Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

V's birthday might have been the universe's way of telling a joke in hopes of lightening the gloom that dominated his life. Whatever the name, the personified humanity of a half-demon who traveled with familiars was born during a magical high tide significant to both humans and devils.

Had he thought about it, he probably would have expected everything coming his way, but memory had a funny relationship with him. While he no longer thought of himself as Vergil, he shared a past with him. 'He' had not though of his birthday in decades, so functionally V hadn't either.

And it wasn't in April anyway.

So when he climbed the steps to his flat, his mind was on mundane things: Which pocket his keys were in, how nice it would feel to kick off his shoes, the strong but pleasant zest of leftover linguini in lemon sauce, and quiet excitement to read a new book in his possession. What he actually got was Trish draped over his favorite lounge chair like a stray cat that had wandered in and decided his humble space would suffice.  

What happened between the moment of their eyes meeting and the moment he dismounted her motorcycle was already carefully blotted from his mind by the time he entered the bar.

All that remained was a nagging sense that his dignity had taken a powerful blow.

The bar was a small, cozy, even dignified place on a normal day. It might have suited V. Regrettably, the decorating effort had been Troubled, and it showed in the menagerie of aesthetics that combined to roughly the effect of the rug in 90s era skating rink. A black light hung over one corner, drawing the eye with bright neon signatures inscribed into a chalkboard typically reserved for menu items. Sullen black party streamers hung intermingled with baby pastel ones. The subdued lighting was troubled by the dizzying flicker of a disco ball. Speakers so large that V’s ears began to ache just looking at them loomed around an ominously well-set stage. An unfortunate piñata with a sort of cute-grotesque resemblance to Griffon spun like an abandoned toy floating in a fountain, and the floor was absolutely flooded with glitter.

A cheer answered V’s arrival, and he answered with a menacing smile. The only thing stopping him from summoning Nightmare on the spot was that most of them would survive it.

“What is all this?” he demanded.

Dante cropped up behind the bar, complete with his ridiculous hat. “What’s the matter, V? You don’t know your own birthday?”

“This isn’t my—“ He stopped. It was, in fact, his ‘birth’ day. He scanned the room hotly, until he found Vergil, sitting conspicuously in the place with the least gaudy of the decorations. “You actually told them.”

Vergil didn’t even look his way. “Was I meant to withhold this information?”

“I did not expect you to reveal the details of your most recent moment of weakness.”

 A wall of demonic energy disturbed the glitter and washed over the bar. “You can still be eliminated.”

V stared icily down his nose. “You tried it once. I welcome you to fail again.”

“Woah woah there!” Dante hopped the bar and twirled Dr. Faust nonchalantly on one finger. “I know neither of you really get the principle, but this is supposed to be a party. Am I going to have to make you wear get-along hats?”

Their equally baleful stares refocused to him, and they turned away from each other with an identical ‘hmph’.

While Nero scolded his father, Lady greeted V with a vigorous slap on the back as he took a seat at the bar. Her physical affections were always just a touch too rough; like she couldn’t hold back how much she hated Vergil when she was with him even though their mutual distaste for him genuinely endeared V to her.

In this case it may have only been because she was already three beers deep. “Glad you made it, V.”

“I don’t think I was given much choice.”

Trish strutted behind the bar, sparing a smirk and a blown kiss for V and an actual kiss for Lady. “No hard feelings. What kind of beer you drink, birthday boy?”

“I don’t.”

From across the bar, the three of them picked up a scoff from Vergil. It wasn’t directed their way, but his unmistakably snooty ‘I told you so’ and Dante’s opportunistic jab that V must have inherited being a lightweight from Vergil made it to them loud and clear.

V stared straight ahead but his fingers drummed rapidly against the polished bar top.

“So…” Trish purred. “What was it you wanted to drink?”

“Not beer.” He rose from his seat to make his way around behind the bar, shooing Trish out of the way with his cane and rolling up his sleeves. Lady and Trish watched with mild, but infectious surprise. His unexpectedly deft hand for mixing drinks drew Dante to the bar along with Nico.

“Didn’t peg you for a drinker, V.” She slid down onto the stool, calling over the rattle of the tumbler. “What’s on the menu?”

“You will have to ask the bartender.” He ran an orange peel along the rim of a squat glass and poured in a drink the color of pomegranate seeds. The heady, juniper-tinged scent of gin teased their noses. V took the glass in one hand and the shaker in another and tipped them both in salute.

“Happy birthday to me.”

He excused himself, ignoring the clamor as they seized the bottles he left behind to try and recreate the drink. Lady knew perfectly well what he’d made but got a kick out of watching Nico try and fail to make a negroni.

Kyrie made an appearance with Lucia as the only two people in the entire party who had actually dressed like they were going to a party. The latter wore a dress that had probably been conceived by an aspiring man-eater--solid black, asymmetrical, and shorter than Dante’s attention span with a merciless slash from shoulder to navel. Its true power was curbed by a cream-colored shawl and completely opaque black stockings.

Meanwhile, a modest, blue-dotted A-line dress brought out the penny-bright color of Kyrie’s hair, and V couldn’t help but smirk as he looked beyond her and saw Nero beaming at her like a schoolboy.

She gave him an assortment of roses.  “Happy birthday, V.”

He gave his first genuine smile of the evening to her, and politely kissed the back of her hand. “You’re a pillar of sanity, Kyrie. Who’s this?”

“A friend of Dante’s. Lucia, this is V. V, Lucia.”

Calling Lucia a friend of Dante’s had implications Kyrie didn’t quite realize. Namely that Lucia had the same temperament as everyone else Dante knew. Fortunately, Lucia had already won V over by looking completely out of place in spite of the fact that she carried herself as confidently as any other devil hunter. And by occasionally stealing glances at Dante that left him with an instinctive feeling of pity.

“Charmed.”

No sooner had her accent tickled his ear, he reached for his cane. Griffon managed to materialize and get out “Ooh a French--!” before V silenced him.

Griffon had what he called a goal, and what V exhaustedly called a delusion. Somewhere he had gotten it in his head that now that they were all independent of Vergil, he too could find ‘a hot human babe’ to settle down with. Exposure to Nico had left him with certain preferences: women who would threaten his life if he got too mouthy (and follow through), and women with thick accents, in equal measure.

“Do not mind him,” V said with a tight smile, twisting the handle and trapping his familiar’s lower jaw against the bar top. “Good to make your acquaintance.”

The moment they were gone, and V released him, Griffon stretched his jaw. All 3 of them. “Ugh, some wingman you are! She wasn’t even human!”

“She’s taken.”

“How do you know that? You just met her!”

“You have much to learn about human behavior.”

A sharp whistle called attention to the bar. Somehow in the chaos of Nico, Trish, and Dante all trying to show each other up at mixing cocktails, everyone had a drink made for them. A small virgin pina colada, complete with tiny paper umbrella, for Kyrie, to a trio of sake bombs for Nico, Lady, and Nero, a bog-standard gin and tonic for Vergil, and some fancy elderflower and champagne something or other for Lucia.

Dante climbed atop the counter and poured a worrying among of tequila in a glass only half full of soda, raising it above everyone’s heads.

“To V,” he called. “The better half.”

“By what measure?” Vergil demanded, strolling to the bar. “Certainly not in power.”

“On which occasion have you actually had power result in the one victory you so desire?”

“Childish, V. But then you are only a year old.” He raised his glass in a curt toast and swallowed it in one. “To you.”

V hummed and sipped from his glass at an unhurried pace. When it was empty, he slid it across the bar, flicked the lid from the cocktail shaker, and tipped it directly into his mouth without breaking his staring contest with Vergil.

Nobody could have made it look elegant, but somehow V somehow managed to drain it to the last drop without looking like a college student on a bender.

“To me,” he said with a smile and a lick of his lips. “The half that isn’t a lightweight.”

A pin wouldn’t have dared to drop in that silence. The joy of living as his own existence had given V a healthy appreciation for life’s pleasures. While he was far from hedonistic, good food, good drink, and good books had elevated themselves to an art for him. That meant having a certain amount of tolerance, despite his lingeringly frail constitution.

When the seconds piled on and his body didn’t betray his actions as undeserved bravado, the first to crack was Nero. His barely contained snickering devolved into gut-deep howls that pulled the rest of the group in.

Dante grinned. “He’s got you there, Verge—Nah, nah, don’t let your fat head get you in trouble. You’re gonna be seein’ double if I make you another one of those. Drink up everybody! Who’s singing first?”

Kyrie sat her drink down and took the stage at a bubbly hop. While she no longer sang hymns, she sang plenty in her own time. Though they were a coarse bunch—Nero’s people, not so much her own—she relished the opportunity to have that fun with them.

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars…

Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and mars…”

The mellow and romantic notes settled over them, as oddly unmatched to the situation as the eclectic decorations. V sat his chin in his hands, and even Vergil dropped his stodgy attitude to enjoy it. Nico and Lady teased Nero relentlessly for having a girlfriend who would get up and sing something like that without a hint of shame—look at her she was looking right at him and her cheeks were going all rosy!

“Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more…

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore…”

Nero made a big fuss about slamming the counter hard enough to knock all three of their sake bombs into place and busied himself drinking even though he was red to his ears. He wasn’t actually embarrassed of her; he could never be. He just got easily overwhelmed sometimes by how much he loved her. The moment the song ended he was the first to clap.

Lucia went up to the stage. “That was beautiful.”

Kyrie beamed and held the microphone out. “Did you want a turn?”

Gun to Lucia’s head, the answer to the question was yes. But it wasn’t like she was in a position where she would get anything as cute as Nero’s reaction. “Oh, no, no. There is not much contact with the outside where I come from. All the songs I know are old or French or—”

Kyrie was already busily scrolling through the song listings and pulling Lucia up on stage with her. “Do you know La Vie En Rose?”

“I do but…” She blushed. “That is quite an old song, isn't it?”

“It’s timeless,” Kyrie assured. “I know it too, so I’ll sing it with you, okay?”

Lucia nodded, a faint line of worry creasing her smooth brown skin and she took the mic.

Kyrie was quite simple and straightforward, but Lucia found that dangerous about her. There was something very disarming about that personality, and she was persistently helpful if she thought she could be. While wearing the clothes of a nun, she had pointed out the dress Lucia wore.

She would be a meddling woman just like Matier when she grew older.

High, sweet notes of violin and gentle plucks on an acoustic guitar drifted from the speakers, freezing Lucia to the spot. If she looked at Dante it would have been far too obvious, so she let her eyes focus on the middle distance. It helped (and hurt) that Trish playfully tugged Lady out into the glitter-strewn floor, and they danced slightly off-rhythm together while laughing into their glasses. To her side, Kyrie’s voice followed sweetly along, letting Lucia’s more familiar pronunciation take the limelight.

Griffon nudged at V, distracting him from dreamily swaying along. “What’s she singin’, Shakespeare?”

“A love song.”

“Tch. So she really is taken…”

V’s lips parted, but even four drinks’ worth of cocktail hadn’t yet loosened him up that much. In his eyes, the best thing he could do for the Lucia was leave Griffon in the dark. If she was trying to catch the affections of that clod, her night was going to go hard enough without a bird trying to court her.

Their voices intertwined more closely as they sang a few verses in English, meandering but in sync like lovers strolling together on a rainy day.

“Hold me close and hold me fast

The magic spell you cast--

This is La Vie En Rose.”

V happened to look back, and a curious thing happened.

The combination of a single strong drink and music he genuinely liked had smoothed the edges off of Vergil, and what might have only been a fleeting curiosity had turned into puzzlement written bold on his brow. Because their means of expression were still more identical than not, Vergil squinted at the lack of puzzlement on V’s face, and V, without thinking, looked past him. Vergil’s obvious change in attention caught Nero’s eye. And Nero watched Vergil stare at Dante, glance at Lucia, and finally turn back to V with lips parted in disbelief.  Nero had no idea what this exchange was about, but he did note Dante was the only one slamming back his third drink and paying no attention to the stage.

In that way, without a word, V accidentally brought both of them in on the subject. And with that same seamlessness, they all busied themselves with their glasses and silently agreed to forget they knew anything.

When the song ended, Nero slammed his drink back and rushed to the stage to change the mood before Trish and Lady were even done clapping. Despite their better judgement, both V and Vergil looked Lucia’s way out of the corners of their eyes as she settled back into her seat.

Before she could say a word, a new song came through the massive speakers. Nero’s choice of music was more fit for battle than a party, and the subtle air of romance was driven out on drums that beat a tune of war. His voice was just as harsh, more growl than song.

“Your nephew has interesting tastes,” said Lucia, just loudly enough to be heard.

Dante grinned and leaned back over the bar. “Not that bad is it?”

“I never said that. He reminds me of you. Maybe without the machismo.”

“What can I say? I’m a manly kinda man.”

Lucia found this obvious. The peppering of chest hair just below his collar had been drawing her eye toward the undone buttons on his shirt for most of the evening.

She drained her champagne glass.

“You still owe me for tricking me with that silly coin. I will have to come to the office to collect my due.”

Dante scratched at his beard. “I wouldn’t suggest it. My brother’s living with me now, you’ve seen what he’s like. I gotta keep an eye on him.”

In perfect unison, Vergil and V turned away and raised their hands to their faces to rub away mounting headaches.

“RULES OF NATURE!”

“Then a refill shouldn’t be too much to ask,” she said, sitting the base of the glass on his forehead.

He hopped to it with an enthusiastic ‘yes ma’am’, but the moment his back was turned, Lucia drooped on her stool and sighed.

“GOTTA FOLLOW THE LAWS OF THE WIIIIILD!

OUT HERE ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE!”

Dante left Lucia’s drink on the counter and almost tripped over Shadow’s tail as he swiveled his way out from behind the bar. The big cat was sitting with her head in V’s lap, purring like a bike engine and didn’t so much as perk an ear his way as he made his way toward the stage.

The younger Sparda twin was far more than what he appeared to be on the surface. Those who were closest to him knew this. There was always some glimpse coming through of a serious thought or an unexpected sentiment, or genuine compassion (though the latter was most often expressed too roughly to be noticed without the benefit of hindsight). Certainly, he had more emotional intelligence than his brother, but the more delicate the situation, the more his good intentions tended to go awry.

For example, he knew that Lucia was disappointed. She didn’t—couldn’t—spend much time away from the island if she was going to be its protector. Partnership came easy to them, but she didn’t get to spend the kind of casual time with him that his other friends did.

So when he climbed on stage and took the mic off Nero’s hands, his thought was to make the party memorable for her. Vergil was the first to loudly groan as the telltale opening played. It was a song that regularly haunted Devil May Cry when Dante occasionally forgot he was over forty and/or wished to annoy his brother.

“There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea

Youuu became the light on the dark side of me.”

With all the theatrics of the original singer, he really was going for Kiss from A Rose. Where was he getting the wind that ruffled both his coat and his hair? Where was the fog coming from? He was a son of Sparda; the world bent as his style demanded.

Of the crowd, Nico was the only one who was more hyped than entertained, singing along to the chorus much to Nero’s annoyance. This remained true even as Dante got a little too into his performance and forgot that he was not, in fact, at Devil May Cry.

“There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say

You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain!”

He tore his shirt off.

He actually tore his shirt off.

The song wasn’t right unless he sang it with no shirt, and he actually grabbed his shirt and split it right down the middle like he was in a music video. And thre his arms open like that was only the natural order of things.

Kyrie covered her eyes, Nero covered Kyrie’s eyes, and Nico covered Nero’s eyes. Lucia choked on the drink she had, until that moment, been sulking into. V shook with silent laughter while Vergil blushed to the roots of his hair, grabbed V’s cane and threw it like a spear. It pierced straight through Dante’s chest and pinned him to the back wall like an insect, abruptly cutting off the performance.

Lady laughed and sipped her beer. “You sure outgrew that training bra you used to wear, huh Dante?”

Nero wheezed. “He wore what?!”

“Vergil knows what I’m talking about,” she said smugly. “Way back when we met he used to wear just the coat. No shirt with this little black strap to protect his nips. I called it his training bra.”

Vergil’s nose wrinkled. “You would bring that up.”

“Please,” Dante said with a smirk, hopping down from the stage with the cane still protruding from his chest. “Those blue snakeskin pants of yours were barely a step up.”

“Find a shirt, Dante, we’re in polite company.”

“Gonna have to agree,” said Lady. “You’ve turned into a bit of a bear since your training bra days. You get any of your gross chest hair in my drink I'm gonna make sure you pay for it.”

Lucia coughed politely and offered her shawl. “Here. Until you find something.”

“Yeah, yeah, just a second.”

He pulled the cane from his chest and chucked it back to V. While the shawl did manage to contain most of him, it wasn’t quite enough to hide his navel or curling trail of silver-white hair between it and the edge of his jeans.

Lucia dropped wearily back into her seat. “Is it time for the next round? I think I need a stronger drink.”

Neither Nico or Trish were much for singing in the traditional sense, but they were having a good time up on stage with their beers, tapping their feet along to Black Betty.

At the bar, pizza and vast baskets of chicken wings were being demolished while Lady doled out shots to every one but Vergil. Getting out of his chair to skewer Dante had sent that first gin and tonic right to his head. He wasn't sloppy--it didn't seem possible that he could get sloppy, but he was getting strangely...

Not doting, that suggested his actions were fueled by some kind of actual affection. Rather, because he couldn't get himself in order, he was trying to ensure order outside of himself. 

"Nero, don't let Kyrie drink alcohol."

"Kyrie doesn't drink. It's virgin."

"Dante, why haven't you found a shirt?"

"We're alone in a bar, Vergil. Spare clothes aren't just hanging around."

"Bird, why are you eating gummi bears."

Griffon crouched protectively over his personal punch bowl full of gummi bears gone soft and swollen with vodka and stuck out his tongues. "Because I'm legal, asshole, mind your business."

"Nero, don't let Kyrie drink alcohol."

"Oh my GOD, old man!"

V snickered helplessly at the end of the bar. In spite of popular opinion that he would turn out to be even gloomier drunk than he was sober, he seemed to be going giddy instead. Control of his familiar had either loosened or they were drunk too, because Shadow was sprawled on the floor, rolling in glitter like it was catnip, and a very tiny Nightmare, small enough to fit in a martini glass, was wiggling along to the music. 

Vergil took the shot from his hand before he could drop it. "I think you've had enough."

V squinted up at him. "I'm not you."

"Clearly. I would have more control."

Whoa, Black Betty (Bam-ba-Lam)
Whoa, Black Betty (Bam-ba-Lam)

V sat straight and turned to Vergil with the slow deliberation of a man who has heard something so hilarious that his only recourse is to contemplate a murder-suicide. 

"More control? What control?! You mean strangling me for twenty years??? Is THAT what you consider to be control?!"

There is a point in every relationship where someone fucks up, and realizes to their infinite horror that they have unleashed something they are not prepared to deal with. Vergil now found himself in this place, staring into the hysterical eyes of his other self, and feeling his skin prickle with a sudden sweat.

"Calm--

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN."

The music stopped.

“You never had any control over anything! You were just a brat throwing a tantrum for thirty years and I was always the one who suffered for it! I carried us and you have the audacity to try and pretend you’re so much better than us now that I cleaned up yet another one of your fucking messes!”

Vergil’s eyes widened. He was keenly away of every eye in the bar turning toward them and groped at V’s wrists. There had to be some order to this, some way to make this stop.

V snatched at least one of his hands out of Vergil’s clumsy grip. “Don’t touch me! You threw us away! You threw us away just like every bit of good you ever had a chance at! Just like you assumed mother did to us!”

The room wheezed, everyone suddenly interested in being literally anywhere else. Kyrie, saint that she was, decided that was a good time to take all the women to the ladies’ room and leave those with Sparda’s blood to hash it out alone.

Nero wished he could have gone with them. But Dante was leaning on the bar pretending with a far a way look on his face, and anything Vergil did was liable to set V off. He sat a hand on both their shoulders.

Vergil let it go. V did not.

“You couldn’t handle all that defeat, those feelings of powerlessness and fear, so you gave it to us and then threw us out like trash. But it was never your human heart that couldn’t handle those feelings. I handled them FINE without you. It was that childish demonic ego of yours all along and even now you can’t reel it in. So where’s the control, Vergil?”

“V…”

The tip of the cane answered him. “Be silent.” He rose to his feet, took back his shot, drained it, and made his way to the stage. "For better or worse I am my own existence now. You don’t get to pretend I don’t exist any more.”

Dante meandered up beside Vergil with half a chicken wing hanging from his lips like a buffalo sauce cigar. "You know... seeing that you can't even get along with yourself really puts things in context."

Vergil smacked the bone right out of his mouth.

Chapter Text

Was V a son of Sparda? Was he Nero’s father or Dante’s brother? Was he even really a human?

All great questions that occasionally kept V up at night, because unlike his progenitor, he found it healthy to not get to complacent about his place in the world, much less among his ‘family’. Despite his vehemence that he wasn’t Vergil, there was still a certain amount of overlap that even he wasn’t stubborn enough to ignore. In part, this was because he believed in consistency and he allowed no room for the implication Eva wasn’t his mother.

)It was for the best to not consider what taking that from him might drive him to do.)

While no one could give him answers to such philosophical questions on the nature of his post-reunion existence, V did hold two things to be true:

1. Vergil was the reason he knew and loved just about every Queen song inward, outward, backward, and upside down.
2. He knew what went on in the deepest chambers of Vergil’s heart, even if Vergil didn’t.

He had been locked in there until just last year, after all.

“Can anybody…

Find me…

Somebody to love?”

Kyrie poked her head out. She and the other girls filtered back out, drawn by the assumption that whatever had just happened was over, and by V’s surprisingly strong singing voice. Lady slid behind the bar to work on a third round to ease the tinge of sobriety that Vergil and V’s spat had inflicted onto their otherwise pleasantly drunk evening, but the rest quickly closed in on the stage.

Who could hear such a classic at a karaoke party and not be drawn in? Especially when V, maybe even more than Dante, gave such an effortlessly commanding performance.

“I have spent all my years in believing you, but I just can't get no relief, Lord!

Somebody, ooh somebody…

Can anybody find me, somebody to love?!”

For a man who got winded if he ran more than a dozen yards and would likely die if tasked to run a full city block on his own feet, he hit those notes like he’d stolen the breath right out of God’s mouth. Strutting would have been too much to ask, but the way he treated his cane like a mic stand was performance enough. Spinning it over his slender, bony fingers, tossing his head back with the handle just as close to his lips as the microphone.

Vergil remained as still and awkwardly stone-faced as always. He was still stunned by V’s outburst and had come to the conclusion that if he just stayed still and let the rest of the night pass, there was no possible way for V to further embarrass him.

He had gotten it, quite incorrectly, into his head that the party would be over soon, and that all he had to do was wait.

Little brothers can sense thoughts like this from their elder siblings, so only a few seconds after that plan formulated in his gin-addled brain, Dante appeared to make it difficult. He dropped his chin onto Vergil’s head and merrily slurred “Aww, d’you need somebody, Verge?”

“Do you want to go back to Hell for another few months?”

Dante laughed. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’d live.”

“S’not the poooint,” he leered, nuzzling at annoyingly as possible against Vergil’s cheek. “You’d miss me.”

Vergil rushed to push him away, but he had locked his arms around Vergil’s neck, half-hugging and half-choke-holding him. “Get your greasy stubble off’ve me you—!” He lurched. Getting excited and moving around got his blood moving and left him with a startling falling sensation. The room spun.

Dante never let him go. He had gotten to be a pretty affectionate drunk in his old age, and keen eye would have gathered that this had gotten worse since he and Vergil returned from Hell. Trouble was, Vergil was usually sober when he had to deal with his younger brother. Being drunk at the same time left him curiously defenseless as the glitter-coated floor drew ever closer. He thought of an off-hand comment Mary—Lady, he corrected quickly, because if he opened his mouth and called her Mary she’d shoot the entire bar up—had made after a Dante had particularly reckless night of drinking to celebrate his return from Hell.

She’d said it was the happiest she had seen him since he found Nero.

Find. Me . Somebody to love.

Find. Me. Somebody to love.

The subtle low of V’s speaking voice had returned, leading the chant but near drowned in the enthusiastic participation from beneath the waving glasses in front of him.

He was staring right at Vergil, growing louder and more insistent.

Shadow blocked the sight by placing a massive, glittery paw over Vergil’s face. The moment Dante laughed, Vergil headbutted him on principle.

“You dropped you guard, little brother.”

Dante tightened his grip and yanked Vergil backward. With alcohol flowing through both of them, they wrestled ineffectually to a standstill in the glitter while V carried them out on soulful, agonizing, and surprisingly accurate notes. Neither of them noticed him step down from the stage and into the ring of glitter they’d created until his cane clicked down with a sharp ting beside their heads.

“It is your turn,” he said, sweeping slick hair from his face. “But it seems if you are left on your own on the stage you may fall to your death. Shall we have a duet?”

“Like you could get rid of me that easily.” He waved a hand in a clumsy gesture at V’s sullen clothes. “You’re sweating like you just ran a marathon. Are you in any condition for a duet?”

“You could find out.” He smiled threateningly and held out his hand. “Or I could explain why I know the entire choreography of Singin’ In the Rain despite being only a year old.”

“Menace.”

“It is my birthday,” he said with a more honest smile. “And I do get my brattiness honestly.”

Complicated as things might have been between them, it wasn’t actually possible for V to hate Vergil any more than Vergil had ever hated Eva. They were just a bit too close for either of their comforts. Even for Vergil, the animosity didn’t come from principle so much as it was look at such a naked reflection of every weak feeling he’d tried to put out of his mind.

Especially when it kept messing with him now that it had a mind of its own.

“This is the song you want?” he asked,

“A strange tone of voice to take considering I came into existence with this song already in my memories.”

Vergil was too drunk to argue the point. In the name of not blushing on the stage, he dropped it. He had plenty of challenges to face without setting him off again. Like the crowd. No one had actually expected Vergil to sing, and if it was gonna happen they expected it to be after he was dragged up by Dante, not by V. Everyone was watching.

He couldn’t believe he was about to participate in this foolishness.

“Happiness is just a word to me

And it might’ve meant a thing or two if I had known the difference

Emptiness, a lonely parody

And my life, another smoking gun: A sign of my indifference”

Singing was not far outside of Vergil’s capabilities, though he might not have been as melodic as his other half. However, the words came out as efficient and dispassionate as if he was cutting them into the air with the Yamato. Not something he cared about in private, but when contrasted with V’s fluidity and engagement with both the sound and the feeling of the words it was hard not to feel out of place.

Like his capacity for selfishness, V got both his haughtiness and his aloofness from Vergil. However, he had also mastered the important life skill of not taking himself too seriously.

Vergil, meanwhile, was so far above it all he scarcely knew how to have fun if it didn’t involve stabbing either demons or Dante. He was dimly aware of this difference, though he couldn’t have put an accurate name to it, and it irritated him.

Anything V was able to do, he should have been able to replicate easily.

“I kept a chain upon my door that would shake the shame of Cain

Into a blind submission

The burning ghost without a name was still calling all the same

But I just wouldn't listen”

The cane slipped against Vergil’s chin, directing his attention to V. There was that look in his eye that he recognized as his own. Cool and expectant.

You can do better than that.

Vergil scowled, but he didn’t even notice that the crowd of literally everyone he knew hazed into the background of his focus. Even the indignity of having his attentions manually directed didn’t fire off as hard as they normally would have. The only thing on his mind was the smirking manifest ghost of his own humanity, and the opening buds of what he believed to be some manner of epiphany.

It was just the gin. And his complete absence of alcohol tolerance.

Suddenly they were both grinning at one another, neither quite aware of just how drunk they or the other person were. It wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme. ‘In vino veritas’ and all; whatever got them from A to B. All that mattered to them at that moment was they were on the same page and sharing the same thoughts.

Gave it all that I got and started to knock

Shouted for someone to open the lock

I just gotta get through the door!

They parted, each dancing in defiance their shared condition, calling and echoing ‘gotta knock a little harder’ to each other with all the energy they had. Both were completely oblivious to the barely restrained surprise in almost everyone else’s eyes. In their defense, this was a pretty sharp turn of events from Vergil getting told off just two songs ago. Through the roaring chorus and the way to the quiet, borderline hymnal close off, they remained entirely off in their own world. They dropped their mics in perfect synchrony, and neither cared that their audience was silent.

Well, except for Dante, who cheered like a schoolgirl at her first boyband concert, and who they both ignored.

Lady took up the mic as irreverently as ever. “Well, I think their little therapy session is over, so how about we get on with the party? Nero, help me pick a song.”

In spite of her ‘something or other might be serious might not be they were just rolling with it’ thing with Trish, Lady wasn’t romantic in any of the meanings of the word. Sensitivity was not high on the list of her descriptors. Granted, this was more of a careful act of image control than actual fact. There wasn’t a long list of people she wasn’t willing to shoot and in her hot button subjects often garnered even more explosive reactions than Nero’s.

That was probably why she liked the kid. Rough around the edges, bit of a try hard every now and again, but in terms of relatability, he was the easiest of the sons of Sparda to get along with. Dante was a mess and Vergil, well, she hated his guts openly. Nero didn’t have much competition when you got right down to it, so they’d gotten a lot closer since the whole qliphoth mess.

Plus asking for his assist meant it would be perfectly deniable that she had chosen the song later.

It had his kind of energy to it, anyway.

If you're lost and alone, or you're sinking like a stone

Carry on!

May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground

Carry on!

The bar area had turned into a cheerful free for all.

Dante was chugging mouthfuls of soda and chasing it with a bottle of Jameson he seemed to have adopted as his own while V ate gummi bears with Griffon, who insisted on sharing them with him.

“V, man… You’re the best, you know!”

“Yes, Griffon, I know.”

“We’re gonna be together forever, right…?”

“Of course, you little fool.” He reached up with both hands and scratched through the demonic eagle’s feathers. “We’re all dregs together. And you’re… You’re my friend.”

Griffon made a strange sound that might have been bird blubbering and pushed his beak through V’s hair with drunk but intense affection.

Out on the floor, Kyrie was blindfolded and laughing in Nero’s arms as he half-danced with her and and half attempted to guide her toward the pinata. He kept telling her to swing, but he was so far off the mark that all she managed to bring down were several bits of streamer that they happily tangled together in.

Trish pushed a one of the black lengths of tissue paper out of her face. “Isn’t the birthday boy supposed to undo the pinata?”

“Iunno,” Nero answered, bobbing his head over. “Doesn’t he look a little busy to you?”

Trish snorted and spun V’s chair. “At least direct, those are your gifts in there.”

V took Griffon into his lap as he was in no condition to be left on his own and pointed with his cane. “Kyrie, up.”

Nero grinned wide and lifted her up high.

“Two steps forward—no, not that far—and move her a bit right? Nero, that was your left. Yes…good; Now swing!”

The pinata cracked under the first swing and bobbed away on its string, striking the disco ball and sending it tumbling to the floor. Kyrie went at it with surprising abandon, and soon its contents were spilled, and the head had gone flying off. The contents were full of silly things like slinkies and spinning tops and stress balls. Toys that could have come from anywhere. But there were also plenty of things specifically catered to V—seed packets and coupons for books, plant keeping supplies, a flyer for a music store sticking out of a DIY music box kit, a recipe book, and even a little manicure set. V assumed on the spot that the last must have been Kyrie, but later he would realize it was absolutely a gift from Vergil. They were the only two who knew they took having clean, well-kept hands seriously.

They were all things gifted by people who kind of knew him but didn’t really, maybe not as well as they might have wanted since he was reclusive when he wasn’t working. But they had tried with a shotgun approach so in-character for every single one of them that he couldn’t help but find it endearing. Enough that he buried his face in Griffon’s feathers to pretend he wasn’t crying.

Trish laughed out loud, and ruffled his hair, which did not help him in the slightest.

“And it's nice to know when I was left for dead

I was found and now I don't roam these streets

I am not the ghost you want of me.”

Shadow jumped up from the floor, her head covered in the cardboard Griffon-head. Griffon laughed at her, but she sat her head in the first lap she found—Lucia’s—and let out a long, mournful yowl until she was kind enough to remove it.

“I have never seen a demon of this kind be such a big baby in all my life.” Emboldened by the behavior, she squished Shadow’s cheeks. “You are just a kitty.”

Shadow answered by shaking glitter all over them both.

On the other side of the bar, Nightmare had found his way down from his martini glass and was on a long and fantastic journey to deliver one of V’s white roses to Lucia. He braved the sea of empty shot glasses, waded through sticky puddles of dried soda, and hid from the unknown danger that was Nico crying into her beer.

“Nicoletta?” Vergil asked sleepily. “Why are you crying?”

“Shut up,” she barked. “I ain’t cryin’.”

“You are very clearly crying.”

She scowled at him, but like most people who cry when they’re upset, it was ineffectual. “It’s just real nice, is all. I’m fine!”

He glanced at V, but his other half was indisposed in a sea of his familiar’s feathers, so he gingerly sat his hand on the young Goldstein’s head. “It is…alright.”

She sniveled harder and grabbed both the Jameson and the Coke right out of Dante’s hands, sloppily pouring a drink and shoving it at Vergil. “If you’re gonna act all nice’n shit and make me cry the least you’re gonna do is drink with me!”

Vergil shot a pleading look at Dante, but the younger twin shrugged and plucked Nightmare out of hiding to plant him safely further down the bar. “Cheers, Verge.”

“'Cause we are, we are shining stars!

We are invincible; we are who we are!

On our darkest day when we're miles away

We'll come; we will find our way home!”

Nightmare stared back at Dante, who gave him a wink and nudged him on.

His quest ended with him atop an overturned glass, tugging gently at Lucia's sleeve for her attention.

“Hm? Did you bring this for me?”

He bobbed and wiggled, dancing excitedly as she took it and gently scratching the top of his head with a finger. From the other side of the bar, she just barely made out Dante’s voice.

“White suits you.”

She didn’t know if she could’ve dared to answer. Maybe it was just wishful thinking and too much to drink playing tricks on her. But it didn’t matter either way. V and Griffon swung her out onto the floor with Nico and Vergil in tow. Lady had come down from the stage to sing and dance with them, and everyone was dancing among the fallen streamers and silly toys and the flickering disco ball sparkling between their legs. Dante hung back a moment to watch them, but it wasn’t long before he jumped out to show they how it was done.

For just a little while, there were no devils or humans or things the might be both or neither. Just a crowd of friends having a good time.

It was that magic hour that happens in all bars everywhere.

The one where the party hasn’t quite died, but the height of the revelry has passed and left behind happy embers. At that hour, no one is quite asleep, but maybe their eyes are closed as they bask in the fresh remains of a good time.

The disco ball spun on Dante’s finger. His feet were kicked up on the stage as he lay on the dancefloor, his hat down over his face and Shadow purring away behind his head. In his other hand he held the mic, and lazily drawled out one last song.

“Son, can you play me a memory?

 I'm not really sure how it goes

But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete

When I wore a younger man's clothes”

Kyrie murmured where she sat with Nero in a booth, snuggled up under his coat with her head on his shoulder. His wings cradled around her, gently latched over one of her shoulders even as his arms drooped over the back of his seat.

Lucia was curled up on the bar with her check resting in the crook of her arm. Dante had never found a shirt, but he couldn’t keep her shawl forever and insisted on returning it. Even draped over her shoulders it smelled much more strongly of him than it did of her long-since dissipated perfume. With the white rose tucked gently into her hair, she thought sleepily that the night hadn’t gone so bad.

Beside her, V dozily stirred a glass of water while Nightmare rode the modest whirlpool with his tiny arms thrown up. Griffon was face-down in his empty gummi bear bowl, dead asleep.

Nico was idly working on one last beer she probably wouldn’t finish, while Lady and Trish lay sprawled out over the longest, least cluttered part of the bar top. Vergil couldn’t hang around that much physical affection, but he was laid low by the second drink that he absolutely shouldn’t have had. He lay sprawled out on a couch under the blacklit chalkboard, at the end of a parted sea of glitter he’d dragged himself along the floor to reach. A streamer had fallen loose and draped over him, and he didn’t even bother to move it.

In quiet, contented voices or snatches of humming, they joined Dante in the last of the merriment.

“Sing us a song, you're the piano man

Sing us a song tonight

Well, we're all in the mood for a melody

And you've got us feelin' alright”

Outside, midnight came and went and left them be, and V let his eyes close with smile.

It was a good first birthday.