Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You're going to want to bring Nero and Vergil along for this one, Dante." Trish's voice over the phone, actually kept turned on for a change. Ever since his brother had gotten back and moved in with him, Vergil had demanded that water, power, and the phone line be paid on time all the time. It meant being more diligent about other jobs coming in, the mundane ones that his business was officially listed as being for.

It also meant that the place was kept clean. Yeah, there was still a bit of a mess here and there, especially in places that Dante had claimed for himself, but hey, his shower had never been so mold- and mildew-free or his fridge smelling so fresh every time he opened it. Some things were just unavoidable, though, like the bloodstains that littered the entryway no matter how many times Vergil scrubbed. Like it was permanently staining the wood there. Demon blood tended to do that.

"What, you don't think I can handle this on my own?" If Trish was sending him a job, though, it had to be serious. If she was asking for all three of Sparda's kin? Something extra bad had to be going on. He'd learned to maybe, possibly, listen when someone around him said he needed the extra help before going out on a job, after the 'Urizen' business. At least learned to take the advice more seriously, anyway, and let people around him know he might have to call them in for backup.

"It's not about the help, it's… Well. Just bring them along and see for yourselves. And maybe see if Vergil or Nero have anything about humans keeping demons sealed away."

Oof, something that bad was being locked up, huh? Dante shook his head. Yeah, he'd call Nero, tell him to get that girl of his and the kids they were raising to go stay somewhere safe. Out of the way. Trish had gone to Latesco, a ghost town a couple hours away that had been abandoned about thirty years ago. Wouldn't surprise Dante at all if the humans there had cleared out because some nasty got sealed away.

What surprised him was that it sounded like they'd sealed it away themselves. That was no easy feat for humans, and even a low-level demon would cause quite a few casualties in the process. Whatever this thing was, it probably posed some kind of danger.

"Alright. I'll call Nero and tell him to come pick up me and his old man. Wait for me there, will ya Trish?"

There was near-silence on the line, and Dante could tell she was hesitating. Something she wasn't telling him. "I don't think I should be here for too long."

"What, you getting cold feet? That's not like you to run out on a job."

"It's not a job, Dante. It's something a lot more personal than that. I really don't think I should be part of it."

Now that was something. More personal than a job? Some demon being sealed away by humans that Trish didn't want to be around? The hell did she find there?

It took Dante a few moments to speak up. Ask some more serious questions. "Look, is it safe to bring Nico along as a driver, at least? And if you want Nero and Vergil to look around their sources for seals, is it something that can wait a few days while they do that? Do I need to get Nero's gal and their kiddos to safety?"

The important questions to ask: how bad was this demon, really, and was it in any immediate danger of breaking out.

A light laugh came from the other end of the line, and the fact that Trish was able to helped calm something in the back of his mind. It couldn't be all that bad if Trish could laugh it off.

"It's plenty safe for Nico to come along, and I don't think Nero's household has to go on a convenient vacation. This demon sure isn't going anywhere, but I think the sooner you get here, the better. For everyone."

That wasn't so bad, then. Dante could live with that kind of answer. He still wondered what could possibly be there, but he had a few days or so to prepare, talk it over with Vergil, see if he had any ideas. Nero may have heard something, too, since the Order's research and some of the documents he'd saved might have references to Latesco, or at least information on human-made bindings.

A week and a half later, and the three of them were all trying to get fresh air in the moving van while Nico smoked one of her god-awful cigarettes and drove them to Latesco. Menthol, she'd switched to, in the hopes that the scent would be easier on their demonic sense of smell. It wasn't, not really, but even Vergil had given up trying to get Nico to quit, at least while they were in the van.

"Alright, so Trish was being dodgy as hell about what we're gonna find there, and the Order's records didn't really have anything useful about Latesco at all. Rumors of the place being inhabited by a bunch of witches before it was abandoned, but nothing about a demon there. Not that they knew of, anyway. Officially, the factory that sustained the town was shut down due to layoffs, and with no major source of jobs, everyone moved out to find work somewhere else."

Nero leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looked between Dante and Vergil. Dante knew the kid was still... a bit iffy about Vergil. Hadn't had a lot of chances for the two of them to actually get to know each other, and there was some obviously bad blood running between them. Still, at least they'd come to a sort of uneasy truce — no weapons or demonic powers in their fights unless it was specifically for training.

Even still, Dante thought that Vergil might be a bit proud of his son and Nero's ability to dig through the masses of the Order's information and ruined libraries to find appropriate intelligence in such a short period of time.

"Funny thing is, the dates don't quite match up. The factory officially shut down and laid people off after the mass exodus had already started. I don't think anyone at the Order ever looked too close, took the city's story at face value and let it be."

Next to Dante, Vergil twirled Yamato with one hand during Nero's briefing. It was a nervous habit that had started when they were both kids, although back then it had been pens and pencils while they were supposed to be studying. Dante was a squirmer, could never sit still for long. Vergil was more controlled with his nervous, restless energy, but the urge to fidget had still always been too much for him to just shove down and ignore.

"You're saying that whatever's there is more than the Order wanted to deal with. Let sleeping demons lie, as it were. If they even cared to find out what it was in the first place."

Nero nodded, his own hands running over Blue Rose, spinning the chamber. Looked like fidgeting was in the blood. Funny, Dante seemed to be the one who was the least nervous here. Calm, practically motionless. Well, except for his foot tapping a rhythm to the beat of whatever song was coming out of Nico's jukebox, but that was uncharacteristically still for him.

"See, the way Trish was talking, she said this wasn't a job. It was personal. What kind of demon being locked up would be so personal for the three of us? I've been thinking, and I wonder if maybe she was trying to insinuate we release the seal holding it in Latesco."

Dante finally had to speak up. Vergil and Nero both looked over at him in surprise. It wasn't like him to suggest releasing a potentially powerful demon. Nor was it like Trish to even remotely suggest such a thing.

Vergil breathed through his nose, trying to avoid the indignity of a snort. "I didn't realize you used words like 'insinuate,' Dante. In either case, I can't really think of any demons that would be considered 'personal business' for all three of us. Not counting demons that take issue with our bloodline, of course."

Nero shot his dad a look, eyebrows raising. "Really? He's the one saying to release a demon for a change and all you can do is make a cheap shot at his vocabulary?"

Feeling his mouth twist into a grin, Dante was about to say something, but Nico beat him to it from the driver's seat. "I don't think your daddy's got much room to talk about releasing powerful demons, Nero."

Dante laughed, wrapping an arm around Vergil's shoulders and pulling him in closer when his twin tried to lean away. "She's got a point, Nero. Vergil doesn't like being openly hypocritical if he can help it. Better to make a crack at my intelligence than come off sounding like maybe he learned a thing or two from us in the past year."

His brother's hand reached towards his face, shoving him away as Dante kept laughing. That turned to roughhousing, a more affectionate form of their normal fights that quickly wound up with the two of them on the floor and heads knocking into shit as Nico stopped the van.

"Hey, knock it off. We're here." To get her point across, she blew menthol cigarette smoke in their direction. Almost in unison, all three of them made a face and started on getting themselves ready to face whatever it was they might find.

Grateful to get out into some actual fresh air, Nero was the first out of the van, stretching to get some of the kinks in his spine out. Vergil followed right after, and Dante found himself the last out. "Thanks, Nico. Why don't you stay here? We'll call if we need you."

She had a cell phone, and so did Nero. Vergil was reluctant to get any such thing yet, and Dante knew if he got anything fancy it'd just get trashed within the space of a week, tops. Not for the first time, though, he considered getting one of those little cheap fuckers that were nearly indestructible. Sure, he wouldn't be able to get internet on it or anything, but if it was just to make a phone call while he was on a job, he didn't need it to do a hundred things at once.

"Alright. Trish said she saw this thing in a church basement. So let's find us a church and see what we're dealing with." Dante led the way, trying to ignore the nagging feeling of something familiar on the edge of his senses.

Nero and Vergil seemed to be feeling it too, although Vergil was way more in tune with what it was. Nero, good kid, smart kid, still hadn't quite gotten the hang of using his demonic senses yet, so was just looking more on edge than usual.

There were about a dozen different churches, almost none of which had basements. Just a bunch of cobwebs and ordinary spiders. Nothing demonic in sight, only an oppressive, pervasive presence.

They'd walked to the other side of town before finding a large cathedral. Stained glass windows, overgrown vines making the stone exterior start to crumble, the works. Dry rot had affected the main doors, and large as they were, it didn't even take demonic strength to kick them open.

As soon as they stepped in the entryway, that presence hit all of them, and hard. "Guess this is the place. Now we gotta find our way down."

Nero looked up at the altar, frowning. A statue of Sparda stood there, looking down at them. Kid had never cared for religion, and finding out he was related to the same demon that Fortuna had worshiped as a sort of god-figure had to have really shattered whatever was left of those religious beliefs he'd been raised on.

"I could never understand why people would want to worship him. He was a person, not a god. He had demonic strength, and chose to fight for humans, yes, but he still made mistakes like anyone else. Do you remember, Dante? How he would always burn the toast when Mom asked him to help her make breakfast? What kind of god would have such a hard time with something so simple as a toaster?"

Vergil must have sensed Nero's discomfort, and probably shared it a bit as well. Had a point, though. Dante had never cared for humans wanting to worship their old man, either. But damn, it had been a long time since he'd really thought about their father as a person instead of the demon who's messes he was constantly cleaning up.

Laughing a little, Dante shook his head. "Yeah. Mom would always make him eat the really burned slices. I think sometimes he did it intentionally, like. Kind of a spite thing, yanno? Mom called him out of his library to help her, and maybe he kept just. Hoping that if he did bad enough, she'd stop asking for his help. Not like he could ever say no to her, though."

A glance over at his brother and nephew had Dante catching a small, nostalgic smile on Vergil's face, and Nero still looking at the statue, but with less contempt and a little more... something else. It was the first time either of the twins had talked about Sparda as a person in front of Nero, to Dante's knowledge. Had to be weird, thinking of something that would humanize a figure of myth. Ironic, given that Sparda was the full demon in the family.

"Hey, fuck you both, burned toast is the best once you soak it in enough butter," Nero finally spoke up. His words made Dante and Vergil look at each other, a bit of realization and memory opening up to both of them.

"... Dad always put a mountain of butter on the burned slices Mom made him eat," Dante said, looking straight at Vergil to get some kind of confirmation.

Slowly, Vergil nodded in response. "Maybe we were both wrong. Guess you got something from him besides demonic blood after all, Nero."

The three of them kept up that argument, over the best way to have toast and how each of the other two were wrong (Vergil liked his just barely crispy and lightly coated in orange marmalade, Dante was insistent that French toast still counted as toast and they could both fuck off if that wasn't the best way to have it), as they made their way to the basement.

Two basements down, directly beneath the altar, there was what seemed to be a man, crucified against a metal slab. His purple coat was tattered and torn at the edges, moths having eaten holes through some of it. Dust gathered over his arms and shoulders, although it was harder to notice in his pure white hair. Glowing runes etched into the metal he was pinned to were especially heavy around his head, forming something like a halo.

It felt like someone had kicked Dante in the chest, and looking over at Vergil to see that he'd gone completely silent and still really only confirmed his suspicions.

Nero's hand instinctively reached for Red Queen, tightening around the hilt. "Who the hell is this?"

In unison, Vergil and Dante's voices rang out in the stagnant air of the church basement. This was why Trish had wanted the three of them to come here. This was why it was personal.

"Dad."

Chapter Text

What the hell? Yeah, Dante and Vergil did the twin thing from time to time, saying the same thing together. Sometimes in the exact same way, sometimes with slightly different wording but the same essential meaning. But the way they both looked at the incredibly powerful demon crucified against the metal, with awe and reverence and even pain from childhood memories come back to haunt them… Nero had to turn to look at the demon. The man. His own grandfather.

"What the fuck. Okay, so. What do we do? We get him down, right?" Nero asked, turning to his uncle and father. That was why Trish had sent them here, it had to be.

Fortunately, Nero urging some kind of action instead of standing there lost in the past got Vergil to start moving closer. To start looking at the binding runes that held Sparda in place. The glowing halo got extra attention, since that was where the binding seemed to be thickest. "I'm almost afraid of just pulling out the spikes holding him here. I don't really recognize the binding method being used, so there's no telling what it will do to him if we just destroy the physical properties, but at the same time…"

"At the same time, it's Dad. He can probably handle a hit in power without too much issue. We're not dealing with an ordinary demon." Dante moved closer, leaning down a bit and then looking up at the face of Sparda, chin resting against his chest.

While his own dad started examining the runes, Nero joined Dante in just… examining the lifeless but still very much alive demon in front of them. Their own flesh and blood. The start of all this mess they were in together.

Their family.

"Man, I remember him being a lot taller," Dante finally said, straightening up and scratching the back of his neck.

Despite still being engrossed in examining the binding, Vergil was quick to talk back. "We were seven when he disappeared, Dante, and neither of us were very tall as children."

Nero snorted, then looked at the coat that Sparda wore. A rich purple, beneath all that dust and the ravages that time and little critters had played on it. And the style… He laughed at the realization. "You dress like him, old man. So that's where you got your style from."

Blue eyes looked over to their son, a light smile playing across Vergil's lips. "He was always so well put together. I admired that as a child, wanted to be like him in some way, at least."

It was weird, hearing that Vergil looked up to anybody. He fought and bickered with his own twin, constantly, and even with the little that Nero was learning of him, Vergil was proving to be the kind of person that you just… wanted the approval of.

If that was the kind of feeling that Vergil got from his own dad? Nero kind of dreaded meeting him, a little. Add in the entire cult on Fortuna, his own issue with legacies, and just not knowing how to deal with authority or family still…

The sudden thought that he might be going home today with one more family member, his grandfather, the legendary Dark Knight Sparda himself… It froze him up. Nero was already having a hard time dealing with having an uncle and a father by blood. Ones who alternately fought with him and cared about him, even if the latter was awkward as hell. Adding another blood relative on top of that seemed too much.

Vergil's voice cut through the silence as he touched the glowing runes. "We'll need human blood to sever the binding safely for him."

Nero sure as hell didn't miss the implication, and he doubted Dante did, either — if human blood was needed to break the magic keeping Sparda locked up, human blood had probably been used in the original seal, too. "How much we need, Verge? We talking gallons of the stuff, or can we grab Nico and give her a papercut to get him loose?"

Vergil shook his head. "It's more complicated than that, but easier for us. I don't think they realized what demon they had, only that he was powerful. They need human blood of a relative of his…"

All three of them seemed to share a silent amusement at that. Finally, Nero held out his left hand. "Well I'm more human than either of you, so it seems fitting for me to do it, yeah?" One-quarter demon, and a direct descendant of the one hanging there, absorbing all their attention. He nodded slightly to Yamato, held firmly at his dad's side. "C'mon, old man. Can't need that much, if they already put that kind of safeguard on him."

Two sets of blue eyes looked over at him, silently judging. Yeah, maybe they felt like they were the ones who ought to be doing this, but Nero knew he had a point. There might be too much demon blood in the both of them to kill the seal. Nero at least stood a better shot at it. If it didn't work… well, they'd find another way. Maybe it wouldn't be the safest for Sparda, but hey, that kind of heavy presence wouldn't be brought down that easily.

Finally, Vergil unsheathed Yamato, and cut a line across the fleshy pad of Nero's palm. "Spread the blood at his wrists, where he's fixed to the metal. It should dissolve the entire binding, if it works at all."

Silently, Nero did as he was told. Quickly, before the wound made by Yamato healed on its own. When he was done, they all stood back, waiting to see if it worked.

A solid minute passed by, and Dante shook his head as it started to sink in that the easy way just wasn't going to cut it. Frustrated, Nero kicked at the metal slab that held the dimly-glowing runes and his own grandfather. "Dammit! Guess we've gotta try something else."

They'd all just turned together to start discussing other options when the 'percussive maintenance,' as Nico would've called it, seemed to kick in. The runes stopped glowing entirely, and the spikes impaling Sparda's wrists crumbled to ash. In unison, all three of them moved forward to try and catch the demon as he fell to the floor.

Blue eyes, far deeper and more chilling than Dante or Vergil's, looked up at Nero, then scanned over the other two devil hunters. Now that he was awake, Nero would've expected Sparda's presence to get even more overwhelming. Instead, it dimmed down in a display of ultra-fine control over his own abilities.

"It seems I was taken for a fool. Thank you, all of you, for releasing me. Might I ask your names?"

His voice was smooth, refined, sweet like honey. Nero could see why a woman would fall for a guy like that. Same kind of appeal he supposed his mother saw in Vergil, amped up to eleven. "What, you don't even recognize your own family?"

Dante and Vergil seemed to be speechless, so that left Nero to break the tension, he guessed. Helping his grandfather — Sparda — whatever — to his feet, Nero nodded to the twins. "Vergil, Dante," and finally he gestured to himself. "And I'm Nero. Vergil's my old man. You've been out a long time."

Silver-white eyebrows knit together as Sparda took in the information, finally looking over at his sons. "You were boys when I came here. How long…"

Vergil sighed, shaking his head. "It's been about thirty years. A lot has changed."

For a moment, Nero wondered how Sparda, a savior of humanity that had rebelled against his own kind, would take to learning that one of his own sons had both raised the Temen-ni-Gru and been the one to start a Qliphoth tree with the deliberate intention of having it bear fruit through the untold amounts of human blood it soaked up.

And that thought of Vergil, looking up to Sparda and wanting his approval… yeah. Nero didn't think his dad would be getting any approval on that front any time soon.

"We can catch you up on everything on the way back. C'mon guys, Nico's probably wondering what the hell we're doing taking so long, it took us hours to find this place, she's probably gone through two whole packs already. If we don't hurry and air it out, that van's gonna stink something awful on trip back."

Nero motioned for everyone to follow him. God, his dad and uncle were so fucking awkward right now. It was like they'd never had any family at all. That was Nero's background, dammit, and he wasn't over here being all cringey and avoiding his grandfather.

It was more awkward silence as they made their way to the surface, where Nero dialed up Nico's cell phone. "Hey Nico. We got one hell of a surprise for ya. No, not anything like that, just… Air out the van, okay? We're on our way back and I really don't wanna smell your damn cigarette smoke for the next hour and a half. Yeah, whatever, just not this time, alright? For once?"

Rolling his eyes at the clipped profanity he got in return, Nero ended the call and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. "I might've gotten her to agree to not smoke on the way back. Maybe. We'll see if she keeps to that."

Behind him, Dante and Vergil had different, but palpable expressions of relief. Dante dragged a hand down his face, breathing out in a huff that was probably repressed profanity. Meanwhile, Vergil silently looked up to the heavens as if to thank some kind of deity that their demonic senses wouldn't be assaulted with menthol.

Hey, at least she didn't smoke clove cigarettes. Those would be even worse on the three of them. And, if Nero had to guess, Sparda, too.

Now that they weren't searching high and low through every goddamn church in the town, it really didn't take the four of them all that long to get back to where Nico was parked, van doors thrown wide open to air it out even as she leaned against the outside and smoked in defiance of the spirit of his request, if not the exact letter.

Seeing the newcomer, Nico flicked the butt of her cigarette to the cracked and neglected asphalt of the road. A boot heel ground out the remains until it was just ashes, and she smiled as she walked towards Sparda with a hand held out.

"Hey there, Sugar. Anything I can do for you?"

Nero's face twisted into something of an embarrassed grimace. "Nico, don't flirt with my granddad. That's just weird." He threw a hand on her shoulder and tried to pull her into the van before she embarrassed herself.

No such luck. She resisted the pull, mouth agape as she looked between Nero and the half-devil twins, then over at Sparda. "You. You're. Oh. My. Gawd."

Well, here it came. Nero leaned against the doorway to rear of the van, waiting patiently for his friend to make a fool of herself. Instead, she had the decency to cover her mouth and ran over to the driver's side door with a tiny squeak. Had to admit, that was better than he thought it'd be.

"C'mon in, have a seat, try to get comfortable. Nico's a crazy driver, but she'll get us back to the shop faster than if any of us drove."

This was going to be an awkward trip back, he just knew it. Thankfully, Fortuna wasn't all that far away from Dante's shop, so despite the late afternoon light, maybe Nero could get back home to Kyrie and let her know what happened before it got too late.

Still kinda blew his mind, having family like this. He'd chosen Kyrie, and the boys, and even Nico to an extent. But blood relatives were something he'd never really known he'd had until recently, and now they were just crawling out of Hell itself, seemed like.

It was weird. But Dante and Vergil, despite how they fought with him sometimes, did seem to care. They were just… bad at showing it. So having a new relative, a full demon at that, made him worry a little. Made him think it would be even weirder.

Even still… weird as it was, knowing he had family that cared about him, both chosen and blood… That was nice. Nero wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it, but one thing he did know was that he'd never take his family for granted.

Chapter Text

He'd come to Latesco because of reports of a demon infestation. It shouldn't have been an issue, not really. But instead, Sparda had found himself tricked by the humans there, who had erected a statue of him, the very demon they captured, in the church that was to become his prison. He wondered if they'd even realized who he was when trapping him, or if the irony was lost on them.

Now, it certainly wasn't the strangest thing to have ever happened to Sparda, however it was more than a little embarrassing. He knew of his reputation among humans, tried to keep things relatively quiet. Not like when he'd ruled over Fortuna, a couple centuries ago by now. No, no, he'd fallen for a human woman — again — and this one had given him twin sons to raise.

Except, as he followed the youngest of the three that had freed him from his bonds, it seemed that he'd done a poor job doing that. Behind him, Sparda could feel the stares of his sons and the silent awkwardness. He hadn't really been there to help them through the growing pains they would have had, coming into their own with demonic blood. He hoped, maybe foolishly, that they didn't hate him. Hadn't thought he'd willingly abandoned them.

The young woman, leaning against a dingy, beat-up van with a neon sign declaring 'Devil May Cry,' was… an interesting human, to be sure. Sparda definitely couldn't sense anything demonic in her blood, and yet the boy — Nero — and apparently Dante and Vergil as well, were just fine with her knowing that they themselves were of a hellish origin.

He smiled, trying to be graceful and calm as she realized who Sparda was and the weight of the legacy he had with humans. Her reaction wasn't quite typical, but far more welcome than some he'd had.

The interior smelled heavily of menthol and tobacco, and had he not gotten used to it long ago, he might have had some distaste for it. His sons and… grandson, he supposed, still made faces at the strong scents as they all settled down, so perhaps tobacco usage had gotten less common in the time Sparda had been sealed away.

Nico started up the vehicle, and the sound of music drifted from the jukebox that sat next to him. Where did he even begin? What could he possibly talk about to try and re-learn his own sons? To learn about his grandson, of all people?

There was a heavy clunk as Nero set aside the sword strapped to his back, hanging it on the back wall near what seemed to be a workshop, with dangling mechanical hands swaying with the movement of the van. It was not demonic at all, but rather seemed to be of human manufacture. Still, no ordinary human could have wielded it, that much was certain.

Sparda's eyes wandered over to Vergil, sitting next to him as he held to Yamato. Twisting and twirling her like he used to with his pens and pencils as a boy. Ah, so that hadn't quite changed, had it? He held out a hand, white glove stained with his own blood still. Hm, he'd have to get a change of clothes when he returned home, wouldn't he?

He wondered if Eva had kept his wardrobe in good order during his absence.

"May I see Yamato, Vergil?"

His firstborn son started a bit, then with some hesitation, handed the sword over. Actually holding it, Sparda could feel how much of Vergil's energy had mingled with the weapon. But there were other energies, too. Dante's, bright and burning, and another that Sparda thought could maybe be Nero's.

Vergil had always been possessive of his items. That he might allow his son to use Yamato at all did not overly surprise Sparda, but to feel Dante's energy, after the boys had bickered endlessly about what belonged to whom as children, was something that took him slightly aback.

He unsheathed the katana partway, examining the blade. It had been damaged at some point, but excellently repaired with demonic energy. Made all the stronger for the re-forging, even. A smile tugged at his lips, and Sparda returned Yamato to its sheath and then handed her back to her rightful owner. "You've taken good care of her while I've been gone."

Blue eyes refused to look at him as Vergil accepted the return of his weapon. "Thank you. I've tried my best."

How odd. As a boy, Vergil would have beamed up at him with even the lightest praise. Used it to gloat over Dante, sometimes, unless a similar compliment were given to him as well. Something had happened. Judging by his reactions — less obvious than Dante's, yes, but equally telling once one learned them — Vergil was deeply ashamed of something.

Afraid of his father's punishment. Or, perhaps worse in Vergil's eyes, his father's disappointment.

Sighing, Sparda removed his gloves, bloodstained and useless as they were now. Instead, he turned his attention to Dante, who's lack of a carried weapon aside from a pair of handguns had not escaped his notice. "And you, Dante? Where is Rebellion?" What had happened to the sword he'd left for his second-born twin?

"Vergil broke it." Ah. They were still playing this game, were they?

"Excuse you? How often did you ever take care of her? You're lucky she didn't break years before she did! That was not my fault."

Sparda pinched the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowing together. They'd done this ever since they'd learned to talk, it shouldn't have been surprising to know they carried through with it even as adults. Nero's response, however, only seemed to escalate things.

"Sorry old man, but Dante's right. I know how he babied that sword after each fight, you broke it. I was there, I saw it with my own eyes."

He very quickly lost track of the argument, standing only to go to the passenger's seat next to the young lady who was barreling down the empty roads as though the vehicle they were in was a Fury on the attack.

She didn't quite look at him, not directly, but did sneak glances. "Now ya got 'em started. If they start throwing punches though, hold on tight 'cause I know how to get 'em to stop."

That was… worrying. Did they all regularly come to blows in such a way? True, demons were more prone to violence among each other, but it was usually lessened among those who spent a long time near each other. He'd have hoped maybe that fact, combined with their human blood, would keep them all more level-headed.

Apparently not.

"Do they do this often?"

Nico rolled her eyes, reaching for a cigarette and letting it dangle from her lips, but didn't make any move to light it yet. "Yeah. They've gotten better lately, though. Least if it's just Nero and one of the others in here fighting, they just stick to words most of the time. When all three are together there's no telling how long or short the fuse is."

An explosion waiting to happen. Sparda could feel the incoming headache.

"How do you know them, miss…?"

One hand stayed on the steering wheel, while her other reached out in an offer to shake his. "Nicoletta Goldstein. I actually met Nero first. He helped take down some bad shit in Fortuna, turns out he sorta-knew my daddy and was good at kickin' demon ass. After Vergil… uh…"

She stopped, then, and Sparda thought that maybe she realized it was not exactly her story to tell. "Let's just say Nero didn't know his daddy 'til recently, though I don't think that was really Vergil's fault, to be fair. Maybe things would've been different if they'd all known. Anyway, I helped Nero out, and he introduced me to Dante and later Vergil. Nowadays he does a lot of testing for me out on the job, brings me new demon pieces to work with."

Testing? Demon pieces? A bit of realization dawned on him. "You make weapons from demonic essence." Such crafters among humans were rare, but highly prized even if they were yet unskilled.

"You got it. You'll have to have Nero show you my work sometime."

Behind them, the shouting reached a fever pitch. Honestly, Sparda was tempted to go back and stop them all. Instead, Nico gave him a warning, and turned the steering wheel hard to the left. All three of his descendants were thrown into each other at the sudden movement, and he could hear the squealing of tires. Ah, so this was what she'd meant. A diversion of sorts. Effective.

Dante's voice rose up from the pile of limbs that had apparently completely covered him. "Hey Nico, you trying to kill us?"

In response, the van stopped and straightened back onto its original course. She must have done this many times before.

"Oh please, like a little old car crash is gonna kill any of you. Get your acts together, assholes!"

The bickering seemed to just follow them everywhere, by the looks of it, even involving outside parties. While the van was still stopped, Sparda stood, hoping to at least offer each of them a hand up. Instead, Nero was the first to stand, apparently having landed on top. A demonic, glowing blue hand reached out from behind him, bodily lifting Vergil and standing him upright while Nero's body turned to help Dante to his feet with far more human hands.

"You okay?" Nero checked with Dante, who was vaguely rubbing the back of his head. There was red staining his white hair, so there had been more than just a bump, apparently.

Dante brushed his nephew away. "I'm fine. S'already healed up now."

The ethereal hand from behind Nero's back faded, and he sat down across from Dante. Next to Vergil, this time, who had yet to take a seat again, instead staring at his brother. A glance from Nero was spared towards Sparda, and then he tugged at the black coat his father wore. Encouraging him to sit comfortingly close by.

Despite the bickering, despite knowing that his descendants sometimes came to blows, it was more than a small relief to know that they did care about each other instead of merely tolerating each other's presence. Perhaps there was hope, yet.

The rest of the way back was blessedly quiet, save for the music from the jukebox. A few attempts at conversation were made, but there seemed to be too much awkwardness all around. Not that Sparda could blame any of them, it felt strange to him, too, to suddenly meet up with his own fully grown sons, and a young adult grandson as well.

Still, he was here. He had a family, and they had cared enough about him to free him. Sparda was in no hurry to leave them, if they were willing to accept him trying to find a place in their lives.

Chapter Text

It hadn't really hit Vergil, until he saw his father walking and moving under his own power again, that he would, sooner rather than later, have to tell Sparda of the things he'd done. Yes, he accepted that he'd done awful, horrible things. Vergil was trying, albeit maybe with less outward enthusiasm than Nero and Dante would like, to make amends. Not that he didn't want to, but… he also didn't know where to begin, in many instances — and he was too proud to ask where he should.

Vergil had never been great with people, and spending so long looking down at humans, disregarding their strengths (and by extension, the ones that had been passed on to him from that half of his heritage) in favor of only ever wanting more demonic power… Changing his views wasn't easy. It would take time, but Vergil was more patient than Dante or Nero, although still had his own moments of frustration with how slowly things were moving.

Hearing Sparda compliment him, of all people, on how well he'd taken care of Yamato… It was like his father had chosen to stab Vergil in the chest with the weapon, and twisted the blade around with each word. He didn't deserve that praise… he'd lost Yamato after breaking her in a fight against Mundus. It was only because of Nero that she was whole again. Nero was the one who deserved the praise, for healing her and taking such good care of her, not Vergil.

It followed suit that their father would inquire about Rebellion's absence. Dante's casual blame wasn't unwarranted, but Vergil couldn't quite stop himself from being contrary. When Nero joined in, despite how much a fool he was making of himself in front of Sparda, there was little he could do in the face of both his brother and son that could stop Vergil from rising to the bait.

He'd always only ever pretended to be cool and collected. Dante and Nero were just more honest about their hot-headed natures.

The argument ended when Nico turned the van so it spun in circles, just as Vergil and Dante had started to jab accusing fingers at each other, Nero trying to pull him back. He heard a sickening crack from underneath him, and saw blood blooming underneath Dante's head even as Nero toppled on top of the both of them.

Sitting next to Nero once it was confirmed Dante had already healed — not always a guarantee, with some of the demonic weapons that they all dealt with on a regular basis and that were littered around the van — Vergil tried to avoid looking at Sparda, who had moved to sitting in the front seat next to Nico. Instead, he focused on the way that his own son was trying to relax while leaning against him.

Not all that long ago, Vergil would have shoved him away, uncomfortable with the contact. He'd learned, though, that it was Nero's silent way of both giving and asking for affection when neither of them seemed to know what to say or how to initiate any kind of father-son bonding. So, Vergil had learned to accept it. Started to lean into it, even.

Simple touch. Such a human thing, that, but it soothed both of them. Made the awkward attempts at continuing conversation a little more bearable. It was one of the human strengths that Vergil was learning to like. At least it kept him and Nero calm enough to get by for the rest of the road trip.

Returning to the shop, and the small apartment above it, was both a blessing and a curse. The awkwardness of the van ride would be over, and Dante would have plenty of time to show Sparda around, talk about the business he'd started, about his accomplishments. Meanwhile, Vergil had only failure after failure to show for himself.

Dante, of course, invited Nero and Nico in for a few minutes. Both brothers knew that neither would stay long. Nero would want to get back to Fortuna, back to his girlfriend and the boys they were fostering together to tell them what had transpired, and Nico was his ride.

Sparda looked at the sign, glowing red, then over at the blue neon sign on the van.

"Devil May Cry?"

Ah yes, this was Dante's time to shine. "Yep. Set up the business myself. I'm a devil hunter. Nero works remotely with Nico from the van, I've got the main branch here with Verge and the gals to help out."

Something twisted in his stomach as Dante acted as though it had always been this way. And, perhaps, it was the way Dante would have preferred it to be from the beginning, had circumstances been different. Brothers, working together. Certainly, despite their brawls, they were both more level-headed after they got back from a job together. After they were working together.

"'Gals'?" Chilled blue eyes looked between the twins. "Did the two of you marry devil hunters, as well?"

Dante and Vergil both pulled exaggerated and nearly-identical frowns. Lady, it would be understandable to ask about, despite how she seemed determined to keep Dante in debt that Vergil was helping him slowly crawl out of. But Trish?

Realization hit them both at the same time. "Trish… That's why she didn't want to meet us there." It wouldn't surprise Vergil at all if it took her a while to show up around the shop again. Give Sparda some time to adjust to the fact of Eva's death, and the reasons why Trish had been made in the first place. Made to exist with Eva's face.

Dante rubbed his face. "That's… gonna take some explaining…"

Nero wrapped an arm around Vergil's shoulders, and he watched as his son cocked his head towards him. "Not as much as this guy's fuck-ups, I bet."

Fear slid down Vergil's spine, cold as the iciest depths of the literary Dante's Ninth Circle. Nero slid his arm away, either ignorant to his father's discomfort or deliberately ignoring it.

"Alright, me and Nico should be heading out here pretty quick, Kyrie and the boys are probably gonna be excited to see me back the same day." His son stretched, spine popping, before turning to Sparda.

"These two always get invited over for Sunday dinners with me and Kyrie. If you can pester them to actually join for a change, I'll let her know you're coming, too."

Sparda's eyebrows raised, looking Nero up and down. "Please do not tell me I have great grandchildren, as well?"

The question made Nero fluster, and eased tension for Vergil a bit to at least laugh along with Dante, who had to lean against the desk before he fell over in voiceless, breathless laughter of his own. "No, he's fostering some orphaned boys with his girlfriend. They're… decent kids. He's doing a good job with them." Vergil allowed himself to feel proud, to give the compliment that his son deserved.

As Nero glanced back at him, Vergil could see the slight twitch of a smile. Had Nero been wanting his approval? The same way that Vergil quietly, secretly, wanted Sparda's even now?

Hm. Perhaps he'd have to be a bit more free with the compliments, then. Maybe Vergil didn't feel deserving of Sparda's approval, not after everything he'd done… but despite Nero's foul mouth and coarse attitude, Vergil really had come to be nothing but proud of his son. He deserved that praise.

Nero left with a wave and a round of subdued goodbyes, the sound of Nico's voice yelling at him as they got in the van. Leaving Dante and Vergil alone with their father.

Vergil really was not looking forward to this.

Twin brothers watched their father look around, quietly examining the demonic weapons on the walls — trophies from Dante's various jobs throughout the years. There was a pause at Agni and Rudra, and he ran a finger down the demon swords of wind and fire. "These two were guardians at the Temen-ni-Gru. Did the seal on it get broken?"

Dante looked pointedly at Vergil, and he sighed. "That… was my fault." Time to own up to his mistakes.

To his surprise, Dante rested a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, it's not completely your fault. Lady's douchebag father was manipulating you."

Taking some of the blame off him, for a change. While, perhaps, his brother had a point, Vergil knew that there was no side-stepping his involvement in the matter. "Some. But I must still take responsibility. For the Temen-ni-Gru… and everything else. Especially for more recent events."

Ripping off Nero's demonic arm in order to retrieve Yamato. Opening a direct border between the human world and Hell, allowing the Qliphoth tree to run loose on the city they used to call home and the innumerable deaths that came about as a result — ones that, to this day, hadn't been fully tallied up.

It was a long night, and none of them really needed the sleep. But after they'd recounted fragmented stories of what had happened after Sparda disappeared, Vergil desperately wanted to retreat to his loft bedroom and rest. Hide away from the disappointment on his father's face. But he made himself stay.

Even if his father wasn't punishing him, not right away at least, the disappointment in his firstborn son was the least that Vergil deserved for his transgressions. There was a thick silence hanging between the two of them, even as Dante tried to his best to keep their father distracted. Sparda was old, and with age came patience. He also seemed to have genuine level-headedness, where Vergil only pretended.

He didn't know when his punishment would come, or what form it would take. But the dread filled Vergil all the same.

As it turned out, his punishment came more swiftly than Vergil thought — later that morning. Just because he was a grown man and a father himself now didn't mean that Sparda was above reprimanding him, and honestly it was somewhat expected. The nature of his punishment, however…

Being separated from Yamato at all was torture. He'd put so much of his demonic power and soul into the blade before challenging Mundus that without her at his side, Vergil felt like only half of himself. Since regaining it, he'd felt complete again, but had been unable to stop himself from continuing that same process as before. But, it was a deserved punishment, so he really couldn't say no to handing it over, not without sounding like a petulant child.

His father's reassurance that it was a temporary measure did little to stop Vergil from feeling constantly restless, no weapon in his hands that he could use to fight or fidget with. It left him cleaning up Dante's messes a lot more ruthlessly than usual.

The few days since Sparda's return had both Vergil and Dante realizing that their father had access to vast amounts of money. He was ancient, and there were humans that revered him as they would a god, it only made sense… but for Dante, struggling with debt for years, and Vergil, who'd never built up any wealth at all in the human world? The idea of a separate apartment, away from the office, was foreign and strange. Not unwelcome, just… odd.

Three bedrooms in a nice apartment, overlooking the city. Sparda had offered them each their own place, or merely a chance for him to live nearby but separate from the brothers. Dante might have been the first to turn down the offer and insist that they stay together, but Vergil was quietly grateful they were of the same mind on this.

"Besides," Vergil piped up as they started moving their few non-work belongings into the new high rise apartment, "Dante's building was a mess before I moved in. He couldn't even keep the utilities paid on a regular basis."

The disappointed look that Sparda sent towards Dante and the silent shrinking back of his brother had Vergil feeling slightly better. At least he wasn't alone in sharing the desire for their father's approval even as adults. It was like the little boys inside them both had woken up all over again. Not that that was always necessarily a good thing, but at least father and sons were slowly starting to get used to each other once more.

Chapter Text

Ultimately, he supposed, this was his fault. If Sparda had not investigated rumors of demons in Latesco, or at the very least had not allowed himself to fall, oblivious, into a human-made trap, the lives of his sons would be very different right now. Eva might still be alive, or if she were not, she might have grown old, died of more normal, human health problems as her relatively frail body eventually gave out on her — not died at the hands of demons as she prayed in vain that her sons were safe and would find each other.

How the two were separated seemed to get fuzzy from there, and Sparda could blame neither Dante nor Vergil for having dim memories of losing their mother or growing up to be teenagers before they ever saw each other again.

Sparda saw, without being explicitly told, how Dante had initially rejected his demonic half and struggled to accept it sometimes, even now. More worrying was Vergil's rejection of his human half, and his never-ending drive to obtain more power.

That drive had led him to be manipulated by a human man obsessed with demonic power himself. Had driven Vergil to battle Mundus in a weakened state and resulted in years lost to brainwashing and more overt control. How weak his firstborn son must have felt for so long — and Vergil was always proud, refusing help. No wonder he had opened a rift between Earth and Hell, with the intention of eating the Qliphoth fruit. Such a thing was a surefire way to make up for what he saw as weaknesses.

(Look, just because he wanted to protect humans didn't mean that Sparda wasn't still a demon himself. He understood the drive to obtain ever more power in whatever form it might take. It was just that he actively rejected most chances to indulge that craving and was more open to alternate types of strength.)

Over thirty years had passed, and only now were his sons finally healing from a childhood that was violently torn away from them, and adult lives that hounded them with strife even still. They threw themselves into their work, even sometimes at the expense of other, more worldly matters.

Speaking of, a few weeks had passed, and Sparda was anxious to see his sons 'on the job.' He had taught them the basics of swordplay when they were boys, but he was admittedly eager to see what they had learned and used throughout the years. But… nothing, yet.

The front door chimed as it opened, and Sparda looked up from the computer tablet he'd recently purchased to see who was actually coming in. Dante and Vergil were in the upstairs apartment — now storage for some of the Devil Arms that Dante had collected through the years. They were bickering over responsibilities around the shop, but so far it had stayed firmly in the realm of mundane issues and voices were not even being raised all that much. That, at least, he'd started to grow used to.

However, the sight of two ladies coming in distracted him. One hefted what appeared to be a rocket launcher with a bayonet on it and the other with long blonde hair talked to the first… Ah, these must be Lady and Trish.

It wasn't until the latter turned her head away from the former that Sparda felt his breath catch. Trish was the spitting image of Eva in nearly every way. He'd thought he was quick to get over hearing that his wife had died. It was a cruel fact of human lives that they perished so easily, and he'd been repeatedly told in no uncertain terms that Trish was not Eva.

He was accepting of the harsh truth. He was prepared to see his wife's visage gracing a demon's body.

Sparda was wrong on that front.

Slowly, he stood and walked forward to meet this demon with the face of his beloved human wife. Recognition dawned in her eyes, and she tilted her head slightly in a bow of respect.

"You must be Trish." Sparda's voice was soft, and he reached up as if to caress her face, before pulling back as if branded. He couldn't bring himself to touch, for fear that he might shatter at the contact.

Upstairs, Dante came barreling down while Vergil's footsteps were quieter, more even. He wondered what the twins thought of the sight that greeted them. Their father, looking pained as the truth that their mother had died a long time ago truly sank in, and the woman before him was only wearing her appearance and nothing more.

Trish smiled at him, the curve of her lips different from Eva's. "Yeah, I am. Sorry I didn't get you down myself when I saw you there, but I didn't think it would be right for me to be the one to do it."

A demon who could understand how her actions would hurt others, and strove to use that understanding to be kind. Even as it pulled at his chest, Sparda thought it was fitting that she wear Eva's face. At least he wouldn't have to war quite as much with his own emotions every time he looked at her.

Eager for the chance to do something else, say something else, to distract himself from the memories that were all too recent to him and the distant past to his sons, Sparda turned to look at Dante and Vergil.

"You okay, old man?" Dante was quick to voice concern, and always had been. Vergil would likely show his concern later, in a more subtle way.

The smile on Sparda's face felt strained. Fake. But he had to reassure his sons. He had been through more pain than seeing an imitation of someone he'd loved and lost standing in front of him. This would fade quickly, really, even if in relation to a human lifespan, it would take longer than his sons would like. "I'll be fine."

It wasn't the question asked. He knew that. They knew that. But it would be in poor taste for them to pester him on it while there was company here, at least.

Tension somewhat out of the way, even as Sparda's chest still ached while he watched Trish toss a letter at Dante, he allowed himself to drift closer to Lady. A walking arsenal, Vergil had described her as. Certainly, he felt no demonic presence from her at all, so the weapons she carried would have to be impressive in both strength and number to let her survive as a human in a devil-hunting business. "Excuse me, miss. A word in private?"

Lady seemed to hesitate. She knew, looking at him, who he was. He could see that understanding in her mismatched eyes. But she nodded and led the way to the back room. It had been, temporarily, where Sparda stayed while arranging for new housing. Now, it looked only like a private area where one might speak with an upset customer to the kind of business this was. People lost families to demon attacks, and sometimes needed a place to regroup themselves. This room was meant for that, he had to assume.

Reaching into his jacket pocket (he'd always leaned towards being old-school when it came to fashion, but even he'd had to update his look a bit), Sparda pulled out a check with no payee's name, but a large sum and the signature of his human alias in impeccable penmanship. This, he handed to Lady. "I'm to understand my son owes you a good deal of money. I trust this will be more than adequate compensation?"

Lady's eyes widened at the numbers written on the check. There was more than enough there to cover Dante's debt with this woman, unless she was keeping track of an extraordinary amount of interest. "Yeah, I think this'll work. Thanks." She smiled, taking the check from Sparda's gloved fingers and turning to leave the back room.

His shadow flickered, and the door closed in front of her before she could reach it — gently, with the soft click of the lock, rather than being slammed. "I also trust, of course, that in the future you will not be taking advantage of my son's generosity or unwillingness to say no to a friend."

The shadow on the door, residing there with his demonic shape in stark contrast of the laws of conventional earthly physics, was unmoving. A small threat, more of a warning, really. Perhaps Dante was willing to overlook the financial trouble this woman had been putting him through, but Sparda was not.

He wasn't sure what was going on in her head as she stared at his shadow. Or, rather, an extension of his demonic self. His shadow's eyes glowed briefly, lighting up in red as he reached his senses through to view her face from the front, rather than standing behind her in his human glamour.

Something darkened her eyes, he could see that much. Whether it was a past she herself wanted to forget about, concern for her safety, or simply trying to reconcile Sparda's reality with his legacy… Well, he couldn't say. However, Lady didn't seem to be willing to fight, her stance was far too relaxed for that.

"You're not like a lot of the legends say," she finally said.

Sparda nodded, the action mirrored in his shadow. "I may have rebelled against Mundus, stood for closing the barriers between Hell and Earth, and put down or sealed away many of my own kind, but I am still a demon. I would prefer as little violence as possible when dealing with humans, but I am still not above resorting to it when necessary."

He removed his glasses, cleaning them with a handkerchief pulled from his jacket's breast pocket before continuing. "And when I do resort to violence, I enjoy it, as I'm sure you've seen in a more watered down version with my sons. I cannot say for the woman out there wearing my late wife's face, as I'm less familiar with artificial demons, but I do know that whatever they do, no matter what fights they get into with each other, the pleasure my sons show in violence is only a fraction of when I allow myself to turn towards such measures."

His voice was quiet, matter of fact. This was not a threat, not intentionally, and he could almost see the gears turning in her mind as she processed that. He was giving her a warning: Sparda was level-headed and slow to fight, at least among humans. But when he did give into it, he was as dangerous and gleefully bloodthirsty as any of his demonic brethren. He would hold little remorse over hurting her if she continued to push.

"Would you really hurt Dante that way?"

The question threw Sparda for a loop. The wings of his shadow fluttered, shifted uncomfortably even as his physical form showed no movement at all. "… I don't want to. I don't want to risk either of my sons cutting me off, so soon after we've met again. And I really don't wish to hurt you, not unless it becomes absolutely necessary. It would take far more than you leveraging some financial debt for me to do so."

He returned his glasses to their perch on his nose. "But I also cannot stand by and allow someone who Dante considers a friend to repeatedly take advantage of him. Not with the care in his voice when he talks about you. Would you really betray his trust, his friendship, in that way?"

Finally, whatever thoughts were darkening Lady's expression seemed to ease away, and there was light in her eyes and a small smile on her face as she turned to face Sparda's physical body. "No, I wouldn't. And thanks… For being a halfway decent dad for him. Maybe you can get Dante to learn to say no when someone's trying to take advantage of him. God knows I sure tried."

She'd been… Ah, that was why. Sparda smiled, allowing his shadow to return to where the human world said it should be, with the latch unlocking as soon as the shadow no longer darkened the door. Its demonic shape still held true, though. "We shall see. I can only try, and in the meantime, I'll do what I can to protect him."

Once Lady had left, Sparda took a moment to compose himself before joining her, his sons, and the facsimile of their mother that had grown into a friend for them, back in the main office space.

"Hey Dad, sounds like Nero's finally getting his wish. We've got some trouble over in Fortuna, we're heading out tonight to meet him there. Should be able to make arrangements for dinner tomorrow."

Tomorrow was Sunday. Dante clearly expected this to be over and done with in time for that invitation Nero had extended. Not only that, but Sparda would get to see both sons and his grandson in action.

"Excellent. I look forward to watching the three of you work."

He would have to return Yamato to Vergil for the sake of the job, of course, but Sparda trusted that it would be returned without question or fuss once the demons there were taken care of. His son's punishment was being handled gracefully, but it still wasn't over quite yet.

Chapter Text

Dante hummed to himself as he loaded the trunk of the Jeep with some equipment. Nothing too special going on in Fortuna, he should be able to get by with the basics: Ebony and Ivory, a shotgun just in case, and his own sword. The last of those, though, he didn't need to pack away. Still, he grabbed Beowulf, just in case they needed an extra Devil Arm on hand for either his dad or Vergil.

With Sparda holding onto Yamato, neither brother was sure if it would be returned for the sake of a job, and there were other Devil Arms that Vergil could use anyway. Even if Yamato was returned, Dante wasn't sure that he wanted his old man to go watch them completely unarmed. Legendary Dark Knight he might be, but Sparda had still sealed away the majority of his power into his old sword, Rebellion, and Yamato.

"You're not taking a sword of your own?" The old man's voice asked, curious as he handed Yamato to be put in the trunk.

Dante shrugged, being careful with his brother's sword for once as he set it in place. "I've got one. Always with me." He turned back to his dad and tapped his chest. "Right here. You wanna see?"

It was a Devil Arm. His Devil Arm. Vergil had told him how there was more Dante than Sparda in that sword, but he had to admit, Dante was pretty curious to see how the old man would take it.

"I would be delighted." Blue eyes lit up, and a bright smile crossed over Sparda's face. Yeah. Yeah, Dante could see himself in that smile. The formal dress and slicked back hair were traits Vergil had tried to emulate, but Dante got his dad's open expressions.

He summoned the sword, twirling it around a couple times before handing it over. Despite how large it was, the Devil Sword Dante had always felt light and agile in his hands. Lighter even than Rebellion, which had always been his, but not quite in the same way. But having his sword in someone else's hands… it itched at him, like someone was scratching at a part of his soul.

Sparda ran a gloved hand over the flat of the blade, and Dante heard whispers in a demonic tongue as his dad talked to himself, taking in everything about it in words that would probably describe it better than either son knew how.

Nervous, uncomfortable with someone else holding his sword, Dante shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I used what was left of Rebellion, and the Devil Sword Sparda, to make it."

"I can see that. There's a good portion of me in here, but this… This is incredible. It's truly your own."

As his sword was handed back to him, Dante could've sworn that he saw a bit of sadness on his old man's face. Was it because he didn't have any Devil Arms of his own left, aside from Yamato? And let's be real, Yamato was a lot more Vergil's now than Sparda's.

The Devil Sword Dante was released, to go back to… wherever it was that Dante kept it when it wasn't existing in a corporeal form. Maybe Sparda could tell him more about that sometime. "Alright, let's go. Fortuna awaits!"

Vergil had claimed the back seat for himself, intent on stretching out and napping (meditating, he insisted, but Dante was willing to bet money he'd hear his brother start to snore within ten minutes), so there was no arguing over who got what seat this time. Normally, he'd turn the music up to annoy Vergil, but he kinda wanted to let his twin fall asleep and ask Sparda why keeping Yamato was such a big punishment.

Sure enough, once they got moving and Vergil was settled in, Dante counted seven whole minutes before he heard the light wheezing of his brother's snoring. He glanced at the old man, gesturing to the backseat with a nod of his head and a soft laugh. "Meditating, he says."

Sparda fought to keep his own laughter quiet, gloved hand covering his mouth. "The two of you could always fall asleep anywhere, any time."

"He's gonna have one hell of a stiff neck when he wakes up, though."

More shared, quiet laughter, and Dante drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. It was silent, but not the uneasy kind like the last time he'd been on a long car trip with Sparda. Besides, couldn't be too loud and wake up Sleeping Beauty in the backseat.

Finally, Dante had to ask. "Why's keeping Yamato from him such a big deal? I know it's his sword, and I'd have bitched and moaned about having to hand over Rebellion if it was still around, but he's been fidgeting even more than me and Nero combined lately."

Although he kept his eyes on the road, grateful for the growing darkness that kept traffic to a minimum, Dante could tell his old man was giving him a Look. "Vergil has spent years putting his energy and even parts of his soul into Yamato. It would be less like me asking you to hand over Rebellion, and more like me asking you to let me keep hold of your new sword."

Dante thought back to the itchy, restless feeling of letting Sparda hold the Devil Sword Dante. That was what Vergil was feeling? All the time? No wonder he was going on so many cleaning sprees — that nervousness had to be taken out on something, and with no jobs until today, apparently that 'something' was going to be everything from laundry to the kitchen to Dante's poor abused shop.

If their dad didn't give Yamato back soon, it would probably be a matter of days, rather than weeks, before Vergil started cleaning and polishing the armory to a blinding shine for lack of anything better to do with his restlessness. And Dante said as much, out loud.

Sparda laughed, probably a bit louder than he intended. In the backseat, Vergil's wheezing snores stopped for a moment, and Dante could hear the sound of his brother readjusting his position before that familiar sound started back up almost right away.

"I will not deprive him a fight with Yamato at his side. I want to see if she sings for him the way she used to for me." Sparda's words were soft, quiet, wanting to give Vergil the rest his son was too proud to admit he wanted or needed.

A smile tugged at the corner of Dante's mouth. "Gotta say, having used her for a little bit? I never could get the hang of all the moves he can pull off. Yamato in his hands sure is a sight to see."

"What about Nero? I could sense someone else's energy there, but I haven't been around him enough to tell if it was his."

Oof. Time to tell that story, apparently. "Yeah, that's definitely Nero you're feeling. He used to be part of the Order of the Sword. They're…" Dante scrunched his face, trying to figure out how to explain it. "How much do you know about Fortuna in the modern day?"

"Not much, sadly. I used to be a lord there, a few centuries ago, but I haven't thought to check in on them lately. Why?"

Hooboy. Dante rubbed his face, feeling the stubble there. God, this was. Gonna be something. "Nowadays, the Order is the primary religion on Fortuna. They're a cult, devoted to you. Nero grew up there, but he apparently never bought into the whole religion much. He was still one of their knights, though. A demon-slayer, in other words."

Sparda stayed quiet, taking that in. His grandson grew up in a cult devoted to him… Couldn't be easy information to take in. Honestly, Dante was pretty sure it wasn't all that comfortable for Nero, either.

"Anyway, turns out the higher-ups in the Order were doing some kind of experimentation. Trying to turn humans into demons, stuff like that… Nasty business. Somehow, they got hold of Yamato. In pieces. Not sure what all they were doing with it, or how they were using it, but it wasn't good."

Finally, the old man spoke up. "They weren't the ones who restored her, were they?" An icy edge to his voice, one that Dante felt an immediate need to quell with the truth.

"That would be Nero, actually. He'd started to manifest some of his own demon powers, almost entirely in his right arm. Some order nut named Agnus — he was actually Nico's dad, but she's a good kid at least — wanted to keep Nero around and 'experiment' with that demon arm of his. Apparently, he was in the same room as the broken Yamato, and it reacted to him."

There was a small hum from Sparda, and Dante risked looking over at his dad. Dim light had never bothered any of them, and it was easy to see a finger tapping against a purple jacket when it was in a white glove anyway. "I can see why Yamato would react to him in such a way. I made Yamato, and Vergil poured himself into her. Vergil is of me, and Nero is of Vergil."

"Yeah, that's how I knew Nero was Verge's kid, too. Just… You should've seen it, Dad. I could've sworn it was Vergil himself the first time I saw that kid using Yamato. Same kind of… energy, I guess. Never been good on picking up that kind of thing the way Vergil has, but even I could tell."

There was a chuckle from the old man. "Your perceptiveness is in other areas. With such a wide array of Devil Arms, most would not be able to pick up how to effectively use more than one without years of training, yet from what you've told me? They all come naturally to you. That is a talent many demons would gladly give up their senses for."

Fingers tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel as Dante took in that information. He'd never thought about that before. Sure, some of the Devil Arms he used talked to him more literally than others (Agni and Rudra came immediately to mind, the fucking chatterboxes), but he'd never thought that it was such a big deal. The Devil Arms he usually got were literally demonic souls in a weapon form, it made sense for him to be able to delve into those souls and be able to use them.

But with Yamato… Huh. No wonder it had always reacted better in Vergil's hands. Dante had tried to communicate with their dad's soul in it, not his brother's. That made a weird sort of sense now that he thought about it.

There was more light chit-chat, less heavy topics. Dante told Sparda about Nero's weapons — the Red Queen and Blue Rose. Both were technically human-manufactured, but the sword was so heavily customized that only someone with demonic strength could wield it and only Nero really knew the fiddly bits, and the gun had been his idea too, apparently.

As Fortuna grew closer, Dante reached into the back to shove at his twin's knees. "Hey Vergil, quit with the beauty sleep, we're gonna be there soon."

A very un-dignified snort as Vergil was roused from his slumber, and a soft grumble from directly behind Dante. "I wasn't sleeping."

"Your snoring hasn't changed since you were a boy." Oh. Oh this was too good, was their old man joining in on the teasing now? Dante laughed, able to imagine the embarrassed flush to his brother's face at being called out by their dad.

"I don't snore." Stubborn Vergil. Too fucking proud to admit to any indignity.

Dante reached back to swat at his brother's leg. "Verge, you sound like an asthmatic kitten when you snore."

There was some retaliation from the back seat, and they were only saved from Sparda trying to intervene like the exasperated father to bickering twins that he was, as they approached the bridge to the island. Fucking tolls, fucking guards trying to make sure they were 'safe' outsiders.

Dante rolled the window down, relieved to see a familiar face. "Hey, Bobby! We're here to see Nero and Kyrie, heard they needed our help."

The guard was familiar with Devil May Cry and the kind of business it was, and was decent friends with Nero on top of that. Dante wondered if Bobby had heard anything from Nero about the old man yet.

Guess not, because Bobby looked past Dante and into the passenger seat where Sparda sat. Dante and Vergil's relationship to Nero was, by now, fairly common knowledge on Fortuna. That marked them as 'safe' outsiders. Most folks on the island wouldn't trust either of them with more than superficial social niceties, but Dante was still pretty damn sure that their family's history wasn't actually known to these people.

Probably for the best that way.

"Who's this, Dante? Never seen him before."

"This is mine and Vergil's old man. Nero's grandfather."

A squint from the guard. Yeah, Sparda looked the same fucking age as his sons. Being a demon that didn't age the way humans or even half-breeds did would do that for a guy. Fortunately, the family's trademark white hair made it harder for normal humans to really tell their age as well, and the old man cleaned up good. Better than Dante, at least.

Finally, finally, Bobby asked for the toll money and waved them through. Dante let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. This was gonna be one hell of a job, working in front of Sparda. He was a lot more worried about how Kyrie and the boys would react to seeing their Savior himself, though.

Chapter Text

Fortuna Castle was overrun with demons. Again. Normally, Nero wouldn't mind going through all of them on his own, but he could… almost but not-quite feel something else going on there. He was still getting used to those little flashes of intuition regarding anything demonic, and it wasn't like he knew all that much what to do even if he got to the bottom of it. How to kill demons was pretty much all he'd ever been taught about them, aside from things he'd gleaned from Dante and Vergil.

Or V, when V had been around.

Nero shoved that thought down, plowing through another couple of Frosts with the Red Queen. Flames shot out, melting their ice and breaking through to make them vulnerable to a few charged shots from Blue Rose. With those fuckers killed, he stood back to take stock of the situation.

There was definitely something big approaching. Too powerful to be just a single devil, no matter how strong. Guess his 'family' had finally shown up. A look at his watch said it was well after midnight -- about damn time, he'd sent that message to Trish around lunch!

Nero jumped up onto the roof of the castle, peeking over to watch three men make their way into view. Dante's trademark red coat was easily spotted, even in the summer starlight. True, his eyesight was better in the dark than a normal human's, but Nero found it hard to believe that flashy thing wouldn't be noticed by someone. That meant the two men in darker coats had to be Vergil and… Sparda.

Although Nero had been trying to mentally prepare for the impact of that family dinner ever since he'd sent Trish a message about needing help in the castle, the emotional impact was just starting to hit. How would Kyrie take it? What about the boys? They were all more devout to Fortuna's religion than Nero ever had been, and so far Nero and Nico had tried to sidestep the issue of Nero's exact demonic heritage with the boys. Kyrie was in the know, but it was one thing to hear that she was dating the grandson of her Savior and another entirely to meet Sparda herself.

There was a crackle of electricity as something formed nearby. Grateful for the distraction from his thoughts and conflicted feelings, Nero immediately trained Blue Rose on it. The demonic electricity -- a Blitz -- rose above him to arc straight towards the three figures that were probably unaware.

Well. So the Blitz would think, anyway.

The demon barely even got halfway there before Nero heard Yamato sing her familiar Judgment Cut. That was one bitch of a thing to dodge if you didn't already know it was coming, and Nero still wasn't entirely sure how the hell his dad was so fast sometimes. Even Dante had picked up a few tricks from his twin lately, and it left Nero feeling like he was in the dust more often than not.

Oh well, Nero had his own tricks.

Smaller demons started to pull themselves out of the ground, and Nero rolled his eyes before running down off the roof. He used his new demonic arms to slow the fall, and the rest of the impact was only a brief bit of knee pain before he was running towards the rest of the group. Before he got there, Dante's flaming sword (or swords? Nero had never been sure exactly how that worked other than it was part of his new Devil Arm) and Vergil's summoned swords had cleared a path around Sparda -- who stood to the side, merely watching and seemingly without a weapon. Then again, it looked like a lot of those smaller demons didn't want to get too close to him, either.

Smart call, from what all the legends said.

"Hey, Nero! Glad you could join us!" Dante called out, effortlessly slicing through one of the big scarecrows that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Red Queen revved as Nero sliced through a Cutlass that came straight towards him and Sparda. Huh, looked like some of the artificial demons the Order had created didn't know to be afraid of the guy. Could be interesting. "What's the score?"

Vergil answered as the last of the nearest visible enemies fell. The demon blood that had accumulated on Yamato was flung off with a single, smooth swing before being put back in its sheath.

There were times Nero still missed the power that Yamato had when it burned in his arm. Knowing what he did now, too, he wanted to be able to hold that sword and feel that same closeness to his father, hovering on the edge of his consciousness as he wielded the Devil Arm that was so inextricably linked to Vergil.

"Thirteen for me so far."

"Nineteen," Dante said, grinning at Vergil's pinched expression.

Silent until now, Sparda finally spoke up. "Eighteen, actually. One of them had two separate bodies, but was controlled by the same consciousness."

"Oh come on! What difference does it make at that point?" Dante was worked up over his kill count being reduced over what seemed like a minor technicality, but sometimes… sometimes, Nero had to rile him up further.

It was fun, getting in the middle of all that competitiveness. The fighting got Nero's blood boiling in all sorts of exciting ways, and it was a good way to banter with his dad and uncle if they all made a game of their kill count. Not only that, it kept the three of them from turning their eagerness for violence on each other, kept them working together and on the same side.

"Those things have been showing up a lot lately. If you don't get rid of them both, then they spawn more bodies. And they remember your moves, too. Different sets don't. So yeah, makes a difference. Anyway, you guys have got a lot of catching up to do, I've been at this for hours. I'm sitting at a hundred and thirty-two right now."

Dante, predictably, didn't take that well. "How is that even fair? We got on the island like an hour and a half ago, we can start our count over."

"You're not going to be a sore loser, are you Dante?" Vergil grinned. In the dim light, Nero could see the way his father held Yamato close, gently stroking the hilt as if it were a loved one.

The same kind of way Nero thought he'd react if he had Yamato back in his hands for even a few minutes. He'd give it back to his dad, but just being able to hold it for a little while would be nice.

He shook his head, taking a few steps back from Dante and Vergil both as their argument started up, and wound up leaning against Red Queen while standing next to Sparda instead. He was definitely dressed different, with a heavy purple trenchcoat and a fairly ordinary suit underneath. Better than that pompous Victorian getup from when he'd first helped the guy down, at least.

Even though he could see reasonably okay in starlight, the extra bit of blue glow from his spectral arms helped Nero to see that Sparda was definitely looking at them. "I saw you use one of those before, to pick up Vergil in the van."

Oh yeah, after Nico had spun them around and Dante's head had cracked open. Nero offered his right claw for inspection. Felt weird, sometimes, when other people touched them, but Sparda's gloved hands were careful. "He's too stubborn an asshole to just let me help him up like a normal person, so sometimes I gotta treat him like an offended cat."

Sparda laughed at that, shaking his head as he looked over at Dante and Vergil. He must have had time to adjust to their constant bickering in the past few weeks. Good. "How did you come by those arms? Is that a relic of your demonic powers?"

"Yeah. I'll explain in a bit, we should be getting a move on. I need those two to take a look in the basement of the castle. I think there's something there that didn't get taken care of a few years ago and it's causing problems." Nero took a quick moment to reload Blue Rose before going to separate his dad and uncle before their arguing started to involve their swords.

"Hey jackasses, we gonna take care of shit here or are you gonna stand around bitching at each other all night?" His spectral arms grabbed both of them, pushing them apart so that Nero could cross his more human arms and look between the brothers.

Both of them eased off, hands up in a placating gesture. Good, Nero knew he could hit a hell of a lot harder with those demon arms than his normal ones, and his family seemed to respect that they hurt like a bitch.

"Why did you call us out here? You seem to have been keeping things reasonably under control so far." Vergil was asking about business now, excellent. Meant his head was clearer and focused.

Beside them, Dante just slung his ridiculous new sword over his shoulder and motioned for Nero to lead the way.

"I can… Man, you know how I've been sensing weirder shit since the first time I Triggered?"

Dante and Vergil only nodded, but Sparda didn't seem to be in the know. "Triggered?"

"It's Dante's term. Devil Trigger, we use it to refer to our demon forms." Vergil didn't seem to quite grasp how big a revelation that was for his dad, because Sparda stopped dead in his tracks to look at his descendants.

"You all have demon forms?"

Nero shrugged, because it seemed pretty straightforward to him. Yeah, his had taken longer to really manifest than what he heard Dante or Vergil's had, but his arm had always been something of a clue that he'd be able to change at some point. Dante and Vergil changing? He'd always known them to be able to. "Well yeah. We're part demon, makes sense that we'd--"

"I didn't think that was possible. I thought when you were born looking entirely human, you would have some demon powers and that would be all. I'd had no idea that you would ever be able to shift to a demonic form." Sparda was looking at Dante and Vergil now, who definitely were fidgeting with their respective swords in the discomfort of the attention.

Dante started to open his mouth, to say something or another, when Sparda held up a hand to stop him. "Tell me later, boys. Nero said he was sensing something. Please continue, I apologize for interrupting."

At least someone around here had the sense to say sorry for interrupting a story. Nero rubbed at his nose, jerking his head towards the castle. "Anyway, ever since I first Triggered, I've been sensing things and you guys said it's demon-related, but I can't actually tell what's going on. I just feel like… something's off. When we go inside, you'll probably see what I mean."

Inside the castle, where he didn't really want to confront a few particularly unpleasant memories. Oh well, time to deal with them anyway.

Chapter Text

Being in the castle was… odd. Vergil felt vaguely as though he knew so many of these hallways, how to deal with demons he'd never seen before. Even going into the castle basement, where destroyed machines and demonic energy lingered, it all seemed too familiar.

He knew Yamato had been restored by Nero on Fortuna, but this place gave him chills. Saying something about it was beneath him, although Nero kept glancing back at him as though he understood that something was going on. Perhaps he felt Yamato's lingering power here, as well.

There was an open space, destroyed machines all around and a platform that used to be powered. All of Vergil's senses were on edge as they approached, and while Dante seemed to feel that something was slightly off, Nero and Sparda were looking around. They felt it too, both had heavily utilized Yamato and knew its powers, could easily sense the disturbances there.

Was Vergil alone in zeroing in on the powered platform as the source of the problem?

"What was this place?" he finally asked, looking over to Nero.

His son shrugged. There was some kind of observation area below, still littered with broken glass, and dried bloodstains on the wall next to it. An image of Nero, pinned in that bloodied spot by two javelins and a sword through his chest, flickered through Vergil's mind. Where had that come from?

"Dunno, Agnus was using it as his lab. Making demons that followed the Order's commands, all sorts of weird shit. I shut it down as soon as I could, once everything was over. Never did like it down here, bad memories, but the feeling is just… Stronger, in this room."

Dante started examining the observation chamber, and the hole blown clear through it with a low whistle. "That's something Yamato did if I ever saw it. This where you got hold of it, Nero?"

Nero walked over to see where Dante was pointing, carefully avoiding the bloodstained portion of the wall. "Yeah, I was aiming for Agnus, but the fucker dodged out of the way last second. I wasn't doing too good at the time, but hey, I had Yamato and it was out of the Order's hands for the moment so I took what I could get."

His father lingered near the damaged portion of the wall, where Nero avoided and Vergil had thought he imagined his son pinned and stabbed through. "What happened here?" Sparda asked, gathering everyone's attention.

Vergil stayed back, a hand squeezing Nero's shoulder in comfort. He couldn't say why, he just knew that the 'bad memories' his son had mentioned were related to Yamato in some way.

"That's… where Agnus stabbed me. Said he wanted to experiment on me, because I had a demon arm at the time and the bastard was sick." Nero's eyes glanced over to the center of the room, where a powered platform would have been. "Yamato was broken, over there, and it reacted to me somehow. I got it in hand and… Well. Things are a bit fuzzy but that's the gist of it."

Yamato had been repaired in that platform. She had reacted to Nero and flew into his hands. That was why Vergil reacted so strongly to this room, knew the exact spot where she had become whole again, where part of his own soul had repaired itself, all because of his son being in danger.

He couldn't quite stop the way his fingers danced along her hilt, nor the way Vergil held it closer to his side. This place had been affected by Yamato's long imprisonment, and her repair. No wonder demons continued to appear here.

"Let's finish this quickly, then. No need to linger here when we know what the problem is." Vergil's voice was rough even to his own ears, and three sets of blue eyes looked at him.

Dante seemed the most oblivious, but as Vergil drew Yamato, the tip of the sword leveling in the center of the platform where she had once been held, broken... even he seemed to catch on.

"It's because Yamato was repaired here, isn't it? That's why things are coming through." Dante leaned back, watching with interest. He'd rarely seen this aspect of Yamato's power before, was more experienced with the physical things that it was capable of cutting.

As he concentrated, Vergil could hear Nero asking his uncle and grandfather what exactly was being done. "He's searching for the connection between worlds. Yamato can sever it. Or, if your father were to put his mind to it, he could cut through the divide. Yamato's power is to cut through anything, even the boundaries of spacetime itself. A connection this small, however? Cutting that takes concentration and skill, something Vergil has always excelled at."

The words spread an odd warmth in Vergil's chest, and he closed his eyes, tuned out everything else around him with that in mind. Sparda had complimented him, had recognized his abilities at a young enough age to know that Yamato was the right fit for him.

Focus narrowing down to just the tip of Yamato's blade, Vergil felt that tiny thread where two worlds met. A flick of his wrist, and the connection was severed. Yamato twirled in his hand, sliding smoothly back into her scabbard. "It's done."

"Wait, that's it?" Nero looked between all three of them, confused. "I didn't even see anything."

Behind him, Dante and Sparda laughed, while Vergil just looked over at Nero. Thinking. If something were to happen to him again, his son should be the one to take Yamato. Perhaps it was time Vergil taught him how to use her to best effect.

"Before we leave, I can show you a better example. Perhaps even let you try."

The offer made everyone pause. Maybe Nero wasn't fully aware of how strange it felt to let someone else hold Yamato, but Sparda was, and Dante... even if he didn't know, he knew how Vergil had always been so touchy about what belonged to him, his unwillingness to share.

Letting his son hold part of his soul felt less bothersome to Vergil than handing it over to his father or brother. He trusted them both, of course, but Nero... Nero had helped Vergil heal — in more ways than just repairing Yamato.

Chapter Text

"Dante and Vergil told you about the Order, right?" Nero asked him as they made their way back into the town proper. Daylight was just starting to peek over the horizon, lighting their way and driving enough demons back into hiding to make it a relatively easy walk.

Sparda tapped his fingers against his crossed arms as he took in the view. His glasses allowed him to see the layers of spells and wards around the city — some of which were old enough that they could have been based on knowledge he personally gave to the citizens of Fortuna, and others far more recent.

That there wasn't a single true ward against demons bothered him.

"Dante mentioned something about a cult that worships me, yes. I've seen such things in the past, but never to the scale he implied exists on Fortuna."

After the incident on the toll bridge, Sparda had been told in vague terms how the island disliked outsiders and generally only tolerated Dante and Vergil because of their relationship to Nero. All that made him wonder, though…

"Do your girlfriend and foster children know about your true heritage?"

Sparda pulled his glasses off, adjusting the enchantment on them as he cleaned the lenses of the salty morning mist. When they returned to their perch, he saw the shadow of Nero's extra demonic appendages, shifting uncomfortably as his own wings might have when under intense scrutiny.

"Kyrie does, yeah. The boys know I'm part demon, that you're a demon, but not… yanno. That you're you."

Understandable, to some degree. Children raised in an environment with a still-active cult, even if they were not being knowingly indoctrinated themselves, might still have some strange views. And if Nero wished for a relatively peaceful life among the humans there, then hiding that he was a descendant of Sparda must have been practically a necessity.

"Will you be telling them during my stay?"

Really, Sparda wasn't sure why he expected anything but the shake of Nero's head. "Nah. They're… Kind of on the young side, still. Kyrie and I have been talking about adopting them properly, so… maybe then? Not sure yet."

Some guards, either coming in on their morning shift or just leaving the night shift, waved rather cheerfully at Nero and gave only the most cursory of greetings to Sparda and his twin sons. It was strange, knowing that he could so easily reveal his true form, declare himself Sparda, and watch the attitudes of everyone in this town change instantly. It was a form of power in itself, and would satisfy the roiling demonic urges inside of him for a short while.

But it would also alienate his sons and Nero. That hadn't been a problem, last time he had ruled here, and Sparda had tried to be kind and fair to the humans that lived here back then. This time… This time was different, and Nero especially would forever live with the consequences.

"Were you treated kindly, growing up here?" If nothing else, Sparda hoped that his own kin had not been ostracized in a place that seemed to so heavily favor his historical legacy.

Nero shrugged, and through the enchantment on his glasses, Sparda could see those wing-hands twitching in nervousness again. Fear, for what he might do to the people here? Or simple embarrassment of Nero's own circumstances?

For all Sparda enjoyed the company of humans, for all the time he had spent around them, he was still lost at times when it came to reading their hearts.

As Nero began talking of the past, he noticed that ahead of them, Dante and Vergil's conversation died down, and they slowed almost imperceptibly to try and listen in. Maybe it was a question they had never thought to voice or had been too afraid to ask, or maybe Nero had never wanted to talk to them about it. Either way, Sparda's grandson was speaking now.

"It was… alright, I guess. No one ever let me forget that I was pretty much abandoned by my mom, left on the orphanage doorstep wrapped up in a blanket. Sometimes I got favored, 'cause the historical records talked about your hair color and it was so weird that mine was the same. Thought I was 'blessed' or some shit."

A laugh that rang hollow even to Sparda's ear came through. "Man, they never could've guessed. Anyway, I always… well. I wasn't the most well-behaved kid around, and not a lot of folks wanted to foster me, let alone adopt me. Kyrie and Credo's parents fostered me when I turned twelve, and they never adopted me but I stayed with them until they died in a plague when I was sixteen."

A plague… and yet Nero was alive here, now. Sparda listened intently as Nero continued "Credo was already eighteen at that point, so he got guardianship over me and Kyrie. He'd joined the Order Knights, and… well. People respected the Knights, it was a good job, and even if I didn't buy into the religion like Kyrie and Credo had, I liked the thought of being… a little more like— like you. Protecting everyone, having a reason to fight instead of just…"

Nero went quiet then, and Sparda thought he actually knew why this time. "Instead of just fighting because the thrill of violence makes you feel alive," he finished. The demonic urge for bloodshed still ran strong in even his quarter-demon grandson, tempered more by human emotions that must have made him feel guilty for the decidedly inhuman glee for every punch thrown, every vanquished enemy he stood proud over.

"Yeah. Yeah, that. And I mean, I like fighting! But I also like… protecting people. Knowing that I'm fighting for a reason instead of just beating the shit out of every hostile demon that I run across."

Ah, so that was what the humanity in Nero was doing. "You know, that was what drew me to humans, initially? They wanted a reason to fight, and felt satisfaction in having one. Pure demons feel no such desire, although we may still choose to take one up."

As a demon, Sparda knew that his life meant fairly little, that his existence was a mere accident, or a series of circumstances that allowed him to grow to any significant power. And he had been powerful, once, and like so many others before and after him, he'd wanted to last as long as possible before another took him down.

Meeting humans and seeing how they gave themselves an individual meaning that drove their life's purpose? That was the ultimate power, in his mind. Being able to choose his own reason for existing, and knowing that even if he ceased to be, he would have chosen to die for that reason? No one would ever have been able to take it away from him.

Nero had chosen his reason — protect those he cared about. And he had the demonic power to pull it off. That made Sparda proud. His own blood, unknowingly following in his footsteps. Maybe even moreso than his own sons, struggling as they seemed to be for ways to fit in among humans and reasons to live beyond mere day to day happenings.

Sparda made a mental note, then, to ask Dante and Vergil about that. See what their plans were, what reasons they had given themselves. It occurred to him that for all they'd been frank with him about what they'd been through, neither was very forthcoming with what they wanted moving forward.

"Huh… neat. I guess that all the demons I know that well are either part human or chose a reason before I met them, then."

Dante and Vergil stopped just ahead of them, and Nero lifted up the door to a garage with the Devil May Cry van inside, apparently in the middle of repairs. Nico, the young human woman that had been its driver on the trip to the main office, was slouched over a work table, drooling on what appeared to be blueprints for some kind of weapon.

"Fuck's sake, Nico, you've gotta stop doing this…" Nero muttered under his breath, then removed his tattered jacket and draped it over his weaponsmith's shoulders. She mumbled something in her sleep, readjusting and spreading the drool further over the blueprints before going silent again.

The familiar sound of Dante trying to keep his laughter quiet reached Sparda's ears, and admittedly it was kind of… cute… in a domestic, human way. "Alright, let's be quiet heading in, kid. Don't wanna wake sleeping beauty over there."

As they shuffled into the house, the smell of breakfast hit him very suddenly and brought with it a pang of nostalgia. Cooking meat, eggs, and even the scent of burning bread in the toaster took him back to when he would laugh with Eva as she cooked and admonished him for—

"Nero, you're back!" A young woman with red hair abandoned the large skillet of food to wrap her arms around Nero, and the change in his grandson was instantaneous. In only a heartbeat, the spectral wings Sparda saw through his enchantment settled into calm, wrapping around the girl despite not materializing and making the contact more physical. He loved this woman — Kyrie, he remembered now — with all his heart and body.

"Sorry I had to head out so suddenly, Kyrie. I hope the boys didn't give you too much trouble." Everything about Nero seemed a bit softer when he looked at her, and even looking at Dante and Vergil, Sparda could tell that they knew the difference, too. Perhaps even felt it themselves, the warm, calming light of humanity that Kyrie radiated a balm on their restless demonic souls.

In times past, she would have been a holy priestess. Even among this cult, she could be a true leader, but she chose Nero.

"They're fine. I threatened them with working on some new songs for you, without any headphones, if they didn't go to bed." There was a sly, mischievous smile at those words, a hint that whatever music she worked on for Nero, it was not the kind of thing the children enjoyed.

Dante and Vergil both groaned, each of them snatching a still-sizzling sausage link off the skillet before anyone could tell them not to. "You still listen to that shit, Nero? What the hell, even your old man's got better taste than that."

"Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, brother." To his credit, Vergil didn't seem to rise to the bait this time, calmer with Yamato back in his hands, but still with a tense set of his shoulders. He expected Sparda to take the sword away again any time now; the battle was over, why shouldn't he?

And yet… It felt cruel to take away something that so obviously calmed him in such a human environment, when Vergil still struggled with maintaining even a semblance of human normalcy.

Sparda walked closer, settling a hand on his son's shoulder with a simple statement whispered. "Your punishment can resume after we leave here." The tension bled out of Vergil's stance at those words, and he nodded in silent thanks.

"Hello, miss Kyrie, was it?" He finally spoke up, drawing attention to himself as the young woman took in his presence in its entirety. When she nodded, Sparda closed the distance between them, offering a gloved hand in greeting. The moment her hand touched his own, he bent down and brought the back of his hand up to his lips in a gentlemanly kiss. "Nero tells me you already know my true name, but while I am here today you may call me Eliot so as to avoid awkwardness with the children. It is a pleasure to meet you, and I thank you for being so kind as to invite I and my sons over."

A blush spread across her face, and she struggled to hide a smile behind her hand. "Nero, how come you never do this? It's so sweet."

Nero himself showed obvious discomfort, holding himself back from doing something rash. Understandable, of all of them, he knew Sparda the least. "Do you mind maybe not flirting with my girlfriend? Kinda weird, you being my grandfather and all…"

Such a simple greeting was now seen as flirting? Confused, he looked over at Vergil and Dante for some kind of reassurance. Dante was trying hard not to laugh too loudly, while Vergil seemed just as lost as Sparda felt.

Perhaps other aspects of his behaviors were a bit too old-fashioned, not just his clothing.

"Ah, I apologize. I hadn't intended to be so forward, please do forgive me. I've been… out of the loop, so to speak."

Kyrie stifled her laugh, trying to be polite even as the red of her face clashed with that of her hair. "Don't listen to Nero, he could use some pointers for romance. Since you look like the cleanest one here, why don't you help me with breakfast while they go clean up?"

Nero grumbled something under his breath, a curse of some kind cut short by his girlfriend's presence, and went over to Dante and Vergil, grabbing them both with his spectral arms and pulling them to what seemed to be a spare bathroom of some kind.

While he was being dragged off, Dante decided to raise his voice. "Just don't let him make the toast! He always burns it."

"It tastes better that way," Sparda protested, surprised even as he spoke to hear Nero saying identical words at nearly the same time. Kyrie's bright laughter brought him out of his mild shock long enough to start helping with breakfast.

It wasn't long before the sound of a crying child interrupted them, and Kyrie excused herself to go get the youngest orphan she and Nero were helping to raise from his crib. Two other boys, neither one much older than Dante and Vergil had been when Sparda went to Latesco, came out in their pajamas and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Ah... hello, children. You can call me Eliot. I'm Nero's grandfather." He set the slice of toast he was working with onto a plate, and knelt down with a bare hand outstretched. "Nero told me you know about his demonic blood. He gets that from me."

The younger of the boys stared with his jaw dropped open, and the older one nudged him with an elbow. "That's rude, Kyle. Kyrie always tells us to be nice to people," he whispered, though Sparda's demonic hearing could pick it up quite clearly.

After a few moments, Kyrie returned with a toddler in her arms. "Oh, Eliot! These are the boys. Julio is nine, Kyle is eight, and little Carlo here is three. Boys, this is Eliot. I promise, he's a good demon. He's Nero's grandfather, and Dante and Vergil's father. We can trust him."

Perhaps Kyrie's reassurance was all they needed, because it only took a few brief moments before Kyle came forward and touched his hand. "... You don't look like a demon."

The door to the spare bathroom opened up, Dante toweling his hair dry. "Yeah, Dad doesn't show off what he looks like as a demon that often. Prefers to blend in with humans."

Another moment of hesitation, with Julio glancing over at Dante, and then he went over to Sparda as well, looking up with bright green eyes. "... Kyrie said you're a good demon. Does that mean you fought with the Sa— with Sparda? When he was fighting for humans?"

Ah. Oh. Sparda found himself at a loss, mouth opening and closing while all the other adults in hearing range started laughing. Thankfully, the children seemed to be completely lost, and Kyle demanded to know what was so funny while everyone else simply enjoyed the awkwardness and discomfort of the one full demon in the room.

"Perhaps Kyrie and Nero will tell you someday, little ones," he reassured Kyle and Julio, silently vowing to pay back all those who laughed at his indignity by giving them charred, nearly-inedible pieces of toast.