Chapter Text
Vergil improved in leaps and bounds over the next weeks. Well, perhaps improved wasn’t the word for it. Dude traded hours of stoic silence in his armour for nightmares 24/7, and he spent a shitton of time staring vaguely ahead of him, a glaze over his eyes. So he did have lots and lots of mediocre hours—probably more than Dante knew about—but when he was there, boy did it feel right. That back plate must have contained his snappish haughtiness, ‘cause Dante couldn’t set foot without a comment about his greasy hair or debatable sense of style. It was all “black high collars don’t fit you” or “where did you find another red coat?” or “I don’t care how stylish you think it is, your guns won’t make it in my house”, and every single one of these prickly retort was absolute music to Dante’s ears. He responded by mussing Vergil’s hair or with a quick “don’t think I haven’t seen the snakeskin pants in your closet”, and on Vergil’s best days a flash of blue sent Dante’s heart racing with the expectation of a summoned sword. Those weren’t back yet, but his bro accessed them way easier without the back plates constraining him, creating sparkling blue explosions that dissipated quickly.
Nero clearly rejoiced in the full sentences too, showing his da’ new drawings and asking for comments, or making him read library books instead of the other way around. And while Vergil hadn’t tried his full trigger again (not intentionally, anyway; the worst of his nightmares brought parts of it out), he seemed fine summoning and maintaining his tail. Dante almost wished he didn’t: that thing kept whipping at him when he tried to sneak on Vergil for a quick knuckle-rub on his head. Nero loved it, though, and he’d always sit touching it if he could.
On days where Vergil could focus but not easily speak, they brought out a number of board games he could still play and sat down, sometimes dragging Dante, Lady, and Trish along for a game, depending on who’d dropped by. The kiddo hadn’t smiled so much in months, to their collective joy. Probably why it’d taken everyone so long to notice something was wrong.
Dante hadn’t thought much of Nero’s insistence to brush his teeth in the kitchen since his much more lively dad usually hung around the sofa or dinner table in that big shared area, and while he’d thought Nero was a little quiet in the bath, he’d figured it’d just been a long day. They’d made a point of keeping the kid busy and bringing him outside to get him some good sunlight while his dad rested, so exhaustion didn’t feel out of place—not until Vergil stopped him from leaving, one evening after Nero had gone to bed. Setting sunlight still blazed through the open curtains, its red light casting his bro’s thin face in stark relief and bringing out the red still present in his once-corrupted eye. Vergil’s lips split open, but words didn’t spring out right away—he hadn’t had the smoothest of days. Dante raised his eyebrows.
“No rush. Ya know I hate the sound of your voice.”
He grinned at Vergil, who glared at him in turn, and the familiarity of it lifted part of the awkwardness of the wait. At length, Vergil’s gaze slid to his bedroom’s door before flicking back to Dante.
“Nero… wets his bed. Every night.”
“Ain’t that just what kids do?” Vergil sounded concerned, but it’s not like Nero had ever been 100% dry, no? That just sounded like a kid’s thing to him. Which, ok, everything Nero did was just a kid’s thing to him.
“Yes. No. He was… better.” Vergil huffed and his scowl deepened as he struggled for more of his precious words. Dante made a point of staring at the bedroom. He didn’t like this shit. His dumbass brother had spent years shoving it all inside, wordlessly absorbing his pain and transforming it into a sharp, frozen exterior none could break, and now that he actually wanted to air his big feelings, he couldn’t get a word! And that was just the kind of Big Suck that made Dante’s anger swirl within. “I think… the bathroom. He stares often.”
“He… does?” Now that Vergil mentioned it, the kiddo’s eyes did tend to stray there. “Ya think he holds it in ‘cause he’s afraid of the bathroom?”
Vergil answered with a slow nod, and all of Nero’s other strange behaviour surfaced in Dante’s mind—the teeth brushing, the quietness, the way he’d wanted to show Dante how far he could pee a lot outside, or how he insisted on using public washrooms if they were out. It hadn’t been that long since Nero had stopped the night diapers (a fact he had proudly shared with Dante at the time, and demanded ice cream rewards for), so he probably still sucked at holding it all in for long. But this seemed like a simple problem with a simple solution.
“Can’t he wake you to go? Like, I’m sure it ain’t scary with his da’ in there with him?”
“I have told him so.” Vergil shrunk in on himself, leaning against the door and staring pointedly away. “He… will not. Because I need sleep.”
Oh. Oh no, this kid was too sweet. Didn’t wanna wake his sick dad to go pee, even though the bathroom apparently scared him shitless. Hard not to compare with every time Vergil had gone along with Dante’s terrible ideas when they were kids ‘cause he didn’t want to show fear and because Dante looked like he was having fun’.
“Right, all right, I see it. Whatcha need me for?”
Vergil’s shoulders slumped, and the intense aura of powerlessness washing off from him sank Dante’s little heart. Poor bro had no fucking clue, did he? Neither did Dante, really, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna turn down Vergil asking for help. Ya had to take your miracles when they happened! So he slapped his hand on Vergil’s shoulder, gripping it tight, and grinned when his twin looked up.
“Don’t ya worry, my brain’s bubblin’ with ideas!” he declared.
A slight smirk touched Vergil’s lips, and while he offered a nod of acknowledgement, his next word gave no room for gratefulness.
“Dante,” he said, with all the annoyed warmth Dante had come to adore, “That is reason to worry.”
###
Dante brought Nero out for a long bike ride ending at Freddi’s, and they sat their asses on some hard benches outside, delicious ice cream melting in the hot summer sun. Most days he didn’t notice the heat, but today it hit the back of his skull and neck hard, and he was glad they’d gotten Nero a cool little cap that looked like a stingray. He’d bet if he’d brought Nero back red as a tomato again, Vergil would have miraculously found many, many words for him. His head was protected and they’d slathered a shitton of sunblock on him though.
Nero didn’t mind the sun. If anything, it seemed to power his legs and tongue, and while all the adults they met around the park and behind the counter were exhausted from the heavy heat, Nero just babbled on about how good he was with his bicycle (he’d learned to do wheelies and never stopped), or the grasshopper he’d nearly caught, and the lavender he wanted to bring home (he said Lav-Ender with lots of emphasis on the first syllable and it was downright adorable, really).
Through the whole day, Dante kept handing the kid bottles of water—and, sure, he didn’t want Nero to get dehydrated by the sun and shit, but mostly he wanted his little bud to need the bathroom. And lo’ and behold, Nero was squirming in his seat by the time he finished his ice cream.
“Ya wanna head home?” Dante asked. “Been a big long day. I bet your Dad’s up and about now.”
Nero pouted and shoved the empty plastic spoon from his sundae in his mouth, even if it was all empty now. He eyed the ice cream parlor over Dante’s shoulder. “I need to pee.”
“Here, huh?” Dante looked at his nephew’s big blue eyes and his little pout, and how utterly adorable he was, and his heart melted. He’d thought he’d push Nero to tell him he was scared of their home bathroom by insisting to go home, but that’s just now how he did conversations. “I know ya ain’t peeing home anymore, kiddo, so I’m gonna venture a guess, and you tell me if I’m wrong, all right?”
Nero’s eyes got even bigger. He clung to the spoon, still in his mouth, and gave a very slight nod.
“Ya don’t like your bathroom, but your dad’s sick and you don’t wanna bother him with it. Good so far?”
Nero pulled the spoon out and stared at the table. Dante could feel his little feet kicking under. He waited, and the kiddo eventually offered him another nod. Spinning his own plastic spoon between his fingers, Dante kept going, as casually as he could. Grin-game face on, just to keep the kid at ease.
“Right. Now, I ain’t the most observant pea in a pod, but this all started when you found Vergil half shifted in the bathroom.” He caught the spoon and pointed it at Nero. “I think the bathroom’s scary to you now.”
Nero huffed, puffing out his chest like he was big and old and courageous (the last of which he was, even if he didn’t think so) and that was all the clues Dante needed to know he’d hit the jackpot. “Bathrooms aren’t scary. That’s silly.”
“It is, but here’s some old man’s wisdom from your zio: sometimes the silliest things become scary by association with real terrifying shit.” Dante set his gaze on Nero and leaned forward. “Ya wanna hear a story about your zio?”
Nero always wanted stories, even moreso about any of the adults in his life. All of them tended to keep their past behind them, so he didn’t get to hear much about their childhood (which was for the better, where the twins were concerned). But this was a good time, so Dante offered the honeypot and grinned when Nero’s hunched shoulders straightened and he nodded.
“One day while your dad and I were just a lil’ bit older than you are, something horrible and scary happened to us. We lost our home that day, and we kinda lost sight of each other.” Dante had thought he was ready for this, but his voice got rough, and he knew his smile was cracking. He hoped Nero didn’t see through it too much, but the kiddo had spent the last months learning to read his silent dad. He could probably tell. “Anyway. Bad stuff all around. Point is, I was a cool kid back then, but nowhere near as awesome as today. So when all the scary stuff happened, I hid in a cabinet. Ya know, big cupboards with slated windows?”
Nero hesitated, as if he was struggling to picture it, but after Dante’s description he gave a meek nod and said “Armadio.”
“Huh.. yeah, probably.” Not that he’d have any idea what the italian word for it was. “Anyway. Ya ever seen one of those at my place?”
Nero’s brow knitted as he went into deep thoughts, and Dante would have sworn he was mentally reviewing every corner of the Devil May Cry in his mind. Thorough examination, dirty underwear and pizza box towers included. It almost made him self-conscious of the mess the kid had lived in for a few months. Almost.
“I don’t think so,” Nero finally said. “Your put your clothes on the ground.”
Dante laughed and put a hand over his heart. “Where it belongs.”
This earned him a scowl. “Da’ says I have to pick up mine. The ground is dirty.”
“Not if you clean it,” Dante countered, leaning back into his chair.
He should have known better than to argue with his nephew, who had quite definitely inherited his father’s sense of barbed replied, even if he had none of the actual bite behind it.
“You do not clean the ground,” he stated, and there was no room for arguing in his tone. He knew, and that was it. Best get out of this argument ASAP.
“The point was, I don’t own a cabinet, and I never will. The things still give me the creeps. It’s like all the super scary memories I’ve got from when I was smaller come back when I’m around one. Now, you’ve seen my cool sword. I’m way bigger and dangerous, but they still scare me.” He ran a hand through his hair and forced his smile to stay there, steady and open. Now that he said it aloud, it did sound embarrassing. “It’s silly, but it is what it is.”
“Zio…” Nero bit his lower lip. He’d gone back to staring at the table, and muttered the next words in such a low voice they were barely audible. “Can I keep not going to the bathroom home? You never bought a cabinet.”
Shit. That wasn’t the lesson, no! Dante held back a snort, then a laugh, and fought to get this back on track. “Ya don’t think your own bathroom’s a lil’ more complicated? Ya gotta be able to pee at night, kiddo. Ain’t nothing like emptying a full bladder.”
“But I don’t like to go.” Nero’s voice had taken on this pleading tone that just about shattered Dante’s heart, and then the kiddo turned his big blue teary eyes on him. How could anyone resist that shit? “I don’t wanna.”
Everything inside of Dante was melting under Nero’s eyes. No wonder even icy Vergil had given his whole heart to this kid, with that kinda look. He had to be strong, though. This was for Nero, too.
“Well,” he said, “I was thinkin’ we could work on ways to make it all less scary. Why don’t you and I take the rest of the afternoon and hit the shopping mall?”
“The… shopping mall?”
Nero’s shoulder had gone all straight again, and the teary gleam vanished from his eyes, replaced with curiosity and excitement. Had this kiddo been crying on purpose? Man, Dante hoped he hadn’t mastered that power, or they were all doomed. He reached across the table and clasped his hand over Nero’s forearm.
“You heard me, little bud. Don’t ya think the whole thing needs to be redecorated? It’s all chipped and bland!” Dante slid out of his seat and around the table, to crouch next to Nero. He threw an arm over his nephew’s tiny shoulders and threw the other one out, looking towards the sun as if into the future. “But you and I together, we can turn it into a house of splendor and colour!”
###
As they walked through the store, Dante established a mental decibel threshold and bought everything that had Nero squeal and scream loud enough to break it, including but not limited to a new totally blank shower (for him to draw on whatever he wanted), several strings of multicoloured hanging lights with jellyfishes and octopus and various other marine life, cool plastic kelp to stick to the ceiling, and a big picture of a shark, grinning with all its sharp teeth (Nero insisted those looked kinda like his demon dad’s) that said “Brush Your Teeth”. Dante had no idea how he’d fit it all in Vergil’s tiny bathroom, but it didn’t matter. Nor did the absolute certainty he’d need Lady to help him pay the next bills. Nero was excited, babbling loudly about everything they had and how cool it looked, and Dante figured as long as his obsession with fish held, they could use it to drive away the fear.
He was extremely pleased to get to the flat and find Vergil still asleep, face-first in his pillow, wing still tied at his back. Lady said his wing was healing good and they could probably free it before the camping weekend, and honestly, Dante would miss the absurd contraption. Nothing like a shower curtain with bright fishies to shatter the effect of a cold, angry glare. But hey, he could always find new ways to poke fun at his brother. For now, he closed the door behind himself and gave Nero a conspiratorial grin.
“Let’s surprise him with the makeover. You good to go into the bathroom and decorate with me?”
Boxes of fish lights in hand, Nero met his gaze, chin up, and gave him the most intense of determined nods. Dante knew that look from his dad. This one promised to be a doozy.
###
Most days, Vergil drifted out of his restless sleep to a quiet house. Nero had found a certain number of ways to occupy himself that weren’t too noisy, and Dante took him outside often so he could scream to his heart’s content in parks or streets. The loud shrieks sent his heart careening, and his hands instinctively moved—one to his hip for a weapon; the other across his face, for protection—until he parsed through the screams and understood the words where he’d previously only registered demonic screeching.
“Accendi! Accendi, zio!”
Vergil relaxed with a groan. Home. He was home and that was his boy screaming. Nothing was about to attack him.
“Woah, give it a minute, little bud. Gotta make sure I don’t fry the whole house with all of these plugged in.”
Though apparently no demons didn’t mean he was safe. What foolishness was Dante up to now? And what lights did—
A flash interrupted his thoughts as multicoloured light snuck from under the doorway and Nero’s screams reached a new level of high-pitched. His ears rang from it, haunting memories of far more dangerous times clinging at the back of his mind, threatening to reemerge. Vergil fought for his focus as he crawled out of bed. Unbridled joy seeped into Nero’s voice, and Vergil couldn’t remember when he’d last heard such undiluted happiness from his son. His throat tightened, and he took a moment at the door to truly breathe into the purity of the moment and let his little monster’s excitement imprint onto him.
“All right, looks like I got it all working,” Dante said. “Go get your dad? Ya wanna show him this beauty, don’t you?”
Vergil’s eyes trailed to the multihued glow under the doorway, and his apprehension returned. He held to the edge of the bed, waiting for Nero to come, trying his best to calm his heart and steady himself. Cobwebs from sleep still clung to him and the brutal awakening had left him more rattled than he cared to admit, but Nero had clearly prepared something with his zio’s help and he wanted his mind and body to be as present as could be. He closed his eyes and whispered “I am here”, as much a confirmation to himself as a test of his current ability to make words.
“Da’?”
Nero had creaked the doorway open and stared at him from it, his body half inside the room. Blue and yellow lights danced across his white hair, which was unruly in the distinct way repeated Zio-Hands-Through-Hair left it. Although there had been a hint of worry in his voice, Nero was smiling at him. Vergil nodded.
“I am here,” he said again, with more force this time. It was always easier to repeat words. “You have… something to show me?”
Nero’s grin widened, but instead of explaining, he threw the door wide open, revealing the source of the light with a proud “Tada!”, and all Vergil could do was stare, his mind desperate to understand what he was seeing.
They had turned the living area into an aquarium.
No, that was an exaggeration. They had made a path across it, from the bedroom door to the bathroom, but the effect from his current position was so encompassing it took him a moment to notice most of the flat had been spared. Fake seaweed hung from the ceiling in a two-foot-wide area, the longest of them at the edges to cut off the rest of the room like a curtain. Through it hung small blue lights casting a diffused hue, and several transparent plastic fishes and other creatures had been hung on fishing thread to “float”, each with its own coloured light within. Most of those were golden, but a few had red or green lights too. On the bathroom door was a smack of glow-in-the-dark lavender jellyfishes. Even with the remainder of the late-day sunlight peeking through the living room’s drawn curtains, it had a fairytale feel to it. Vergil could only imagine what it would be at night.
Nero grabbed his hand, dragging him out of his daze, and pulled him along the path. Vergil had to duck to avoid some of the hung fishes, most of which had been clearly put at Nero’s height, but he got to the end without hitting his head on anything. Dante waited at the bathroom’s door, one hand on the handle, his shit-eating grin bigger than ever.
“I think ya know what to expect now,” he said, and he pushed the door open with a grandiose swing.
The bathroom was unrecognizable. Careful placement of blue fairy lights, dangling seaweed, a sandy bathroom rug, fake mossy rocks and hanging glowing fishes had turned it into its own self-contained underwater world. It was eerie and beautiful, full of plastic life and joy, but Dante had kept all the important places fully accessible and functional despite the chaos of fishes.
“This is…” The words wouldn’t come, although for once it had nothing to do with them staying trapped in his throat, blocked from expression. He simply had none.
Nero tugged on his sleeve then ran to the shower curtain and pulled it across, displaying it. Most of it was white still, but the right half was partly covered in simplistic hand-drawn waves and seaweeds, among which floated a young boy with white hair and his dad. They both had a mermaid tail and were holding hands, and the older one held a sheathed curved sword with his other. Vergil didn’t need to ask who had drawn: he’d recognize his little monster’s work amongst a thousand, childish though it was. His throat tightened and he stepped forward, sliding his fingers through Nero’s dishevelled hair.
“You are better with every day,” he said, trailing the art with his fingertips.
Nero beamed up at him, but there was something fierce in his expression, like a challenge to the world. “I gave you no armour. It would make you sink.”
It had made him sink, drowning out everything that had made him Vergil to leave a powerful, easily controllable husk. Being without the armour—or most of it—remained hard, as he had to contend with his worst nightmares every time he resurfaced, but he had Nero with him, his own little buoy to keep him floating, each smile a breath of fresh air. And this bathroom was all him, washed away from the traces of his mistakes.
Vergil crouched down, putting himself at eye level with his son. “You… like the bathroom now?”
Nero grew solemn, his smile turning into a determined pout and his chin lifting. He glanced at the area in front of the bathroom sink where Vergil had fallen, then back at his da’. “I like it more. We made it pretty instead of scary.”
‘More’ didn’t mean all his fears were gone, but Vergil nodded nonetheless. He’d had no idea what to do about this, but clearly calling on Dante’s boundless imagination had been the right decision. This felt like something he should be loath to admit, echoes of his old self protesting the idea Dante could be better at anything, but as Vergil pieced himself together, he’d also learned some parts might be best left behind.
He stretched back up, seeking his twin out with his gaze. Dante had leaned against the now-closed doorway, which had another set of jellyfish on this side. Part of him wanted to hear all the details—how he’d gotten this idea, how much it’d cost, what he’d told Nero, if anything at all—and another still wanted to mock-berate him for the unexpected renovations. But these were all a lot of words, none of which conveyed the important part of his feelings.
“Thank you, Dante.”
His brother’s eyebrows shot up, then he burst out laughing. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he said, before walking up to Vergil and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Anytime, bro. Anytime.”
They didn’t have time for more: Nero jumped into the conversation, eager to provide his da’ with all the details of their shopping trip and installing the underwater world, and to review every single piece of decoration he had installed with his zio. Vergil followed along, more than happy to let his little monster’s voice carry him, as soothing as the back and forth of waves on the shore.