clock and his inner devil rumbled within the confinements of his skin, it was time to feed something to the napping form on his bed. He couldn’t go on without nourishment.

“I'll be right back.” His voice, a whisper gentle on his brother's ears, was accompanied by his red, blazing core caressing the almost spent but fighting blue one; a farewell and a promise all in once, that he'd be back soon.

Soon enough, he left his brother's side and went to the kitchen to fetch something, huffing at himself for how concerned and sick he was feeling at the sight of Vergil’s decaying body. His twin needed him and he had to keep his cool, to make sure he'd be taken care of and soon brought back from his sorrows.

The only things he found were a few bars of sweets and he held them tightly as he went back up the stairs, brushing his twin’s core to let him know he was back by his side. Which was when a slight change in their connection happened.

He stood motionless at the entrance of the room, bars in hand and eyes wide at the sensation, at the hope that took root in his heart.

Vergil’s core was ablaze at the newfound proximity and somehow, the closure that had left and was now back had started the mending process of his soul; Dante felt the mechanisms cracking into action, even though it was all an organic work going on within his brother's body, more deeply than that as well.

A swirl of pride came from him as he could clearly feel his brother fighting to stay alive. To come back to consciousness and maybe, although Dante suspected it wasn't one of the reasons, to come back to him as well, to remain by his side.

“Take as much as you need.” He gently offered as his brother borrowed small sparkles of the incandescent fire that was Dante’s powers and used it to fuel his core, to give it shape once again; it was such a small quantity that it didn’t stop the red half-devil from reaching his bedside to start fussing over the wrapped sweets bars.

Once he managed to rip one open, he snapped a small portion of it and brought it to his brother's lips, who unconsciously bit on it; at first it was slow and tempting, as if trying to understand if it was some sort of poison, but once he was sure it wasn't Vergil took the whole thing as Dante fed him small pieces one by one.

At the end, Dante managed to feed Vergil almost four bars and a half; his demon was happy to have fed him but even more so to be able to help mend the blue twin’s essence, that core which unapologetically beat in rhymes with his own.

“I'll stay here, so you can take some more,” Dante commented softly as he fetched a chair from a far off wall of the room, positioning it close to the bed and sitting down; Vergil didn’t move, but his form seemed to relax slightly at the words the red hunter was pouring in the space around them.

Dante felt another small chunk of lava leave his core to rejoin within Vergil’s. “I shouldn't be surprised you're taking what's mine,” he jokingly began as he melted on the chair, “you always wanted to have the other half of the amulet mom gave me as well… I guess some things never change.”

The memory was unexpected, the comment was fleeting him faster than the air evading his lungs; he hadn’t recall their mother in years, her memories sealed in a far off corner of his mind, but now he recalled her so effortlessly that it stung him deeply, especially as he had put her and his twin in the same sentence after so many decades.

He knew the meaning of his words, what he was truly trying to say and the sheer amount of hilarious laughter he could feel coming at giving away what was his to his brother; he had always liked to share with his twin, always thinking it was a way for them to bond even when Vergil didn’t feel the same.

But as he looked over at him, his body under the bedsheets and resting safe and sound, Dante was overall glad that Vergil felt at least a bit like him; that he didn’t mind sharing all that much.

I'll always give you anything of mine, brother. Mother always taught us to share.

With that small thought in mind, he stood while Vergil gently tagged at his core and was offered another piece; Dante soon sat on the mattress, close enough to his twin to smell the undergoing mending of his begin.

A thought formed in his mind and it seemed a good enough idea; if it meant helping his brother, he wouldn’t shy away from much, if anything at all.

“Lemme give you some more help, brother.” Dante materialized Rebellion in his hand and held her tightly, slicing his wrist to let the blood flow freely. Moving the crimson stained limb closer to the other, the red half-devil managed to get some of the liquid down Vergil’s throat, who once recognized what he was being fed, instinctively began to battle within himself.

Dante could tell the turmoil going on in his mind, how he was reluctant to drink his brother's blood and how he was in desperate need of it at the same time. The hunter was quick to placate his running thoughts.

“Don't worry, Verge. Take some.” A hand brushed away some white strands of hair, gently enough to convey how genuine he was in his predicament. A few seconds passed then before Dante felt Vergil taking small bites to reopen the wound and drink his blood in famished thirst.

“That’s good.” Dante praised him once he was satisfied and once back on his chair, he kept watch over his brother as he slept unbothered.

⁜

Vergil was trapped. The dark engulfing him was suffocating and the hands roaming his body were leaving him feeling disgusted at himself for being so helpless, so vulnerable and unable to react.

“Stop.” He heard himself beg even when he knew it was futile, useless and just overall pathetic. His captor wasn't going to show him any mercy as those clawed fingers shred his clothes; the air was cold against his feverish, pale skin.

A tidal wave of anguish submerged his heart, leaving him breathless and convulsing harshly against his restraints, fighting to find a way out of this nightmarish encounter. The sweat was rolling down his forehead into his eyes, stinging and obligating him to close them.

One hand trailed over his abdomen, fear swelling in the pit of his lower belly when he could feel a single claw retracting a wound that it had left there a few hours earlier; his intestines were outside of his body back then, swinging in front of his very own eyes and the pain was unbearable.

“Don't…” He choked out on a bit of breath he couldn’t stop, his body tensing under every touch and harmless caress, knowing what were the true intentions behind each of them.

Then a voice broke his torture, soft and pleading with malice. “Don't worry, you fair child. I'll be sure to make it as painless as possible.”

The feminine voice spoke in low tones, sending shivers down Vergil’s spine. Mundus’ sadistic tendencies, he could survive with unwavering discipline, but this was too much.

He damned himself for succumbing to her touches, for letting the tears come and go as they pleaded, for not managing to bite her hands off and feed them to her as vengeance.

But the touches were tender and therefore immensely scary to Vergil, who had only ever known violence and suffering; he'd take Nelo Angelo over this any time. Anything to escape the pain he knew was coming.

And while a hand traveled the length of his chest, he felt his body convulsing, trashing beneath her hold as she gripped his shoulders to try to calm him, or at least to force him back to obedience. However he soon slipped past the restraints, past her touch; he felt his consciousness coming back at him, sending him back to the human realm, where his body was harshly displaying the nightmares he was currently facing.

Then, the world grew quiet and dark. Dark just like his nightmares; the darkness momentarily frightened him.

He tried to move but was met with the horrible condition his body was in, utterly unable to sprint into action, so he scanned the room in with scrutiny and palpable fear, materializing the Yamato in his hand and gripping her tightly; his only line of defense.

The room was empty, with little furniture but overall familiar even to his still hallucinating gaze. His eyes spotted her figure in the dark corner he was facing, but as he blinked she disappeared and reformed herself elsewhere, wherever his eyes landed.

He knew it was fake, that it was all a product of his nightmares and scars, of the horrors he endured in the Underworld, but her silhouette deprived him of every ounce of energy he had; his core was ablaze with fear by then. Pathetic.

The sword in his palm pointed directly at her, Lucya, as he gathered enough strength to aim the tip precisely at her heart. But she didn't come any closer, her hands weren't on his body, he was out of reach and somehow he felt safe tucked in the bed, wrapped in a smell that was all too familiar to his senses.

She waved her fingers at him, trying to provoke a reaction in him but failing with both because he couldn’t move and due to the fact he knew she wasn't real, at least in this realm; at least, in the very room he was resting in.

Her figure was slick as she waited, Yamato's tip silently piercing her in place. Vergil waited long before his mind eased to the world around him and unraveled her silhouette to nothing more than a wardrobe's shadow. The sword remained in his grip even then, but he managed to relocate himself upon the soft mattress to gain some more sleep, although something had another idea.

A presence of burning fire and furious devotion was behind him, remaining still and calling out for him on the inside while humming a soft tune to soothe him. It was similar to something Vergil would associate with family.

Then the sound of squeaky wood caught his attention and he turned to face the direction it came from, Yamato held protectively close but ready to strike; her soft tune echoed in his mind as well, a song meant to ease his suffering and offer some comfort.

He saw a figure, a man, surging up from a chair very close to his resting place, too close. He snarled, his demon hissing furiously and threatening while the man brought his hands up in surrender.

“I won't hurt you, Verge.” The man spoke and Vergil froze at the tone, at the hint of concern hidden beneath that genuine promise of harmless closure. Yamato vaporized from his grip and the man came closer, slowly but steadily.

Vergil let him come, feeling somewhat relieved at his presence, at the closure, at the steady bum of his heart and the scent that was rolling off of him, circling his senses, staining his body with a deep rooted calm and tenderness.

But once the man, with a red coat that Vergil could swear belonged to his twin, was close enough, he moved swiftly to cage the other within the bed; his demonic instincts had taken over a while back and he was aware of that, he even let them run freely if it meant being sure that safety wasn't just a child's dream.

He smelled the man, ran his nose along his throat and rumbled softly when he didn’t move away, then he stared down in his eyes, a crystal clear replica of his own and felt a sense of peace destroying every remains of the chains of his nightmares, of his past and scars.

Slowly, the warning lights in his brain went off and the energy he had fetched to protect himself from possible harm slithered away from his fingers; he collapsed in the bed next to the man he could now be sure was his twin, who wrapped him in a bear hug with utter care.

“Sleep, brother. Nothing will hurt you here.” Dante said in his ear and the world didn't seem so tremendous while his eyelids closed again.

The blue twin swore the huge body against which he was pressed was purring in delight and slow songs of harmony before the moon claimed him back to sleep.

Chapter Text

A week later, Vergil was back on his feet and Dante was beaming with joy at the sight of his brother's health improving under his care, especially since he had managed to go back to normal activities just two days ago.

He could eat, walk and do all the basics without Dante’s assistance and it lightened the blue twin’s mood immensely; the red half-devil knew his brother would never admit to have even remotely enjoyed being taken care of, but being independent once again surely brought back that sparkle of life in Vergil’s gaze.

Dante had noticed it immediately, how it changed from numbness and fear, to something brighter and fierce but still overall demonic; his twin’s most basic instincts hadn’t cool down yet which meant a lot of purrs and cuddles, almost complete silence for most of the day while they rested in one bed together much to Vergil’s insistence. Well, he actually managed to trigger his tail into existence and force Dante to stay in the bed, which the hunter counted as both a win over his brother's heart and an improvement regarding his health.

Either way, Dante was fine with whatever Vergil’s primordial mind was telling him to do, even when glimpses of his human consciousness could still be seen; a pristine example of that was how Vergil was currently stirring his tea calmly while eyeing his twin with a small smirk.

Dante huffed a soft chuckle at him, letting him know that the warm atmosphere could last as long as the blue twin pleased. In fact, the hunter had unplugged his phone on the desk after telling Lady and Trish he'd be out for good for a little while, taking care of some ‘family business’ neither of the women asked about.

So, the Devil May Cry was empty and silent except for them living there. Dante could tell it eased Vergil terribly, lifting a huge weight from his shoulders and allowing him to push through whatever storm of emotions he was going through in whichever way he wanted, without judgment or any unfit comments.

In that serene atmosphere, Dante recalled the spike in his brother’s health and how he had changed.

His core had jumped one night and Dante found him having a nightmare, which soon turned into a purring session on his behalf to keep his brother calm and content as he safely slept through the night. Then his skin, the porcelain sight that plunged Dante’s mind most nights or even when his twin simply wasn't in sight.

When he first found him Vergil was the same as a destroyed Greek statue, with cracks and crevices glistering across all of his frame, deep and narrow black lines contrasting so prominently against the pale tone of the man's skin. Then it slowly began to shift, the sight turning into something Dante could stomach without feeling dread stirring in his intestines.

The man had gathered back some vivacity in his skin tone, a soft shade of rosy over his cheek had taken back its rightful place a few days ago, after the man had managed to sit up right to eat for the first time. Dante remembered clearly how Vergil leaned against him for support, shameless and completely disregarding all the usual rejection the blue twin usually had.

But the recovery wasn't over yet. For Vergil was now in the kitchen, with one of Dante's shirts and a pair of boxers exposing his thighs – the man didn’t want anything that didn’t smell like his family and refused to wear pants early in the morning; those instincts were something that threw off all of the blue-twin’s usual behavior. It made the hunter want to burst out laughing and send his twin to the nearest hospital to check if his head was fine.

Dante could clearly see, even if he had to actively search for them to spot some, the small and faded cracks under his eyes, around his collarbone and upper tights, at the tip of his fingers and just above his heart. Not to mention the gruesome swirls he had found on his twin's abdomen the first night while he changed him into new clothes; luckily, those were gone thanks to his healing and there was no trace of them anymore.

Either way, he looked definitely better, maybe not completely back on the human side but still functioning through his demonic instincts which allowed Dante a vast range of motion to know better his brother and favor his recovery. He also promised himself to take all the memories of the past days to the grave; maybe he wouldn’t even share them with Vergil unless he asked.

Therefore, with the phone out and the door closed, the office felt almost like home with his twin leaning on the kitchen counter sipping his warm cup of tea.

But Dante couldn't cut off the entire world even if he wanted to, because the emergency phone in the desk drawer stirred to life and abruptly put Vergil on edge, a murderous growl coming from his chest.

Dante chirped, trying to reassure his twin’s demon while making a smooth work to go over and fetch the receiver. Only two people had this number, Morrison, who knew not to call, and Nero.

“Devil May Cry.” Dante spoke with the usual light tone and playfulness in his voice whenever a call he was almost expecting arrived; he hadn’t called Nero in a while and he knew his nephew would grow worried.

“Dante.” Nero’s voice was a tad too high and it got to Vergil’s ears, who slowly came closer and leaned on the desk next to Dante, who while on his chair listened to the kid on the other end.

“I haven't heard from you in a while and everyone said you had family business to take care of, what does that even mean?” Obviously the lie didn't stick with the kid.

Dante had decided to tell everything to Nero about his heritage and his family a few years after he had met him first in Fortuna; at the beginning he wondered if the kid would cut all ties with him, but after an initial rage burning in his eyes, Nero had hugged him fiercely and forced him to promise to never hide him anything about his family ever again.

Which was why Dante didn't know how to handle this the right way. Nero knew Vergil was his father, although he had never met him, while the blue twin had probably spent at best less than a year around the kid and now that his instincts were in overdrive, there was a chance that he'd either recognize him as his kin and go after him or be completely unfazed by his existence.

However, before Dante could say anything, Vergil leaned closer to the receiver as if to hear better the kid’s voice and the red half-devil let him do as he pleaded. “Dante? I swore if you're hiding something I'm coming to kick your ass.”

Dante’s stomach grew into an endless pit. If Vergil thought it was an actual threat he could go after Nero even if he had no true energy to do so and try to kill him, but the man had a different reaction to the kid's voice.

“Nestling.” Vergil simply said and tapped the desk as if to call him to himself even if Nero was nowhere near them. Dante looked at him, at the first true word he said apart from his name and smiled at him with a big grim.

He covered the phone. “You want to see the kid?” Dante asked softly while Nero was raging on the phone; Vergil nodded and disappeared in a flash of blue upstairs.

Dante could tell what his instincts were telling him: to build a safe nest for his kin while he awaited his return. At least he could tell it would be something good, even if vaguely awkward, and not a full blown man-hunt.

“Why don’t you come by, Nero? I have someone that is eager to meet you.” Dante knew he had a lot of explanations to give the kid, especially on the man's behavior since Nero had only ever heard about Vergil’s cold and disciplined nature, but he'd do his best.

He heard a sight on the phone, Nero was contemplating something. “Sure, I'll be there in a bit.” Which meant he had half a day to put his brother a bit out of his instincts, enough to appear as himself at least for a little while; he just needed him to reconcile with his son with his human mind, not his demonic one.

And that, that required some work. Dante chuckled to himself at the idea, which he'd have to execute without pushing his twin too much.

Mission acquired: bring back the stubborn brother to meet his kid for the first time.

⁜

Vergil was eager to reunite with his son, the small nestling he conceived and never truly met from years ago, and wrap him in his arms to keep him safe; he could feel his demon being tremendously regretful for having left the kid back then even if it had never seen him before, but the man himself was even more confused.

I have a son?

His human consciousness was still recovering, letting the reins of his being in his demonic side's hands, which was why he was currently shuffling with a bunch of blankets and pillows in the room he had been sleeping with Dante for the past… He didn't quite know how many days had passed, but he could surely say he had always been by his brother's side ever since he had come back.

But... I have a son?

The question stirred his thoughts into actions, not only the demonic ones about a nest and a nestling, but the more human ones about everything else. That was enough to make him stop and stare at his hands, covered in blood that could never be washed and that stained his flesh deeper than the eyes of anyone could see, which would soon meet his son’s skin if he allowed him to hug him.

He was unmoving above the bed frame when Dante arrived too, leaning on the door and making a small chiming noise; he didn't know his consciousness was slowly coming back but he could gather that now his twin’s mission was to bring that exactly back to meet his son, he could tell by the fierce stance he took despite the playful tone of his arrival.

“Dante.” He quietly said, feeling how his throat was unusable after not saying much of anything for such a long time. But his twin came closer, as if he caught something in the air, a smell he could recognize.

“Are you back, brother?” The hunter slowly came forward until he was by the blue twin’s side and looked at him with hope and concern, wanting to know what caused the change he so apparently sniffed in the air; Vergil turned to him with a small smile and a fragile heart he tried to bury beneath his next words.

“Apparently so you have managed.” Although Dante wasn't fooled by his stoic tone and wrapped him in a hug that could almost crush his ribs, but Vergil found himself moving his arms to his brother's frame to return the gesture in kind. Their cores hummed in harmony and neither of them pulled away for a brief while.

“I'm glad to have you back with me, Verge.” The sincere layer of care and worry in Dante’s voice allowed Vergil a moment to school his emotions back in check, his demon still pushing on his instincts but not enough to overrule his consciousness.

The hug soon broke and Vergil quickly took note of his clothes as he looked down at himself when he felt how the air was hitting the exposed skin, which was the exact same moment when Dante laughed while looking at him; he wanted to know what there was to laugh about, which apparently was his rather questionable choice of clothing.

But as he was about to lash out on Dante, he just heard a soft purr coming from his twin; it was a plea to remain, to let it be because it wouldn’t hurt nor harm him, it was just there to soothe him. And Vergil obliged without too much of a fight, still not completely in shape to fight his twin head on.

“I have a son…” He then said with a quiver in his voice, uncertain of what that even meant, if the kid that was coming would even accept him or knew about his existence. But he did know about Dante, so maybe…

“He knows you. Well, knows you through some stories I've told him.” Dante explained, “he surely isn't mine and the genetics don't lie. He most definitely looks like you.”

Vergil smirked and resumed his work on the nest, now both sides of him wanting it to be safe and comfortable for the nestling coming his way. “We are twins, Dante. He looks as much like me as he does like you.”

Dante couldn't help but chuckle before offering another blanket for the nest; the blue twin accepted and the red twin took it as an invitation to participate in the preparation. “He does resemble you the most though.”

Vergil scoffed at his brother's comment. How could the kid be like him if they had never met? A pang of sharp pain emitted in his heart at the knowledge he had abandoned his child before even knowing about his existence, but he couldn’t dwell on the past when the present was finally giving him some joy.

“I shall see for myself then.” He purred alongside Dante, who hadn't stopped yet since he started when he understood his brother's consciousness was back.

“Guess that kid will have to learn how to read through your poetic verses then.” Dante threw a pillow at his brother and they soon began to fight playfully.

For an instant, Dante thought his brother was letting his true, old colors be seen; maybe meeting his kid would help him stay grounded to his human side.

But Vergil’s mind still reminded him of the horror of his past. How inevitable it was for him to cause and harvest suffering, a second nature he hadn't quite yet learned how to let go, or perhaps how to undo or contrast with his own will, but the scars were deep and throbbing as if the damage had been done not too long ago.

Ruffling through all the fabrics was strange, a contrast between the pale skin of his hands and the dark colors of the sheets and blankets; for a moment his heart froze at the difference, the resemblance with his white hair stained with blood and viscera coming into vision behind blurry eyes. Years of pain he didn’t want to remember, but that didn’t want to leave him either.

The time he had spent chained by Mundus, the time passed with Lucya, all the blood they took from him and even more. Then there was also Dante’s blood from all their fights, from their youth to the present moment; how he had also managed to gather his twin’s blood while sick and broken, a win that could never sit right within him.

But Dante grabbed his wrist. He didn’t realize how the blankets in his grip were still and hanging mid-air. His twin looked at him with concern, although there was also an undying care towards him, almost foreign to witness but still, that was because he had always failed to truly pay it any attention.

“Even my hands are bloody and he still hangs around me.” Dante softly admitted, sounding almost relieved by how his son had accepted him. Vergil didn’t quite manage to apply the same logic to himself though. His twin made him let go of the blanket, taking it and wrapping it around his shoulders; it wasn’t cold but it was comforting in its own way.

Then Dante hugged him as if it was the most natural thing for them. Vergil let him do it while he felt his mind ease just slightly at the contact; strange were the reactions his twin had always managed to get out of him, not that he would ever admit that.

Vergil picked up the sound of his brother’s breathing, understating he was about to say something more. “I have as much of your blood on my hands as you have mine. Don’t worry, the kid knows and sort of swore to never let us fight again.” He chuckled at the end, knowing they would just spar for the sake of it from there on with how things were now, but still the intention was felt.

However, while Vergil decided to let his head fall on Dante’s shoulder, arms limb by his side, the hunter spoke again. “He ain’t got just your looks, old man. He also got that stubborn will of yours too.”

At that, Vergil secretly smiled. A moment meant to go away with time, but that for a second put his heart at ease. If his son was stubborn just like Dante said, then maybe he’d be able to look at him without guilt. Maybe.

Chapter Text

Nero wondered who the hell Dante referred to when he said someone wanted to meet him and why he then asked him to jog along to Redgrave without any other explanation. But against all better judgment and common sense, he felt a push to go there and decided to follow his gut feeling – which was usually quite right.

He waved at Kyrie, kissing her goodbye and taking the van, leaving Nico in the house with his lover and their kids. The gunsmith didn't look too pleased but she'd have to bear with her van being taken along the six plus hours ride to the legendary hunter's city; whatever the motive of his journey, it might as well be worth it or Dante will deal with the consequences and the price of filling back up the tank.

Either way, the way over to Redgrave filled Nero’s mind with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake away.

For starters Dante didn’t call him in more than a week and was presumably away for some sort of family business, which by the way, wouldn't involve Nero as well? Besides, he had to find that out from Morrison; the broker wasn't too keen in telling him about his uncle’s business, but the man still gladly explained that the emergency phone was still plugged in.

Which brought Nero’s mind to the next strange occurrence of the day: Dante shutting the world out. The young hunter knew his uncle could do such things if he was down bad for something, namely his brother's death anniversary which struck Nero’s heart each time, but that was only one day, which was far in the calendar.

Then, the absolute lack of explanation over the phone, or overall indications that his uncle was feeling bad or sick by the tone of his voice; he sounded cheerful, even relieved at some point, but also suspicious to Nero’s ears. Who was he talking to?

That was the most important question of the day as he leaned his head on his hand, elbow on the rolled down window and staring ahead at the road stretching for miles before him; Dante was lucky he listened to his gut feeling and went over or the drive over would've been hell, but fortunately Nero had company.

Which consisted of many thoughts, many. They surely kept him occupied and distracted but not too much from the empty road as he dwelt on the mysterious presence his uncle said was so eager to meet him.

If whoever it was was so eager, they would know about Nero, but he couldn’t phantom a name that would react like that at his name being said. Plus, there was no one that he hadn't seen in years or months that would make them eager to meet him back; he knew a few people whom he met regularly, so no chance on that.

Maybe a stranger? Well, it couldn’t quite be one if he knew Nero, but maybe it was someone he didn’t remember, but his memories weren't so bad…

Who the hell were you talking about, Dante?

Nero was munching over the newfound dilemma of the century when the road opened to a city, a smaller one with not many shops or buildings; an outskirt point at the end of Fortuna.

As he drove through the place, his eyes fell on a young child happily holding her mother's hand and tagging along by her side even though it was clear the child wasn't too interested in wherever they had to go. The mother was radiant with a soft smile and long blonde hair and her small daughter, maybe six years old, was giggling at nothing special as her hair flipped and swung around in her ponytail, making a wave of blonde ruby strands; Nero took in the sight of the small family at a red light.

His heart leaped the moment he saw them, so carefree and clearly enjoying each other's company; it left the young hunter with a longing for something he never had, yearning for someone who perhaps never wanted him. It left him deeply melancholic and he even got honked at when the light turned green and he didn't move fast enough.

At the unexpected sound the young girl looked around and spotted him, a small hand waving at him like a long lost brother she had greatly missed; her smile missed a tooth but it was filled with genuine kindness for the stranger that Nero was for her. He smiled back politely when the mother turned as well to see what had stopped her daughter from walking.

The woman aimed her eyes the same way as her daughter's and caught Nero’s, whose gaze was trying to hide the turmoil he couldn’t shake away; the woman was welcoming, as if she knew the hunter’s heart like she had made it, letting him know she could see the hint of pain behind his polite nod.

Even though the whole exchange lasted for less than thirty seconds, time stopped for Nero and the two girls that were staring at him were full of life; it made a small spark of hope burst in his chest, allowing him to put the van in motion and wear a real smile for them to see before parting ways.

In the rear-view mirror, the daughter was still waving at him goodbye as if she would remember him for as long as needed before he came back, while the mother displayed a kind smile that was all about understanding, leaving Nero with a soft spoken wish of finding back his family.

That alone made Nero push down on the gas. He didn’t need to find his family, he just had to reach them especially with the hope to find a warm pizza waiting for him as his stomach was running on almost-empty.

⁜

Dante had to change his mission.

For how much he would've liked to spar with his twin to bring his consciousness back, the kid’s voice alone was enough to put Vergil’s mild back on the right track, at least partially.

The blue twin was now rearranging the nest for the eighth time while Dante glared at him, almost annoyed at the whole ordeal. “You know that the kid will be shocked to see you for the first time and even more shocked when you throw him into your nest, right?”

Dante was already going over all the possibilities of this first meeting between father and son, counting how many would end up in a fight or in someone being injured; for some reason, as he watched his brother try to make a somewhat presentable nest, those numbers were very low. Besides, Nero wouldn't know what it was and wouldn't be able to judge it, so Vergil was just wasting time on it. Or perhaps the red twin just felt like he should be helping him and not just stare at him like a maniac, but still, trying to rationalize the whole situation could help in some way.

Moreover, who says that the kid will believe them, or that he won't run away at the shock of seeing his father, who still walked around with a loose shirt and boxers?

Dante quickly paused on that thought and fetched Vergil’s usual clothes, just his leather pants and boots along with his vest; he placed them slowly at the edge of the nest for his twin to see before he sprung into action, grabbing them and going into the bathroom to change.

Once back, he looked more like himself, with no visible cracks on his skin because it was covered but also because most of them were gone; but he also went back to fuss over the nest.

“Verge.” Dante began moving away from where he was leaning against the doorframe, “meet the kid before losing your mind over it.”

Dante knew his brother's mind was running scenarios over scenarios and that fighting with the nest was just a way to appear not as concerned as he truly was, but the red half-devil read right through him.

“It's my nestling, Dante.” The man abruptly said when the red twin reached his side and placed a soft hand on his shoulder; his demonic instincts were still on but more hidden, although it still allowed Dante these small touches of closure and safety with his brother.

But the man didn’t stop. He fussed over the pillows and rearranged the blankets, his brows furrowing when he saw something he didn’t like and his hands twitching with the need to do something. “I have to make sure he knows.” Vergil said out of nowhere when Dante was still by his side, in a moment of calm before he spotted something else he didn't approve of in the nest.

Dante was beginning to melt under the weight of his brother's concerns, the first true real indicators that his health was somewhat improving anyway; he stopped the blue twin with a tighter grip and turned him to face him.

“What does he have to know?” Dante was both curious and astonished at whatever Vergil might've meant with that phrase. It wasn't typical of his brother to say anything to anyone, especially if it was emotional, but it still didn't surprise the man all that much given how his tail triggered into existence behind him and started fussing over the nearest pillow in a hurry.

Vergil tried to avoid answering, a sign of his human consciousness Dante both missed and now despised, trying to turn back to his work before Dante’s core brushed against his. “That’s a low hit even for you, brother.” The blue twin sharply commented.

Dante just huffed a small sound of satisfaction at having his brother's attention even though his tail was still ravishing the bed. “So?” He pressed on slightly, his hands holding Vergil’s shoulders while his core hummed a soft, warm tune for his other half; he was definitely playing dirty, he knew his twin had been sensible to their connection even since he was back and his demon side had taken over, but a bit of unfairness didn't puzzle him too much.

Vergil looked behind himself, down at his hands, back in Dante’s eyes and then he knew, he understood all the fussing and the worry, the thick layer of it on his brother’s frame as his tail pointed at the ground as if waiting for someone.

“You want him to know you care for him despite everything.” The sentence broke the silence between them and Vergil bowed his head slightly in approval.

That was one hell of a revelation coming from him and Dante felt dizzy because of it.

⁜

Vergil wanted his nestling to know he had never meant to leave him, he didn’t even know he existed up to a few hours ago but now he did and he was already fussing over him like a mother who had lost her child.

The nest had to be perfect, so his child would know he was wanted and appreciated, protected and loved. Spotless of any remains of his or Dante’s sleep so the nestling would feel completely and utterly welcomed in the nest, a place where he belonged first and after which everyone else came.

Even his tail came out to help him set the scene as beautifully and welcoming as possible, puffing the pillows and sorting the blankets to make the nest in the most perfect circle ever seen.

He even changed his clothes when Dante offered them to him, glad for once for his brother's attentive eye on the situation; he could never present himself to his kin in a shirt and some boxers. But then his train of thoughts went on how the nest was an inch too small on the left side or how the pillows were aligned wrong.

Dante caught him red handed apparently, because his brain was spiraling, his demon was fussing over the nestling, regretful to have even left him in the first place and wanting to make up for the lost time, but his human side was what his twin brought back afloat with his hands on his shoulders, asking what he wanted his son to know.

He wished he had an answer that didn't involve grief or pain, regret or fear. But everything his consciousness said as it came back to him were words he had tried to forge into his mind the day the mansion was burned to the ground.

Family is a liability. I will do everything on my own.

He had understood how false that statement was the second Dante caught his arm on the sidewalk to avoid his body crashing on the concrete; he understood that when he heard Dante muffing his cries when he was out cold, but still able to perceive his brother's pain through their bond.

A part of him, his heritage and nature as a half-devil begged to have his nestling back, the other part of him, more human like, battled harshly between what would be better given the circumstances and what the man wanted: Vergil was a man with blood stained hands and a lack of understanding how to properly expressing emotions, which meant the kid would be better without having to translate everything the man would ever do. But still the deepest part of him wailed and hid behind muffled cries how he wanted to get his child back, despite everything that he had missed.

But at the same time, that same part of him was furious with himself for abandoning the woman who had brought the kid into the human realm, enraged to have lost so much time he could've spent with his family if only he hadn’t been so stubborn about his pursuit of power back then.

The former pushed him to isolate from the kid, the latter to dote over him, somehow showing him that his existence, although not known about, was welcomed and that Vergil was willing to stay by his side if he wanted him to. Which was what brought the dread that made his head bow when Dante softly asked him again.

“So?” His voice was genuine, no hint of sarcasm as if it was foreign to his brother’s personality, but Vergil just stared down at his hands in contemplation, wondering about the weight on his shoulders; if it'd crash his son as well or if he was strong enough to avoid such outcome.

Besides, hadn’t he condemned him to enough suffering after leaving him alone as a quarter-devil for all his life? He won't allow his past to hurt his son, not when he had done everything to achieve enough power to ensure just that, that his loved ones would be protected.

Which was when Dante, his everlasting dumb but sharp brother, understood the turmoil of his inner being, not his demon once that was purring in delight at the idea of his nestling arriving soon. No, it was the part of him that wondered if he had the right to love this child, to show him some sort of appreciation in whichever form Vergil was capable of.

It was the part that doubted his ability to love the boy right, to avoid harming him; but Dante understood, surprisingly so.

“Do you think he will allow me to stay by his side?” Vergil asked out of the blue when Dante was hit with the realization of what the blue twin was feeling; the poor man was divided between going full dad mode and the horrors of his past plunging his mind with the harm the kid could go through because of him.

He had been wondering so much about it that his demonic side had subsided, leaving his human mind to take back the reins even if his tail was still out and quietly waiting with its point on the wooden floor, shaking slightly with the chance his kid might reject him altogether at first glance.

“You gotta let him choose.” Dante said quietly but with his undying smirk on full blast; maybe he had a better idea of how this would play out than Vergil himself and he took that as reassurance, a small of it before his twin backed off and let go of his shoulders, patting on the pillows and stretching the fabric of the blankets.

His eyes met with Vergil’s and something took back its place, shifting within as their cores danced in unison; it reminded the man of their time as kids when they used to play in the garden and spar when Sparda wasn't looking. A small smile found its place on the blue twin’s lips.

The spiked tail that was pointedly on the ground poked Dante’s arm to show his appreciation for the gesture, the words and the closure. But then his dumb brother had to speak.

“If you poke the kid he might think you want to kill him.” He chuckled before the tail stabbed his upper arm and pushed him back before he could bleed on the nest.

Vergil smugly stood pridefully and growled at his brother. “Be careful, Dear brother.”

They spared for the rest of the evening after they managed to leave the nest untouched; it surely took a toll on them both since Vergil was back to his usual stoic facade, even though slightly cracked given the hidden soft smiles on his lips, while Dante was back at being stabbed but hot as dangerously as before. That was an improvement, maybe not on the blue twin’s health, but Vergil found it amusing to be back around his family.

Although he was still anxious about his son, Dante's words were still echoing in his mind; a small blessing, maybe even a promise that he could have his family back.

Surely Dante didn’t mind if their sparring content filled with his brother's smirks was anything to go by.

Chapter Text

The roof of the Devil May Cry had been their ring for sparring for quite some time, up to the point when Vergil’s tail almost entirely forgot about Nero and Dante could clearly see his brother coming back to him, which wasn’t just his demon purring at him as he recognized him as family.

Besides, the red twin was even about to win until four wings materialized from the other’s back as he was pinning him down, the extra weight pushing Dante to the floor unable to move much unless he triggered too. “Now you're cheating with the wings out!” Dante hissed as he trashed against Vergil’s hold, “the tail was already a far stretch from the rules, asshole.”

But before he could add anything else the sharp point of that metal black tail was resting just between his eyes, brushing his skin and making him tickle. “Alright, you big lizard, you're up one.” Dante defeatedly whined before he saw a smug smile on his brother's lips; it was not something usual for him, but the red twin had caught glimpses of it throughout the years regardless.

“We're twins, brother.” Vergil said, flapping his wings to ease his weight on Dante, moving aside to sit on the building's roof just beside the legendary hunter; the red twin triggered his wings as well and flashed his fangs in a playful warning, adjusting his position to mimic his brother's.

“You are the big lizard with the tail, brother.” Dante bickered back like the annoyed little brother that he was, but before he could hear what Vergil had to say in response his hearing caught something familiar in the distance. His partial trigger dissolved in crimson sparkles, head snapping in the direction of the van's tires squeaking on the asphalt.

Nero was getting closer to the shop, enough that in a matter of minutes he would be knocking on the door and letting himself in as always. Vergil noticed his brother's attention being elsewhere and promptly listened too, although nothing really caught his ears the way it happened with his twin.

“Dante.” The blue twin said, curious and worried all in one, “what do you hear?”

The legendary hunter noticed his brother's demeanor, how it seemed ready to fight but hopeful for something else. Dante was glad that even though his twin’s demonic instincts had subsided, they didn't seem to vary from the man’s true feelings.

He huffed and gave a nod to a particular direction, almost where the main door was; “kid’s near.” He quietly said and looked out for his brother's reaction, just to be met with a thoughtful expression and that demonic tail, vivid and energetic, swinging its point left and right.

So, before he could rise in the skies with his wings and flew after Nero, Dante got back on his feet with a grunt while stretching his arms above his head; Vergil eyed him just to copy him soon after, tagging along as the hunter spoke as blue wings disappeared. “Let’s go back in. We got a lot of explanations to deliver and I won't be doing all the talking.”

Down flights of stairs that cracked under each of his steps and quietly crinkled under Vergil’s, the two of them were almost back to the second floor where the staircase ended; a few steps before Dante’s boots hit the hardwood floor he felt a pang of distress behind him. Turning around he met his brother's gaze, which even though was spotless of any true indicators, was a door to the man's core that the hunter could read so clearly.

He stopped there, a few steps before welcoming the office’s atmosphere back and let it wrap around his senses. Vergil eyed him cautiously, almost looking guilty before even being accused of anything; Dante chuckled at the sight, so childlike despite his brother's usual demeanor. “You good?” He asked, hiding the small laugh filled with emotions, choking it down.

Vergil nodded, a stern look reappearing on his face just for show; Dante could tell. So, he turned back and walked into the office while his core blatantly engulfed the other’s in a small consolation of closure and perhaps, of soon reunion.

In fact, Dante remained close to his twin even while they waited for the kid to arrive and show himself to them in all his annoyed splendor for having had to drive all the way to Redgrave. He sat on the couch next to his older brother, leaving his desk chair empty and observing how the book of poems his brother loved dearly seemed to not stand a chance against the mesmerizing sight that was the door to Vergil’s eyes.

The hunter sprawled on the cushions, not visibly bothered but hoping that their meeting would end well. Vergil’s gaze sent daggers at the entrance with its intensity and Dante quietly chuckled at the sight.

Oh, to be a father…

His thoughts were soon stopped when the door was slammed open by Nero.

⁜

The few broken slabs of concrete resembling a staircase made a dull sound under Nero’s boots while he got closer to the Devil May Cry's door.

The van was parked just behind him, a silent safe escape in case of imminent disaster was to strike upon his doomed family. His weapons were secured to his frame, fingers ready to grip either of them just in case. A sigh escaped his lips in front of the door, not knowing what was waiting for him behind it.

The words Dante had said had been replaying in his mind. Someone eager to meet him was just behind that door, unlocked and waiting just for his hand to push it wide open and slide inside; it was all up to him now, because whoever was waiting wasn't coming to welcome him in.

Looking around before making any sudden move, he knew Dante was aware of his presence but decided to beat around the bush to build up some courage, just a tiny bit, just in case. The place was the same as always, spotless of any broken bottles or drops of blood, but dirty in the way streets were despite whatever cleaning the government might do. The sight wasn't appealing at all.

At last, in a moment of profound bravery in which he wasn’t all that conscious of his actions, his palm hit the door and his feet moved on their own, bringing him inside the office he knew by heart. He visited often and his memory wasn't too bad, so everything seemed just the usual.

Some bottles around, a few pizza boxes, the empty space and the heavy atmosphere. Well, the heavy feeling wasn't always there and Dante almost never sat on the couch without having an actual reason; it was a strange sight on its own, one the young man didn’t see too often.

Then Nero saw him. A man sat just beside his uncle, with bare arms and an unreadable expression, with azure eyes so clear and sharp that they were digging into his soul in search of something. He almost choked on the saliva he swallowed at the pressure he felt under that gaze.

But he played it cool. Whoever that was, wasn't going to scare the shit out of him with just a look, which oddly enough was similar to Dante’s whenever he was truly shaken by something…

“So, Dante…” Nero said as he took some steps to close the distance; that man's eyes sent daggers all over his body, piercing him in place but he fought to reach his uncle. “What you got me here for, uh?”

He knew the answer, of course he did. It was sitting right there, stabbing him with volatile swords and devouring his soul. Maybe that's a bit too much…

Dante grunted as he got up, the other man copying his every movement; a chill ran down Nero’s spine at the sight of their combined actions, almost identical in form but different in the little details. His uncle just shrugged and looked between him and the stranger, almost contemplating before coming clean.

“Kid, this is your old man.”

“What?”

What a way to say it. Nero’s heart froze at the word and then exploded all over, eyes big and unbelievably huge with shock while Dante came closer, leaving the man to stand on his own. “Yup, he's a bit rough around the edges, but yeah.”

A hand came on his shoulder, big and calloused just like Dante’s touch always felt whenever he complimented him on a hunt with his usual pat-pat and smug smile filled with pride. The legendary hunter looked behind at the man, who was standing still but looking straight ahead at Nero. With a small nod from his uncle, the man took a step closer.

Nero took one too, instinctively. He didn’t realize what he was doing.

Given the closure, those eyes were now familiar, just like Dante’s hand on his shoulder anchoring him to the present. The man's irises were filled with a storm of emotions hidden in a blueish gray tone and half closed eyelids, as if trying to shield himself from the sight of his own blood. Nero would've been hurt by it if he didn’t notice how both he and his uncle were visibly wanting for his reaction.

Then his lips slipped open, a word hanging from them, one he heard Dante say many times; a name that should've been on a grave. “Vergil?”

The name was foreign despite the obvious hint of belonging he felt the moment his lips let the word float in the air, how it created a string of a connection, fragile as a newborn, tying them together in a way Nero had felt only once before: when he first saw Dante, all those years ago while he investigated the Order.

Although back then the feeling was fleeting, leaving him behind quickly; it was meant to tell him something small, that the person he had met shared his blood and that he was a close relative of his but those eyes that were pulling him in were different. The tint of them seemed to speak of longing, of an unspoken knot that had always held them together.

But then, the man remained silent. Nero’s heart ached a little; was he being rejected by his own father at first sight?

He took a step back even though Dante’s hand didn’t let him go too far; he didn’t mean to keep him still or to deprive him of his fugitive arc, but he was asking for a chance, to have a little hope. Which probably manifested itself in a soft sound he couldn't quite pinpoint where it came from, but it was soothing on his senses anyway.

Dante hummed then, a sound so different than the one washing over him with tranquility, and took his hand away while the man, his father, took a step forward with one hand outstretched and a silent invite to come closer; like he was trying to approach a spooked child he didn’t want to stir in the wrong direction, which Nero hoped would be away from him and not the other way around.

One of his hands reluctantly clung to the man’s, frenetic energy pumping in his veins as his hold shook slightly; it felt right but all too new at the same time which Vergil probably noticed as the quiet tune Nero has been listening to got just a tiny bit louder to embrace all his senses, shielding his ears from all other sounds.

As they stood there, with Dante just behind him, it hit him suddenly that the humming tune similar to a cat’s purring was actually coming from his father. Eyes shot wide open and as he stood there slightly in disbelief he wondered if he should do the same; should he be knowing what the man was doing?

At his lack of answers his father slowly pulled him as he began to walk, guiding them up the stairs and into a room Nero swore had been Dante’s. He didn’t have enough courage nor strength to ask either of them about the sudden change, but when his uncle sat on the edge on one side and his father guided him to the other, something felt odd and right at the same time.

Vergil made him sit on the other side opposite to Dante and he then noticed how a circle of garments was on top of the sheets. “Dante,” he spoke quietly as if scared, which earned him his father’s soft song to get a bit more distressed as well. “What’s this?” A finger pointed around him, eyes away from the other man’s frame as he looked at the hunter.

“Trust your pop, kid.” The hunter said without a hint of malice in his tone. So, no sacrifice ritual. Good start. He mentally damned himself for even thinking that he’d be used as a sacrificial lamb by his family.

Besides, when Vergil quietly pushed him to lay down and followed him on the bed to hug him as if a small baby and not a man in his twenties, Nero was dumbfounded and shocked as his face was pressed to the man’s chest and he could hear both his heart and the comforting tune coming from it resonating through the man’s ribcage.

Nero froze on the spot, hands stilled above the man’s frame, floating on top of where his hands would land was he to hug him back, but his mind raged with thoughts; years of yearning for his family came crashing down on him, a massive weight suffocating his lungs and a dead grip he couldn't avoid.

For a few seconds he didn’t even dare to breathe, just laid there motionless as if even the smallest movement would shatter the entire moment; he wondered briefly if it was an illusion and if he got some poison from one of the hits he got on a hunt a few days prior, but his frantic heart must have been heard as his father held him a bit tighter.

“Hush, nestling.” The man spoke above his head, hands on his back as to soothe him to help him calm down. “I’ll tell you.”

Nero didn’t feel any danger nor did he know what the man was referring to; perhaps he could guess, but found it too exhausting to think about it. He felt at peace after years of doubts and rage at his long lost family, why they had abandoned him, but at the words his father spoke with an underlying layer of care, he found himself humming and hugging him back with shaky hands.

⁜

Vergil had his nestling back. It was clear the child belonged to him the moment he saw him, how he could list all his features and which were his and which were of his mother; but words escaped him, like always. He didn’t unsheathe Yamato like he’d do with Dante, he just put out an invite, a hand in offering in the silence around them.

There was no stopping as his demonic side started to fuss over the nestling, chest purring and instincts biting at him, fighting him to get the child in the nest even though Vergil restrained himself from appearing too demonic to the kid. Nero.

Nero was his son, a small bundle of existence he had greatly missed and that was back, right before his eyes in all his scared but excited energy; his own demon must have recognized him as his father, which made him proud even if he could tell Nero had yet to fully awaken his demonic heritage.

Although the kid remained silent in front of his offering and not knowing anything better, after the kid hesitantly held on to him he began guiding him home; it was his only option, the only acceptable one in their current position.

Slowly, up the stairs and into their room he let Dante sit with them as he laid with his son. The shattering of his heart at having back his son couldn't be heard over his soothing tune, but when his eyes met with his brother he was crashed with the soft smile he received back and the knowledge he was being seen didn’t bug him too much; after all he had his son back and nothing mattered more than that.

Quietly, he observed Dante lying down with them while noticing how Nero didn’t acknowledge his uncle’s movements. The poor nestling was too shaken to really check his surroundings, but Vergil didn’t blame him for it; after years spent without his sire, the little one needed time to adjust.

So, hushing him to rest was all he could do while words were impossible to find; laying in the nest with his family was enough of a start and whatever explanation had to be done, could be done later.

Letting his eyes fall shut, sleep washed over him as his soul settled in a peaceful manner, overjoyed with the simplest of facts: his family was back.

Chapter Text

Nero had no idea at what ungodly hour he woke up, the only knowledge he had was about a dim light coming in from the window above the bed and that he was being currently suffocated between his father and uncle; Vergil was wrapped around him, pushing his face into his lean chest while Dante breathed above his neck. A shiver ran down his spine at another hot exhale, but soon enough his attention got caught by something else.

Trying to move to get some air in his lungs and checking for the hour, he calmly wiggled himself around to make some space only to be met with something doing laps around his torso and securing him between the twins; a sharp exhale escaped him and a wave of panic cursed through him, making his head look from left to right in rapid succession, trying to find the source of his apparent jailer.

Something was wrapped around him tightly and it wasn’t anyone’s arm for all he knew; in the darkness all he could see were small reflections coming off the thing circling around him. At first glance, the most reasonable thought would be leather, but then, what in the world was made of leather and was intended in wrapping itself around Nero?

The best idea was to let it be for the time being since it didn’t seem to pose a threat to anyone; it was a rather calm thing keeping him in place. Although he couldn't wait for either of the brothers to wake up and help him out, he had to do something or at least figure out what the thing was.

So, with some calm that wasn’t really his since his heart was beating past his ribs, he investigated further. Letting his eyes adapt to the darkness, he managed to see that the cause of his panic was some sort of rope made of blue black scales which apparently ended with a pointy spear-like weapon.

What luck do I have to end up in this situation?

Upon realizing the thing wasn’t causing him any harm, he pushed on his arms on the mattress and managed to get some space between him and the family sandwich the twins had got him in; it was enough to move the curtain aside and let some more light in, discovering it was just the break of dawn.

Looking back at the rope, he discovered it was actually more like a tail given its proportions and following it from the point going back, he found the starting point to be his father’s nape. Nero’s eyes blew wide and he stared at the discovery for quite some time, taking in the fact that his father had a tail and that said tail was turning him into a burrito.

His first instinct was to touch the tail. Just a soft brush of fingers, out of sheer curiosity, but he refrained himself for the time being since his old man was sound asleep and he didn’t want to risk waking him up over such a small thing in the early hours of the morning.

He simply kept staring at it while laying back down on the mattress and feeling the twins move closer to him unconsciously; Nero felt a blush break over his cheeks at the action and was glad they were both asleep and therefore unable to see it. He knew Dante would tease him endlessly about it.

The first thing that popped in his mind after that was simple: why was the tail there? More precisely, why it was around him and why it was out in the open in such a display of a partial trigger. Nero laid his head on the pillow, sighing softly at the thoughts while he also felt his uncle’s shoulder being near his neck; he must’ve moved and ended up slipping his arm beneath Nero’s pillow throughout the night.

Still, his mind wasn't merciful on him even when his family was around him.

Thoughts and doubts soon filled his mind to the brim with questions he could never quite bring himself to ask, either out of shame or shyness, or both, or unfiltered rage. Therefore, even if he tried to look at the window to clear his head and let some of those anguish interrogatives aside, the sky didn’t bless him.

The moon was high in a starless sky, deep and endless just like his raging mind, always finding more crevices in which more scenarios could play out; the silence didn’t help either. The room was quiet, the twins sleeping made almost no sound apart from a few snores from Dante, while his father was seemingly incapable of making any sound above a dying whisper.

Everything seemed to be against his wish to let go of all those intrusive words and some took root in his mind, replaying incessantly until his lungs spasmed and he had to focus his gaze on something; the only thing in sight was his father’s tail and so he stared at it.

Why did you leave if you seem to be so caring towards me now? But what if you change when you wake up?

That was the one sentence he couldn’t shake away and the more he looked at the scales around his torso, the more he thought that maybe that tail was there for a reason; there had to be a reason, or it wouldn’t be out on its own against his father’s will.

What do you want to tell me but don’t? Is there something that you even want me to know?

Dante said he had been eager to meet him, but what could’ve been all that excitement about if his father had said little to nothing? Still, he couldn’t also deny the simple fact that he felt safe in his presence without much of an explanation; he should ask for one if he managed to get a chance to.

There were too many emotions navigating through him; sadness for the lost years, grief for the lost chances, wrath for the lack of any explanation so far, joy for having his father back. It was exhausting to feel everything and not knowing what to do with it, it made his eyelids heavy and he had to fight them from falling close.

He just wanted an answer, an explanation, something that gave sense to the years of utter solitude and pain he had to go through for the lack of his family. Was it too much to ask? Nero wondered if maybe he could get it all, after all Dante had told him stories about his father, perhaps Vergil would be somewhat open as well about their family history.

But then, in the midst of the sleepless thinking he was doing, a sparkle of an idea came to be.

If his father’s tail was out, maybe he could stroke it to wake up Vergil and ask just a small question, just one and then they’ll all go back to sleep. It was the typical behavior of a clingy kid, but he couldn’t care less; he was tired of losing chances now that his father was there and he didn’t know how long it would last for.

Slowly his hand moved forth, trembling slightly and wondering if he was about to commit some sort of crime against his father; he did sound like a reserved man from his uncle’s stories, but still he had to take this opportunity before it slipped past his fingers.

But when his fingers were hovering above the dark scales of the tail, a hand grabbed his wrist from behind and stopped his plan.

⁜

Falling asleep sensing his brother’s core humming that old song Sparda used to sing to them wasn’t on Dante’s bingo card for the year, but it was a pleasant memory that he had quite forgotten over the years and hearing Vergil nailing every high and low made his heart skip a beat only to rejoin in their own shared rhythm of a heartbeat.

The stoic twin had a way of sharing his feelings as of late, letting them float freely through their bond and letting them dictate the tunes of his jumping core; Dante didn’t mind, not at all. He was over the moon knowing his twin wasn’t hiding as much as he did in the past, but he was aware of the chance that this shift could be all due to his demonic instinct kicking in.

Still, the legendary hunter was hopeful even if delusionally so. He knew the stoic, cold facade was not totally thrown out the window, but having hope was still something Dante couldn't stop doing; perhaps even having the kid around could help Vergil keep that untouchable demeanor more at bay and enjoy the human world.

Either way, even the deepest slumber he had ever been in since he had found out about Nero’s existence and arguably ever since the manor caught fire, Dante was still able to sense his brother’s core humming quietly in the darkness and purring softly; nothing was audible or visible if he was to wake up, he knew that, but the knowledge was enough to make him smile.

But something caught the younger twin’s attention and it wasn’t some residue of their childhood being played by his brother’s core.

The beginning of a tidal wave of panic, the urge to growl and bare fangs and claws, spread wings and unleash a bloodbath; that wasn't the mood of a father who just rejoined with his kin and Dante slowly rose from his sleep to be met with even a more peculiar instinct coming from his brother.

Vergil apparently felt a threat around them and was just about ready to trigger and engulf all the presents with his arms and push them against his chest to protect them; with all due chances, the blue twin also thought that his younger brother hadn't sensed the danger yet, which pushed the older one even more on edge. Funny thing was though that Dante knew there was no danger in sight.

Awakening in a hurry, he was met with a smell quite pungent. Nero was a storm of emotion clasped between the twins with no way out and was so deep within his own thoughts that he had probably no clue that he was affecting the other two men. Dante sighed, running a hand on his face; he should’ve explained something more to his nephew about his demonic heritage and not just the key elements that showed during hunts. Mistake on his part.

Besides, watching around carefully was all he could do as he calmly stirred and moved just enough to observe Nero and whatever the hell he was doing; Dante couldn't read his mind but he knew that his nephew was probably wondering about his old man and some sort of not too good scenarios they could all run into. Another mistake; he should’ve told Nero to have some more hope perhaps.

Again though, it was undeniable that Nero’s emotions were changing Vergil’s responses to his environment. There were small shivers in his form, grinding teeth could be almost spotted along with a clenched jaw, with shoulders squared and caved in; all typical signs of his older brother readying for a fight.

In that instance, Dante noticed how dangerously close his brother’s core shifted towards ‘there’s a threat near the nestling’ and how they were seconds away from having a full blown catastrophe in his bedroom; he’d rather keep his sheets in one piece, if no one minded that.

What a way to bond with your old man, Nero… Could’ve warned me in advance.

Although Dante didn’t have much time to conjure any more remarks in his mind before he spotted some movement coming from his nephew's; Nero’s hand was hovering above Vergil’s tail, which the younger twin had failed to notice all along. Perhaps it got out when the older twin sensed his son waking up, given how the kid seemed fine in navigating through the darkness; he must've been awake for a while.

Nero didn’t stop his hand, presumably not even knowing what was hiding beneath the surface and so Dante had to step in; he couldn’t let his nephew trigger the bomb that was laying right beside them.

With a quick outstretched hand, the hunter got hold of Nero’s wrist, stopping him just before his fingers could brush against Vergil's scales. That was a close call.

The kid turned towards him at the sudden grip, looking over at his uncle with a scrunched up face plastered with confusion and curiosity; in that moment, when those eyes so close to his own, he knew he was in for a dance with the devil if he was to answer something or say anything that wasn't his to share.

Still, he tried to play it cool. But he still unconsciously sugarcoated it a little.

“Let your old man sleep. I haven't seen him this knocked out in a while.” It wasn’t a complete lie since Vergil did in fact sleep every blue moon but he still left unsaid the truth laying beneath that.

Nero turned a bit more to come face to face with him; he looked more like a kid curious about the adults around him rather than the hot headed, foul mouthed, engine revving kid that Dante knew since day one.

“How so?” The kid asked with a layer of innocence covering those two small words with which Nero meant absolutely no harm, but that could as well be the key to a nuclear bomb hidden beneath the bed and ready to explode. It just needed a little push, which Dante could only give, even if slightly misguided.

Dante sighed but disguised it as a yawn; he should’ve predicted Nero’s curiosity about his father, no matter the subject. “There was a bad hunt not too long ago. He’s still recovering from it.”

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move to admit to his brother’s son his current state of weakness, which was basically none existent on the physical level, although something else could be said about the older twin’s mental state; Dante just hoped his nephew would not push further while praying Vergil didn’t hear him or he’d be facing quite the consequences. Besides, he hadn’t even mentioned the instincts yet…

“Mh…” Was all Nero answered with and Dante could tell he wasn’t fully on board with the answer. With all due chances, the kid felt his instincts pulling him towards his father but he had no idea what they were about or their origin; all Nero could’ve known at the moment was just what he could get by giving in.

Before anything else could happen though, Dante tried to soothe the kid to do something else. “Let’s sleep some more.”

Although his plan was a fiasco from the beginning since Vergil was stirring awake, which made Dante’s fear of his reaction even more prominent while Nero seemed happy as if it was Christmas and he just had the go-ahead to unwrap the presents.

“Shit kid, look what you did.” Dante whined but there was no malice in his tone.

⁜

Whatever fool of a monster thought they could threaten his family while they were tucked in their nest safely wasn’t in their right mind and Vergil surely wasn’t going easy on them.

Despite the most restful sleep he had had in years had been disturbed, he had a duty to protect his little family; he wouldn't be losing what was left of it to a lower demon with a dead wish. Besides, the Devil May Cry was as much Dante’s home as it was his, therefore he wanted to protect the little corner of the world in which they were relatively safe.

There would be no more tragedies like the one that drove his family apart. Even if Sparda wasn’t there for them he’d be there for his son and brother like his father had never been; no one would harm them anymore…

His trigger washed over him immediately at the implication of his kins being hurt, wings spreading over the bed and tail wrapping more securely around the nestling, whom he cradled closer to his chest while his brother got engulfed by two sets of massive blue wings. It worried Vergil that Dante didn’t sense any danger; was his little brother already hurt?

Vergil wouldn't allow anything to happen to either of them, not when he might have already failed.

With a perpetual growl in his throat he scanned the room and let everyone know that he'd kill for his family; no matter how many or how strong his opponents would be, the blue twin wouldn't be merciful in any regards when it came to shielding his family from danger's ways. Enough had already happened to the Sparda lineage and he wasn’t going to let it expand further.

Glacier eyes looked over the dark room, with nothing but a desk with a chair and a wardrobe falling apart, spotting nothing out of the ordinary; Dante’s room had to be saved sooner or later, but that would be a concern he’d save for another time, especially so when the window allowed some light to come in, enough to see his brother and son without relying too much on the color scheme of night vision.

Although his senses were on high alert for any possible outcome, he couldn’t help but notice how Nero was now looking up at him from where he was tucked in his chest; aiming his head down to look at the nestling, he only saw curiosity and confusion while the dull mix of past emotions was slowly fading from the air.

Dante was also looking at him, in whatever degree he could do so since his wings were keeping him locked in place behind Nero; Vergil slowly lessened his hold to make sure his little brother had no trouble breathing. Despite being half-demon and not requiring much oxygen, having it was still greatly appreciated.

Along with it, he also lessened his hold around Nero, fearing he might crash him if he didn’t give him some sort of relief from his tail keeping him secured to his chest. The nestling seemed to appreciate the gesture more than his brother, who was looking at the ceiling in disbelief while his son was caught between too many questions.

“Dad?” Nero asked and from the hesitation covering his tone Vergil knew the word came out more from his demon side than his human one, tasting the name on his tongue for the first time without truly knowing much else about the man in front of him. Vergil didn’t blame him for it, he had been absent for many years and his kid being cautious just made him proud since it proved he wasn’t naive.

Vergil, given his trigger still being on full display and completely invested in protecting his family, only chirped at Nero and purred slightly, low enough only for him to hear and if Dante tried to listen to it, also for him.

Nero wasn’t quite sure how to interpret what he had just heard and Vergil found it amusing more than he should. “... Dad?” His nestling’s voice was a soft whisper against the growl that was still rumbling from deep within his throat.

But Dante was the one to answer Nero’s unspoken worries. “You flipped the switch, kiddo… And I did all that work to make sure he wouldn’t be too demon-oriented about this.” The small explanation was soon followed by Nero turning around to meet his uncle’s gaze, leaving Vergil to witness the scene as it unfolded.

Without much of a warning, Vergil soon felt his brother’s hands caressing his wings, feeling the velvety texture of it in the palms of his hands and purring softly, his rhythm mixing with the one the older twin was still keeping on for Nero. A few chirps also escaped the younger twin’s lips, a soft plea of reasoning, to let his brother know there was no threat through his playful quirks and soft touches. The nestling just looked at his uncle in awe and nodded to himself, understanding something for then turning back towards his father; Vergil was pleased to have his attention back.

“How do we get him to trigger back?” Nero suddenly asked while staring at his father’s face, probably taking in the sight of his trigger and wondering how he ended up in such a situation with his weird family members; Vergil, once again, didn’t blame him for thinking something even remotely similar to that.

Dante just kept on going with his ministrations while answering Nero. “We wait.”

At the answer, Vergil felt Nero's eyes trail south, observing his tail. The blue demon thought about moving it away but decided against it, not fully trusting the darkness to not hold any harm, which allowed his kid to go on with what could only be called ‘a homemade plan’.

Soon enough, a pair of hands caressed the rough scales of his tail; the touches were small and deliberate, calculated but also mindlessly flawless in their doing, as if Nero was just trying to figure out what was going on without causing any more stress to his father. Vergil was delighted at the care his son showed him even if he was basically a stranger to him.

Still, Vergil looked at his family in a new light. When he woke up feeling an imminent danger coming closer, his son and brother were more invested in calming down his raging heart and quieting his demon before he went on a bloodbath on their behalf. For some reason, he found it worthy enough to let go of his defenses for once.

In a shower of cobalt sparkles, he let go of his trigger, although letting his tail and wings out just in case. He might lower his defenses, but he wouldn't completely let go of them, besides they allowed him to keep his family close without having to explain much and therefore keeping his feelings to himself.

“There’s no need to waste any more time.” He quietly explained as two sets of eyes landed on him; Dante’s were full of relief while Nero’s were delighted and still confused. Vergil wondered how much his son actually knew about his heritage since he seemed to be on the blank with how things were unfolding.

Still, Nero didn’t remain silent for too long. “Good morning to you too,” he yawned as he spoke and Vergil noticed the early hour being displayed on the clock on the nightstand.

Dante just softly pushed against the wings as he spoke as well, “who wants some breakfast then?”

Vergil met his brother’s gaze and with a discreet nod spread his wings to let his twin slip out and go down to the kitchen to fetch some edible meal for them all; he was ready to stab him if he dared to feed them pizza when the sun was barely above the horizon.

Nero remained with him though and the nestling sensed that something was coming. “What?” He asked with a side of innocence and a more refined wariness; Vergil just planted his eyes on him and moved forth, trying to master the power he sought for so many years into helping him breach the upcoming conversation.

“Sorry for the rough awakening.” He decided to go around it at first, allowing a few more moments of peace to stretch further between them before hundreds of questions would be unleashed; he dreaded how many answers he could or couldn't remember.

Nero huffed before mumbling under his breath. “Weird, but I’ve seen worse stuff over the years.”

The implied admission of accepting, even if unknowingly so, part of his heritage made Vergil feel proud of his son; it swelled in his chest, almost suffocatingly so, before he let it go in favor of stroking the white strands falling on Nero’s forehead. He was glad the gesture was welcomed, even if watched with scrutiny at the beginning. It was foreign for both of them, but in the nest, still under the waking sun’s blessing, it seemed a distance that they could close quite easily, leaving the past behind for a few more seconds.

But Vergil knew he couldn't let his son wonder for too long on his own, after all he had done so for many years already and the night’s disguise could last only so much. “After breakfast, I shall answer your doubts to the best of my abilities.”

Nero was pleasantly surprised at the promise, but pushed slightly for something more. “ Sure thing. But until Dante calls us down for breakfast to eat, I’m just gonna ask one question now.”

Vergil was amused by his nestling’s lack of discipline, finding it entertaining beyond measure and nodding absentmindedly to his son, giving him the go-ahead to unleash his mind over him.

Those replicas of his own eyes stared at him while Nero contemplated what to ask, while Vergil noticed how fierce and vivid his irises were; that was a trait he must have inherited from Dante, probably from being close to him for some time. Still, his son’s question, when it passed his lips, left him speechless.

“Where have you been all this time?”

Vergil’s heart shattered into a million pieces and while he tried to breathe, nothing entered his lungs correctly, but someone was kind enough to send him a way out. From the kitchen, he heard Dante calling for them to come down which prompted Nero to let the question be unanswered as he slithered out his father’s tail.

The blue twin let go of his partial trigger and followed his son, as Dante would say, hot on his heels, even though he really felt like fleeing the scene before opening Pandora’s box. But now that he was there, he could just figure it out on the go and do his best to prevent his family from crumbling to ashes.

He wouldn't let go of his family now that he had it back.

Chapter Text

Remaining sat at the table after their breakfast was finished and watching Nero finish his second serving by his side could've easily been the hardest few minutes of Vergil’s existence, especially while Dante observed him for the seat in front of him.

Doubts had filled his head and he had little experience on how to deal with them since they were all about Nero, whom he had known for a little less than a day but that he already didn't want to lose, not again.

He owed him more than just a dry, half explanation and a promise of ‘I'll tell you later’, which knowing himself could become ‘I'll probably never tell you unless forced to', so he had to be more factual in his approach. He needed to give Nero the answers he deserved without holding back anything from him, even though he knew some things weren't meant to be shared…

Still, he knew he had to say something about the past, about the bank spaces he left in Nero’s life and at the same time, in Dante’s. The only option he had was to try and work around the events, saying everything he could to fill the gaps between him and his family.

But once everyone was sitting around the kitchen table, staring and poking at the funny looking scrambled eggs Dante had cooked, he found himself lost. Should he speak to his son privately or not? After all, he did own an explanation to his brother's as well.

Therefore, making up his mind while eyeing both members of his family, he drew his conclusion; he'd tell everything with Dante being present, hoping for a good outcome.

With a quiet look, he got his brother's gaze, a flicker of an answer passing by his irises. ‘This is for you too.’ Was all that shared moment of complicity meant to say and Vergil saw how his little brother prepared for the impact of a story he probably didn't feel like hearing over breakfast.

Then he got Nero's attention by clearing his throat without sounding overly aggressive in doing so. His son snapped his eyes over him in the blink of an eye, somehow catching up on what was about to happen.

Vergil knew silence would only drive his son further away from him and with time, the same result would apply to Dante as well; the legendary hunter might have figured out something already, but hearing it would be much better even if also much harder.

“Hell,” one word spoke through gritted teeth with eyes not focused on anything but Nero to keep the nightmares away. “I was in Hell.”

Nero's eyes were glued to him; Vergil could see the gears in his mind spinning violently before he spoke. “Why? Did something happen?” That prevented you from staying with your son…

The unspoken part lingered with anger was palpable in the air and before Dante could step him, as Vergil saw him about to reach for his son, the older twin let it slide; it was deserved in part and he wouldn't shy away from it if it was one of the walls separating him from his son.

He tried to start again, perhaps from the beginning. “At the time…”

But nothing came out of his mouth. Deep down he knew telling Nero the truth was his only option, but he couldn't admit much of anything that had happened during that period of his life; it didn’t matter that Dante already knew part of it anyway, his son shouldn't be a witness to all his faults and mistakes, not when his little brother had already seen the state he was in after his escape.

Vergil wasn’t able to do much else but run a hand through his hair in exasperation; given his demonic instinct had taken the lead for the past days, the change gave him the chance to pass through his own mask and share something with his son, no matter how… vulnerable that would be, he had to do it.

Besides, much to his surprise, his little brother noticed and chirped for him gently, cheering for him to continue if he wanted to and letting him know it was fine to stop and change the topic, while Nero waited patiently and probably understood to a certain degree the weight of what his father was trying to process in front of them all. Plus, his son’s anger seemed to have subsided momentarily in favor of letting Vergil breathe somewhat easier.

Giving it another go, a few words managed to pass through the knot in his throat and the tangled tongue that needed quite some time to unfold. “At the time I was with your mother, but I had to leave her to ensure her safety.”

Nero’s eyes widened at the mention of his mother. Dante listened without saying a word, just eyeing his brother and listening closely.

"Although, due to the foolishness of my youth, I sought information from the Order of the Sword and ultimately, upon a Hellgate, I lost to Dante.” Each word was spoken with calculated calm, weighted in tone and thickness, trying to convey the depth of his story without sharing details that would just inevitably hurt all of them.

Still, Vergil noticed immediately how his brother flinched at the mention of their fight, recalling their swords clashing and the words they had spat at each other. Besides, the older twin didn’t have the stomach for Dante's eyes darkening as he probably remembered the cut he had given him before they parted ways for more than two decades.

His eyes even fell on that same hand and Vergil had to stop himself from taking it into his own and whispering his sorrow and regret for what he had done; now was not the time, perhaps that would be for another moment.

But Vergil went on. “After my defeat, I jumped into the Underworld and…”

That part was easily skippable and no one batted an eye on that. Vergil wasn’t ready to recall his years tortured by Mundus, and perhaps never will be, while Dante was already rising the room’s temperature and by the side, Nero was shallowing hard and cracking white knuckles, sharing his uncle’s feelings out of sheer instinct.

“I managed to escape just recently, a few days before Dante called you.” Giving the only ending he could, the silence that was left around them was heavy and thick, but no one dared to speak.

Until Nero did, hesitantly and with a slight low nod, almost bowing to his father to show him some sort of understanding; perhaps that he understood it was a vulnerable moment and that even if he was about to say something, he would back down if his instincts-induced curiosity was too much to handle.

Vergil just nodded his way, feeling Dante’s core brush against his after their left overs had gone cold; the small remains of food had been forgotten as he spoke.

“What… What happened in Hell?” Nero’s tone was almost shy, quiet and reserved in a whisper that the wind carried away in a quick, cold breeze.

The blood in Vergil’s veins froze at the question, at the exact answer he was avoiding all along and that he had no way to truly share with either of them. It was simply too much, a weight he now resigned himself to carry alone for the rest of his life. Not even a simple word about that time could be uttered, it would open floodgates that would never be truly closed shut again.

And Dante, dear little brother of his, was the one to come saving him. Again.

Along with the pain Vergil didn’t realize he was letting flow freely in their bond, the red twin also sent a wave of comfort and understanding, which the blue twin reciprocated with one of gratitude.

Nero watched as the silent exchange took place and tried to decipher the look Dante was giving him; he was quite sure that in that expression, he saw a reflection of the unreadable face of his father.

⁜

Dante felt his brother’s emotions cursing through their bond in a wave of shreds of glass covered in blood and he couldn't stand thinking whatever Vergil had to go through, which surely involved violence to degrees they’ve never reached while sparring, but would rather not hear about it from his brother’s lips.

Vergil's posture was stiff on the chair he had been sitting in for the past half an hour, shoulders caved in in defense and head not so noticeably low as to avoid eye contact. Nero watched as he prepped himself forth, waiting, while Dante got closer to his brother in front of him, leaning towards him despite the table separating them.

Besides, there was a wave of untameable anger floating through his own veins towards Mundus for harming his brother to the point that old pain was still following him; the wish to kill the bastard all over again was strong.

Still, he managed to get his wrath chained and stepped into his twin’s narration to answer Nero’s question before someone got badly hurt in the meantime; it could be either of the twins for all he knew.

“Your old man had a hard time down there, Nero. That is enough to know.” Shutting down a kid’s curiosity had always been Dante’s field of expertise after all, yet his tone was covered with a firm yet pleading layer of understanding, as if asking his nephew not to push further on that question since it was a sensitive topic.

Nero just retreated in his seat as he had previously moved forward, listening closely and now pondering what he had just learned even if it wasn’t a lot. Dante kept an eye on him, curiously so as well, while trying to comfort his brother through their bond.

“Alright.” Nero spoke a few seconds later with an underlying hint of curiosity he couldn’t really shut down, not as quickly as Dante would've liked. The man understood, letting the kid process his own emotions while his eyes trailed back to Vergil.

His brother looked definitely more relaxed since his son dropped the topic, but there was still something haunting his expressions in ways Dante couldn't quite pinpoint; perhaps he was remembering what had happened in Hell or maybe something far worse that no one would ever want to face.

As if reflecting his thoughts, Vergil’s skin also turned paler than usual under Dante’s watchful eyes and that was the last drop the red twin was willing to take.

Standing from his seat he earned everyone's attention just for them to watch as he prepared the kettle and set it on the stove; he knew by heart how his brother liked his tea and there was nothing better than a cup of it to relieve stressed nerves.

It didn’t take too long for the steaming cup to be ready and in front of Vergil, who thanked Dante with a small smile and even smaller sips as he savored his hot drink. The hunter just sat back in his seat and took in the sight of his brother relaxing; it was enough to allow him to let go of some of his own stress too.

Then, out of nowhere while both twins were focused elsewhere, Nero spoke, breaking the silence once more. “I’m glad you still made it out, at least we can be a family now.”

The kid was hopeful on the matter, Dante could tell. He wasn’t satisfied with the answer but he still understood the red twin’s words for what they were. The legendary hunter was glad the kid tried to change the subject, knowing it would be much easier to talk about anything else for his brother.

And surprisingly, Vergil also reacted to Nero’s shift with a hidden smile Dante knew the kid would have trouble understanding, but the fact that he showed any sort of reaction was already far from the usual stoic man the hunter had often told his nephew about.

Then, Vergil’s breathy spoken voice crushed between them; Dante never thought he’d hear his brother sounding so calm and soft. It was almost frightening. “If you’ll be willing Nero, there’s nothing more than I wish for.”

The answer shocked Dante to the core because Vergil was talking about him too; it was clear in that half look he sent his way as he spoke. Additionally, he was being unusually open about his feelings for much longer than Dante had previously estimated and that was without being too drunk on his demonic instincts.

Nero was also dumbfounded and Dante could clearly tell why; all he had ever told the kid about his old man was about all the stern looks and stoic appearance. Not at all about being open and expressing himself without a fight or some sort of snarky comments.

So, while they were both recovering from the shock, Dante jumped in after he managed to kick his brain back in gear.

“What about we go out for a little family hunt? Nothing too crazy.” He had a smile on his lips that he couldn’t suppress, the idea was too exciting. He jumped out of his seat and moved towards his desk, shuffling through the various jobs Morrison left behind.

Nero shared the same sentiment as he followed closely. “I'm all in. You got lucky I got my weapons… Somewhere around here.” He looked around and patted himself, unsure of where Blue Rose and Red Queen were; Dante didn’t know as well.

Then, allowing them another surprise, Vergil stepped in as he stood just between them. “They are both by the bed. I took care of it before you fell asleep.”

Dante smirked behind a protective hand, amused at seeing Nero blushing and nodding; the kid stomped over the stairs and into the bedroom, coming out with his gear all settled in place while Vergil studied his selection and somehow, the red twin knew he was proud.

There was something beautiful about the whole ordeal. How father and son were getting closer even when they had absolutely no idea how to do so, and it showed, while Nero tried to strike a conversation that Vergil couldn't hold for more than a second.

“Come on, let's kick some ass.” Nero chimed at his dad, who just stared blankly at him without saying a word. They'd have much to catch up on.

Still, Dante watched the scene unfolding in silence as father and son started to slowly close the gap between them by being more human than not.

⁜

The hunt Dante selected for them was just about a bunch of empusas, that even though were an extremely easy kill for all of them, were absolutely too many. Nero swore it could’ve easily been ten nests together to make up for the number of demons he had been slicing through for the past two hours.

“Should’ve figured this out when Dante talked about an ‘easy and quick’ hunt. This is like a warm-up for him.” Sighing as he slashed through another demon that squeaked as it died, something else caught his attention in the midst of the fight they walked into thanks to his uncle’s lack of decision-making skills.

It was a burning feeling piercing right through him, from back to front, leaving him feeling uneasy and quite aware of himself, almost too much for his own liking; he could feel his toes move around in his socks and it disturbed him tremendously. Looking around in search of the source of such an annoying feeling, he couldn't find anything that was guilty enough to his eyes.

The empusas were fighting all around them, coming out of various caves all around them, especially from the huge one in front of which Dante was currently impaling demons upon demons on his sword; he had a smug smile as he felt Nero watching him, showing off some cool tricks with devil arms coming out of nowhere. The young hunter huffed and killed some more pests, revving his sword and watching out for his uncle’s reaction.

Dante had never quite stopped showing him his pride and overall happiness at having him around, having a bit of his family back. Even now, the expression the younger twin sent his way was adoring and endearing which made Nero blush a little; he never quite got used to it and so he just turned around and searched for the other man.

His father was at the back, the furthest away from what Nero could only call the main door of the nest, appearing and disappearing in gushes of cobalt sparkles he couldn't quite catch unless the man was staying still in place, which wasn't something that was going to happen during a fight, but the sight was marveling all the same.

Deadly elegant and precise, enough that Nero’s spine was shook with a brute shiver as he slayed more demons without even thinking too much about it. Vergil was almost ethereal in his fighting style, the complete opposite of what he and Dante usually went for, even if he knew the red twin was capable of equal precision if he wanted to. He had cut off the Hellgate in Fortune with Yamato after all and that required something more than a few bullets and a big sword accompanied by an angry attitude.

Besides, wasn’t his father supposed to be resting? Dante said he was still recovering… But while he thought of that, chills came back to disturb his fight and he turned just in time to notice how Vergil had already finished with his bunch of empusas and was now staring at him, almost observing as if Nero couldn’t see him.

It went on as Nero fired more bullets and a small detail unsettled him more than he was willing to admit; his father was staring just at him, totally avoiding Dante and letting him fight in peace. The young hunter envied his uncle for a moment before his temper was set ablaze as the last of his empusas became smashed meat on the ground.

“What are you looking at, old man?” He was half glad his tone seemed too rough to have any poison in it, just showing part of his exhaustion for hours of fighting. Besides, calling Vergil ‘father’ or ‘dad’ was almost too much out in the open, even when they were in the middle of a far off forest east of Redgrave; he was still shy about it despite the events of the night, he needed more time to think it through.

Still, his father seemed to understand, somehow and hopefully, as his gaze didn’t alter too much even when Nero expected some sort of pain to be in his eyes; the man must have slipped back on the stoic mask Dante had told him about in all his stories. Either way, the young man was still wondering if he was in for a scolding of some sort or some sort of advice talk from the man.

Vergil was utterly quiet before he spoke. “Your form is impressive, yet you should refine it further.”

Nero was left dumbfounded at his father’s words since the man essentially complimented him while also criticizing his fighting style, but not in a bad way, more like an ‘unwanted advice’ kind of way… Shocking, but appreciated, the kid couldn't deny it. Besides, looking swiftly around, there were just a few demons left; without needing a word, both men decided to let Dante handle them so that they could talk.

But what could they talk about? He could start by saying the obvious reply to his father’s comment.

“...Well, thank you I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling anxious about talking to his father when he seemingly looked like the version of himself Dante always told him about, but there was something that didn’t sit right within Nero’s guts. He decided to ignore it.

Vergil tried to start a conversation then, on the only topic they knew they had in common so far. “Where did you learn?”

Nero smiled at the memories floating in his mind at the question, feeling like a little kid all over again, this time with his dad there to listen to the news he had to share after a day in the life of a seven years old. “Credo taught me while I was still with the Order.”

The face he received back from his father was both priceless and speechless; the man had absolutely no idea about who Nero was talking about, and despite the small pang of pain that it brought, he knew the man was still familiar with the Order of the Sword. One out of two, I guess.

He decided to swiftly explain to him as he walked closer to the man’s side, so that it was easier to talk while both could watch Dante finish off the demons. It was a rather mundane scene from an outsider point of view, if Dante was to be a construction worker and not a demon hunter, but they couldn't have it all.

“Credo was my adoptive brother. I lived with his family while with the Order and now me and Kyrie, his sister, live together in Fortuna.” Thinking he had explained with the least amount of words possible while also saying enough to be understood, he turned towards his father just to be proved wrong.

Vergil’s face was totally blank, almost comically so and while Nero held in a fit of laughter, Dante showed up and wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders, which given how the man was beyond happy at his gesture being accepted, was something he didn’t expect the older twin to allow him to do.

Still, Dante joined in their conversation as Nero knew he had been listening to; how could he not? His uncle had told him about Credo’s last moments.

“Kyrie is Nero’s lady. They’ve been together for many years, ever since I found him in Fortuna. And they also have three adoptive kids running around in their house.” Nero noticed how he left out Nico and silently, after they exchanged a glance, they knew it was for the best to keep the gunsmith as a little surprise until Vergil was more familiar with the human world.

The older twin looked perplexed as he uttered another question. “I see… What about Credo?” His voice didn’t hold any malice or demand, just curiosity hidden behind a layer of indifference Nero could already read past. The man wanted to know about him, about his family and past, but didn’t want to show it for some reason.

But Credo was still a sore topic even after all these years; his head hung low to the ground, eyes unfocused before a few softly spoken words left his lips. “He died during the Savior Incident.”

Then, as he was about to change the topic to something else, a sound caught his ears. It was coming from the cave Dante had been fighting in front of, the ‘main door’ of the nest. Slowly, he moved towards it, his father and uncle in tow after they broke apart as he felt their presence behind him, quietly watching his back and both his sides.

“I’m gonna go check it out.” He said without too much thinking involved and turned towards the twins, reading himself before his father’s face crunching up in deep concern caught his attention. Dante just looked between them, somehow already knowing what was about to come.

Nero could just ask, he didn’t know what his uncle did. “Something’s wrong, dad?”

The word slipped past his lips without any warning and he damned himself for not controlling his mouth better, but the sentiment eased out of him as he saw Vergil visibly relaxing at the word. Perhaps he wouldn't need to dwell too much on it as he had previously decided, he could just go with it and see how the blue twin would earn it instead.

Then, the man elaborated, voice calm but with a deep tone. “You shouldn't go alone, Nero.”

He just smiled big and revved Red Queen above his shoulder. “I can take care of it, old man.” Nero could easily get used to switching from one name to the other, going based on what felt right in the moment.

Yeah, it can be a start as good as any.

Turning his back to the twins, he couldn't see Vergil taking a step towards him nor Dante gripping his shoulder to stop him from following his son. He also missed what his uncle whispered into his father’s ears, but knowing the man, it could be a joke or a soft reassurance, not that Dante knew the difference though.

So, Nero ventured into the cave, leaving the other two behind to wait for his return.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t too long before Nero couldn’t see the entrance of the cave anymore with each step he took forward; the tunnel took a curve, so soft that he didn’t even notice the shift until he turned back to catch a last sight of the twins. Too bad he found out he couldn't and only saw rocks welcoming him.

Another surprise soon came along the more he ventured within the empusas’ nest and it wasn’t something he’d like to see or that he had ever seen before. On the walls, the further inside he was, the more were the strange symbols constellating the rocks surrounding him. He briefly thought of runes and magic, but let it slide when he heard the demon’s weak call.

I’m here to finish the job. The rest is for later.

Still, the circles and various incisions around him didn’t settle too well in his guts. That wasn’t typical empusa’s behavior, nor was it ever documented anywhere that these low level demons could even do something that seemed quite complicated and that required a certain amount of precision they surely didn’t have.

Just in case, he memorized a few runes hoping to redraw them for Dante without summoning something they wouldn't want to spawn within the office; that would be embarrassing since his father would also be there. Shaking his head, he pushed the thought away and moved forward, intended on finishing the job.

The more he walked, the less he saw since there was little to no light coming from the entrance, but surprisingly he found himself in the last bit of the cave, which served as the actual nest with a big enough entrance that reminded him of a huge hall. Stranger was the fact that as he approached, he could spot a dim purplish glow coming from the end of the cave.

Once in the cave’s ‘hall’, he found out the source of the light. Even though the space was circular, in four points distributed all around there were braziers that held a fierce magenta fire Nero couldn't explain. Getting closer to one of them, he let his hand hover above it and found it to be colder than usual.

The fact that it had another temperature and that was of such a strange color didn’t die on Nero and neither did the fact that the entire room was covered in symbols and that on the furthest end of the room, facing the way he had come, there was a small stone table with a cloth on it: an altar. On top of it, on the wall, there was a drawing that resembled what the hunter could only guess was a woman.

He wanted to investigate it as well, in addition to the shocking detail that the place was spotless of any demon’s trace, but the demon’s call stirred his thoughts back in line and Nero had to push his curiosity to the side to see an end to the job and finally go home.

Looking around, there was no evident source of where the sound came from and for a brief instance he considered going back to call the twins; he could surely handle a dying demon but there was something odd and wrong about the place itself. But he couldn’t do anything about it as the sound came again, now giving him a little help.

It was clear enough for him to figure out its origin despite the echoes from the room. Between two braziers to the right, there was another small dent in the wall, big enough to be considered a nook; feet moved on their own volition and he closed the distance without thinking.

Drawing his gun before actually seeing the demon, he took the last few steps just to be met with the most gruesome sight he had ever had the displeasure to witness; the smell of it also didn’t help.

There was an echidna slaughtered into pieces, a pool of crimson beneath her dismantled body while only her torso had been somehow spared the same fate as the rest; Nero whined at the sight, way too brute and grotesque. Her cuts were made with clinical precision and that made it even worse.

The petal shaped appendages were scattered on the floor, each of the same dimension and positioned in a ring around the demon, while arms and vine hair were severed at the very junction with the body, leaving them close to what was left of the echidna. Besides, the demon was still making sounds, not completely dead yet somehow.

Nero found killing her more about mercy than anything else for an instance, until she made that howling, dying sound again. Perhaps the demon didn’t notice him there and Nero was quite sure she couldn’t even care less if there was someone there or not; the demon was just waiting to die at this point.

Until she did, in fact and lastly, noticed him standing there with his gun pointed at her head. She chuckled and Nero found it strange, unsettling even how a demon would break in a fit of laughter while on the brink of death, but he knew better than to question the sanity of any demons.

“What irony… A Sparda answering my call.” Her voice was strained and breathy, it was an effort the echidna was almost unable to bear with, but Nero noticed the edge in her tone. Something was going according to plan, as if he being there negated the decaying state of her body and somehow made it worth it.

“Guess you’re in for a monologue or you wanna die now?” Nero wasn’t too sure about finding out what was going on, but he knew he should gather some information for the twins even if he knew the chance of getting nightmares from the sight of her body was pretty high. Still, whatever the hell was going on, needed investigation.

The echidna locked her pale eyes with his, her expression devoid of everything except one thing: hunger. “You are my lucky ticket, young Sparda. You’ll be enough to soothe her heart.”

Nero cringed at the words but the demon seemed unfazed even when he shifted his finger on the trigger, ready to fire on her. She just kept mumbling in a low tone, eyes now trailed on the blood slowly flowing out of her midsection, uncaring of his presence as if she didn’t care anymore about him.

“She will be very pleased with you,” the echidna mumbled in contemplation, “maybe, knowing her as much as I do, she’ll go after the old one too. After all, she had a particular liking for that one.”

The demon chuckled, eyes barely focused as she probably remembered something while the young hunter took a step forward and readied his stance. He had enough of her sick and creepy story.

“Why don’t you tell me something more useful, ugly face? Like a name.” He still searched for something, a little clue that he could report to the twins later.

The demon snarled and tried to reach out to Nero only to be met with her missing limb while the hunter fired a bullet in warning; he was hanging between curiosity and wariness. But she responded.

“No name is needed. When she’ll be here, the prince’s name will be the only one you’ll be able to utter.” Coughing at the end, she then began to laugh hysterically and Nero shot her without a second thought between her eyes; what she had shared was enough, he’d make sure of that.

Not wanting to look at the scene more than necessary, Nero turned on his heels and went back to the main space of the cave that was now enlightened by a soft shade of pink coming from the braziers while as he looked around, he noticed that on the altar there was a robin bird, which stared deeply at him.

The small bird, with its puffed up red chest and small beak, was intrigued by Nero’s sight which wasn’t a look the young hunter appreciated all that much. “What in the world…”

Before he could finish speaking, taking a few slow steps towards the altar, the bird beat him in time and flew away above his head. Nero followed it and saw how the bird had its head turned to look at him until the very last moment before it disappeared past the tunnel.

What the hell is going on in this creepy, shitty place?

Quickly, he found his way out of the cave, utterly at a loss of words and on edge about the whole sequence of events he had just been a part of. Although, when he saw the twins they looked beyond angry and maybe… terrified?

Nero couldn't truly tell from such a distance but something told him they weren’t mad at him.

⁜

Vergil was relentlessly waiting for his nestling to come back to him, out of a nest of demons that weren’t family; he had the sickening feeling that something could come out of that cave along with his son and that it wouldn't be anything good, but he refrained himself from showing more concern than he already did and let the words Dante had whispered in his ear soothe him just a little.

“He’s coming back and we are not leaving him.”

Dante was right, although he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. Nero was coming back and then they’d go back to the Devil May Cry and do… something. Which Vergil hadn’t planned at all.

He knew he couldn't throw Nero back into the nest, humans didn’t follow the same customs as demons, which left Vergil mildly annoyed at their lack of bonding opportunities with their youth. Still, he felt like he could push his luck, perhaps just a little… He restrained himself from entertaining such thoughts before they took him too far, deciding to take in the sight of his brother.

Even when they were nothing more than small kids, Dante had never been able to wait patiently like Vergil could; he’d throw a fit about ‘time not passing by fast enough’ at their mother while Eva tried to console him with some sweets which Dante had never hesitated in sharing with his older twin. Vergil had never understood why his brother would share, but somehow he also never questioned it.

Dante had impaled his sword to the ground, almost as tall as he was, and leaned against it as if it was a wall. Arms crossed over his chest and hair covering his side profile, although Vergil could clearly tell what the other was looking at with such attention; the entrance of the nest was safely guarded by the legendary hunter and the blue twin, for a brief moment, sent his gratitude towards the other’s core.

The other just smiled brightly but didn’t avert his eyes from his target, although as time passed and Vergil himself crossed his arms and hung his head just an inch lower, Dante’s distress was beginning to float within their bond. The blue twin raised a questioning eyebrow while not changing his stance.

“Does something burden you, dear brother?” Vergil didn’t change his tone much, but decided to leave aside the usual sharpness it carried whenever he spoke to his brother; after all, those times had been long since passed.

The red twin didn’t avert his gaze, not that Vergil had expected him to, but responded regardless after a minute of silence, perhaps of contemplation of some kind.

“Just looking out for the kid, and you.” Vergil found himself losing his balance at the admission but quickly worked around it and straightened his posture, but the obvious change in his brother’s demeanor didn’t die on him that easily.

He noticed the cadence of his little brother’s voice, how he sounded at the edge of sharing something but ultimately decided against it at the last second and before he could pry further, that demon’s sound echoed through the cave again, although it didn’t alter their conversation much since it sounded weak, on the brick of death, therefore Nero could handle it.

So, Vergil did pry when the sound died. “A penny for your thoughts, Dante?”

He had heard the phrase in their local bookshop and found it amusing to a certain degree, but not overly elegant. Still, something told him Dante would fall for it and share with him what was raging in his mind. Surprisingly, it did work and the hunter slithered out of his shell.

Still, the younger twin looked hesitant at the beginning, evaluating his options, but after a liberating sigh that made some of his hair fly around his face, he caved and spoke quietly.

“There was something off with the empusas. They didn’t even seem to be in the mood for fighting, just barely reacting while we slashed through them.”

The older sibling reflected on Dante’s observation and eventually agreed. He had felt something off during the fight as well but blamed it on his instinct going ballistic over Nero and paid little to no mind.

“I must agree with you. It is preoccupying.” He serenely admitted without much of a fuss; Dante made a face of smug victory that Vergil cut off with a glare.

The legendary hunter hummed absentmindedly and kept staring at the cave, not that he had looked at anything else during their waiting. He didn’t look once at Vergil, whose eyes shifted between both the empusas’ nest and his brother.

Dante cut in their silence a moment later with a thought Vergil shared.

“And then that sound too…”

As if responding to its calling, the dying demon’s howling came once again from the entrance in which Nero had disappeared, but the echoes died faster than they had come, faster than any other time before. The demon was counting its seconds now.

The whole ordeal put Vergil on edge. First the empusas’ behavior, which he had missed due to his own misunderstanding and lack of awareness apparently, then Nero going into those demons’ nest along with Dante being worried and already investigating without lifting a finger, which the blue twin could feel deep in his guts wasn’t a good sign if his brother acted serious and not as flippant as usual.

But while he stared at his brother to analyze his face leaving the cave under his twin’s watchful eyes, he noticed how slowly his expression changed from falsely relaxed to full alert in just a matter of seconds; eyes growing wider and mouth turning menacing, with fangs visibly through his lips.

Vergil followed quickly his brother’s aim and the sight that he was met with made his blood boil so much that it turned cool.

⁜

Dante’s eyes widened to the point he could feel the pain in his eyelids as he tried to push them even more apart, trying to look better, look closer.

At the entrance of the cave, a dim pink purplish glow was subtly enlightening the way, letting them know how the tunnel turned after a few steps; besides, by itself the light wouldn’t be too much to worry about since many demons, when killed, would glow in their power’s color as it dissipated in the air before turning to ashes, much like he and Vergil had red and blue as their own signature shade.

But then, in the pool of light, dancing as if coming from flames, Nero also appeared. The kid was calm as he took steady steps towards the exit, towards them; he even seemed a sight out of a movie, where the protagonist would take those last few moments before the whole place would blow out in slow motion on the big screen.

Besides, Nero was the most, or at least one of, common sights for Dante. It was even comforting to the old hunter to have the youngster around, especially when at times he reminded him of Vergil in the softest way possible even when they seemed opposites on various fronts.

Despite the circumstance Dante felt neither normal nor familiar; something was shaking him deeply. He narrowed his eyes…

What was truly disturbing was within the subtle light. How the shadows it casted slowly changed and shifted with every closing step Nero took towards them, all safe and sound; Dante was about to wash forwards before something was visible behind the kid.

With an unusual precision a shadow wouldn't normally display, it turned into the silhouette of a woman, going from her torso up to her head. Her hair swirled around like fire, fingers gripping at Nero even though there was no contact there; she was staring at them even if there were no eyes that could do that. Still it pierced Dante in place and he felt the same happening to his brother.

He could feel a cold breeze brushing against his too hot skin, sweaty from all the sword work he had done before. The hair on his arms stood up just like at his nape; it wasn’t just a chill gush of wind passing through the forest at the worst time ever, it was something more. Magic?

Dante could not move, nor could Vergil from what he could tell, but they both watched as Nero came forth unbothered by the presence behind him, trying to get a grip on him with too long fingers and a too thin frame.

What then truly made Dante incredulous was the fact that the kid seemed to not have sensed her at all; he just walked calmly, eyes locked on them with an expression that was a hundred miles deep. There was something bothering him and by the way he held himself confidently but moved slowly, the hunter knew the kid wanted to share his finds with them.

Somehow, in the midst of such a horrible sight and impending fight neither twin could participate in, Dante found himself glad that Nero didn’t decide to hide from them, especially since that sickening woman seemed to have her disgusting interest pointing towards the kid.

Soon though, he was interrupted as his eyes caught on a slight change. Her frame was becoming less defined, her posture changing to one Dante could only describe as ‘politely waiting’ as she set her arms behind her back, away from Nero.

The blur around her edges continued until she was more a shadow than a magical projection. A slight hint of sensation came back to his fingertips and Dante didn’t hesitate to dash forward, feeling Vergil’s core following not even a fraction of a second later.

Nero was about to set foot on the blood soaked grass before he came to a hard stop at the hands of the twins.

Dante wielded his sword in a defensive stance that still let it know he was ready to attack while he stared deep into the hallway Nero had just left behind. The kid, without having a say in the matter, was basically pressed to Vergil’s chest as the blue twin held Yamato precisely in front of himself, his other hand instinctively holding Nero closer as he shifted him to his side.

But as they remained on guard, looking out for any possible threats, nobody came out and nothing was picked up by anyone’s senses. As she had appeared out of nowhere, and so she also disappeared, leaving absolutely no trace behind.

Without further warning, Vergil quickly slashed a portal and gently pushed the kid through with a firm hand, his posture stiff and rigid as he did so; Dante followed hot on Nero’s heels until they were all in the Devil May Cry office and the portal closed behind the older twin.

Dante was the first to move as he began shuffling around in his desk’s drawers in search of old books about magic and all that bad stuff that made his nose twitch in disgust; he thoughtfully hated anything magic related and would rather avoid it at all times if he could.

The other two though remained still, while Dante kept an ear out on their conversation while taking a few glances from time to time. Nero was sitting on the couch, mildly confused, while Vergil stood, tense and on guard duty in front of his son with Yamato held in a death grip.

Nero was the one that broke the silence before his brother could go ballistic; good tactic, Dante thought to himself while opening various books altogether.

“There was something pretty strange and fucked up in the nest.” His tone was hesitant but somehow Vergil didn’t bite it. The man just hummed, waiting for the rest.

The kid took a deep breath and resumed talking, making a catalogue of information. “Magenta flames. An echidna cut into pieces that mumbled weird stuff. An altar with a small bird that looked at me… It gave me the chills.” Nero ran a hand up and down his forearms at the thought.

Dante stopped flipping pages of spell books and focused on Nero’s story. Perhaps some details would help them narrow the research.

The kid went on, eyes dead on Vergil; there was a tenderness in his gaze, pleading not to be mad at him as if he could somehow be at fault. Then, he bowed his head slowly and spoke in a tight voice.

“She spoke about a woman and a prince…”

Dante noticed immediately Vergil’s posture shifting and he went swiftly by his side, standing in front of a ‘I don’t know what’s going on’ Nero. The silence hung thick until the older twin broke it.

“You didn’t sense her?”

Nero grew visibly more confused at the question. “After I killed the echidna there was no one else there…”

Vergil’s shoulders slung forward, almost desiring to shield Nero. Dante heard an exhausted sigh coming out of his twin, but also detected the hint of something more beneath. Something that made his stomach drop to the deepest pit of Hell.

Verge reeks of… Fear?

Chapter Text

The first thing that Nero heard once they were back at the office was a long, vivid description of what had been behind him as he exited the cave and upon hearing everything, he started sharing all the strange details from the nest.

Nero diligently answered all the questions Vergil asked him, from the smallest detail to the most obvious in his opinion; he described everything he saw and the precise line of interrogation he had to endure to let it known put light on how, maybe, the blue twin might know more than what he let on. Still, he had another question in line for Nero.

“Do you remember any of the runes you saw?” Vergil, with crossed arms and a rigid posture, asked with his eyes locked with Nero’s, exuding an aura of cold temperament but with a thin, almost imperceptible layer of concern. The question was just logical after the young hunter had told about the walls being covered in them.

“Yeah.” Nero got up and went to Dante’s desk where his uncle was flipping through pages rather slowly, putting together all he had said till now. He took a white sheet of paper and a pen, which surprisingly worked given it belonged to Dante, and started scribbling on it with his best art skills the runes he had memorized.

As he worked, Dante watched carefully while Vergil stood at his side, leaving just enough space to draw but barely enough to breathe without feeling cornered. Both twins seemed ready to jump out their skin once Nero was done.

“It was like this,” he let Vergil look at it before turning the page to let Dante have a peek too, “I did memorize it as best as I could. Figured it could help…”

The symbol was old and nonsensical to Nero. It was mostly a circle with strange alterations of Greek letters all around it, with a picture of an owl sitting on a woman’s shoulder and a man hitting a strange pose. It reminded him of the engravings on certain copper sheets one could find in old churches, although the rune itself seemed to lack anything religious.

Dante still observed the rune with deep interest, while Vergil started pacing the office in a discreet elegance manner, going around the desk to be within his twin’s space before returning to his son; in his silent demeanor that Nero noticed was out of character, his uncle broke the circle of paved steps.

“Good job, Nero. You did well by bringing this to us, kid.” The praise was genuine and the youngest blushed slightly under the attention while Dante opened various spell books all at once, looking and searching for a symbol similar to the one his nephew drew.

In the meantime, as the rune was outside Vergil’s field of view since Dante had snatched it and held it close to himself, he slowly went back to the couch and sat down, a morose expression twisting his face.

Nero soon decided to join his father, feeling that something was off with the man even though he wasn't able to put his hands on it, so his only option was to go for the direct approach and hope that something might come out of it.

He leaned towards Vergil, who noticed the action and looked at him, that corrupted expression still haunting his face. “Something’s wrong, dad?”

Vergil looked at him in silent contemplation of his question, keeping his mouth shut as he elegantly and deadly sat on the couch, legs crossed with hands cupping his knees, gaze cold and lacking emotions even though Dante had once said it was his usual look; Nero believed that right now, he was actively hiding more than anything else.

“I'm fine.” Vergil finally decided to say, spitting the word in his monotone voice; Nero slightly withdrew and sank on the cushions. He had never felt more rejected in his entire life at that simple two-word answer his father just gave him.

It was irrational and he knew that well, but the lack of any warmth in his father’s voice sent a shiver down his spine; something was trying to make its way in his mind, perhaps doubts on Vergil’s emotions even though the feeling was different.

He let it be, although the turmoil didn’t stop.

Did the man consider him only when he was useful to him? Was there ever an instance in which his presence was truly wanted?

Do you see me as just an emotional regulator to your needs whenever your demon demands it?

The doubt itself broke goosebumps over his skin, along with the uncertainty of something he couldn't quite understand even if the man actually spoke of it directly. Could Nero really trust Vergil? Was there anything worth believing in beneath all the latest events that brought them together?

Nero’s temper flared at the implication that Vergil might've had ulterior motives to keep him around.

“Sure, asshole.” He blurred out unceremoniously but loud enough to let his anger filter through, bolting past the door before Dante could say anything or try to get in his way; he saw the man move the second the words had left his lips.

But before long, as Nero was furiously stomping on the concrete sidewalk to put some space between himself and the office, a gash of blue made him stop in his tracks. Vergil stood right before him, tall and guarded as ever, expression schooled to show nothing and posture rigid, Yamato reverently in his hand. Nero almost couldn't stand the sight of him; everything that even barely concerned the man was confusing and infuriating beyond reason.

“Nero…” He even quietly said, sounding almost worried if it wasn't for the underlying layer of annoyance dripping from his gone. As if Nero was a forsaken inconvenience now that he didn’t serve any purpose to the man's instincts.

At that, the young hunter unleashed all his pent up anger. He had enough of feeling wanted and then abandoned all in the same day, in a matter of hours.

“Do you even care about me or is it just an occasional feeling?!”

Regret was already finding his way through Nero’s heart. He wondered if allowing Vergil to earn the little title of ‘father’ while letting him hear it could’ve been the worst mistake of his life or not. He should’ve known better than to trust a stranger, even if related; his childhood had proved him right and that nobody was worth it.

Besides, he couldn’t prevent the poison in his voice from the years of solitude, the label of being an outcast, the change of moods as if they all depended on a wacky pendulum in Vergil’s brain that didn’t even tick in time.

“So?” He pushed further, spitting the word on the ground with untamed wrath for a deadbeat father.

The expression he got as an answer was almost enough to make him take a step back. Something in him whined at the sight but he suppressed it and stood his ground.

Then, as Nero was about to throw a fist at the man’s jaw, Vergil spoke.

“Forgive me, Nero. This discovery of yours…” He fumbled through the words and Nero was half glad he didn't say he was the problem, even though the other half was enraged that his supposed father couldn't even give him a proper explanation.

When he spoke again, he changed the subject. “That woman,” he said quietly and Nero could tell he was hiding something behind his cold, stern exterior, “she's dangerous.”

Nero figured out as such on his own but let the man speak since he wasn’t done yet.

“Do not trust her, even if she might seem familiar somehow… She is not who she might say she is.”

Nero was about to ask about the implication, about the woman he might see as a reflection even for a split second when a loud, echoing sound erupted from the Devil May Cry; they were close enough to hear it after all, and it wasn’t a pretty sound at all.

There was a pang of silence afterwards, during which Vergil had come closer to Nero, who hadn't noticed the movement in the slightest since he was looking in the direction of the shop, barely behind his shoulder.

Nero noticed immediately the dead grip Vergil had on Yamato and how it got even tighter as he spoke, although the words were genuine in ways the young hunter couldn't explain. They just felt genuine, echoing within his chest in loud rumbles.

“I do care for you, my son.” Vergil just said, as if it could solve everything that was currently going wrong around them.

With that, he squeezed Nero’s shoulder as he passed him, going back inside to check on Dante.

Nero’s anger subsided immediately at the gesture, emotions somehow back under control and on leash. Something inside him was satisfied and he was feeling uncharacteristically calm.

He wondered, as he followed the older man, which of the disasters he was in was the messier: the woman or his father.

⁜

When only Vergil reappeared from the door Dante’s mind was already doing laps about what might've happened to split the father-son duo that didn’t even have a chance to be a thing yet.

But then Nero came in and despite the atrocious state he was in, something in the legendary hunter calmly settled back. The kid looked worse for wear even though he was decent when he stormed out despite the confusion; perhaps the whole ordeal weighed a lot on the youngest more than he thought. After all, he also would like to get some shut eye and while he couldn’t for obvious reasons, nothing stopped him from aiding Nero to get some of his own.

“Hey kid, what about you rest a bit while I talk to your old man?” Dante pointed at the old storage room he had converted into Nero’s room a few weeks after they had met, ensuring he always had a place to crash in whenever needed.

Nero didn't take it too kindly, his nerves still sore from the trouble of trying to figure out his father. “Shut up, Dante!” Although the anger quickly died on his tongue as he let himself fall on the couch, his heavy body going limp and a rugged sigh following soon after.

Dante smirked at the sight, knowing he needed just to push a bit further to gather the upper hand.

“Come on,” he started, “you look like you haven't slept in a decade. You look like shit.” Maybe it wasn’t the nicest way ever to bring a kid to bed, but he could see how Nero was pondering the option before his brother spoke from his standpoint near the desk; he hadn’t said anything nor moved all along.

“I believe Dante as a guest room, at least, that you could use if you want a bed.”

Vergil looked beyond indifferent as he spoke, although everything he shared with his twin’s core betrayed him. He knew Dante had a room just for Nero and moreover, the nagging demon within his skin was adamant that the nestling was to sleep in the nest and nowhere else.

Still, Nero surprised them both. “I'm fine with your pillow fort.” He embarrassedly admitted as he stood to go for the stairs.

Dante was quick to notice how his brother's eyes lit up at the words, an echo of belonging resonating through their bond. He was also quick to wonder why the kid stopped mid flight of stairs and turned towards them.

“You broke something while we were out, didn't you?” Nero didn’t explicitly place the blame on him, but Dante did hide something beneath the desk with his foot while both father and son stared at him, remembering why they had rushed back in.

Besides, Dante avoided the answer. “Go to your soft blankets, Nero. Or your dad will tuck you in like a burrito.” It was supposed to be a threat but Vergil quietly hummed, low enough to not be heard by his son, while Nero waved a dismissive hand and disappeared past the bedroom's door.

Once Nero was gone, Dante focused back on his brother, forgetting the broken, useless crystal on the floor. The thing was an old souvenir that no one would miss but that made an awful sound at being broken.

Still, once both the kid and the sound were sorted out, the red twin studied his brother; the smell he carried was more than the plain fear that had shocked him. It had become a mixture of emotions Dante had trouble identifying.

He decided not to ask about it, not directly at least. The alternative was putting more spell books on the desk, setting a bait for Vergil which Dante knew he would take. His demonic side did lessen significantly, but Vergil was nothing but fiercely protective when he cared.

With more than a dozen books layered on the hardwood surface, Vergil took a few steps closer and said nothing, simply investigating the pages that were open with a careful eye. It seemed he was searching for something he knew rather than hoping to find something useful.

After a minute passed filled with the silence of Dante flipping pages and Vergil watching, the older twin finally took hold of a book much to the younger's delight.

The cover read: ‘Sacrifices and dark embodiments.’

Dante didn’t like the sound of that in the slightest. Couldn't he have picked something like ‘Fairies to avoid’, which he was currently skimming through?

But jokes weren't enough to soothe the worry building in his throat and guts…

Vergil was fast, disregarding pages as if they had nothing written on them until he got slower, eyes narrow in disgust and scent being mostly made of anger fused with a decades-old need of revenge.

It was then that Dante decided to break the silence that was choking him.

“Something looks familiar?”

Besides his past, Vergil had always been the one more knowledgeable when it came to magic when they were kids while Dante preferred old deities and mourning gods in his books, alongside playing and eating. The small joys of life for him weren't between the pages of old, crusty books their father had in his study despite the fact that some of the stories did entertain him back then.

Vergil looked at him sideways, lifting his eyes from the book. Dante feared the inflatable pages were about to be burnt to ashes; the blue twin's power was pushing against his skin, raw power increasing the temperature around them until it was barely breathable in the office.

“Unfortunately.” That was the only answer Dante received from his seething, teeth grinding and almost growling twin. Vergil was trying to keep himself in check not to wake up Nero, the red twin knew, but at that rate he would inevitably raise the temperature so much that it would be impossible to sleep even in the nest.

Dante had to sort that out. “Verge,” he called and his brother looked at him, barely containing his wrath, “tell me something.”

The man remained silent, a statue of his former self in front of Dante’s desk, unmovable and dangerous. The sight of him ethereal but lethal in equal measure; the younger twin would've admired him in that moment if his powerful aura wasn't making it difficult to breathe.

He abruptly moved towards the kitchen, pointing at his desk chair. “Have a seat.” He heard Vergil complying with his request while he reheated some tea.

Jeez, good thing I had some more!

It didn’t take much before he was back, looking over his brother's pale form on his chair, now sipping a warm cup of tea that did wonders on him. At least Nero would sleep peacefully and he wouldn’t walk around with a dry-as-the-desert throat.

He leaned against the desk, just beside Vergil as he crossed his arms over the red leather. “Tell me, Verge.” He pressed gently, wanting to help out his family now that he had it back.

But before Vergil could utter a single word as he stared at the book now placed before him, a horrible sound beat against the windows, making them rattle angrily in complaint.

Nero had screamed bloody murder from the nest and that wasn't a good sign. Not at all.

⁜

It was with a flesh of cobalt light and undetectable speed that Vergil was sat on the edge of the bed at Nero’s side while he was still trashing on the nest, kicking blankets and pillows without noticing; eyes shot wide and frantic, there was so much terror held within his irises that the blue twin found himself lost at the sight.

But the second his son caught his eyes, something in the younger's expression softened immediately; recognition floated through Nero’s veins, pupils blown to make his vision sharper and Vergil could just stare. Lost in a mixture of awe at his son’s demon being so acute to his sire and rage for what he knew laid beneath the dreadful scream he had just heard.

“What the hell was that about?” Demanded Dante right at his side, watching over Nero and inspecting his body for any injuries; there were none the eye could catch.

But Vergil knew better than to believe that.

In the depths of the unspoken darkness he had once let curl around him in the promise of an unknowingly uncanny comfort, the same lament had escaped his lips in between wrecked illusions of solace. The same atrocities were shown to his mind, where eyes weren't needed to take in sights crafted to provoke pain beyond measure.

The way Nero’s eyes looked, wide and unfocused, staring at nothing and passing past Vergil in silent terror, frantically scanning a room that only held his family within was like a mirror.

Once, in a cell, Vergil had found himself in the same situation: eyes bloodshot and blurry, seeing Dante’s carcass on the floor, a pool of blood running to stain his fingers in guilt. Although back then, Dante wasn't there. Luckily, he never was.

It was that look that spurred him to stretch out a hand, slow and deliberate so that Nero could read his every move. But the second a fingertip could caress the boy’s pale skin, he fell back to an unbothered slumber the twins looked at in wariness. He let his hand rest just beside his son’s head on the pillow, white soft strands of hair brushing his skin.

Dante was carefully standing just behind Vergil, guarding over them like the protector the blue twin knew he was by definition; he turned slowly to catch his attention and something was so clearly written all over the younger twin that Vergil had a hard time swallowing the lump in his throat.

There was such turmoil in Dante’s eyes, a perfect replica of Vergil’s and not only color wise. Concern was written in the edges of his mouth, anger so clear in his knitted brows, fear in the fists he held over his chest with crossed arms; trying to hide the emotion while it was eating him alive. And love.

Love so genuine Vergil choked on the sight of it. It was in the way Dante stood there motionless as if in prayer, shielding Nero from something only the blue twin had ever met before; it was so visceral in the subtle snarl Dante tried to hide that Vergil let out his own fiercely, to show his twin he wasn’t alone under the cutting rain of human emotions.

It was with that loud rumble that he shared it with his twin. An old name…

“It's a witch. Her name is Lucya.”

Dante’s attention immediately fell upon Vergil, although both had their senses stretched to feel Nero in the back of their minds; nevermind he was at arm's length, their demons needed that comfort and so did their human half…

The way he spoke was what truly caught his twin’s attention. A tone so heavy and full of conflict, making it clear he was speaking of something old, something familiar and foreign in equal measure; a creature that should've never been known so intimately as Vergil did. It haunted Dante’s expression, to know his twin was about to reveal the memories of a past so cruel he wished not to hear of it.

But they both had to. For Nero.

“Go on.” Dante spoke calmly but there was a heavy layer of resignation in his voice. Neither moved away from Nero, deciding to have the conversation by his side rather than leaving him out of their sights.

Vergil locked his gaze firmly on Dante, although his mind wasn't really taking in any information about his brother's appearance. “She is an old witch from the deepest circle of Hell… Her existence is merely described in books and perhaps only demons as old as Sparda had ever heard of her.”

Eyes fell to the ground while he gently made circles on Nero’s nape with a finger; Dante kneeled in front of him, preoccupied above reason as he quietly asked. “How do you know her?”

Foolish Dante, you know the answer to that.

And Dante did know the answer, they both knew that. But hearing the words might help them understand how to solve a problem they didn’t yet quantify.

“During my time in Hell… Mundus had a deal with her.”

Dante’s swallowing was the only sound in the room along with Nero’s sweet mumbling as he slept.

“She feeds off of grief in order to strengthen herself, while simultaneously commanding her victims through impersonating their loved one, especially those tied to grief.” His head bowed ever so slightly and Dante sat down on the hardwood floor, his back against the bed and shoulder brushing against his brother's knee.

What amount of comfort can you always provide me, brother?...

Do you know you kept me sane while in Mundus’ hands?

He wondered if he should say just that, but kept on going with his explanation. “She worked to help him break my will, so that he could control me. It took her quite some time, although none of it passed with a spared moment of tranquility.”

The more he went on, the more he felt his voice getting numb; a distant sound he couldn't connect to himself. His voice was foreign to his own ears, but Dante’s voice was… only Dante’s.

“You are here with me, Verge.”

You always read me like a book, brother. And I'm the one who likes to read.

Ironic, don't you think?

“What did she do to you? How did she get through you?”

Oh brother… if only I could say…

Vergil was impossibly quiet as he spoke, but he answered regardless of the fatigue clinging to his limbs; knowing what he went through might help them figure out something about Nero’s mind too. Somehow, maybe, there was a possibility.

“You, brother.” Vergil’s hand caressed Nero’s hair while Dante’s head rested on his knee with purpose, the weight grounding him. “You, Eva and… Nero’s mother.”

The solid body pressing against his leg got rigid all of a sudden, the shock impacting him more than what Dante wanted to show as he removed his head from its resting place. But Vergil went on, ever so slightly.

“Lucya became each of you whenever the previous one didn't break me. In her fake comfort and anguish, there were chains making their way to me, until they got me entirely.”

“How did you fight her?” Dante’s voice was barely a whisper. It sounded like something made it hard for him to speak; a lump in his throat stopping his tongue. There was a wetness in his tone but a sharpness could still be heard in his words.

“I knew it wasn't real at first, but then everything fell to pieces. Reality and her illusions blurred together. I was free only when Mundus died; I believe she went away to avoid death and let go of me since her deal was over.”

Dante was about to say something before Vergil’s mind served him with more memories.

“But there was more than that…” Dread filled his throat, eyes falling shut while Dante placed a hand on his knee, thumb rubbing small circles on the leather.

“It wasn’t part of the deal or even how she got her strength from grief; it was plainly for her own pleasure.”

His voice was laced with anger, battling his mind to send the memories away. Those moments weren't needed, those instances were not the solution to their current situation.

And Dante knew.

Dante, who kept comforting him in a silent, dark room, seemed to understand perfectly what he was speaking about, allowing the moment to pass unsaid and above their heads.

“We don't have to talk about that." Dante quietly affirmed, a hand resting solidly on Vergil's knee until it moved to make space for Dante's head resting there once again.

Oh Dante… How do you know that?

Have you suffered a soft, cruel hand too?

They spent a length of time in silence. Dante taking in what his brother had just revealed about his past, Vergil suppressing the anger coming afloat at the memories of her. Until someone broke their trance.

Slowly, Vergil moved. He laid on the edge of the bed, looking at Nero in contemplation of how much more pain his son will have to endure, because life wasn't about to be gentle with them. He knew that.

Dante also got up, fetched a chair and held the backrest with an iron grip; a loud breath helped him ease his finger before he broke the wooden piece. “We'll save him” Was all he said before storming out the door, leaving Vergil with his son.

When Dante came back, Vergil had stolen his chair. Hands together under his chin, eyes angry and lost now that he wasn’t speaking of her, he noticed what his brother was carrying.

Books over books piled under one arm, a cup of tea that smelled just enough sweet even if it was distant, and that determined look of his that settled how things were going to unfold. They were getting Nero back, even if they didn't know how to yet.

Dante sat on the floor just like before, back against the bed and gave Vergil the cup and a book. A small smile, weak but soaked with perseverance accompanied the gesture.

“Yes, brother. Nero must come back to us.”

With that, neither left the boy's side while pages were being flipped all throughout the night. The cup got empty just when the moon was high in the sky; Dante refilled it almost immediately.

There was hope, Vergil realized, in their souls, connecting their cores; but he wondered if it would be enough to save his son from her.

Chapter Text

From Dante’s perspective, Nero slept more than he ever did on his desk chair and more than what the kid himself had ever slept in the office, although it didn’t make any improvements to how the young hunter woke up; he looked even more exhausted.

His complexion was paler than usual, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, a few drops of sweat rolling down his temple; the complete display of sickness, if only Nero was human and therefore capable of getting that bad in so little time.

Besides, alongside Nero’s coma-like sleep, Vergil had also started… changing.

Dante was sure of it because his twin hadn't once left his son's bedside the whole night, keeping watch on him without batting an eye the whole time, while the red twin managed to at least get some trips to the kitchen and bathroom, with a few breaks for some sleep here and there.

But Vergil was relentless. A statue frozen in time, barely breathing, staring at Nero with the most sour expression Dante had ever seen on him. And it wasn’t like he could blame his older brother for any of it; the gravity of what had fallen on them wasn’t lost in just a night's sleep, but there was more that kept Vergil impossibly still.

Luckily Dante knew most of it, which helped him take on an important role in their current situation: the handy man.

Or so one could me… I mean, someone gotta get these two water and snacks and such, and I'm the only one who can move apparently.

Therefore, when everyone was awake – or better to say, when Nero woke up – Dante explained to his nephew his condition and assured him they were already planning on solving the demonic possession that was trying to forge his way through him.

“And we also found something while you were knocked out.” Dante informed from where he leaned on the desk, Vergil handing him a spell book and standing closely while Nero looked exasperated sitting on the couch.

“Your old man found a spell last night that can slow down the process of falling for Lucya's manipulations.” Nero was delighted at the idea, but Dante wasn't done. “It helps mostly the nightmares and some minor hallucinations you may encounter, but it's still something rather than nothing.”

Nero brushed his hair back with one hand, a gesture Dante connected immediately to Vergil; another aspect that spoke of how these two were related. When the kid spoke, it sounded like an admission of some kind, battled and bruised.

“Fine, let's do this.” He stood and got closer, making Vergil come to his side. “Mind showing me the spell?”

Dante held the book so that Nero could see it, explaining the intricate design of runes on the pages and how they'd show on him.

“The runes go all around your collarbone, like a loose fitting necklace, and whenever magic will come close to you they'll activate and shine. From what I can tell, the color also helps determine what type of magic is trying to get a hold on you.”

Nero unintentionally leaned towards Vergil as he took in the information, the older man raising a hand to rest on his shoulder to stabilize him; Dante’s chest softened at the sight, but said nothing since the kid had something to say.

“So, basically a bypass for magic?” Nero tried to make sense of it and Dante nodded. “And when do we start with this? Do we need anything for it?”

A wide smirk, a bit forced but gentle regardless, stretched on Dante’s face. “Glad you asked, kiddo.” He closed the book and handed Vergil a list of flowers and a few demon's parts they'd need, then looked back at Nero, who still didn't know what was waiting for him.

“Vergil will go fetch some wild flowers and a few Fury’s eyes, in the meantime I'll get you ready for when he's back.”

Vergil looked wholeheartedly insulted at the motion of leaving his child, but Dante simply smiled and sent a hug through his core; a small reassuring gesture, that he'd be there with Nero while the blue twin was away.

“I'll be back shortly.” The older man said and swiftly removed his hand from Nero’s shoulder, slashing a portal with Yamato and going his way with the list, leaving the other two to their own devices in the middle of the Devil May Cry.

“Come on, Nero.” Dante said before his nephew could fall to the ground, wrapping an arm around his shoulders just for good measure; the kid looked drained of all energy, but the legendary hunter wouldn't let that interfere with their mission.

He helped Nero lay down on the couch even though he stubbornly refused at first, stating he didn't need to, but giving in regardless when Dante pushed him down a bit. “We gotta get you ready for the spell casting.” Said the man while fetching a pen and placing the spell book on the coffee table, sitting beside the open pages.

At first, Nero wasn't too amused by the idea of having a spell engraved on his skin, but Dante reassured him.

I'm spreading reassurances like it's the end of the world… May as well make sure everyone is okay and that my world ain’t falling apart.

“Don't worry kid, I just need to replicate the runes on your skin,” he said as he lowered Nero’s shirt to expose his collarbone, “the more unpleasant part comes later, but it won't hurt too much. Promise.”

Nero hummed, relaxing slightly as Dante drew runes over runes on his front and back, making a diligent work of it as well. While the hunter was finishing the last one on the kid's shoulder, a portal appeared as well and Vergil entered the office, holding a bag no one knew where it came from.

Dante jumped back to his feet and retrieved the items, going back to Nero with his brother in tow. “Alright kid, now you have to stay still as much as possible and trust us with this, okay?”

After a beat of silence, Nero nodded and Vergil kneeled near his son's head, staying close without touching him to prevent any complications with the spell. Dante had taken back his spot on the nearby table to begin the preparations.

In a few moments, petals of red poppies, baptisia and lavender were on each rune beneath Nero’s chin, with two Fury’s eyes on each cavity of his clavicles. Dante put great care in placing them, for then standing up without saying a word and going into the kitchen.

Once he was back, he could tell Nero wasn’t too fond of the candle he was holding. “Remember what I said, kid. We got you.” Dante quietly affirmed and sat back down on the coffee table.

“I have to light up the eyes, but it won't hurt you.” Dante explained and Nero nodded, sending a worried look to Vergil, who hummed and remained still; he had been unmovable from his son and silent all along, not that Dante could have expected much else in such a situation.

He slowly set the eyes on fire, blowing off the candle and taking the book back in his hands; the last bit of their spell was a formula that would seal the runes in Nero’s body and then they could work on the rest of the mess they were in.

In a hushed voice, Dante read out loud the words scribbled on the book.

“Protector intus oritur,

contra spirituum fluctus,

qui te trahere nituntur,

in tenebras esse eorum.”

The second the last word echoed in the empty office, the runes flashed in a golden hue and embedded in Nero’s skin, burning the flowers and the eyes only to leave the marks behind in a pale white.

Nero didn’t stir throughout the whole process and once he tried to sit, albeit with his father’s help as Vergil was worried for him, the kid already looked much better.

Nobody wasted time after that.

“And step one is done! Now, we have a few options.” Dante chuckled and stood back up, but not before patting Nero’s tight in a small show of pride. “I'll go talk with Trish, see if she knows anything about Lucya we may need to know as well.”

The other two nodded and Vergil stood back up, although remained extremely close to Nero’s side. “I'll make sure Nero is safe while you're out. I'll see if anything else of importance can be found in your books.”

Dante sent a curt nod back at them and before leaving, he heard Nero’s voice softly promising “and I won't let her take me so easily.”

With that, Dante went out and triggered, pushing his wings towards where he knew he'd find the demoness, leaving the other two behind.

Please Trish, tell me you know something from your time in His steed…

⁜

With Dante out, Vergil was left to tend to his son, which might've put him quite on edge…

“Dad,” he heard Nero call him; his son was on the couch while Vergil stood arms crossed in front of him. “Any advice you can give me?”

Nero, for his part, was calm. Almost too calm for Vergil’s liking; it seemed like the nestling had no idea of the magnitude of what could happen to him and was presumably uninterested in the consequences, as if Lucya couldn't break his will if the twins weren't around to stop her. He frowned at the implication, but smoothed his expression knowing his thoughts were just assumptions.

Still, it bugged him tremendously how Nero was composed and calm in the face of an imminent storm.

“The advice I can give you is the way I fought her when it had been my turn to do so.” A sigh escaped him as he sat next to Nero. “I believe it could help you, at least to know what you could expect from her.” He shut down the need to run a hand through his hair, trying to regain some composure before anything went forth.

Nero nodded, eyes wide in curiosity as if Vergil was about to tell him a memory from when Eva brought them to the forest beyond the manor and not about psychological torture. It surprised the older man how the kid was somehow optimistic in the face of such evil; it reminded him a lot of Dante, which made sense since he had been with his son for way longer.

“At first, whenever I managed to sleep, I'd have frequent nightmares. But not about what I'd expected.” His voice dropped drastically to a barely audible volume, making Nero scoop closer to hear better. “Many times I'd see Eva, your grandmother, and each time there was either her pain flooding my veins or her soothing gestures filling my lungs. Somehow, she wasn't the woman I remembered and I never really let her come too close to me in my dreams.”

He went on without looking at Nero. “After that, I began to see Dante and the scheme was the same. A few times though I happened to fall for it, and whenever I did, I could hear a soft chuckle filled with tremors in the distance. In light of what happened afterwards, that would be the first sign that Lucya is coming closer.”

“But you fought, didn't you?” Nero asked innocently, his body a mere inch away from Vergil’s arm.

“I did. Until I couldn't.” The admission weighed heavily on his shoulders; displaying such a weakness was something he'd rather totally avoid, but if it could help Nero fight his own battle, then he'd swallow his pride and keep talking.

“At the end, the nightmares contorted again and Dante dissipated into smoke at the end.” The only solace I had left was gone. “And Lucya showed herself in the vest of a tender woman with copper hair and dark emerald eyes, with a bright smile and a soft heart despite the ferocity of her soul; she was so fierce and stubborn…”

Vergil trailed off, almost unable to say anything more, but he pushed the words out with every last bit of strength he had. “Lucya turned into your mother.”

Nero’s eyes went wide, but dared not to ask anything about the woman. Vergil was glad not to have to recollect memories about her; he wasn't too sure which were real and which were not.

He couldn't bear the way his son looked, so ecstatic about his mother being mentioned; Vergil gritted his teeth, the sound audible in the room. He won't let Lucya torment his son and with a newfound rage, he rasped the next words with absolute clarity.

“She became everyone I've loved and lost. She will try to trick you, making you believe that reality is what she's showing you.” Hands gripped Nero’s shoulders, “you have to be strong, son. You'll have to fight even when you'd want to do nothing more than surrender, but you must not fall for her tricks.”

But as the last word escaped his lips, a sudden realization sank to the bottom of his heart, making it hard to breathe. Tricks…

What if she will use a different method, one she didn't use on me?

His grips got tighter on robust shoulders, just enough that Nero almost whined in protest as Vergil lost his focus for a moment. His nestling looked so confused now, almost defeated as if he had just heard what he had thought; a threat they both could feel like a string connecting them with misery.

In the pang of silence that followed, Vergil exhaled; the sound dramatic coming from his lips even though it made Nero briefly smile. “What's the joy for?” He couldn't help but ask.

“At least you're here with me, dad. You got my back, right?”

Vergil swore his eyes weren't getting wet at the vulnerable tone his son's voice had and instead of brushing away the upcoming tears, pulled his son in a hug and whispered in his ear: “always, Nero.”

The young hunter hugged his father back, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

Lucya may be old and not mentioned in any books I could read, but I swear to Sparda: whoever dares to wish to touch you, Nero - my son -, will have to pass over my dead body.

There was no way he could bark the words out, nor write on a piece of paper for Nero to see; they didn't need to be visible or audible on any plane of existence, because Vergil knew the small tread that connected him to his son, although much slimmer than the one that he shared with Dante, was slowly growing in strength. But for the time being, the hug they shared would've to be enough to convey the words the eldest son of Sparda couldn't utter, not even while in the safety of the Devil May Cry.

Besides, time passed with the father-son duo still entangled until Vergil reluctantly let go, taking a good look over Nero. He spotted the spell Dante had performed, the heavy eyes filled with anguish that had escaped his notice till now, the light twitch of his lips in distress and the leashed need for comfort Nero was so desperately trying to hide. It was such a mirror, his son.

With a soft hand, Vergil squeezed Nero’s shoulder and got up to fetch something in the kitchen; his son must be hungry. In fact, when he came back with a sandwich he didn’t quite know where it came from, Nero devoured it in mere seconds, drinking all the tea his father brought him as well.

“You won't have to fight alone, Nero.” Vergil promised because the words couldn't die in his throat, not those. “We'll be there for you.”

Nero nodded and patted the spot next to him, although he knew Vergil would stand still with Yamato in front of him until something else happened.

“You're like a guardian angel, old man…” Vergil swore he heard Nero say, but he smiled and let it be. It was true.

⁜

After hearing such things, Nero had every right to feel defeated in the face of the inevitable. If his father, the mighty Vergil son of Sparda, cracked under the witch's doings, how could he believe to have a chance against her himself?

He tried to keep up the brave facade for as long as he could, even after his father had managed to see through it a few times; even if defeat was all that awaited him at the end, he'd still try to go with a proper fight. Even if it was a kind he had never encountered before.

But while on that couch of worn leather Dante had always let him crash in after many missions without banishing him to his room, with Vergil standing on guard so closely while he emitted that glacial, suffocating aura of his, Nero had yet to find a way to hide the way his body showed what he wanted to hide the most.

The slight downward tilt of his head, the hands clung together over his lap, the anxious tip of his foot on the wood beneath making a too quick rhythm. Nero couldn't do much to stop all of it; he could suppress the anguish filtering in his eyes, the need to cling to someone and to sleep away the nightmares coming his way, but the smallest things were the ones that always escaped his grip.

Like the small smiles Kyrie flashed at him during her rehearsals in the old Savior Church that he never noticed until he got to live with her, just to see them whenever he descended the stairs in the morning. Or the way the kids all came up to him and always gripped his pants with just that tad too much force to almost send him off his balance; which he noticed only the one time he didn't brace himself and fell backwards.

Although unlikely those times, he wasn't the one who was looking and missing the smallest detail filling his day. Vergil had his eyes on him and that same man was the one that didn't miss any flinch in his body whenever he closed his eyes for a few more seconds than necessary.

“Nero,” Vergil even called when the young hunter flinched once more revealing shocked eyes, “are you alright? Is something bothering you right now?”

Yes, old man. I see that hellish nightmare every time I close my eyes, but don't expect me to say that out loud… Not now anyway.

He pouted even though he said nothing, as if Vergil could telepathically read his mind and comfort his son. Well, he had done a good enough job so far, despite all the hard edges and sharp remarks Nero had expected given Dante’s stories.

Nevermind that Nero didn’t feel like hiding under such an attentive gaze; he had the feeling his father would know he'd be lying if he tried. “Just thinking about all this mess, you know.” He blurted out without meeting his eyes, trying to play it cool somehow.

Gotta keep some appearance here.

Vergil didn’t quite believe him and sat next to him just that tad too close for comfort and definitely invading personal space; not that Nero could mind the warm closure all that much in the moment.

“Tell me what is on your mind.” Not quite a demand but close enough; Nero obliged mostly because they were all too old to be doing the silence game and because there was a clear concern bleeding through the man's tone.

He laid back on the couch, eyes at the ceiling while he felt Vergil’s gaze on his face. “I mean man… Can I really fight her off if she gets the upper hand on you?”

There was no disdain in his voice, but he rectified anyway for the sake of avoiding misunderstandings in such fragile times. “Let me explain,” hands up in a quiet question for some time to be heard, “you were probably stronger than me back then and I already can't close my eyes without getting flashbacks all the time.”

He didn't specify anything more, but his father’s expression twisted as he spoke. First it was contemplative, then at the notion of strength he frowned and lastly, he looked… Sad. Simply and unapologetically sad that his son was in pain; Nero was touched once more by the way his father was showing emotions Dante had once declared buried deep within the man's chest.

“What do you see when you close your eyes, Nero?”

They both knew the question hid another interrogative: ‘what was that nightmare about, the one that made you scream?’

Nero hesitated at first, but then just murmured the sight that plunged his mind. “I saw Credo dying during the Savior Incident, but not like Dante had described it to me…”

Vergil didn’t pry but the young hunter still went on. “He was bleeding in my arms, Red Queen passing through his chest as he couldn't breathe because of it and I… I had my hands covered in his blood.” Those same hands nervously passed through short strands of white hair. “He was gripping on me for dear life but I couldn't do anything and he… he kept heaving blood… I didn't… he was dying…”

The words got stuck in his throat but Vergil, once more, didn't pry for more and just extended a hand; an offer to his son, that if he wanted his father was there.

How many times I wished for you to be there for me… And here you are…

It was bittersweet at best, but Nero swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't need to close his eyes to recall what he saw, no tears struck down his face, no scream was teared out his vocal cords while Credo exhaled his last dying breath near Nero’s ear.

“This is your fault, half-breed.” A whisper escaped him and carried the words to his father’s ears.

“What, Nero?” He asked as if his hearing wasn't sharp enough to catch what the hunter had just uttered.

A heavy sigh passed thin, sealed lips and Nero let out a small explanation. “The last thing Credo said to me in that nightmare. Before he died.”

Silence fell between them, although it didn’t last too long when Vergil decided to break it with his crystal clear tone that left room for no debate. Little did he know Nero wasn’t even in the mood to argue about the weather.

“You're my son, Nero. I know you can fight her off. I won't let her get to you, especially not when she came after you because of me.” The words were sharp and full of determination, the same kind Nero felt himself lacking just the tiniest bit; the man by his side was basically unbreakable by all standards, but something in his resolute way of branding high their bond sent a spark of motivation through him.

It was a small flicker of a wet lighter, but Nero knew how ardently it had burned just a few days prior when Dante introduced him to his father like it was nothing and he wasn’t causally dropping a bomb over a minefield.

But something, that small detail Vergil brought back, was still hanging in the air.

The echidna said something like that too…

That She may get to you too.

Are you scared of that, dad?

He didn't ask that, but there was no fear in Vergil. At least not for his own well-being. The lines of his face were all a product of Nero’s anguish, a mirror he didn’t know how to look at. But the man spoke again, seemingly soothing a broken plethora of childish fears in him.

“Do not despair, Nero. I'll always be there when you wake up.” It was spoken in the softest way he had ever heard the man speak, letting emotions come to the surface to promise Nero with such precious company that the kid had trouble believing it.

So many promises in so little time. Could Vergil really keep them all?

Nero didn’t feel like wanting to test those waters now and decided to move where promises were always kept. In a timid but sure voice he asked: “can we go to Fortuna?”

Vergil looked positively unaware of why they would go to Fortuna, but Nero filled him in quite easily. “My family is there. Kyrie and the kids.”

It took Nero quite the convincing to get the old man to agree; apparently he had gone full protective hen mode and was in no way going to budge on it, so Nero compromised the trip with the promise of sleeping in the nest for as long as Lucya was around and with that settled, a portal was opened and they passed through it effortlessly.

Once there, Nero stood still. The front door of his own house had never looked so inviting before but the man beside him would be quite the baggage to fit through it.

Chapter Text

The front door had never looked more daunting as Nero stared at it, quietly wondering if it was a good idea to come back all of a sudden with his father in tow, who probably wouldn't even know how to behave with small children and his future daughter-in-law.

Besides, despite his doubts and worries, the weather was as beautiful as it could be. The sun was all out and shining, a few clouds for some shade and a soft breeze; the replica of a movie screen that was just right in contrast to the stillness of the man beside him.

Vergil hadn't said a word yet about the place since the portal had closed off behind them, leaving the duo to wait for the young hunter's decision.

It's as good a day as any other. Maybe he'll even be friendlier than what Dante had mentioned.

With the flicker of hope coming from such an assumption, Nero caught his father's eyes and nodded forward, taking a step and watching how the man was immediately hot on his heels. “Come on, they should be all home.”

He wasn't too sure about that, but he needed to believe they were to let go of some of the tension in his shoulders, which was why a grin appeared on his face when he opened the front door and heard chuckles coming from the living room.

Soon enough, their approach could be heard as Nero welcomed Vergil inside, keeping an ear out for the stomping of Julio followed by the much softer steps of Kyle; both children rushed to meet him and attacked his legs, hugging him fiercely.

“Nero! You're home!” The older screamed enthusiastically while Kyle nodded frantically but kept quiet. From the living room, another person emerged and welcomed him as well.

“Welcome back,” Kyrie smiled as he met his gaze while she held little Carlo in her arms. She was the first one to notice their guest since the other two children were too invested in Nero’s legs as if to trap him at the entrance.

The man said nothing as Nero tried to get the kids to let him go, which made the young hunter even more embarrassed about the current turn of events. Clearing his throat harshly, the kids finally let go and simply beamed at him before they too noticed the black clad man behind their father.

“Nero,” Julio promptly asked with all the nonchalant care a kid can master at the age of eight, “who is this man?” He even pointed a finger at Vergil, who stood frozen behind him, before Kyrie got the two boys back and handed Carlo to Julio, hurrying them to go upstairs in their room.

The hunter had never been more glad to have his sweet woman in his life, who always knew what to do even when she had no intel on the situation. Sending the kids upstairs was the right choice for now, at least until Nero actually explained who the man was and saw his reaction to them.

So, before anything more could happen, Nero gestured for the kitchen and Kyrie went first, while Vergil followed his son when he received a curt nod to do so. Each of them sat at the kitchen aisle, Vergil at the head with Nero at his right, followed by his lover.

Nero was the first to break the silence; his voice was strained with disbelief as he was about to reveal the truth about the man’s identity. “Kyrie, this is Vergil, my father and Dante’s brother.” He gestured at the blue twin who nodded in acknowledgement while the woman smiled brightly. “Dad, this is my girlfriend Kyrie.” He then said, switching sides and introducing her as well.

“I'm happy to meet you, Mister Vergil.” Elegantly said Kyrie before the silence could kill her lover. Nero nodded to her gently, expressing his gratitude before the true conversation came afloat; he had to tell her what was going on after all, or he'd leave her to worry without any answers.

Vergil barely moved as Nero began speaking, his eyes keen on him. “There's something I have to tell you, Kyrie,” she nodded for him to proceed, “there's an old witch that's trying to possess me. Vergil and Dante are trying to help me out with it. I'll stay at the office with them until she is taken care of.”

It was a mild way to put it, Nero knew. Vergil even frowned at the simplicity of the explanation, or perhaps he was simply deeply unhappy to hear the witch being mentioned.

But the sweet woman just nodded, asking just a few more questions to her man about his safety before she pointed her attention at their guest.

“I forgot to ask, forgive me! Would you like something to drink?” She covered her mouth, ashamed she had forgotten proper manners. “I can make tea.”

Vergil visibly relaxed, even if slightly so as only Nero could tell, at the sweet suggestion from Kyrie and the young hunter was once again reminded that no one could avoid his sweet lover's caring manner for everyone that entered the house. The old hunter nodded thankfully, not saying anything and Nero was glad she didn't take any offense in it; he swiftly wondered about the absence of words but was brought back to the present by the cracking wood of the stairs.

His father seemed to have caught the same sound and Nero couldn’t help but smile, hiding a laugh as he stood up and went to retrieve the troublemakers before they could sneak around. “Come on, time for you to introduce yourself.” He gestured for the kids to stand in front of him, taking Carlo from the middle child's arms.

Vergil promptly angled himself to see the children, not standing. Perhaps he thought he would appear threatening to the small humans in front of him, Nero tried to reason as he gently nodded for the eldest to go greet his grandfather.

“I'm Julio,” the kid said with a bravery that Vergil distinctively admired without saying anything as he nodded and responded with his usual neutral tone. “My name is Vergil, it is a pleasure to meet you Julio.”

Nero chuckled as Julio was out of his depth and didn't know how to answer such complicated phrasing. But the kid recovered quickly nonetheless, “this is Kyle.” The middle child took a step closer, his shy demeanor showing through as he kept his head low.

Vergil nodded again, staying impossibly still on his seat while the kettle squeaked and Kyrie took a cup and poured the hot liquid. “It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Kyle.”

The child nodded, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt but not daring to get closer to the man while Nero came forth with the smallest one. “And this is Carlo. Our foster children.” The hunter finished the presentation and introduced the man as well to the children.

“This is Vergil, he’s my father.” The children looked up at him in awe and he nodded proudly, eyes passing in each set of curious childish wonder surrendering him. Nobody asked if they shared the same blood, their features spoke enough on their own since all of them knew Dante.

Then, in the small beat of silence that followed, everyone eventually found a place around the table after the small army found back their pacing and stopped staring at Nero..

Carlo was in Kyrie's arms, while at Vergil’s left Julio sat. Kyle had yet to decide where he wanted to sit; beside his brother or her foster mother? The question hung above their heads until Nero voiced it.

“Kyle, where do you wanna sit?” The kid looked sheepishly at his foster parent, probably shy to speak around someone he had never met before. “Come on, Vergil is nice. He won't mind if you speak around him. Maybe you'll even get him to talk.” Nero tried to reassure him while he wondered how he'd tell his father that his middle grandson was extremely shy and that he didn’t warm up to people as easily as Julio.

Both kids were staring curiously at the man although said nothing while Vergil eyed them as well, taking it as a little competition between them; or so Nero hoped. Besides, the cup of tea had also made an appearance and Vergil wasn’t the only one who was sipping from his own; Kyrie had her own with a hint of honey, not as much as the older man, while Nero also appreciated the beverage with plain sugar.

But then, Kyle took a step towards Vergil and everyone waited for the child to speak while the man himself looked mildly curious and indifferent to the child's placement around the table. Still, when Kyle spoke, it shocked everyone.

“Can I sit with you, Mister?” Kyle looked up from behind his lashes, not truly looking as he pointed a finger at Vergil’s legs.

Kyrie almost choked on her tea but she brushed it off gently, while Nero coughed as he tried to avoid his father being uncomfortable. “He wants to sit on your lap, but you don't have to if you don't want to.” The explanation was followed by him trying to get Kyle to take a seat beside his lover, but his father was the first to move.

“It's okay.” He was so gentle as he spoke and picked up Kyle, making sure he was comfortable. “Your grandfather did the same for me and your uncle. It's tradition.”

That made Nero’s brows shoot up in surprise.

Vergil mentioned the act and managed to get it done as if it was second nature, making sure Kyle was safely seated while mentioning Sparda. The man was being protective of the young child apparently, which surprised the hunter even more.

Maybe we'll be a big family once this mess is over…

Nero felt hope blossom in his chest; maybe his father would be around even after the whole ordeal was over and that his worries and doubts would be ultimately proved wrong. But until then, the only thing he could do was savor the moment and wait for the future.

⁜

After a few more words were able to be exchanged and lunch passed wonderfully thanks to Nero’s lover, the eldest son of Sparda found himself in an unusual although not unpleasant situation.

The older child went to practice accompanied by the woman and the younger kid, while the middle child seemed to have developed a striking interest in Vergil, which neither father nor son seemed to miss; Kyle was openly stating his favoritism for the older man, but the way he became his shadow made Nero giggle as he lost himself in his mind.

“What makes you happy, son?” Vergil inquired and Nero promptly took Kyle and disappeared upstairs with the child, who didn’t hide the smallest hint of protest as he didn’t want to let go of his hard worked spot next to the blue twin; the man had raised a questioning brow but said nothing, waiting for his son to be back.

When he heard another giggle coming closer, descending the stairs, Vergil caught his son’s eyes as he sat next to him on the couch. Nero was soon to spill whatever was going on his mind, as if his current predicament was all but out the door.

“Kyle took quite an interest in you.” He pointed out as if it wasn't obvious, “even with some of the old people at the orphanage he was like that. He'd take a liking to someone and stick around with them, eyes wide with curiosity.”

Nero leaned his head on the backrest, staring at the ceiling while Vergil stared at him, listening graciously. “Nobody even understood the common denominator. He just finds his people and sticks with them as much as he can, even when it goes totally against his shy demeanor.”

Vergil hummed and wondered to himself what he did to get the child's attention, but apparently there was little to nothing that could help him understand that. Nero still confirmed what he knew would happen though, “I think he's gonna be your little shadow for quite a while. Whenever you'll pass by, that is.”

A small frown appeared on the older man's features at the notion his son had implied. “Nero,” the young hunter turned his head lazily with a small smile, as if he was high on something, “I do wish to be around this family in the future if you have nothing against it.”

He should’ve been damning the entire situation, the sensitive heart he couldn't phantom to hide as it was still sore from his demonic instincts that had been in overdrive, the irrational fear that his son would throw him out or that his family of small humans would be against him despite the playful and kind attitude they had so far; he should’ve kept his mouth shut, but he had done enough of that for more than a lifetime.

Nero was amicably smiling now, a youthful sight on his older features that let every single weight fall off the man's shoulder; Vergil found himself reciprocating with a barely-there smirk of his own, mimicking his son's position.

But then Nero spoke again, the lightness of the moment gone with the words in the blink of an eye. “What do you think will happen with Lucya?”

The young hunter was back at looking at the ceiling then and Vergil did the same, sighing heavily in the silence that soon settled between them. “The Sparda bloodline won't fall to such a lowly creature, son.” Vergil didn’t really have words of comfort to offer, “we'll fight like we always do.” But somehow that was enough.

Nero, slowly and mindlessly, ended up leaning his head on the other’s shoulder, falling asleep in a few minutes while Vergil was left with his own devices to kill the time while the only two persons in the house were softly snoring.

Luckily, only a little more than an hour passed before the child stirred awake; the blue hunter heard the small steps on the stairs and soon was met with Kyle standing in front of them, a dragon plushie in one hand while the other rubbed at his sleepy eyes.

Vergil remained silent, waiting for the small child to speak his mind, although it proved to be a rather tedious endeavor since Kyle said nothing at all; it was then that the older man remembered about the boy's shyness and decided to speak up first.

“What is it, child?” Trying to sound as calm and smooth-edged as possible, the words still held a somewhat hard tone to them even if the child didn't respond to it right away. Kyle simply yawned, perhaps still half asleep and took a small step closer much to Vergil’s amusement; watching the child was proving to be a game of deciphering and deduction since he had to pick out his body language to have a single clue.

But then, the child took another step forward and Vergil was positively amused by the small child once again; he didn’t fret the blue twin as he should have since he was a demon. Kyle, instead, was rather curious about him and in the present moment he even managed to cling to Vergil’s pants, making a small fist with the leather covering his knee. The man was allowing the touch since the child could do him no harm, curious as well to see what the child wanted.

A beat of silence passed between them and Kyle didn't let go of him. Vergil didn’t mind and waited until finally, a soft youthful voice reached his ears.

“Do you want to play with me?” Kyle softly asked, looking at the ground and Vergil found himself mesmerized by the small child.

“Wouldn't you rather play with Nero?” He found himself asking before he could stop his thoughts from escaping past his lips. Kyle then looked at him as it was all the answer he needed before he pulled lightly at the leather, still not saying one word.

Under the child's most innocent request, Vergil was bewildered. This small child had taken an interest in him like Nero had said and somehow wasn't even too shy about showing it, coming all this way just to ask to play. Therefore with a softness Vergil had thought for the longest time he had lost, he slowly replaced Nero so that he was laying on the couch, shredding his own coat to cover his son.

Kyle was looking at him all the while, taking a step back to give him enough space to maneuver his foster father and then, finally, something happened. Vergil took the child's hand in his, glove against smooth, unscarred skin, and let a small smile stretch on his lips.

“Lead the way.” He said calmly to the kid, who happily obliged and guided him to the backdoor that opened in the backyard; Vergil pushed it open and the two of them found themselves in a heavenly garden.

It reminded Vergil of Eva's most treasured spot of her own garden, before the fire destroyed everything.

But he pushed the thought away quickly, before it could cause any harm and lead his mind astray where it shouldn't go. “What do you wish to do, Kyle?” He asked to anchor himself to the present, still holding the small hand in his. The contrast was baffling; was Nero’s hand this small once, too?

A feather light pull disrupted his thoughts on the missed past and the child was trying to guide him further into the greenery, where Vergil finally spotted a tree with a swing; perhaps that was the goal in the child's mind and so, he followed in steps behind Kyle who did not disappoint.

Sitting on the swing with the plushie still held in one hand, he let go of Vergil and held onto the swing, looking back at the man with a pleading look and an unspoken request to be pushed, but not too harshly. Vergil obliged at the softness the child didn't hide from him and as he placed his hands on Kyle's small shoulders, he gently gave him a push.

In a matter of seconds, the two of them fell in a calm tandem of back and forth. Vergil pushed and waited to catch him back, while Kyle's legs followed the swing's rhythm as he reached for the sky before falling back. Neither of them spoke, but Vergil had the impression there was no need to and that the silence around them was as good as a conversation.

They went on like this for a little while, until the sun was slowly descending to its own sleep, painting the landscape in a soft golden hue both of them silently enjoyed.

With each push, Vergil quietly wondered to himself if life could go back to being this easy once everything was over, if his own childhood days filled with tranquility were somehow replicable. Could he believe the future to be kind for once?

Or would another scream break his trance to serve him with another broken promise?

Chapter Text

Dante had been searching for Trish for quite a while, looking in their usual spots and whatnot, but of her there was basically no trace left and the legendary hunter had no other choice but to pass to someone else first.

“Morrison,” he called the broker with a light smile as he approached the man, taking a seat at the stall next to his, “I've a question and maybe you have the answer.” Dante didn’t even have time to raise a hand that a small drink was sent on his way, sliding across the shiny counter.

The man raised his hat in greeting before he took a sip from his own drink; from what Dante could tell by the smell alone, it was bourbon. “Dante, don't hold your tongue now.” Morrison took a quick look at the man and noticed the roughness clinging to him, but said nothing and waited for him to speak.

“Do you know where's Trish?”

Dante gulped down his drink in one go, trying to set a calm mood in favor of receiving an answer. Sometimes he forgot Morrison didn't need much to spill the beans on his friends’ businesses and that the man himself had nothing against Dante that would prevent him from sharing what he needed.

“She's on a job.” Morrison, with practiced ease, ordered another drink. “A church near the outskirts of the city, in a place called Ashmere. You can find her there.” He didn't look up from his drink to see Dante’s reaction.

A resigned sigh escaped the hunter’s lips and he thanked the broken before leaving, a ten dollar bill quietly resting under his drink. On the streets, life was at a minimum given the odd hour and Dante found himself debating how to get to her. “Now, that's gonna be a trip.”

He had once had a job in that barely living place too, although it was almost a full decade away, stored in his memories; Ashmere was an old city and its people didn't integrate with Redgrave City when the population began to migrate there, therefore the outskirts’ small town became a long lost landmark for the island. Dante himself had never seen it marked on a map.

But he had to get there regardless and he'd rather do it quickly. “Guess there's only one way.” Two sets of fire infused wings and horns materialized along with his trigger and he took to the sky, knowing no one was there to witness his flight. For once, he was glad no one really cared about anything but themselves, because many citizens heard him passing above their heads but discarded his presence just as quickly in favor of continuing their own affairs.

It took him only a little less than half an hour to get to the place and it reeked already of demon viscera and the aftermath of a thunderstorm; precisely what he was looking for. He landed not too far off the old sign with the town's name, taking a few steps and examining the decaying city with surgical precision but little interest.

From the carcasses on the ground, Trish had decimated a few nests of empusas and was currently working her way towards the center of Ashmere; Dante was quick to follow the trace of death until he was welcomed with an old church looking down on him. The religious atmosphere wasn't entirely lost on the falling building, but most of it turned macabre due to the absence of life and the general state of abandonment of the place.

Although from the right, Dante could hear a few growling sounds that sounded all too familiar. A few empusas were fighting near a house, in which an old man was hiding while Trish was frying the little pests to death; it was all in her style and Dante couldn't suppress a smirk at the sight.

“Dante,” she called since she had noticed him and he made no attempt to talk, “what brought you here, to Ashmere, while I'm on a job?”

She knew he wasn't a fan of rundown towns and all that sort of stuff, so he cut to the chase. “I'm here for ya, Trish. I need your expertise.” He didn't specify on what and was glad she took care of her hunt before approaching him with her usual catwalk.

“Well, you'll have to earn it.” She smirked at his dismay, “help me clean the nest inside the church and you'll have whatever you're searching for.” Of course, he should’ve predicted that she would split the job and keep all the money, which she didn't even have to mention.

Ebony and Ivory were already in his hands as he spoke. “Fine by me, but we gotta be quick.” She didn't object and both hunters went to the old church, kicking down the unhinged door and passing the threshold.

Once inside, the empusas were nowhere to be seen. Because apparently the nest within the church wasn't theirs, but of some Furies that didn't take too kindly the two hunters coming into their territory.

Dante took the right wing and Trish the left one, killing all the demons that threw themselves at them thinking they could have a shot at taking them down. But demons weren't known for their intelligence and it soon got proved right.

Trish was quick and precise, disappearing one second and coming back the next while leaving a dead demon at her feet. She even had time to speak as she sent a Fury against the church's altar and watched as the chandelier above collapsed on it. “Why don’t you begin telling me what you need from me, Dante?”

She knew he was listening because his guns were firing nonstop and usually, Dante was more stylish when he didn’t have anything on his mind. Trish knew how to read him quite easily and he didn’t hide from her scrutiny.

“Nero is being hunted by a witch and Vergil is back and staying.” Dante saw how she missed a shot and instead of hitting the head, she cut off one of the Fury’s arms at her right; he didn't expect the news to be pretty and light after all, but her reaction stated that she didn't expect that turn of events.

He went on when she didn't say anything. “He got back not too long ago but he's doing fine, he even got along with the kid quite easily if you ask me.” Trish didn't cut him off as he went in circles around the main event of the story. “Nero wasn’t too shocked, or well, he was since Vergil didn't act like I told him he would. Demonic instincts had kicked in quite a lot for him, you should've seen him being a mama hen bringing Nero to his nest.”

Then, Trish had enough of the gossip. “I'm glad you got your family back but tell me about the actual problem.” There were only a few Furies left and with a few bullets Dante took them all down and closed the space between them, standing at Trish's side.

“It all started with an echidna telling Nero about a woman interested in him. We were hunting some nests and he got into the last one; when he came out, Vergil and I noticed a woman's silhouette behind him but Nero didn't sense her.” The story was fresh in his mind as he added some more details before going on.

“He screamed once while he was sleeping and Vergil immediately knew what it was about. Said Nero was being haunted by a witch named Lucya and now we are trying to find a way to kill her.” Trish crossed her arms at the name but said nothing. “Nero told us she is after both him and Vergil and apart from when he can tell Nero about how to fight her, we both know how the story goes down.”

Dante knew Trish had worked for Mundus, perhaps even saw his brother and something similar to that, therefore he hoped she was familiar with Lucya and knew how to kill or even remotely bring her down and seal her away.

Silence stretched between them as Trish thought, a finger digging in her porcelain skin of her crossed arms; she was nervous and Dante didn’t need to ask why. Bringing up the past was something they never did, not even when it was necessary. He believed for a long time she had tortured Vergil, but not knowing if it was true was better to keep their friendship going and she never spared a word on the matter.

Until she did.

“Mundus had a deal with her…” Trish sounded unsure as she spoke, but Dante took a step closer and she went on. “Lucya is an ancient witch, capable of generating great manipulations to achieve her goals. Once, I met her briefly.”

“What do you know about her?” Anything useful? Dante inquired and Trish left out a half laugh that didn't sound genuine at all.

“Lucya was quick to assert if she liked you or not. It was better if she didn’t for your own sake, because those she liked never went out of her chambers and the sounds coming from there weren't all too pleasing to hear.” There was a certain hint to something more about those people and Dante was quick to connect the dots. He didn’t pry on that.

“She didn't like me. Luckily.” Trish added a swing of her hair to lighten the mood. “But Mundus felt the same about her. He may have made a deal at the beginning, but after seeing her in action he realized what he brought onto his game.” Dante frowned. “She was more than willing to betray him if she gained something from him and there was something to gain.”

Dante had no time to speak before she did. “Vergil was the one she liked the most.”

Trish looked at the ground, a haunted expression covering her usual one of careless banter. “Mundus and Lucya never openly fought over him, but the signs were all there before all three of them were separated. Mundus was sealed away, Lucya went back to her realm or so it was believed; Vergil, for the longest time, was untraceable.”

“Until now I guess.” She added to end her story and soon Dante covered her in questions.

“Did Mundus take any precautions against her?” His name was poison on the hunter’s tongue, but he swallowed the weight of it and kept going. “Maybe there's something we can use against her too.”

She reflected lightly before a memory came back at her. “There's a cult that worships Mundus.” Dante was astonished to hear such a news; never in his life he thought to ever hear about that monster again and here he was, haunted by the ghost of the past in more ways than what he could stand.

“And why has no one told me anything about it?” There was a hint of anger in his voice, but she watered it down.

“They don't plan anything too malicious, like resurrection or portals. The cultists are barely able to keep themselves together, but they store interesting artifacts from the depths of Hell; brought in the black market and from hunters that sell whatever the demons had with them.”

Dante saw where she was heading. “You think they have something of his that can help us out? That would be pure luck and we both know we ain't got that much.” He clenched his fists, tension locking from his posture as she put her hands on her hips, contemplating, before exiting the church; Dante followed in tow.

“From what I know, they have some of his old tomes.” Dante raised a brow at that; he didn't picture Mundus as the reading type. “He got stories of his reign written down in most, but some hide the plans he had for her. I once saw a purple book in his hands after she retired to her rooms and after that one time, never again. Whatever it was, I believe it was about her.”

Dante couldn't believe his ears. Mundus had written down his plan like an egocentric maniac, which he was, and those same tomes would be the solutions to all his problems. Never, in decades, he thought that bastard would be the one helping him out; even if he was dead and was not really actively helping him, it still felt strange and wrong regardless.

Still, no matter how wrong the whole ordeal was, he needed to give it a shot.

“Where do I find them?” Trish might be right and he wasn’t about to spit a gifted horse in the mouth just because he didn't feel good about the circumstances that surrounded the entire narrative regarding Mundus and Lucya.

“A small town near Laville.” Trish began walking away from the center of her crime scene, where viscera was everywhere, and headed for the mountain behind it; Dante followed while keeping an eye out. “The place is called Ardeon, an old industrial spot that was once important for Redgrave and that now has fallen into decay and despair.”

Dante never heard of it but then, he never traveled much around the outskirts unless he had a job to get done and he rarely took on jobs that far. “Why there?” The question itched at him from the inside and he didn't have a good feeling about it.

“After the citizens moved out to inhabit Redgrave, the industry collapsed and the buildings fell apart with no one to maintain them.” She was ahead of Dante as she pulled back a few branches to bring to light a nice motorbike; the hunter had a feeling he had paid for it.

“Now, it just sits there with no one wandering around or within it. The place seems wicked to humans and not many demons go there; the toxicity of the industries there corrupted the natural composition of the ground and it prevents prey from going there, so they have no reason to make a nest there themselves.”

“Got any more tips?” Dante inspected the bike and was sure he once saw Trish looking at a magazine that had the exact same model on the cover. But he said nothing in favor of gaining some more intel to bring back to his brother.

“Be careful.” Trish seemed serious and Dante didn’t pull a joke on it. “They are territorial of their city even if they don't necessarily do anything about it. Some rumors have it that they managed to chain some demons and inject them with toxins that made them even more aggressive.”

Dante was surprised. “They made guard dogs out of demons?” Trish shrugged and that was it. “What about this purple book, how do I find it?” If they had many of Mundus’ books, perhaps some were in certain shelves while others were under lock and key; he didn't have time to go through the library they managed to salvage from Hell and he surely wasn’t going to.

Trish took a look at her bike and sat on it, turning on the engine and revving; the sound pleased her before she answered Dante and her smile vanished; he didn't take offense. “It looks valuable even from the outside, more than other volumes. They may even be using it, like some holy script or spell book of great power.”

“You're telling me they are incapable of doing a spell but have demon guard dogs and are playing around with the most treasured and powerful book Mundus had ever written? Are you sure these aren't two different cults?” Dante had all the reasons to be wary of them; they sounded stupid one second and intelligent the next. Perhaps it was the human dilemma he never understood, but he couldn’t just go off of it.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Trish didn't wave or say goodbye as she stormed away on her two wheels, leaving Dante to his own thoughts on everything he had just learned. But in the wind her voice reached his ears, “if you manage, I’d bring him along.”

She was talking about Vergil.

His shoulders hunched down and he triggered in a hurry, pushing his wings to go back to the Devil May Cry and find a map. Ardeon was his next stop on the long list of things he had to do, but first and foremost he needed to get his twin to come along.

After everything he learned, about Lucya's manipulations and perverted tendencies, he didn’t want to stay too far from neither Vergil nor Nero; something inside him told him to stay close and protect them, but he realized quickly there was very little he could do unless he found the cult and stole the book from them. Perhaps he'd even erase them from the face of earth for good measure, just because they pissed him off.

But going there meant taking Vergil along and leaving Nero without anyone to protect him. He didn’t know how much he could persuade his brother to leave his son's side, especially so soon and given the circumstances. Although he had to try, his mind didn't think much on how he could do it as he landed in front of his office and his twin's core wasn't there to greet him.

Rushing inside and almost obliterating the door, the place was empty. The father-son duo was nowhere in the vicinity since he couldn't sense them, but a quick thought whispered to him to call the van, hoping someone would answer.

“Devil May Cry.” A rough voice responded in Dante’s ears: Nico.

“Nico, it's Dante.” He rushed to ask, “is Nero there in Fortuna?” He didn't say anything about Vergil’s presence, trying to keep her mind from going elsewhere and asking about his brother.

“I met Kyrie while I was out. She said he was back with his father, a certain Vergil.” Dante exhaled through his mouth, moving the phone away from his face before she could hear him.

“Thanks, Nico.” He listened to her voice sound unsure as she hung the phone; he was glad she didn't jump in a frenzy and asked all sorts of questions.

Now Dante had other fishes to fry: making a plan, finding his brother and acquiring the mysterious purple book that could be the key to save everyone.

Chapter Text

The couch was comfortable under his sleeping weight and Nero didn’t have it in him to stir awake when his position changed; he was far too gone to even notice and his slumber continued unperturbed by anything that was happening in his house.

He hadn't had a good night's sleep in almost a week and he wasn’t going to ruin the one chance he had to get some shut eye right now; he knew Vergil was around, always in the perimeter of the house even if not directly beside him. The thought that his father was there, at walking distance, comforted his mind and heart greatly to the point that he began to dream.

A dream was an accuracy that didn’t happen too often to him. In his line of work, nightmares were the most common, while dreams had no fuel to even begin; killing demons and being covered in viscera wasn’t the best experience to make up a nice dream. And Nero wasn’t about to deny himself the pleasure of a low quality film with blurry faces carrying him along the land of the sleeping men.

Beside, the lawn of his dream was tall and green, more saturated than the real deal, but somehow pleasant to the eye; he was laying on it the second he stared at it too long, but he didn’t mind the change. Embracing his new position, the sky above him was filled with clouds and some of them had reflections of his memories, or more precisely what his mind changed them to be just to entertain him.

One cloud was about his wildest fantasy of when he was a small child trapped in the attic of an angry orphanage, where everyone was mean and no one really spoke to him with the tenderness a child needed; he saw his family coming to get him, his real parents somehow entering his room without making a sound and calling his name.

“Nero, my son. Let's go home.” Mom would say while dad would pick him up and tell him: “you've been a good boy, waiting for us.”

And somehow, the young version of Nero in that silly reflection in the sky believed them and when he would wake up, he would wait and endure like he was a duty that would help him achieve what he truly wanted. Too bad the sleeping Nero, the one with the weight of the truth, knew no one was coming to pick up that small kid and bring him home. Not for many years to come…

But then it changed and Nero watched as his small former self dissipated within the white cloud, until the sky was all spotless and the blue was hidden. He tried to reach for it with a skeptical hand and he soon touched something cold; he was standing in a field of white lilies with one in his hand. From snow to flower was just a matter of perspective, especially in dreams.

Looking around, the field was within a forest of white trees, so the snow had some reason to be there at least. Walking around, there was no end to the lilies no matter in which direction he went or for how much he ran; soon distress caught up with him and the ground disappeared from beneath his feet.

Swallowed by the earth, Nero found himself drowning in the sea just to end up on an unknown shore; he didn't remember that place, but again, dreams do as they please.

It didn't take too long for someone to walk on that same sand Nero was couching mouthfuls of water on, because a man and a woman appeared and were coming closer. The man, the second Nero could focus his eyes just enough to make out some details, seemed to be Vergil; tall with his impeccable posture and his signature coat. But the woman…

Nero never saw a woman wear such an interesting dress, perhaps because the dresses made in Fortuna were all he knew and they were all subjected to purity culture. But the lady's dress was a deep red, hugging her curves and cutting an oval shape over her chest, from which a white undershirt could be seen. Her head wasn't covered by a hood and she wore comfortable heels, with her hands hugging one of Vergil’s arms as they walked.

Joy radiated from her as she probably spoke to him, tilting her head up to catch his gaze, which the man promptly reciprocated with a tilt of his own head; Nero wondered if Vergil could really give all his attention to a singular person, but soon enough she caught his attention again.

She let go of his arm abruptly, lightly jumping around him with her arms behind her back, always with a bright attitude that Nero wondered how she managed; Vergil soon caught her back in his arms and they resumed walking but the lady still held onto his arm tightly and that spoke volumes, especially as Nero couldn’t see the rest of her face.

But how could he know…

Mom?

That was the only conclusion he could come to to explain the woman's presence, but how his mind generated her appearance was beyond him. He couldn't tell much else but her attire and movements though.

Her face, much like his father's, was a blurry segment of the dream he couldn't focus no matter how much he stared. The lines and features of the lady were impossible to decrypt and Nero didn’t stop the sadness from washing over him as he looked at them walking closer and closer, until they were in front of him and didn't even spare him a look.

They walked away. His family, what he thought they were, didn't notice him struggling with his lungs filled with sea water and just kept going on their own.

Nero was wounded, unreasonably so since it was all fake. But it didn't stop the anger from coming, blossoming from the sadness his heart had harbored for far too long.

Even in his dream there was no salvation, no reconciliation with his family. Abandoned again, the child of the lost couple that soon disappeared on the shore. Until Nero stood up and ran after them, wanting to see their faces, ask why he didn't deserve their love and why, even in a dream his own mind concocted, they couldn't stay with him even for a moment.

He ran and ran, until the sand became rough and solid under his feet and his hair was dry atop of his head. Looking around, he was on one of the Order's outposts, one that belonged to Fortuna's Castle; the same one where Credo died all those years ago.

There was nowhere he could go and sensing the shift in his dream, he braced himself for the nightmare that was coming. A common one, that he saw way too many times and knew by heart; the same heart that broke each morning when he would wake up drenched in sweat and gripping the sheets desperately trying to hold onto something else. Someone else…

Credo, the same as always, walked towards him looking perfectly human. His big brother who scolded him for not following his duties and the same brother that taught him swordplay.

“Credo?” His voice sounded a bit too real, not like he was really imagining all of it in his head; but he paid it no mind and walked towards him, expecting what was coming.

A few more steps and Credo had his sword drawn, aiming at Nero’s chest. Nothing unusual, because the young hunter would draw his own and–

The sword passed through him from side to side, making blood spill from his mouth and painting the floor in a deep, ugly shade of crimson. Credo held him with one hand around his waist, making it impossible for him to pull himself off the piercing metal in his stomach; his hands went to cradle it, hoping some comfort could come his way if he just wished enough for it.

Nero was never impaled on his brother's sword; that wasn’t his usual nightmare.

In fact, Credo didn't act accordingly and soon enough Nero took a glance at his wound, where the Order's sword cut him in half, and noticed that one of his hands was gripping a sword as well. Red Queen was securely held in his palm, the blade pointing straight forward even though there was no target…

Until he noticed how the edge didn't keep going by his side but disappeared within Credo’s body, passing through his chest and possibly punching his lungs; that was the only usual sight of his current nightmare, but something felt wrong about it regardless.

“No!” Nero cried and tried to pull himself away, to discard the swords from their bodies. “Credo!”

The man didn’t answer, didn't even look at Nero as the younger pushed and trashed, the blade in his stomach cutting through his flesh and pushing more blood out of his system; if it wasn't a dream, he'd be unconscious already, but somehow the fatigue of the blood loss still clung to him like a parasite.

Pushing Credo away had never been more difficult for Nero, whether it was because it was all in his mind or because of the foolish believer that perhaps he could change the outcome of his own nightmare just because the start was different; it was a hideous bet the one he was about to take, but he’d rather try than wake up without seeing his face. Because somehow, his face never blurred in his nightmares, always ready to haunt him even when he was nowhere to be found.

Nero called all his strength to his arms and pushed as both hands held Red Queen and trashed out of Credo’s limping body; the injuries on him seemed far worse than Nero’s now that he could take a look at them, but for some reasons he couldn’t find it in himself to step closer and inspect them like he’d usually do.

He just stood there, waiting to meet his big brother’s eyes. Those same eyes that never escaped his memories and that sometimes he saw in Kyrie’s gaze whenever she was working hard on something for the orphanage; a sibling trait, he always told himself before he believed he was somehow truly after him even in death.

But the second he met those eyes, something shifted and he lost balance, falling to his knees as a burning sensation broke all around his neck and descended his chest.

The runes Dante had planted with care were ablaze, awakened in a dim purplish hue that Nero saw in his reflection in the blood all around him; his hands went to touch the runes, knowing what was about to come, but the fire within them pushed him away and ended up stopping himself from faceplanting in the blood by using his arms as leverage, getting his hands to be painted in crimson.

If the runes reacted, this only means…

His gaze trailed along Credo’s body until he locked with his eyes. Eyes that weren’t his.

She was already there and had been guiding him all along with the fake promise of a nice dream, just to be met with another nightmare. “How nice it is to meet you, Nero Sparda.”

Lucya spoke with Credo’s mouth, altering his voice to make it sound like her own, slowly walking towards Nero without a care in the world about the gash in his big brother’s chest; Nero wanted to scream at her and plunge her out of his body, but none of his limbs reacted to his wishes. He could only lay there lifelessly.

“What do you want?!” Nero bares his teeth, feeling them grow into fangs ever so slightly. She laughed at his attempt to intimidate her, but he didn’t stop and wouldn’t go down without a fight. When she got too close, an arm raised, Nero bucked his chin to avoid the hit as much as possible, but nothing came.

With a few more steps, Nero found himself looking at the ground until he felt two soft and gentle fingers pinching his chin and forcing him to look up; Credo was gone and in his place, Lucya remained. She was sitting on her heels, her eyes ablaze in what Nero understood was her signature mixture of pink and purple, with a devilish smile spreading on her lips.

“You know why I’m here, son of Sparda.” But she let his chin go the second she spoke. “Or you don’t. How could you possibly know if you aren’t the one I want, the one I remember?” She crossed her arms, long and skinny, until one brought her chin to look at the endless sky, which Nero had failed to notice had turned completely black.

She began walking around him like a predator, her heels forming waves on the blood; the entire space around them was filled with it, a sea that had no bottom and on which they stood. “You are just his son, nothing more. And that spell you got isn’t the best he could’ve done for you.”

The runes were still shining, burning through Nero’s body. “You’re just a monster, you know nothing about me!” But she laughed again, more ire ascending in her tone as he spoke again.

“You believe that? But honey, I’m in your mind and all there is to know about you is right here with us.” She opened her arms when she was back in front of him and turned around, making memories appear all around them in small transparent frames. “You will serve me for some time, just enough to bring me your precious father.”

Nero trashed against the restraints he couldn't see until she held a spear to his chest. “Be good, Nero. I don’t want to hurt you, darling.” The young hunter gulped at the weapon but didn’t react otherwise.

The tip of metal pushed against his skin until it broke, more blood coming to the surface and adding itself to the mess beneath him. “You won’t get us. You hear me, you ugly bitch!?” He pushed himself off and fell on his side, unable to move back up; Lucya just eyed him with subtle consideration, as if she was choosing which dog to bring home from the shelter.

“You will regret not bowing to me when you had the chance.” The change in pace disoriented Nero until he composed himself enough to notice the spear being held high above Lucya’s head, ready to strike him down in one go; but she lowered it, its weight almost too much now that she had another idea.

Kneeling in front of him, her hands bloody as she crawled close enough to whisper in his ears. “Your father liked me just fine. Perhaps you have the same taste.”

When she raised one hand to reach his neck, the runes brightened until they were blinding and Nero shut his eyes closed, willing himself to wake up and reach Vergil.

A sound echoed in his ears, something snapping in the distance.

Her hand never touched him in time and he found himself batting his eyes wide and assessing his surroundings; he was on his couch, with something heavy covering him, no Lucya in sight.

But Vergil wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He wasn’t by his side, nor in the same room as him. In that moment, he damned his demon for not being able to sense his father and bring him some comfort, until he sat upright with the last remaining energies he had and soon enough his eyes caught an unusual sight.

The backdoor to the lawn was wide open and the sunlight shining through was dim and low, quiet and gentle in its intensity; the sun was going down and Nero felt lighter for the briefest moment, hoping his father was out in the garden for some reason he had yet to learn.

He breathed in blissful relief and took a few moments to remind himself that reality was now in front of him and that her illusion was long gone in the depths of his mind; it took him a solid five minutes more to realize what was the heavy weight holding him down. Vergil’s coat was a massive blanket on his body, a shield of unspoken words and little actions.

Slowly, he took his time to fold the coat on the couch and stood up, swaying on his legs and gripping the armrest to support himself. He wanted to see Vergil, no matter how childish his wish was; he had been alone long enough and after Lucya’s trick, he wondered if his father would hug him just once.

When he got close enough, he looked outside the window near the door before deciding to step out; the sight he found stopped him dead on his tracks, hands holding the edges of the window and convincing himself that what he was seeing wasn’t another illusion.

Vergil was pushing Kyle on the swing, gently as if scared to put too much force in his movement, while the child held his favorite plushie with one hand and held onto the swing with the other. The low ascension of the sun blessed them both in a golden hue that framed their movements, capturing a shared joy they savored in silence with small smiles and attentive eyes.

Nero stood there and just watched, unable to participate in that blissful late evening the other two were knitting with precise slowness and gentleness; for a moment, Nero wondered if Vergil would’ve done the same for him and for that same instance, he believed he would've.

But the scene shattered, its beauty falling at the edge of his vision as the runes burned again, making him fall to his knees while still holding to the lower edge of the window; if someone saw him, they would believe he was sobbing at that innocent sight, unaware he never had the chance to experience it himself.

And they wouldn't be too far from the truth.

Still, the pain the runes brought was unbearable. Looking around, his vision got smaller and smaller, everything blurring together and shapes dissolving, colors losing their gradient and becoming dull; they got their saturated shades stolen, Nero believed for a moment, because his dream was too bright.

And Vergil didn’t come to rescue him.

Nero thought, for the smallest second, that he deserved it before the light shining through caught his attention; the only visible spot in his vision was filled with that golden shade of happiness he felt slowly draining from himself, leaving him with an endless pit of sorrow.

Dad, where are you? He wanted to shout, but nothing came out.

Soon enough, nothing occupied his field of view, just endless darkness. Until the pain punched a scream out his lungs and he collapsed to the floor, feeling the embrace of a warm mist enveloping him completely until he was gone.

Chapter Text

No…!

A bone chilling scream broke Vergil from the spell the lost, innocent childhood moment had on him and every fiber in his being stood on alert, freezing in time as Kyle jumped and nearly tripped off the swing as the man himself let go of it and turned in blinding fury and speed.

Not even a second later he was back inside the house, standing on the threshold of the door that had led them outside; the small child squeaked behind him a few moments later as he had ran up to him as well, perhaps not wanting to be alone after that fearful echo that the trees didn’t abandon just yet.

Kyle hugged one of Vergil’s legs, hiding behind him as the man looked at the scene, or what was left of the peaceful scenery he had so thoroughly crafted before leaving.

The couch was empty of his sleeping son, while his coat was not so folded on the edge of it as if a strong wind had come inside and roared around the small room; beside the man’s disheveled item Vergil didn’t take back yet, there was little else scattered around the room.

The kitchen and stairs were untouched, no traces of any magic whatsoever as Vergil trailed his eyes on them while the small kid still clung to him fiercely; he let him be, letting one of his hands rest atop of his small head, not daring to do much else. Kyle bumped his forehead into his fingers, accepting the small gesture of reassurance.

But at the same time, a small gasp left the child’s lips and the man followed his companion’s small gaze until he watched the nearby window that let the golden hour stretch within the house.

A layer of thick, dark purplish dust rested on the wooden floor, undisturbed by the soft wind that awakened as if in harmony with Vergil’s own tormented heart. Some of it was around the window’s frame as well, although most was falling and rejoining the biggest pool that the older man was staring at.

When he took a step to kneel and observe the dust better, Kyle let go of his leg just to cling to his arm instead, staying glued to his side; Vergil couldn't mind the small child’s wariness and didn’t bash him away.

Looking at it, a short and contorted memory came back at him and a blinding visage took him hostage; slowly, he forgot where he truly was as his mind played back a scene from the depths of Hell, of a woman in a sweet dress and walking around him, her smile a bit too obnoxious to be real…

“Did you already forget about me?” Her voice echoed in his mind, his memory blurring as he couldn't tell if it was truly a moment of the past or something far worse. “That greatly hurts my feelings, Dark Slayer.”

He tried to move away as she came closer, but no limbs executed his commands; she knelt in front of him and two of her fingers took hold of his chin, forcing him to look where she wanted while she stared at his face all the while, taking in a sight after so much lost time.

She forced her command on him, a small tilt to the side, just enough to let his vision fall behind her and then he saw it. Saw him.

His body was stock-still, perhaps because of her or simply because he was unconscious, which Vergil would be glad for; at least he could evade her doings.

Nero!

The call died in his throat, her gaze freezing him in place as she let go of him and moved with slow steps and forming a languid stride of hips towards his son, realizing he was chained to a cross; old fashioned as she was, he knew that piece of wood more that he’d like.

There was no true indicator of time helping him say if it was the same he could still feel bruising his back at times, but the scent that it carried, which had penetrated deep within each fiber of the logs that formed the cross, was unmistakable: blood and vomit, with tangent notes of despair and sorrow hiding beneath. Even emotions were framed in time in her realm of nightmares and torture.

But the past wasn’t enough to distract Vergil from her, from her figure so close to his son.

“He’s very sweet.” She mumbled as a finger trailed down Nero’s stomach and Vergil felt his own recoil in disgust; he could feel the touch as if her fingers were already on his skin. “But I’d rather have you...” Her words untied something from within the man, glad his son wouldn’t have to suffer in his place.

But a sick smile spread across her lips, a finger on her jaw as she thought. Vergil’s blood froze but he didn’t let it show on his face, although the notion she implied was far worse than what he could witness without breaking apart. “...Or both.”

A fit of laughter erupted from her and her back arched, the sound coming to his ear deafening and cruel as Nero disappeared from his sight and she laid on the ground on her side, facing him; an arm supporting her head and a leg crossing over the other. Her curves were accentuated by the pose, but she didn’t manage to strike any nerve in the man as his face remained impassable.

“You’re not funny.” She accused, “but I’ll make sure to change that in due time.”

She stood back up and went to leave when Vergil felt an ounce of strength coming back at him; he surged to stop her but the image shattered… And he saw what was truly happening around him.

Nero’s lover, Kyrie, was back at home and the two children with her didn’t leave her side; as he stared at her, Kyle also took the long route to reach her and cling to both her and his older brother. Vergil said nothing, but missed the small company for the smallest moment before she understood what had happened.

The woman ushered the kid upstairs, not openly minding Vergil as he composed himself and stood back up, feeling some of the dust roll off his fingers; unknowingly, he had fallen in one of her traps. A new one.

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it as Kyrie approached him, a stern look covering her soft features; Vergil didn’t have much problem seeing the fear that laid beneath but said nothing about it. He also remained silent as she took his coat and handed it to him.

You are sending me away… I cannot blame you for it.

The rejection didn’t sting, he was used to it. But as he was already walking for the door, coat back on his shoulder like he had never taken it off, she surprised him.

A gentle although firm hand gripped his forearm, a reverent nod was sent his way as he looked at her; she was unsure of what she was doing from what he could tell, doubting whether or not she should say what she had in mind or not. Ultimately, she opened her mouth.

“Bring him back.”

Her tone was her usual gentle one, showing her caring nature, but he didn’t miss the indignation that was hidden far below it. A spark of fire, something he would’ve never guessed could be harbored in such a fragile, sweet woman like her. He smirked but brushed it off immediately, not wanting to give her the wrong impression now that he was sure she wasn’t just a docile woman.

A curt nod was all he added then, stating silently that his mission to retrieve his son had already begun before he opened the door and cut a portal outside her home, not turning around to see her gripping a handful of fabric above her chest. He also missed the double look of faith and despair she so hardly brushed away alongside the few tears that threatened to stain her cheeks…

Once back under his brother’s roof, the same they were sharing amicably, Dante wasn’t too hard to spot.

Dante, with his red coat and a massive amount of papers and maps littering the desk, didn’t even look up to greet him; just a nod and a muffled hum as his mind was completely focused on whatever work he had to get done. Vergil walked towards him and stood in front of the desk, his shadow obscuring some of the maps he noticed were of Redgrave and its vicinity.

“Dante.” The red twin’s brows shot up in attention, but his gaze didn’t follow. Vergil just dropped the news with forcefully straight arms running down his sides. “Lucya got Nero.”

He didn’t sugarcoat it, it wasn’t his style, but at the same time saying it admitted that he had failed to protect his son, although Dante didn’t seem to agree on that particular aspect.

The younger sibling stood up, a wave of anger rolling off his shoulders as the room’s temperature went up a few degrees; he shuffled the papers with frenetic urgency until he held a map in shaking hands, barely containing his ire. Vergil felt all his instincts telling him to be ready to fight the beast in front of him, but his grip on Yamato didn’t grow any tighter as he held his sword at his side.

“Trish told me about a cult that worships Mundus.” Vergil tensed, but Dante raised his eyes against the strain of keeping his demon at bay; Vergil was sure of it as a ring of red was already around his irises. “They have some books and one could help us. It contains plans for taking care of her.”

Vergil was aware Mundus, fanatic as he was, had kept some sort of records of his history of King of the Underworld, but he didn’t know about those tomes his brother was referring to; still, he nodded once, his silent approval that they would go and get them. It was enough to get Dante to talk more.

“We have to go here.” He placed the map down, his finger pointing to a town: Ardeon. He had never heard of it, but again, he had never traveled much at all, if not around Fortuna when he was younger.

“I suppose you already have a plan, brother.” Vergil inspected the location on the map and noticed a place he was barely familiar with; a hill that once was in the news, close enough for them to get there with Yamato and walk the rest of the way without wasting too much time.

Dante grew a devious smirk, one the blue twin had never got to see until now. It was raw and sharp, with canines quickly becoming fangs; purely demonic. It showed the part of Dante that didn’t like having someone messing with his family, with his nephew, with Nero. And it stirred something primal in Vergil’s chest; an echo of family and protectiveness, calling out from his core towards his twin’s.

A shared oath of finding his nestling and bringing him back in the nest; the primordial need to protect the youth he sired.

They shared a look that spoke volumes on that same topic: Dante was ready to tear apart everything, Vergil was contemplating burning the world itself. Despite the difference, the magnitude of their intention was equal and bonding, allowing them to ensure Nero's safety no matter what challenges they’ll have to face.

And Dante’s words were even more promising on the matter. “She won’t get out of this alive.”

Vergil hummed, his grip turning deadly around Yamato’s hilt. It made his muscles tremble, the intensity of his wrath bleeding through his composure. “Shall we, brother mine?” He turned around and unsheathed his blade, the mental image of the place ready and just waiting for Dante to join him.

He didn’t even see it when Dante moved to stand at his side, his demon banging on the confinements of his skin and turning him into the beast that he was; a firm nod and his sword was already in his hand, ready to be covered in blood, no matter who it belonged to.

Yamato was raised, cutting two slashes that formed a perfect cut through time and space but when Dante was about to pass through, Vergil remained still. His twin asked him silently what was the matter with a raised eyebrow, but he said nothing and lowered his sword, knuckles turning white as a lump formed in his throat.

Those years spent between her and Mundus replayed behind his eyes, taking away his consciousness and gripping it tightly; he might’ve escaped their hands, but he wasn’t out of their prison. Not yet.

But Dante took hold of one of his shoulders, his callous hand undoubtedly too strong to be human but grounding nonetheless for beings such like them. Vergil turned his face towards him, his gaze unreadable as always even though he knew Dante had no problem passing through his defenses, making them useless. He never held it against him; he couldn't when they were kids and it was the same even now.

“Don’t worry, Verge.” His hand pressed down on his muscles, almost painfully so. “We are getting the kid back, no matter what.” Dante displayed that devilish smirk again, proud for once of his heritage the way Vergil had always been and ready to swim in the bloodlust that came with it.

But Vergil still said nothing. “Oh, brother.” Dante stretched his legs and held his sword at his side, “you hurt me if you think we aren’t enough to get Nero back.”

Something in the way he said it made a frown appear at full force on Vergil’s face. "Foolishness, Dante.” The hand on his shoulder was real, for once, and it was no one else’s but his brother’s. “She isn’t getting away with my son.”

And although he had said nothing to his twin about his little encounter with Lucya, Dante had still managed to find the right words to soothe his heart even more. “And she isn’t getting away with my brother either.”

I may not have forgotten to be a target, brother… But you sure refuse to let that unsettle me.

A small huff left his lungs and Vergil took a step forth, Dante in tow. While they were passing through the portal, he swore he heard him growl; a deep sound from his chest, a challenge he was preparing even before any enemies were near, and Vergil found himself doing the same.

But once they stepped out on a small hill from which some of Ardeon’s chimneys could be seen, no demons welcomed them with a fight, nor their presence.

Dante looked around, sword on shoulder and ready to go as he spoke of the nature of the city and whatever he gathered from Trish, while Vergil surveyed the area; the hill was just the perfect spot to make a mental map of their surroundings, cataloging distances and useful elements.

Behind them, a vast forest stood proud and unbothered while at their sides it slowly started to recess, almost burned away by Ardeon’s toxic environment. It was to be expected then, that the industrial outpost was somehow visible despite the few oak trees obstructing their view.

Its composition was fairly easy, Vergil observed silently. Only a handful of chimneys still stood, attached to their respective factory, the red bricks layered in dark dust and making them stand out against the vegetation around it; only one lonely warehouse was intact, while the few others, smaller and seemingly made of wood and not bricks, were littering the ground like crumples of bread.

True to its origin, Ardeon smelled toxic even at such a distance. They would’ve to walk for a good hour before getting to the sign with the city’s name, but the wind still carried that pungent odor of decay and anomaly, so much so Vergil crunched his nose in disgust while he saw Dante waving a hand in front of himself, trying to bash the scent away with no result.

“So,” the red twin was the first to break the silence as he, too, had finished mapping the place as much as he could, “what are we waiting to pay them a visit?” He stretched his legs, knees popping at the joints.

Vergil huffed and committed to memory his own mental map before replying. “Didn’t you mention something about ‘guard dogs’ early?” Sharing a look with his brother, the older brother found the other wearing that devilish smirk that suited him quite nicely.

“Yeah, they got some demons chained and drugged down there.” He let the information out casually, like nothing more than a boring news on the morning cast on the radio. “Aren’t you curious to see them for yourself? Or are they enough to scare away the eldest Son of Sparda?” Dante challenged amicably, just to get a reaction out of him.

“Don’t be so naive, Dante.” Vergil began walking and a smug, victorious smile spread innocently on his face as Dante followed him. “There’s no such creature that will deter me from getting my son back and killing that witch.”

With the words floating in the air, Dante followed his brother’s steps in silence and once Vergil had no more clue on where they should go, Dante took the lead and directed them using the intel he had from the maps he studied.

Ardeon remained silent as they approached, although something lurked in the darkness and waited for them to arrive.

Chapter Text

Dante directed their steps through the trees and around a swamp that had the rancid smell of exploded batteries and expired paint primer, along with rotten eggs and burnt skin; he could see his brother trying to close his nose without making too much of a facial expression, regaining that old cold composure of his, with little success.

It had been almost two weeks since Vergil had appeared out of nowhere and by now, his baser instincts had greatly been suppressed, not much to Dante’s pleasure; somehow, those demonic aspects had allowed them to bond quite fast and easily after years apart and the hunter, true to his heart as always, was afraid that might end with the sudden disappearing of them.

But as they marched through the swamp, avoiding the polluted water and thinking about anything but the stench coming from it, something told Dante that everything would be fine, as per his old belief that everything would sort itself out or he’d be the one doing the sorting, much like with Fortuna and the Savior.

Besides, Vergil seemed at ease around him and was eager to spend time with Nero, although that could look vastly different to what any of them might imagine it to be like. Still, it was enough of a reason to pass through the front gates of Ardeon and wait for his twin to reach his side; he had been observing the swamp as if it was his lethal enemy and Dante kind of felt the same about it too for how it attacked his nose.

“What are we looking for?” Vergil asked the second he was by his side, that cold tone bleeding past his lips; Dante could still hear the concern hidden beneath along with the wrath.

A smirk crossed his face and the blue twin noticed, eyeing him with a question mark raising his brows. “The old dear warehouse, or whatever we wanna call it. It’s supposed to be their base camp and wanna-be church.” Both of them didn’t need to remind the other about how, from the hill, only one warehouse was still standing in the mess that was left of the city.

Vergil took the first step ahead, looking back as if asking if Dante was ready before he subtly invited him to join him. “Lead the way. I’ll keep an eye out.”

With that, Dante absorbed his sword back in his body and walked along the main path of the industrial city after putting his hands in his pockets. Many of the small wooden houses, which he guessed were of those who worked here, were missing walls and roofs while harvesting dust and slowly decaying as the seasons changed. The few shops he could spot, just because they looked different than the perfect replica of a stylized poor house, were holding small treasures of time within them since they hadn’t collapsed yet. A bakery still rang its bell if one opened the door and the market still had shelves, although mostly empty, that resembled what once was the whole disposition of the products.

The industrial part itself though resided deeper in the town, hidden from unwanted eyes. The smaller building, refinements center he believed, were almost all still standing; they were made out of solid bricks and steel, not out of wood. The three factories that gave the city its old-fashioned industrial look stood impressively in the center of the city and all three had chimneys, although one was gone mid way through; each seemed to have had its own purpose, always different from each other.

The three factories were placed in a semi circle, one beside the other. The left one had signs for metals and minerals, the right one for biohazard and explosives, while the last, the center one, had all the warning signs about toxic chemicals and whatnot, which Dante found to be quite fitting for the general state of the city itself.

He took in the sight of them silently, knowing Vergil was doing the same; if need arose, they could use whatever was inside as a trap for demons or the cultists themselves. Dante took notice of the explosives still inside the rundown factory through a broken window, while Vergil memorized the chemicals that the warning talked about.

Still, curiosity didn’t manage to get the best of him and he didn’t go investigate either of the two different places, leaving behind houses and shops alike; Nero was his first priority and to get to him, he had to reach the warehouse.

A bit more walking and just behind the old factories, the warehouses stood; or mostly, rested on the ground. Not many had survived the years that passed since Ardeon’s fall and the older ones made of wood were basically nonexistent anymore, leaving behind only the perimeter engraved in the ground, while those that were still visible, made of cheap rocks and logs, only had some walls and all missed the roofs.

But one of them, made out of sturdy bricks and bigger than the rest, was quietly resting in the background, where the sun had almost no way to reach it and warm its walls.

They shared a look as they both saw it and made their way over, both with their weapons in their hands and ready to draw blood. The building had two floors and along the upper one ran a metal pathway, probably the emergency path, that could only be used through the stairs on the left, while the base floor had its front doors closed, but not necessarily looked as there was no chain keeping it that way. Both of them could feel the demonic aura coming from within the warehouse, but no words were spoken on the matter.

“I’ll take the stairs.” Vergil announced quietly, but before he could disappear out of Dante’s sight, his voice came back with a dangerous glee that wasn’t directed to his twin’s health. “Have fun with the guard dogs.” With that, his steps didn’t echo on the rusty metal and the hunter was left to his own path.

With a few steps he found himself in front of the front doors, way taller than necessary for a human being but wide enough to store whatever these industries might’ve produced once upon a time, and also demons. “Let’s see what we got.” He pushed the doors open and met no resistance as he slithered past the small opening, deciding against spreading them wide open and attracting any unwanted attention.

He was met with a dark, spacious storage space that was divided towards the end by a thick, heavy red curtain hanging from the ceiling; the fabric was massive and it seemed to be enchanted with some hearing spell, because Dante couldn't catch any noises coming from behind it.

Still, the rumors about the guard dogs were true. Although different from what the hunter had expected before coming face to face with them.

The demons, three Furies on each side of the room, were chained with shackles and muzzles with engraved runes covering the cold metal biting at the demons’ skin. Alongside them, the walls were covered in runes of a different kind, similar to the one Nero scribbled for him to investigate; something was reluctantly telling him they were in the right place.

Still, it was hard to tell what he was truly looking at because the Furies were quiet and docile, not even responding to his presence like all Hell would. They simply laid on the ground, seemingly napping like dogs and uncaring of whatever was going on around them. Dante took a few more steps in, the dim light of the few windows giving him little to work with, but enough for him to see.

Apparently the electricity was shut down, which wasn’t surprising in the slightest, although the high ceiling betrayed some of his speculations. The demons remained still as the hunter went in the middle of the space, standing with his sword and a strange feeling carving its way out of his chest.

On the ceiling, the wood supporting the roof was showing a complicated sigil, with runes and symbols that Dante had only ever seen in books; it was the kind of magic only a high sorcerer could handle, or a lunatic cultist with a death wish and hundreds of people to sacrifice.

It was a colossal waking call that Dante stared at, the kind used to summon demons from the deepest pits of Hell itself to enter directly into the human realm. “Why is it here?”

And not so surprisingly the sigil responded to the sound of his voice and illuminated the whole warehouse, along with stirring the Furies from their slumber and calling them to attack on the intruder.

Dante was quick on his feet and asserted the situation, just to notice how the cultists had played with the demons. It reminded him of Fortuna and the so-called Angels they had.

The demons’ eyes were blind, or even carved out of their sockets for half of them, while their teeth were of demonic metals that he had no clue where they could've gotten it from. The toxins they injected must've not been too nice since none of the Furies acted even remotely close to what they should.

When they tried to move around, the chains holding them followed their movements and didn't hold them in place, so Dante had to dodge some attacks and respond with some of his own. Still, he had mercy on them and killed them quickly; although he wasn’t too sure if he was repulsed by their existence, so degenerated and disturbing, or if he was truly moved by their sick condition under the cult's chains.

He didn't let himself wonder too much on the matter and made their death come as easily as the air flooding in his lungs; their corpses were lifeless carcasses on the ground, making a pool of crimson in which he now had to walk around because this time around, curiosity won him over and he took just a few moments to see if there was anything useful laying around.

Apart from the chains and the runes, that ended up being useless since they weren't of any use to his ‘find my nephew’ cause, it surprised him that the demons’ body didn't turn into ashes. Instead, perhaps due to the toxic chemicals, they were still there keeping him a subtle yet creepy company. His own demon told him they were still alive, although piercing them through with his sword just to be sure gave him no comfort; the demons didn't move and his own was still preparing for a fight that wasn't about to come.

So, with every ounce of control he had, he decapitated each and every one of the Furies. It was cruel, toying with food after it was already done and since it wasn't even edible or useful, but it made his demon quiet down a bit. Although he couldn't stop it from sending a small call to his other half, which promptly resulted in Vergil’s core brushing against his like a cat would against his owner's leg, although it felt a bit harsh as it scolded Dante for not being faster.

“You're right, you're right. I'll open the stage for ya.” He quietly muttered as the sigil above his head finally died down, leaving just dust traces into the hard wood. The hunter didn't take too long to actually move past the dead demons and finally reached the curtain that separated him from the rest of the warehouse.

As he was about to pull the curtain down its hinges, his brother's core reached for him again, this time with another sentiment.

Make haste, Dante. Are you about to leave all the fun to me?

⁜

Walking around the warehouse using the metal pathway, Vergil found himself witnessing the cult's doing by the time he was at the first corner.

A mostly opaque window gave in to the inside of the warehouse, allowing him to see from a small portion of it that was still clear enough and using the shadows of the trees to blend himself with the view in case anyone looked towards the window.

He had a front row seat to what could only be one of the cult's attempts at summoning some demons.

The small space they occupied was divided from the rest of the warehouse by a thick curtain, probably what Dante saw when he opened the front doors. On the walls, the same runes from Nero’s scribbling note littered them in charcoal and bone powder.

At what he knew was the back of the warehouse, an altar was elevated from the ground by a massive obsidian rock, with the preacher standing tall and royally behind it, hands thrown to the sky and calling for more prayers. On the cloth covering the altar, a book and a knife rested unused.

Everyone was dressed in clothes and ropes that reminded him sickly of the Order of the Sword and her, the sweet woman from that not-as-sweet town, although he was quick to banish that thought. These people wore black ropes with long hoods covering their heads, with the preacher proudly wearing a deep purple with gold embroidery; none of their faces was visible but Vergil couldn't care less of what they looked like, firstly because they were all going to die anyway and secondly because there wasn't enough light to do so.

Only two tall braziers gave the room some light, along with whatever dim excuse of it the window provided.

It was a simple fire, the one that washed over the people praying before Vergil’s investigating gaze; nothing of it could be associated with Lucya, not the color nor heat, but only the runes served to remind him what these foolish cultists were trying to achieve and what he was there to stop.

Then, the two dozens of cultists Vergil was looking over bowed in unison, not saying a word anymore; their faint prayers had guided him to the window, but now they were gone and only a suffocating silence engulfed them all together. Mixing believers with Gods.

But then something else happened. From their previous chanting prayers, a circle appeared on the ground in front of the altar and a small demon came from the even smaller gate they had managed to open; it sealed itself right back, too weak and frail to even hold itself open for a second longer, but the simple fact that they had managed to open it didn’t sit right in the blue hunter’s guts.

Two of the front row cultists reached for the demon but the little pest, a small Pyroath, flew away and hit one of the walls, falling back to the ground in a wet thud. They tried again and when they managed to fetch it, Vergil was dumbfounded that they simply killed it with the knife the preacher handed them from the altar.

But then the preacher's voice reached his ears. “May our Lord Mundus appreciate our offering despite the despicable size of it,” he turned towards his followers, “let us pray.” And they fell right back in their quiet muttering of nonsense that made Vergil’s blood boil.

Without wasting another second of his time, he leaped through the window and shattered it, creating a shower of glass that reflected idly the fire near the altar; as he ascended he called out to his twin, still behind the curtain, before his feet hit the ground.

“Dante,” he spoke his name as the hunter tore the curtain down and dislodged all the hinges, making another shower of metal fragments falling on top of the cultists. “I told you to make haste.” He chastised as the people began backing away from them, trying to hide and reveal some knives they had in their ropes; both hunters smirked at the pathetic way they handled their weak weapons.

“Sorry brother,” Dante took in the sight of the broken window and then looked back at his brother, “had fun watching, I see…” But Vergil didn’t respond, which told the hunter that whatever he saw wasn't useful to them.

Vergil unsheathed Yamato and Dante readied Rebellion in his hand, both launching at the cultists without holding back; the blue twin didn’t wonder if killing humans was in open conflict with his brother's morals just because he was enjoying the bloodbath as much as he did and somehow, that told him Dante would destroy everything to get Nero back.

Screams filled the warehouse and soon enough a pool of blood and viscera was all that was left of the cult, although Dante spoke in the ire silence that fell on the altar. “Trish said they had quite the collection of demonic stuff, I wonder where they keep it all.”

Vergil looked around just in time to see the preacher slithering out from underneath his followers’ dead bodies to swipe away some dust on the floor, just to reveal a trapdoor he hadn't noticed before; he let the man open it and slither inside as he and his brother watched, both their minds going in the same direction.

If they had to find Mundus’ tomes, they needed someone to tell them where they were, and who was better than the leader of the cult himself, who had just told them where to look and led the way for them?

But Dante wasn't done. “Wait,” Vergil looked at him while he heard the man breathing as he ran in whatever underground cave was beneath the warehouse, “let's check that book first.” A finger pointed at the abandoned tome on the altar.

Vergil just hummed; both knew luck wasn't on their side and it wasn’t about to be now, but checking wouldn't hurt them too much. He watched as Dante picked up the book, flopped a few pages and closed it, reading the title.

“Really?” He half-heartedly whined. Vergil raised a brow, inquiring about his discovery that displeased him so much. “Dante’s Divine Comedy? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Vergil huffed a laugh, finding it humorous all the same that a cult that worshiped Mundus was reading something that had one of the Sons of Sparda’s names on the cover; although it was Dante that wore the borrowed name, the irony didn't die on either of them.

“Let’s go, Dante.” Vergil called after his brother threw the book out the window with a childish pout that was wiped away as quickly as it appeared. “We'll make them pay full price for both the subject of their worship and their sick sense of irony.”

With that, both brothers jumped down the trapdoor and followed the echoing steps of their prey.

Chapter Text

If Nero had a penny for every time he woke up in his old room in the orphanage, he'd have had two more than the last time he counted. And perhaps he would have to keep counting as this would be his residency as long as the twins didn't get him out of Lucya's realm.

It wasn't too hard to guess it was fake after his first time there; the light never changed direction and night snapped in place only when she wasn't present, just like now.

Although the strange cycle of the sun and the moon, Nero didn’t really sleep much and when he did, he always woke up while it was still dark outside that circle of a window that used to be his only view point of the outer world; but now, looking past it as he stood up from his fake bed, the view didn't match his memories all that much. The smaller details, the ones a person knows by heart and not because they remember them, felt wrong.

The entrance of the orphanage was the main event from that wooden crossed window that reminded him so much of a movie about apes; even when he was a kid, he wished to be freed from his cage and evolve with the world. But that brick path that led to the main door was too perfect; the cracks in the stones were not there, the grass between each brick too thin and bright. It was a dream of the past, one Nero had no interest witnessing.

He sat back on his bed, yawning with the carelessness a prisoner shouldn't have and glad his clothes were still his own; he even decided to feel his body, hands patting here and there to check if it was all there.

A vague feeling made itself known as he massaged his wrists, feeling a sting that had left no mark on his skin, then he had the impression of knowing where the pain came from; nails piercing skin, wood reeking of blood, eyes so impossibly shattered looking at him.

But the confusion that followed made him shut his mind off just to lay back down. There wasn't much he could do and the illusion he lived in always managed to fool him; he wasn't proud of that, but one too many mind tricks and he could believe that maybe, for the smallest moment, whoever appeared in his room was a loyal recollection of his memories and not a puppet made to snap his will.

Sometimes, the feeling of being in the wrong place kept him from sleeping but at the same time, it allowed him to remember that it was all fake; although it severely damaged his perception of reality and time all the same. There were moments when a particular smell would let him know she was coming, but it was never enough to place his mind in the right place, keeping him out of the nightmare.

Even then, he never saw her coming. She was always there in the blink of an eye, leaving him panting on the bed; the pain of her nails, the scratch of her fangs, the burning of her tongue as she spoke in clothes that weren’t hers never failed to bring tears to his eyes and at times, he wondered when she would do to him what his father went through. Somehow, it was less painful to envision that outcome rather than having Credo sitting at the end of his bed, scolding him for being a pathetic, abandoned child…

“Still not doing your duties, Nero?”

The voice snapped him out of his stupor induced trance on the bed, eyes immediately falling on Credo sitting just where he remembered him last time; looking down on him, judging him. He always wondered if Credo really liked him or barely tolerated him and being there, with his face so close and palpable, didn't help his heart as it skipped a beat. Perhaps his older brother never quite cared for him and Nero couldn't exactly blame him.

“You aren't real.” Nero always spat those bitter words, but the more he would fall into the usual conversation, the less he was inclined to believe that statement over the blood that would inevitably stain his fingers. Whether it was his or not.

Credo, the knight in shiny armor Nero so fervently looked up to, stood up abruptly just to come closer and slap him across the face, leaving one cheek burning in pain and shame. “You shouldn't talk like that to your elders.” His voice echoed in the room and Nero flinched ever so slightly, hiding in his face in the pillow; but as he nuzzled away the sting on his face, two fingers pinched his chin and forced him to look up.

“Will you do better, soldier?” Another imperceptible flinch and Credo’s voice was thunder against his ears, already too young and easily damaged by anyone who raised their voice.

Nero nodded, “yes, sir.” His voice was high pitched as he was ashamed all over while his skin turned red and he was too young to stop himself and hide his emotions properly; a small child so easily susceptible to everything around him, with wild emotions and keen reactions. At his shy agreement, those fingers went away and a gentle palm caressed his cheek; has Credo ever been this loving towards me?

There was no point asking since his mind already decided while he was busy fighting, and losing, his battle against her next move. A move that had no business being his.

Credo caressing his face was nice, oh so nice and tender; his cold skin sent shivers through the burning sensation across Nero’s face, sometimes flinching at the difference in temperature and others savoring it like it would never come back; a gift from a benevolent God that was looking at him, for once in his troubled life. He would enjoy it for as long as he could, knowing how volatile it was, how undeserving of it he felt deep down.

Still, something quietly whispered to him to be wary, that those flinches had another meaning, that he knew what was truly coming, but he laid there and basked in the care and affection so easily sent his way. He had been bad at the start, but that won't happen again; risking to lose that tender touch wasn’t worth it.

“So,” Credo called and his eyes snapped open; he didn't remember closing them. “Let's go training, you have much to catch up on.”

Nero jumped off the bed at that, following as Credo stood in the center of the room and waited for him to stand in front of him, face to face; Nero had his back to the window, his shadow so long that he engulfed the other’s body completely in it. Arms crossed behind his back, he waited for orders like a good soldier.

“You know the command, Nero.” Credo chastised as he didn't do as he was supposed to, “do I have to repeat myself?” A few hard steps echoed on the weak floor, making Nero's knees go weak and placid; a small child so easily frightened and scared.

He stood to attention, bowing to the knight that had no business having so much influence over him, but a child always needed some guidance. “No, sir.” His eyes fell shut and he didn’t fight when a bullet embedded itself in his right thigh, making him fall to his knees.

“Nero,” Credo made a disappointed sound, clicking his tongue, “all these years under the Order's care and you still fail to be up to their standards.” The lack of approval in each of his words stabbed Nero through the heart; he could feel his chest aching at the mere thought of being a failure to those who took him in and cared for him despite being a monster. It hurt ten times more than the bullet in his flesh.

No words managed to come out of his mouth, sealed shut by the pungent need to cry and wail that he could do better, that he wasn’t a total failure. Even though young, he wouldn't break down in front of Credo; what would he think of him then? Probably that he was too weak to be a soldier, to be a knight, to be at his side.

“I'll do better.” He remembered saying it so many times in his head when he was younger, until something snapped and he didn’t conform to the rules anymore; but he couldn’t do that again. Doing something of that magnitude again meant disappointing Credo and being abandoned, and he didn't want that.

Two fingers pitched his chin again and gently guided his head to look up; he didn't open his eyes until a thumb was tenderly caressing away a stray tear he didn't manage to keep at bay. “You will.” There was a hint of mischief in his voice, but Nero found himself deserving the harsh treatment for being born with demon blood; Sparda’s blood.

It was the reason that dictated his life; the misery, the loneliness, the abandonment and the lack of a nurturing family. It wasn’t a gift to be proud of; never…

“You are special.” Credo chimed with practiced disgust and Nero felt his stomach drop. “Sparda’s blood, our God, flows in your veins.” The thumb that was so gentle a second ago was not trying to dig a nail under Nero’s left eye and in a matter of seconds, crimson painted his cheek; Nero, sweet child who knew not to argue with adults if he wanted some love, kept quiet.

His eyes didn't water, he endured the pain like when the mean kids used to steal his food and make him starve until one of the nuns had mercy on him and handed him some leftover bread; it was the right thing to do, because all followers of the church must know how to live through hardship and since his demon blood made it easier for him to withstand the Order's challenges, it was normal for him to struggle for longer.

Because I deserved that… Because my blood was… Sparda’s?

“Why…” A small voice, childish and scared passed his lips and Credo’s ministrations stopped to listen; he took it as approval, having his attention. “Why am I being punished for being a descendant of Sparda, if he is our God?”

The question had always hung above his heart, a reminder of why he was different as it brought forth the confusion that followed; if he was part of Sparda’s family, why was he treated so badly by everyone?

Was Sparda not their God?

Am I not worth what Sparda is supposed to carry forth? Did I fail him too?

Another harsh slap landed on his other cheek, making it even more humiliating as his own blood was smeared on his face. Credo’s eyes narrowed looking down on him; he didn't even check if the bullet was out and his wound healed, he just wanted for his older brother to stop looking at him like he was filthy and unworthy of every ounce of affection he was capable of.

“You have no reason to wonder why you deserve what you get.” The soothing touches came back and Nero melted immediately. “You just serve the Order and do as you are told. Is it too hard for you?”

Nero quickly nodded in negative, grateful to be able to ravish in that guarding presence some more. “I'm sorry.” He whined a second later, scared Credo would take away his hands and leave him alone.

Credo, for his part, didn't stay by his side after a few minutes of gentle pats on his head. He went back to the door, his back to Nero as he opened it and in the blink of an eye, everything fell from under his feet; before he could scream the fall stopped.

He found himself laying on an altar in the old Savior church.

Nero tried to move but shackles held his wrists and ankles down to the marble beneath him; a wave of fear made itself known, choking him with saliva but before he could scream he heard soft footsteps around him. Credo was slowly moving in circles around him, his eyes on the ground as he spoke.

“The Savior picked you up from the streets, where your mother has left you to die like the animal you are.” The way he said that one word forced a broken sob out of him.

Why didn't she love me? Did dad not love me either?

Nero kept following with his gaze, afraid he would be left alone on the cold stone and maybe even used as a sacrificial lamb for Sparda; did his existence enrage their God and now they had to do something to quiet him? Was Nero too cursed for salvation?

At his distress, evident in how he kept trashing against his restraints, Credo came closer and put a hand on his upper thigh. “Worry not, you will be taken care of.”

But the hand felt wrong, too close and intimate. The voice was harsh and too sugarcoated, not Credo’s firm but kind tone that he loved to hear. And that sentence… No, Credo never spoke like that.

Nero snapped when that hand traveled further up and his movements sent Credo away. “Stay away.” He warned, breaking from the shackles at his ankles but having a hard time with the ones on his wrists.

This is fake. “Credo would never say that.”

But the creature still wearing Credo’s clothes just threw its head back, laughing hysterically and clinging to its own chest like it hurt to be so joyful over Nero’s frightened expression and defensive demeanor; it trashed and waltzed around the boy, somehow pleased to have all Nero’s attention.

Meanwhile, the young hunter managed to scoop in a corner of the altar, knees pressed to his chest. His clothes were still his own, but the touch that was on his leg a second ago seemed to have passed through the fabric anyway, making him nauseous.

“Now, can we finally play, toyboy?”

Credo’s voice was more feminine now and Nero fell off the altar trying to get away from him. But then the illusion fell apart; the church shattered in reflecting shards of glass and he fell again, this time landing on his bed, once again in that fake orphanage that had yet to stop haunting him everywhere he went.

But the hold that same dream had on his mind wasn't completely broken, because sometimes after a nightmare, one could always have a dream…

On his bed, the sun was about to set down and he was glad to be able to sleep off some of the tension after such a torturous endeavor with Credo, or not-Credo? Still, he laid on his bed and pulled the covers over his shaking frame, waiting for any resemblance of sleep to meet him halfway.

But luck wasn't on his side.

The runes around his neck burned and a soft, pained moan passed his lips as another, kinder and gentler hand rested on his hip. Snapping back and opening his eyes, he saw a woman sitting on the bed near his legs.

She had a red hood covering her face and her clothes were the same as the ones Nero knew from the old Order branches, before he was brought to the orphanage. He looked at her warily, still unsettled by Credo and not understanding why the runes worked with this woman but not him.

“Hush, son.” The woman said, and that was enough for Nero to feel like he was in yet another dream, one that perhaps wouldn't hurt him.

“Mom?” His voice was so young even to his own ears, but for some reason, the hand on his hip was still wrong. Shouldn't a mother's touch be soothing and not frightening to her own child? A hand instinctively found its place on his collarbone, always checking the runes with timid fingers.

The woman didn't answer vocally, just shook her head gently and stroked his hip to make him relax, although Nero had a hard time doing that; he dug his fingers in the runes, but nothing happened. Still, the woman kept moving her hand until Nero felt tears in his eyes and his breath shortening to small huff and painful exhales that left him with little strength.

The second her fingers gripped with too much strength, just enough to press her digits in his flesh, Nero kicked her away and she landed on the floor while he backed off in the corner of the bed that met the wall, holding his legs close to his chest. He felt safer having his limbs close, not in anyone's reach.

“Oh my, Nero.” The woman quietly said as she sat on the floor like a queen posing for a portrait. “Is this how you treat your mother?” She wiped something off of her face and her fingers came back wet with blood, but Nero still didn't see her features.

Although pain still strained his breath to see her wounded, to have hurt her. She's my mom…

He was about to offer a hand to her or to give a sincere apology for his behavior, but she beat him in time.

“Now that I know you'd treat me this way, I made the right decision to abandon you.” She brushed away some invisible dust from her red dress and stood back up, sitting once again at the foot of his bed. He said nor did anything, looking at her and catching her every move in case she tried to touch him again, feeling his neck nearly on fire.

“Go away.” He hissed when she remained silent and calm for too long, picking at his nerves without doing anything. “I don't want you here.”

Surprisingly, she did as he said. With elegance, she stood back up and looked outside the window; her fingers ghosted on the glass as she admired the view. Nero kept his eyes locked on her and his legs close to his chest, keeping them closed without reason. It just helped him breathe.

“I'll look over you while you sleep, my child.” A finger tapped on the glass and Nero felt sleepy all of a sudden, unable to keep his position for much longer while a too sweet, too distinct smell filled his lungs. “Good night, Nero.”

A heavy pull called for him and dragged him under another spell, the runes on his neck burning. But that sensation soon helped him relax as the warmth brought him some fake resemblance of comfort.

Everything was too out of tune and he couldn't tell anymore what was her doing, what was made by his mind and what was real.

Chapter Text

Once down the trapdoor, Dante was met with an underground cave system in which their dear running leader was hiding. He took the first few steps and didn't have much of a problem locating the man despite the various directions ahead of them, just like Vergil, who promptly decided to lead the way without saying a word.

As they walked, Dante could feel and see his brother's power pushing against his skin, giving him a cobalt aura as they hunted the man through the dark tunnels of his decaying cult; Vergil’s core was ablaze and pushed against Dante’s senses, which let him know he'd be the one doing most of the talking while the older brother would restrain himself from killing the man on sight.

Besides, Vergil must've taken the quick route somehow because the man's frantic footsteps could be heard even by simple human standards and Dante, aware of his brother's bloodlust and vengeance, held him back with a hand on his shoulder and took his place leading forth; he had no problem navigating around just like the other and after a few more turns, a cave presented itself.

The man was in the center of the small underground room, holding a not so conventional spear that held some demonic power; Dante chuckled at the pathetic attempt to block them from rescuing his nephew but before he could take Ivory out of her holster, an electric blue sword flew past his head and struck the weapon out of the man's grip.

“What do we have here?” Dante mockingly asked as he stepped closer, leaving his gun in her place and going to circle around the man while Vergil did the same; two predators assessing their prey. The hunter looked around the room, pointing at a few books and old artifacts in different showcases, “trying to bring back the bad guy… Now, we don't like that.”

Vergil growled in the darkness. Despite the few lights on the various items, the space didn't have enough lighting to help the man out in locating the two hunters. The blue twin’s eyes were beginning to shine in a distinct cobalt hue just as Dante went on talking.

“You know,” he gathered the man's attention, who didn’t notice him being just at his side and whispering in his ear. “You're hurting our family with your stupid plan. My brother and I don't appreciate it when people mess with us.”

The man stumbled backwards at hearing the words so close to his face, feeling hot breath damping his already sweaty skin. Falling to the ground, he scrambled away from the other two men, his back hitting a wall; a pair of blue eyes followed his every movement while another silhouette hauled in the darkness, seemingly waiting.

“The Almighty Mundus and his Lady Lucya will come back!” He barked at the two men. “I'm the preacher of their awakening and I won't let the likes of you hinder their Majesties’ return.”

That promptly achieved a loud and booming laugh from Dante, although the undertone of that saccharine sound hid a thick layer of upcoming brutality. “Mh… Is that what you believe?” The man nodded, fiercely convinced. Dante shared a look with his brother, whose powers were too close to the surface not to notice. “My brother and I beg to differ.”

The man was shocked. “You cannot interfere with the proceedings!” Both twins mocked a shocked laugh; as if a man's pathetic and worthless word could stop either of them.

“Hush, now.” Dante’s hand waved dismissively at the leader's words. “Or my brother will get too impatient with your nonsense.” The man promptly shut up and the red twin came closer to one of the bookshelves filled with tomes of various sizes, colors and origins; he tapped the spine of one of them, looking back at the man who wrongly placed his attention on the more docile twin.

“We just need the old bastard's journals and you'll die quickly.” Dante didn't avert his gaze from the book but the man did avert his gaze from him, taking notice of Vergil unsheathing Yamato in agreement; he wasn't walking out of there alive, not a chance.

“I won't tell you!” The man argued with placid anger. “They are sacred texts that should never fall in disgusting hands like yours!” A pointing finger followed the accusation that was spat at the blue twin, the closest to the man and the one who had not said anything at all.

His attention snapped back on the other twin when Dante chuckled darkly, coming closer to his brother. “I wished you'd say that.”

A slash cut through the darkness in a line of light that disappeared in the blink of an eye; Vergil flicked Yamato at his side and Dante observed the man who watched as liquid pooled beneath the edge of the blade. The preacher’s eyes shot wide as a pang of pain radiated from his leg, shouting a curse before holding it in his hands.

But the second his fingers should’ve made contact with the limb, he made contact only with thin air; frantically looking at where his leg was supposed to be, he found it laying a few feet away from him, a pool of blood forming beneath the appendage and his own body.

“You will never have them!” He coughed up blood while holding the remaining part of his leg, managing to estimate it was gone from mid-tight down. “I’ll never tell you, you don’t scare me!” Dante noticed how he tried to make a pointed expression to make it seem believable, but as the man shook uncontrollably and was on the verge of calling for his mom, the hunter was more than willing to play a little with their prey.

Dante faced his brother. “You heard that, Verge?” His eyes became red, his own demon coming to the surface. “He is not scared yet.”

In the following second, a shower of cobalt sparkled filled the room along with ancient runes, making a blue and black demon appear where Vergil once stood; he had absorbed Yamato while triggering and was now spreading his four wings as much as he could, taking the stance of a predator showcasing his might.

Before long, the man was bewildered to see the demon fall on all fours, wings and tail lively moving around the creature as it got closer to the chopped off limb laying on the cold floor. Slowly, the demon took it in his jaw and started eating it, always keeping its eyes locked with the man’s. A threat in the making.

“What is the meaning of this?!” The man screamed in fear, not looking at the other hunter for answers and instead looking at the demon as his leg was slowly going down its throat; it made the man sick, but not enough for Dante’s standards.

The hunter got closer to his brother, a hand caressing one of the wings gently as it responded with a few vibrant echoes of power illuminating the tough skin. “My brother is angry. You are causing harm to his nestling and he demands blood as payback for such disrespect."

The second Dante’s hand was gone from the other’s wing, the man watched as the demon inched closer and its cobalt signature’s glow slowly got dimmer and less visible across its whole body, until only the blue fire from horns and arms, eyes and wings’ pattern could be seen in the dark. It made a picture of pure terror and ferocity as the man locked eyes with it and breathed with each step that came straight towards him.

But his eyes weren’t too fast to notice what the demon did next, perhaps even too mesmerized by the powerful image in front of his face.

Its jaws snapped open and a cobalt tongue darted out, fangs tearing away the man’s other leg and feasting on it as the demon crunched down at his side, blissfully intended to enjoy its next meal.

Another scream ripped its way through the man’s throat, echoing in the tunnels all around them; he tried to hold both legs with each hand, but it was to no avail as the blood kept seeping out of the wounds and soaking his clothes. Neither of the two others was fazed by his attempts or even moved by pity or mercy; they just watched.

Dante spoke when he had enough of the man’s useless attempts of salvation. “So, will you tell us now?” He went back to the bookshelves and showcases, tapping lightly on a few more spines and glasses, leaving fingerprints behind.

The man looked at him and Dante noticed his stare and how it passed through him, looking at something else that was near him; “hot?” He mocked with a childish tone and recalled that old game he used to play with Vergil when they were little.

Nothing came from the man, just his plain stare keeping Dante from moving anywhere else; even with no answer, silence was enough to let him know he was near something important, that was worth more than the man’s life itself and that he was willing to die for.

Sitting on his heels, Dante watched beneath the tables on which the showcases rested, finding a few treasure chests out of a medieval movie. A finger tapped idly on a few of them, until he tapped one that had the man hiss in pain and anger.

“Oh, it’s here?” Dante watched as Vergil followed his movements as well, chewing down the last bit of his second leg; he was having much fun, the younger twin could tell by the lively twitching of the tail in the darkness. But the man wasn’t of the same opinion.

With some few remaining ounces of strength, he crawled closer to Dante and dismissed entirely the demonic beast laid calmly at his side, although he remembered of its presence the second a hot searing tongue lapped over one of his wounds, making him whine in pain.

Still, it wasn’t enough as he kept trying to get closer to Dante, unknowingly telling him everything he needed. “No!” The man pleaded uselessly, both hands pulling his body forward on the ground and leaving behind a trail of blood the blue demon followed like a cat would a mouse.

“Mh…” Dante tapped his chin, thoughtfully lost in mockery for a moment before tapping against the same chest, noticing how the man grew even more distressed with how carelessly he was handling it. “I believe it is.” He picked it up and set it on an empty table, far away from the man.

As he examined it, a lock was the first thing that he noticed. It had demonic symbols on it, therefore he couldn’t just rip it off like he’d usually would in any other case. A displeased sigh escaped his lips, catching his brother’s attention to the fullest.

“It needs a key.” He muttered under his breath, uncaring of the man still clinging to life without any remorse for what he was perpetrating on Nero or what he was thinking of bringing back to the world. He gently looked at Vergil, who was already watching him, still behind the man.

Dante’s smirk was demonic, the same Vergil was wearing in the darkness in which only the younger twin could see. “I think you can find it on him.” His tone was suggestive, a silent invite to manslaughter and utter violence; the older man didn’t have to be told twice.

The hunter watched as the blue demon was about to pounce on the man, jaws already slack and ready to snap bone, before a high pitched scream stopped him.

“I’ll give it to you!” The leader begged, perhaps understanding he was about to be eaten alive alongside his foolish plans of bringing back Mundus. He even made quick work of fishing the item from his ruined rope, producing a bloody key from a pendant around his chest; the blood had been slowly soaking all his clothes by now.

Making a gesture to hand it to Dante, he got too impatient with the blue demon behind him and just tossed it to the hunter; the key landed to his feet and the red clad man picked it up, pushing it in the lock and making it fall to the ground with not a care in the world.

But Dante noticed the man turning back to face his brother, an useless show of bravery that would take him nowhere. “You won’t be able to save your spawn anyway! She is more powerful than ever and your little gremlin is already dead!”

The demon’s blue fire from horns and arms gets even hotter, cutting through the room with a roaring echo of destruction. Dante even came closer to the man, squatting down to be at his eye level and sighed close to his ear, making it very well known that he wasn’t pleased.

“You know,” Dante scratched his chin, “if you didn’t add that last part…” He looked at Vergil, “my brother might’ve been more gentle and just killed you.” He got up and left, going back to the open treasure chest.

With wide eyes, the man turned over to the demon that was just shy at his side; pleas were ready to fall from his lips and hands were already coming up to shield him from the demon, but Vergil was faster. He pounced on the preacher, jaws locking on one shoulder and tearing it apart, devouring it in one go.

Dante watched from afar as Vergil did the same to the other shoulder, while wings and tail flicked around with cobalt lines, displaying his enjoyment. Especially so when he didn’t simply go for the man’s head next, but aimed lower.

Mh… Vergil would never be that kind to anyone and just end their suffering.

Claws cut open the man’s abdomen in a bad replica of a surgical procedure, shoving his clawed hands inside and bringing out the man’s viscera, feasting on them as jaws snapped intestines and liver, blood splatting on his face; Vergil didn’t stop at anything, making the man scream above any level Dante had ever heard before.

“Please…” The man begged weakly while Vergil began eating his stomach from the inside out, making his way up towards his lungs but still keeping him alive in a true show of vengeance. Nothing stopped the demon and Dante also had no intention of ending his twin’s playtime before necessary.

Besides, the man had no purpose being alive after he had told them where the books were and at the same time, they wouldn’t risk having him alive with his twisted idea of bringing back the Prince of Darkness after all the hard work that had been put to seal him away.

“Too bad, buddy.” Dante chimed in from afar, watching as Vergil devoured the man while still searching for the right tomes in the mess of books that were in the box. “My brother never leaves any leftovers.”

At that, Vergil spreads his wings and color resurfaces on all his body, cobalt shining through every line in his armored skin and flashing the man’s sick skin; the leader tried to scream but nothing came out and Vergil opened his jaws, letting the man know what was coming down on him next.

A set of fangs embedded itself in the man’s face and tore it off the rest of the limping body on the ground, bringing along an entire set of vertebrae with a spinal cord; Vergil devoured his prey with great enthusiasm and Dante was fascinated at the sight.

After so much stress, his brother finally relieved some of it with this pathetic specimen. At least something good came out of that man’s useless life at the very end.

“Hey,” Dante called and gestured for the other to come closer while he was still licking his lips clean with his long demonic tongue. “Come here.”

Vergil stood back up and let go of his trigger, Yamato back in hand while his free one was holding a handkerchief to his lips and cleaning away the rest of the blood. “Did you find them?” He asked as calmly as ever, like he hadn’t just eaten an entire man alive.

Dante held out two books, one that was a perfect match to Trish’s description and another that seemed to be a second volume by the looks of it, beckoning his twin to come closer and have a look for himself. After all the trouble the cult had put them through, something nice had come out of it nonetheless.

“Yeah,” the hunter handed over the first volume with a few incisions on the front cover, “looks like we hit the jackpot and got more than what we bargain for.” He examined the volume still in his hands, turning it over and flipping through a few pages; it seemed to be one of Mundus’ journals indeed.

In fact, Vergil was also reading through the first few opening pages of his own tome. “This man must’ve been hiding more than what we expected.” A finger traced a single page and then he closed the book, handing it back to Dante. “You are sure we are leaving nothing of importance behind?”

A gentle hum was all he got and Vergil unsheathed Yamato, cutting a portal back to the Devil May Cry. But before he could step past and let his twin follow, Dante had to make one of his usual remarks.

“Was the bastard tasty?” A devilish smirk spread on his lips, both tomes under one harm and eyes clearly demonic with incandescent fire.

Vergil scoffed; a small, pleased smile was all he gave back to his brother along with a small pull of his core, letting him know he had been indeed very pleased to dismember the man alive and have a feast with his body.

It was all they shared before they both went back to the office and placed the books on the desk. They had much to catch up on.