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Chapter Text

Nero watched from the top of the qliploth as the new family that he'd just managed to find both head off to ditch him, after sucker-punching him in the face no less. And fuck that, he was not going to let them leave him behind. Not again. So Nero jumped to his feet with a growl and hurried after them. He unfurled his new wings and fell towards the bottom to join the two men. Dante predictably reeled on him the second he plopped down on the ground beside them.

"Kid, I thought I told you to stay put," Nero could feel his hot breath on his skin. Could practically smell the demonic energy roiling off of him.

Nero only picked up Red Queen with a huff and slid it into its usual position on his back "You did.”

"So then-"

"I'm here now, old man. And there's nothing you can do about it. So shove it up your ass, Dante," he snarled back. 

"Nothing I can do about it, huh? You have one second before I-"

"Dante.” Vergil's even voice cut through their argument.

The two of them had been up in each other's faces, teeth gritted and fists curled, but their heads both snapped up at the sound of Vergil's voice. Not for the first time, Nero's blood boiled at how calm he was about everything. As if the impending apocalypse, finding out that he had a son, and that his son was the same dude whose arm he'd ripped off was all just a regular fucking Tuesday afternoon for him.

Vergil, ever the human glacier, let his eyes flit coolly between the two of them. "The boy seems to have made up his mind. I like it about as much as you do-"

He didn't react at all to the hot glare that this earned him from Nero.

"-But we're wasting time here. We have an extra pair of hands, or maybe even two," he made a slight gesture with his head to the wings on Nero's back," and I suggest we make use of them. "

There was a small smile on Vergil's face. Had that been a joke? Had the man with the constant broody expression like he'd just drank a litre of piss just made a fucking joke? He hadn't even known that Vergil could smile, he'd figured that the muscles in his face required for expressing a single human emotion had atrophied right along with the dude's fucking soul. Nero hoped they'd finish up quickly because this was fucking weird. 

" 'Boy'," he grumbled. "I'm like, twenty-five.”

The two brothers ignored him as they headed off towards a patch of roots.

It didn’t take long to take out all of the roots, but the hordes of demons were a different story. Seeing Vergil in action was kind of beautiful, now that Nero wasn't on the receiving end of it, the surgical precision with which he held his blade was as impressive as it was scary.  He blinked in and out of existence with startling ease, leaving a shimmering blue of summoned swords in his wake. He was there, slicing up a horde of empusa with a “scum!” and then he was suddenly behind another demon, yanking his katana out of its back with a spurt of blood. Man it was weird to think of him as his father. Even weirder that the porn mag connoisseur and man-child extraordinaire Dante was his uncle. And that he’d known it almost the entire time too, the fucker.

More than once, Nero had an incredibly close call because he was too busy watching the two in action. Until all of a sudden his instincts screamed danger at him and so he snapped back to attention. He held up his sword to block the end of a riot tail that had almost pierced through his chest. He cursed softly, then fired off some warning rounds with Blue Rose to scare it back. He hoped that neither his father nor uncle (still weird!) had seen that, he had the stupid overwhelming urge to impress the both of them. Then he reached for the hilt of Red Queen and revved.“Nothing like a good family barbeque!” he exclaimed as flames roared to life.

He swore he caught a quirk of Vergil’s eyebrow at his quip. “Dear god. There’s two of them,” he mumbled incredulously.

Dante laughed, “What do you mean, big bro? You always loved my one-liners!”

Vergil parried the blade of a Death Scissors with a scoff. “If you recall correctly, those ‘one-liners’ always ended with the Yamato through your back.”

“Yeah, exactly! That’s how you’ve always shown affection!”

The riot, recovered from the graze of his bullets, curled in on itself and began spinning towards him.

“Oh no you don’t!” Nero exclaimed as he leapt towards his adversary.

He stuck the blade into one of the notches on its back and rammed it in, taking all of the spin out of the demon. This forced it back onto the ground with its belly up and all four limbs splayed uselessly beside it. Nero happily obliged with a bullet through its heart. Then, he snuck a glance towards Dante and Vergil, but neither of them had noticed. They were far too busy with their own demons.

Lady had once said that they were twins. Identical ones, at that. The same person genetically, split into two bodies. She’d explained that they had looked it too, when she’d first met them, even if it wasn’t so obvious now. With all that DNA-fuckery, Dante was probably more closely related to him than any typical uncle and nephew deal and god, it was weird. Nero had always thought that they were polar opposites, but from what he'd observed, their unknowability was the same. Vergil with his towering walls of ice that kept people out for miles, and Dante with his cheesy grins and stupid jokes. Nero had long since learned not to ask Dante any serious questions. He’d answer with nothing but jokes or insults until Nero was so frustrated that he’d just give up. Different methods, sure, but the outcome was the same. No one got to know what went on in those thick skulls of theirs. Man, but he sure knew how to pick ‘em, huh? Kyrie and Credo’s parents had given their lives to protect all of them and Credo… Credo had followed suit. And now there were these two bastards, both about as easy to crack open as one of those Bianco Angelo suits. Worse, even. At least with those demons, all it took was a few swipes with Nero’s sword.

“Nero!” Snapped Vergil. “Focus!”

The angry retort died on his lips with a yelp as he sprang backward. He was a hair’s breadth away from receiving a fiery bath from a hellbat.

“Dead weight strikes again!” yelled Dante with a laugh.

Dante waved the Kalina Ann in his hand with a smirk. At his feet, lay a demon with a bullet hole still smouldering through its body, even as it disintegrated. Nero used his Bringer to drag the bat down, then put it out of its misery with a round of bullets.

“How about I shove that big gun of yours up your ass and pull the trigger, huh? Then we’ll see who’s a fucking dead weight.”

Dante only grinned in response.

“Nero,” Vergil commanded coldly. “You insisted on helping. I suggest you do so.”

He couldn’t decide which one of them was the bigger asshole. Definitely twins, alright. Nero muttered out a “fuck you” and did his best to ignore the way his cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and shame. But when his old man turned his back again on him again, Nero took to the demon-hunting with focused vigour.

Things were going well. Almost too well. Vergil and Dante teamed up as flawlessly as if they had never been apart, able to communicate wordlessly and move in perfect synchronicity. Vergil shielded Dante's body with his arms spread wide, and the younger of the two muttered out a "jackpot!" as he took aim. This time, Nero even managed to keep his focus in front of him, as cool as the whole thing was. He’d been so honed in on the horde of grunt demons in front of him, in fact, that he didn’t even notice when a new wave spawned. It wouldn’t even have been a problem if it hadn’t been a fucking behemoth. Dante had been handling it on his own but it’d burrowed beneath the earth and he’d clearly shrugged it off to focus on the small fry around him. The whole thing shouldn’t have happened, really, but maybe Nero had used up all his good luck for the day on all his other close calls. Because next thing he knew, the ugly son of a bitch had emerged right under him and taken a massive chomp out of his side. And fuck but it hurt. His scream drew the attention of the twins and Dante cursed under his breath at the scene. He picked up his gun once more, firing at the behemoth again and again until it finally fell. It was all Nero could do to roll out of the way before he was flattened.

“Go! I’ll handle the rest of them!” Vergil said firmly. 

And Nero might have been imagining things but he swore his old man’s hands were shaking as he gripped the Yamato. Dante didn’t need to be told twice, he made a beeline for Nero, slicing and shooting at any demons in his path. Nero was lying on the floor, doing his best to breathe through the pain with clenched teeth. Dante took off his red jacket and propped Nero’s head up under it, then he lifted up his nephew’s (and despite all the pain, yeah, still weird) shirt to assess the damage. He let out a low whistle.

“That bad, huh?” he asked. 

“You see Nero, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to come.”

He couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “You sure you want those to be your last words to me?”

“You’re not dying, you dramatic little shit.”

“Come on, old man. I’m not an idiot. That’s a fuck-tonne of blood and my demon healing or whatever isn’t doing jack.”

There was also a fuzzy greyness to everything, giving his eyes a weird tunnel-vision effect. It all sounded muted like he was underwater or something. Everything except for the loud, annoying ringing in his ears.

“You are an idiot. You’re the biggest fucking idiot I’ve ever met. If you’d just listened to me for once, this all could’ve been avoided,” Dante growled.

Nero only flipped him off in response. And then, as if on cue, everything went black.

Chapter Text

The kid's eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp. Dante swore loudly and immediately checked his pulse. He moved two fingers to press against the underside of his jaw. Nero seemed to still be alive. For now, anyway. His breathing was weak but it seemed steady enough. The blood that pooled at his side was definitely not a good sign, though. It seeped at alarming speed, harshly contrasting the pale dusty ground beneath him. He should really do something about that, kid was getting paler by the second.

So Dante grabbed his coat from under Nero's head and tied it around his abdomen in an attempt to staunch the flow. It didn't seem to be doing enough so he slid a hand under Nero's back to lift him up and then peeled the kid's jacket off of him as carefully as he could. The coating of blood had caused it to stick to his body something awful. He did his best to turn it into another makeshift tourniquet. 

"So, what now?" He said stupidly. 

It wasn't often the old noggin blessed him with an idea and he doubted he'd have another one anytime soon. Vergil was staring at the horizon, head held high and his back straight like he was posing for a royal portrait or something. His fingers traced the notches of the Yamato's sageo absently and he was pointedly looking everywhere but their direction. 

"Medical attention, I would presume," Vergil said with measured calm. 

Dante hoisted the kid up carefully into his arms. It took a lot of manoeuvring, but he finally managed to get Nero laying princess style in his hold. It was extra hard with him being all limp and floppy, but he got it eventually. 

"So you think any of these demons got an MD?" 

"Obviously I meant that we should leave here. Where to?" Vergil turned his body slightly towards Dante, but he still didn't look at either of them. 

"Good question," Dante answered. 

He scratched his stubble pensively and almost dropped the kid in the process. It must've hurt but Nero didn't even stir. Not a great sign. 

"Got some human friends who'd have more of a clue with this shit. Take us to my shop," he continued. 

He might even have a first aid kit rattling around too, if he was lucky. Vergil nodded and carved out a portal with two elegant swipes of the Yamato.

"What, you're not going to take Nero from me and nurse your baby boy back to health?" Dante quipped as he followed behind him.

He was trying not to be disconcerted by how Nero's head lolled almost violently with every motion. He readjusted his grip on the kid, trying to support his neck. He didn't need a broken spine on top of everything. 

Vergil didn't even give him a reaction. Dante would've thought he would've gotten a summoned sword or something. 

"And who, pray tell, would be opening us a portal? It certainly wouldn't be you," his older brother answered. 

Shit, he had a point, Dante hated when he did that. Vergil continued his impression of a stone statue as he waited for his little brother to carry Nero through. His arms were folded across his chest and he was inspecting the sky as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. But he must have been paying attention regardless, because he followed the two of them through the portal almost immediately. Once Vergil had arrived on the other side, the gateway shut neatly behind him. 

Dante's shop was filthier than he remembered and Vergil did not fail to comment on it. He pressed his lips together as he examined the empty pizza boxes and old clothes strewn across the interior of Devil May Cry. But his arms remained folded as Dante cleared a space on his sofa and laid Nero down as gently as he could on its surface. So he'd bitch, but not actually do anything about it. Classic Vergil.

"See if you can get a first aid kit, willya?" Dante called to Vergil as he began dialing Lady's number. 

Lady could help, she was more familiar with human shit. 

"I am not your servant. " 

"No but you could make yourself useful anyway. Unless you want to call Lady?" 

"Fine. But I can't promise that I'll find anything. I'd wager your shop puts the Bermuda Triangle to shame. " 

Dante's retort was cut off when Lady picked up with a grunt. 

"Hey, I need you," he said in lieu of a hello. 

"Last I checked, three in the morning is not within business hours. "

"Well, since you're awake anyway, how about a midnight stroll?" 

"Dante-" 

"Lady. I need you. Please. " 

"Ugh. See you in ten minutes. " 

"Thank you, seriously. Oh and be sure to bring any medical supplies you have kicking about." 

"What'd you manage to get yourself into this time, dumbass?" Then she added a "Fine, but it's going on your tab. " 

"I know the drill. " 

The line went dead, which hopefully meant that she'd be there soon. In the meanwhile...Despite his complaints, Vergil had managed to scrounge up some first-aid. Dante took the box gratefully and set himself next to Nero to work. He untied the two jackets from the kid's midriff, dropping them to the floor with a heavy thump. They were both absolutely sodden with blood and Dante had no doubts that his couch was soon going to follow suit. The blood had stopped flowing so freely now but whether that was due to Nero's healing finally kicking in or because he was quickly running out of the stuff was anyone's bet. Dante stripped off Nero's shirts and bit back a curse. It was still a deep, nasty gash in his side. Didn't look like it had healed much. 

"Don't think a bandaid is quite gonna cut it. " 

Vergil was examining the weapons in the shop with a bored expression on his face, like his son wasn't fucking dying in the background. Hell, Dante wasn't the touchy-feely sort and he wasn't much of a caretaker but at least he was trying. He'd be more than happy to kill his older brother right now, but the kid was his first priority. He did his best to bandage the wound but he wasn't sure if it was right. Was it too tight? Too loose? Should he have cleaned the wound first? Where would he even start cleaning something so big? His shop door was slammed open to announce Lady's arrival. 

"Alright, where's the fire?" 

"Lady, that was fast," Dante stood up to greet her. 

"Yeah, well, you sounded pretty desperate so I-" 

And then she finally noticed Vergil. He had been standing near the wall, inspecting Dante's sword collection with his hands clasped behind his back. He briefly turned to look at Lady when she entered, but his attention was soon drawn away again. Like she was beneath him. Which, knowing Vergil, he probably thought she was.

"You," the amount of venom in her voice as she addressed Vergil should have been enough to kill a man. 

Vergil acknowledged her with a brief nod. Lady reeled on Dante. 

"You didn't think to mention the teensy little detail that your psycho mass murderer older brother was here?" She stabbed her finger into his chest to emphasise her point. 

Shit. He probably should have considered the history between them. He'd made his peace with Vergil but she clearly hadn't and he couldn't blame her, not really. 

"It didn't cross my mind," he answered honestly. 

"Didn't cross your mind? "She asked incredulously. 

"Perhaps not your brightest moment, little brother," Vergil mused. 

"You keep your fucking mouth shut, you sick bastard!" She hissed. Her hand immediately flew to the gun at her hip. 

Vergil's fingers brushed the hilt of his sword in response. Dante placed himself between the two of them and splayed his arms out. 

"Hey, hey, look. I know, I know, alright? I get it. But we're getting sidetracked. The reason I called you here, it's Nero," he gestured his hand towards the couch. 

Lady's mismatched eyes followed his gaze and she drew in a breath as she examined the blood soaked bandages. She slowly approached him and unwrapped it, her frown deepening with every layer. 

"Dante, he needs a hospital. There's nothing we can do for him here. " 

"No, hospitals ask too many questions. Haven't you got any friends who can help?" 

Her fingers grazed Nero's forehead and then she drew back quickly, as if burned. 

"He's got one hell of a fever," she sighed. "Sure I do, but they don't keep the cleanest places and it feels like he's already dealing with an infection. Kid needs a sterile place with people who know what they're doing. " 

She was right and he hated it. Dante pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

"Alright. I'll get Morrison to forge some paperwork, then. " 

"I'll see if I can call Kyrie. She'll want to know. Yo, asshole, Vergil, whatever." She clicked her fingers at him and he turned to her with a frown. "His bandages need changing. Hop to it. " 

"I'm not-" 

"Yes, you are," she hissed at him. 

Dante moved the phone away from his ear and fixed his twin with a look. "Verge, just do it. " 

His grey eyes flitted between the two of them, as if weighing his options. Eventually, he conceded with an icy "very well. " 

Soon, Nero's wounds were re-bandaged, Kyrie had been informed, and Morrison's fake documents were on their way. Dante willed with all his heart for the kid to hang on until then. Nero was so, so young and brimming with promise. He couldn't die, Dante wouldn't allow it. Not when he still had so much life ahead of him. 

Just a little longer, Nero. Please. 

Chapter Text

Nero came to feeling like absolute shit. The room was cold and he was lying under sheets that were scratchy as hell. There was an irritating beeping noise and he was hooked up to so many wires he felt like a fucking cyborg. There was a plastic device pressed over his mouth and nose that seeped cool air onto his skin. Made him sound like Darth Vader, though. His side hurt like hell and... was he wearing a dress? What the shit? Reflexively, he sat up with a groan, or tried to, anyway. His body stubbornly refused to move. That was weird. He tried again to no avail. What the fuck? He tried to wiggle his fingers but again there was nothing. Was he paralysed, what the fuck was going on? The beeping picked up speed as his heart raced and a rough hand touched his upper arm gently. 

"Relax, kid. You're okay."

Was that Dante? What the fuck was going on? 

"He's comatose. He can't hear you," came a familiar nasal voice. Vergil was here, too? That was extra weird. 

Comatose. The dress must be a hospital gown, then. He'd gone through that before after his old man had ripped off his arm. Passed out from the shock and blood loss and woken up in a hospital bed with one hell of a five 'o clock shadow. V- or Vergil, whatever. The whole thing made his head hurt- had shown up in his hospital room with a proposition for revenge. Nero still didn't know how to feel about the situation. V had been lying to him from the get-go. But how much of V was Vergil? His old man wasn't exactly the honest sort, either, and they both seemed to thoroughly enjoy being ominous and cryptic as shit. The gears turned in Nero's brain, trying to piece together what had happened this time. Last thing he remembered was losing a decent chunk of his side to a behemoth bite and Dante screaming at him. After that it was bits and pieces. Dante telling him he wasn't going to die and then everything fading to black. Firm hands winding bandages around his torso. The soft leather of a couch. Needles prickling deep into his skin. He hadn't been able to move through any of it. How bad was his side, had the demon healing kicked in yet? He wished he could take a look for himself. 

"You don't know that," Dante rebutted. 

This time was different though. He was definitely awake, even if he couldn't move or speak. It was weird as hell. Kyrie was gonna be pissed. That was, considering she even knew. How long had it been since he'd passed out? Why was Vergil here? God he wished he could ask. Dante's hand finally withdrew from his arm. Nero heard the sound of wood scraping against tile and then the turning of pages, as if a book had been picked up from a surface and opened. 

"So, you gave the kid your precious William Blake collection?" Nero could hear the smile in Dante's voice. 

Vergil only made a scoffing noise in response. From the direction of their voices, Dante must have been on Nero's left, and Vergil on his right with the hospital bed sandwiched between them. 

"You wouldn't even let me touch that thing, insisted on putting your initial on it," Dante continued. 

"Not that it ever stopped you. " 

The sound of shifting fabric came from his right, like Vergil had adjusted his position. 

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your boy isn't much of a reader." 

Had the book really been that important to his father? Nero hadn't really had time to process when it had been flung his way. Dante was right, he wasn't the bookish type, anyway. He could never sit still long enough to devour a book. It never occupied enough of his brain to keep his focus. The hands-on demand of steel against steel as he fought, that's what Nero was made for. 

"No, clearly not. From what I've gathered, most of his vocabulary seems to consist of the word 'fuck'," Vergil said dryly. 

Dante laughed at that. Nero really wished he could tell the both of them to go fuck themselves. He didn't even care that he'd be proving Vergil's point exactly. 

"He's arrogant, vulgar, impatient, and hot-headed. Are you sure you're not his sire?" The nasal voice continued. 

Nero's ears were ringing. God but Vergil was an absolute fucking asshole. There came the sound of someone scratching their stubble. 

"Yeah he's spirited, all right," Dante said in a soft voice. 

"A grievous understatement." 

"But he's a good kid."

Then, so quietly that Nero couldn't even be sure he'd heard right: "I never said otherwise. " 

"Awww, Verge. You're gonna melt my heart saying all that cutesy shit about your little boy!" 

"I'll kill you." 

There was the sound of footsteps running towards the other side of the room, followed by scuffling noises. Vergil's chair scraped against the tile and Nero's bed was harshly knocked more than once by their tousling. He could only hope he wouldn't end up on the wrong end of a mirage blade. Then the sound of his room door opening finally snapped the twins out of it. Nero would've breathed a sigh of relief if he could. He'd finally gotten the two of them to knock the fighting off and he'd be damned if they killed each other now. 

"Mister Dante?" 

Nero's heart leapt into his throat. That was Kyrie's voice. What he wouldn't give to be able to take her in his arms right now. 

"And you must be Mister Vergil?" 

His pulse was racing. Fuck if that asshole said anything to her, he would absolutely kill him. But even as his ears strained, they were met with silence. Nero could just picture it, Kyrie standing with her hand extended to greet him, and Vergil staring down his nose at her. He would kill him. 

"Please excuse my brother, little miss. He's terribly shy." 

He almost snorted at that. Vergil was less shy and more of a snooty prick. But Nero appreciated the gesture nonetheless, diffusing the situation like that. Clearly Dante was used to having to cover for Vergil. 

"I see," she said sweetly. Then, "Oh, Nero. " 

She must have finally noticed him, then. Slim fingers took his own calloused ones and held them tightly. Nero wished he could clasp her hand back. Instead, his fingers hung limply in her grasp. He heard the settling of a weight into the chair next to him and Kyrie's other hand brushed his forehead. Nero wanted to kiss her so badly he ached.

There was the sound of Dante clearing his throat. "We'll uh, give you two some privacy, then. Come on, Verge. " 

The two shuffled out and the door clicked shut behind them. Kyrie pressed a kiss to his hair and let out a shaky sigh. Her lips were whisper-soft. He'd forgotten how good she smelled. Her scent was kind of flowery but it was also like nothing else in the world. Cheesy as it was, she smelt like home. He wished he could breathe it in now but the air from his oxygen mask tasted of pure nothingness. Her hair tickled his face as she pulled back. 

"Oh Nero," she repeated. "Come back to me. " 

Chapter Text

Kyrie greeted the two of them with a nod as the twins re-entered the room. She was seated next to Nero's hospital bed with his hand still clutched in hers. Vergil must have noticed the gesture as well, because he pulled his gaze away from their intertwined hands quickly. 

"Do either of you need anything?" She asked and Dante's heart just about melted. 

"Nah. In fact, I should be asking you that question. Ain't exactly the shortest trip from Fortuna to Redgrave." 

Vergil stared out the window pensively, back entirely turned on the both of them. He had both hands clasped firmly behind him and resting on the small of his back. If Kyrie found the gesture rude, she had yet to comment on it. Instead she only smiled at Dante and stroked small circles into Nero's hand with her thumb. The heart monitor beeped out a steady beat in the background. Dante leaned against the wall and stretched out his arms behind him. He was facing Kyrie, even if the same couldn't be said for his twin. 

"So who's looking after the place while the two of you are gone?" Dante asked. 

He wasn't really one for small talk but the silence was worse. And Vergil sure wasn't gonna fill it. 

Kyrie sighed and shifted in her chair, "Nico is keeping an eye on things. But she's always been a bit..." she pressed her lips together, obviously searching for a way to put it politely. "Well, eccentric. " 

Dante couldn't help but snort at that. That was certainly one way to put it. Kyrie smiled slightly and ran a hand through Nero's cropped hair absently. 

"But we also have a volunteer to help out whenever we need him. He's amazing, I don't know what we'd do without him." 

"And the kids?" 

Dante hadn't known that Vergil had been following the conversation, but there was no mistaking the speed with which he reeled around. Even if he wasn't the most sociable, he'd obviously surmised Kyrie and Nero's relationship pretty accurately. He had always been observant, which meant that he was good at reading people. Now, he took in the way the fingers of her left hand stroked Nero's hair and how her right hand still clutched his. This clearly only cemented his understanding of their bond. Vergil was usually an incredibly inexpressive guy who kept his emotions close to his chest. But there was no mistaking the look on his face. It was pure shock with a hint of panic.

"Children?" He asked in a small voice. 

Clearly the idea had freaked him out enough that he'd been caught off guard. Dante clapped a hand to the big guy's shoulder and chuckled. 

"They're adopted, relax. Kyrie and Nero run an orphanage on the side." 

Vergil visibly deflated at his assurance. But Dante couldn't help but poke the bear. Wasn't that a little brother's job?

"You're not a grandpa. At least, not yet, anyway," he added. 

Vergil turned his grey eyes on his him, clearly unimpressed. His lips were pressed into a thin line of disapproval. Dante was so dead. Worth it, though. But his execution was cut short. 

"Grandpa?" Kyrie repeated, eyes wide. Then she pressed her hand to her mouth with a squeak. "It's none of my business, please excuse me. I was just a little surprised." 

Dante could almost see Vergil soften at that. And honestly, he wasn't surprised. His older brother's disregard for human life in general aside, it was kind of impossible to hate Kyrie. And Vergil had always been incredibly private. Of course he'd appreciate the discretion. 

"I always assumed Dante-" She said quietly, likely to herself. 

She didn't finish the thought, but she hadn't needed to. Most people were guilty of that assumption. Kid had the same fire to him, the same cheesy one-liners and before Nero had gotten gotten the big chop,  they'd almost had the same hair, too. 

"Kid stabbed me with my own sword when I met him. Should've been my first clue he was Vergil's. " 

Dante risked a glance at his brother and he swore he actually looked proud. The asshole. 

"You and Nero are... Married?" Vergil asked haltingly. 

He still hadn't turned to face Kyrie, even as he posed the question. He had returned to watching the horizon. Guess there hadn't been much sky in hell, maybe he'd missed it. 

"Oh goodness, no. He's my boyfriend, that's all," she looked a little embarrassed at the question. 

Vergil only nodded. A comment about getting to know his future daughter-in-law died on Dante's lips. His older brother was actually making an effort and it was weirdly sweet. He didn't want to risk ruining it. But that seemed to be it for now. The silence stretched on awkwardly, permeated only by the beeping of the monitor and the rasp of Nero's oxygen mask. Kyrie seemed to sense that the window had passed, because she got to her feet. 

"I'm going to the cafeteria. Do either of you need anything?" She announced. 

"That's a good idea. Hey, I'll join you!" Dante quickly followed suit. Then he turned back once he'd reached the door. "Hey Vergil, why don't you spend some time chatting to Nero, huh? I'm sure he'd like to catch up. "

His older brother raised his eyebrows scornfully, but Dante didn't give him time to reply. Instead, he quickly slammed the door behind him. 

So Kyrie and his asshole of an old man had actually sort of talked? And it'd been mostly civil? Nero had to admit, he was stunned. He was glad to know the kids were looked after, too. It'd been weighing on him but he hadn't been able to ask. He knew about Kylo, the volunteer since Kyrie'd had to employ his services the last time Nero had been comatose and she'd needed an extra pair of hands in his absence. But it was still a welcome assurance that the children were being properly looked after all the same. Nero heard Vergil fall into the chair with a huff. 

"This is ridiculous, even for Dante," he mumbled to himself. 

And then there was a sound of someone rubbing a hand over bare skin. Maybe he'd run his hand over his face. A heavy book is opened. It's either the William Blake collection or another book that Vergil had brought from home. Aside from having to sit around uselessly while everyone worried themselves sick over him, Nero's second complaint about being comatose was that it was so fucking boring. Now that Dante and Kyrie were gone, all he had for company was his genocidal father and the sound of him reading. He was definitely going to go fucking nuts before the whole thing was over. But from boredom or worry? The jury was still out on that one.

Vergil was incredibly quiet. His footsteps, his breathing, it was all silent. Incredibly fitting for his statuesque persona. Then, a sigh, like the old man was mulling something over in his head. The turning of pages was stilled. 

"Nero, if you really are in there... This is ridiculous, I'm talking to an empty room." 

Say it, dammit! Say anything! Give him some form of entertainment! 

"Once this is all over, I look forward to our rematch. If such a time comes. You should be proud of how well you fought." 

And it wasn’t a whole lot. It was a short statement said in an almost monotone voice. But coming from Vergil, an incredibly disciplined man who didn't waste a single movement... Well the idea of him speaking out loud to a person who may not even be listening, was almost a fucking miracle. Nero filed it for future reference, into a folder full of evidence that maybe his father wasn't a total bastard. A file that was slowly filling, bit by bit. 

Chapter Text

All too soon, Kyrie had to leave. It made sense, she couldn't stay there forever, after all. But it didn't make it any easier. Nero couldn't even say goodbye when she left, couldn't return her squeezing of his hand. She whispered soft goodbyes in his ear and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. He could tell that she was as loathe to leave as he was to see her go, but Kylo had to be relieved of his duties sooner or later. It wasn't like it was the first time that Kyrie'd been stuck looking after the kids all on her own, but Nero hated feeling useless. She'd have Nico though. He could only hope that Nico would actually help out around the orphanage and not fall into her usual bullshit of lounging around and drinking all of Nero's beer.She'd stopped by earlier to see him. Nico hasn't held his hand or sat by his bedside. No, she'd simply muttered a quick "comas are for little bitches, Nero. You're better than this" and then high-tailed it to the hospital canteen. He would've laughed, if he could. It was refreshing, really. Nico would never handle him with kid gloves, no matter what, coma be dammed. Nah, it was her job to annoy the absolute shit out of him whenever possible and he appreciated her for it. Not that he'd ever tell her that. 

Nero would've thought that Nico and Vergil's first meeting would've been pretty explosive. She was loud and annoying (in the best way possible, but again, she'd never hear that from Nero) to his old man's stony silence. He figured they'd either try to kill each other or Nico would freak out at the "legendary Vergil", like she had Dante. Like the giant fucking weapon dork that she was. Vergil wasn't exactly a mercenary weapon maniac like his brother, but Nico had been all starstruck over Dante, when Nero sure as shit hadn't even heard of him before the asshole burst in and shot the pope. It wasn't out of the question that Vergil had gotten some of that legendary status too. Agnus had been working on the Yamato not too long ago, after all. But instead there was nothing. If they spoke at all, Nero hadn't heard it. Not surprising, considering how quickly she'd hauled ass out of the room. Anticlimactic as hell, but he supposed it made sense.

His ears pricked up at the sound of two sets of approaching footsteps. 

"It was nice meeting you, Mister Vergil," Kyrie said hesitantly. "And it's always good to see you too, Dante. " 

It'd taken a lot of convincing on his uncle's part to get Kyrie to drop the "mister" thing. Dante had kept insisting that it made him feel so old, so formal. Even now, she still hesitated when she said his name, like she had to consciously filter out the title. Kyrie must've looked worried, because Dante added a quick: 

"Don't you worry, little miss, we'll take good care of him on this side. I'll call if anything happens. " 

"Thank you, Dante. " 

"Well then, " came Nico's characteristic drawl. "We're back to Fortuna. Toodles, y'all. " 

Being in the presence of the Sparda twins meant overhearing a fucktonne of arguments. Anything from affection to anger seemed to be expressed through bickering. It was like they only had one way of interacting with one another. Nero had thought that the kids back at their orphanage were argumentative with one another, but these two took the whole goddamn cake. Dante seemed to enjoy pushing Vergil's buttons at any opportunity he got and Vergil rose to the bait Every. Single. Time. With the way they carried on, it really made it hard to believe that they were somewhere in their forties and not actually four years old. 

This time though, there was a completely different feel to their fighting. Nero had zoned out for a few minutes and next thing he knew, the air in the room felt like it'd dropped several hundred degrees. If he could have pulled up his ridiculous excuse for a blanket over himself, Nero would have. All he knew was that the characteristic lilt to Dante's voice had melted away. He wasn't much of a betting man but from the sounds of things,  Nero would wager that his uncle's typical cheesy grin had faded, too. 

"God, Vergil. You just..."

There was the sound of someone pacing. Probably Dante. 

"We had the same shitty childhood, you know? Because sometimes it's like you choose to forget that," he continued. 

Fuck, Nero wished he had the context for this. If he was stuck listening to their arguing all day, he should at least be able to get some entertainment out of it. Not that he enjoyed their constant fights, but it was difficult to muster up the same level of concern after the fiftieth fucking iteration. Nero had heard countless sermons about purgatory back when he'd been an order brat. He'd never cared for the religious spiel, he'd only ever attended the services for Kyrie. But some ideas stuck with him nonetheless. If purgatory was actually real (Nero had never been much of a believer in anything but kicking demon ass), then surely this was his? Stuck in a comatose state, forced to listen to two stubborn old men bicker all day? 

"And sure the whole Mundus crap probably-" 

"Don't," there was a harsh warning to Vergil's voice that would've made Nero shiver. 

"That probably sucked ass, sure. But so did killing you, Vergil. You have no idea what that was like," Dante carried on like his brother hadn't spoken at all. 

Woah, that was something. Dante was never serious unless it got wrestled out of him. Nero had known, courtesy of Nico, that Dante had killed Vergil once, but he didn't know much else. But overhearing something so personal, so intimate, coming from his lockbox of an uncle... It felt uncomfortable, wrong. It was too raw, too real. Nero wished he had a say in eavesdropping on this particular conversation. 

"Look, all I'm saying is, just because I choose to handle my shit differently doesn't mean we weren't raised on the same fucking problems, Vergil. " 

There was a heavy silence that made Nero's ears ring. Of course, Vergil wasn't really the apologetic type. There'd be no commiserations from him. 

"The jokes you make about them-" 

"Because they're my problems to joke about," Dante said. 

For a few beats, there was only the sound of the blood pressure band contracting and then expanding over Nero's bicep. The two men paused, as if waiting for the noise to pass. 

"Fine," Vergil said eventually. 

It was a curt answer that would've had Nero pretty pissed if he'd been in the receiving end of it. But maybe Dante had a better understanding, because it seemed to ease all the tension in the room. He supposed they were brothers, after all. Dante seemed to be a lot more fluent in whatever cryptic code Vergil was written in. Maybe it'd been his version of an apology or whatever. 

"I kinda hope the kid isn't actually listening in. " 

"Oh? You seemed quite adamant that we speak to Nero as though he isn't in a comatose state," Vergil stated evenly. 

"I know what I said. But if he is, he's stuck listening to us butt heads all day. Think it'd drive him nuts. " 

Oh, the incredible fucking irony. 

Chapter Text

He'd only been half paying attention, while the other half of his mind idly wandered.  He listened to the conversation happening in the background and mentally reviewed everything he knew about his father. Back when he'd been an orphan kid, Nero had often daydreamed about his real parents. Some dumb heroic fantasies that revolved around them having to unwillingly leave him behind to serve some selfless quest. He couldn't help but cringe when he thought about it these days. He'd eventually accepted that Kyrie's parents were good people and the best he was going to get and so he never looked back...Until the big reveal about Vergil being his father, anyway. And with the bickering between his uncle and father that had quickly become the background noise to his life, he began wondering about what he actually knew about his old man.Vergil was not selfless by any means. No, the man had ripped off Nero's arm simply because it was the quickest way to get the Yamato, and then he left him for dead. Next, he'd used the sword to split his soul in two and release a whole apocalypse of batshit crazy onto the world. And... He was Nero's father. Despite the endless amount of time that he'd had to mull all that over in his head, he still had absolutely no idea how to feel about it and he was only going to give himself a headache stewing over it now. So instead, he moved on to the next item on the list. 

Vergil was introverted to the point of being an ass about it. And while Nero liked to think he was at least slightly better than his genocidal maniac of a father, that was something that they sorta had in common. Nero had never been chatty. He'd always been sort of ultimately unchatty to the point of being brusque. Nico and Kyrie did all the talking for him, while he was a lot quieter. Not that it was hard to be more introverted than those two (he loved Kyrie to death but she was definitely a talker). While he'd mostly chalked it up to teen angst initially, his mid twenties was probably the cutoff point for that excuse's validity and he still had yet to get a sudden extroverted streak. Vergil loved a good fight. This was the final thing that they had in common in a very short list of traits. Probably the demon blood that was (unfortunately) shared between the three of them. This was another thing that Nero didn't like to think about. He still didn't know how to feel that after all those years busting his ass off in the order, after all the demons he killed, he'd been one of them all along. And so again, he moved on. 

Vergil loved to read. He'd always been spouting poetry as V and while his old man thankfully wasn't quite as insufferable about it, he definitely seemed to hold a soft spot for literature. He was silent and calculated and disciplined. Nero shared none of these traits. Vergil probably played the violin, too? He'd mimed it out so many times as V, placing his fingers perfectly and sweeping an invisible bow in a harmony so beautiful that he'd closed his eyes in awe of the phantom notes. Nero had never had the patience for instruments. Kyrie had tried to teach him, once, but he'd quickly grown bored and frustrated. He'd never had the patience for things he wasn't immediately good at or that didn't provide enough of a thrill. All of the instruments that she'd had had been so damn finicky that he'd given up pretty quickly. 

And that was all for this week's edition of 'What Do you Know About your Estranged,  Genocidal Father?'. Tune in next week for the next installment, folks. 

And then Dante asked a something that caught Nero's undivided attention. 

"So," he cast the question out like a fishing line, testing the waters. "You never answered my question. You know, back on the qliploth?" 

Vergil gave a vague hum to show that he was listening. 

"How'd you land up with a kid?" 

Nero's breath caught in his throat. 

There was a quiet laugh and the sound of Vergil shifting his posture. "Do I need to explain to you where children come from, Dante? I would've thought that those disgusting magazines would've been more than enough for you to connect the dots." 

He would've snorted, if he could. And for once, Nero was grateful for the whole coma thing. He didn't want to admit to anyone, let alone Vergil, that his old man could actually kind of be funny sometimes. His humour was dry and cutting to his little brother's dirty jokes and low-blows and not nearly as sarcastic as Nero's own brand. But on the rare occasion that Vergil made a joke, it wasn't half-bad. Vergil can be funny when he feels like it, Nero mentally added to his list.

"Very funny. But you know what I meant. You haven't told me the story of your sweetheart." 

"And I intend to keep it that way," Vergil replied coolly. 

"Awww, come on bro. You're killing me here!" 

"What a shame," he said as though it was anything but. 

"Did she at least have a nice rack?" Dante prodded. 

But Vergil remained tight-lipped. Dante must have sensed that it was a lost cause because he eventually conceded with a huff. Nero's old man had been pretty uncharacteristically open lately and the streak was bound to crash and burn at some point. (Nero added 'irritatingly private'.) 

Dante had mentioned not too long that they'd "both had the same shitty childhood". Maybe it ran in the family? From what Nero had gathered, neither of their parents were still in the picture, so grandparents were off the table. He was kind of relieved about that, if he was honest. The two family members he had now were more than enough trouble. He didn't know if he could've handled more. Nero didn't think he could've handled meeting the legendary saviour or whatever, especially not after finding out that he was the grandson of the very same man that Fortuna worshiped. He'd also thought a lot of negative shit as an order brat in Sparda's general direction. He had been the reason that Nero was cooped up in a church on a goddamn Saturday, stuck worshiping a god that he didn't even believe in. On the off chance that the Devil Lord had heard any of that, well, Nero didn't exactly want to face him afterwards. 

All in all, he did have a lot to think about. So what a lucky fucker he was that he had indefinite free time with which to think about it, huh? Pity he absolutely hated mulling over most of it. So instead, Nero focused on trying to pin down the taste of the pure oxygen that was being pumped out of his mask. Yes, sheer boredom had reduced him to that. He'd initially described it as ozone, but that wasn't quite right. It was cold, yes, like the blast of stepping into an air-conditioned room. But it was more like... A clean, bitter taste in his mouth.

"How about you read your kiddo some poetry, then, huh Vergil? Gotta start em early!" 

"'Early?' I believe he mentioned he was twenty-five." 

"Well it's never too late to spark a love of reading, then!" 

The sound of scuffling, and then: "Oo, 'A Little Boy Lost', huh? Bet Nero would love that one. " 

"Dante-" 

The two of them were obviously tussling, but Dante must've been winning because he began reading. His voice wavered like he was struggling to see the page, but he carried on anyway: 

"And, father, how can I love you/Or any of my brothers more?/I love you like the little bird/That picks up crumbs around the door.

Awww, Verge, this is so sweet!" 

"You're reading it all wrong!" 

"So then you read it then, Mr. Poetry. " 

"No! I'll kill you!" 

The sound of mirage blades being summoned. 

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new? 

The weeping child could not be heard/The weeping parents wept in vain. "

Yup. This was Nero's life now, apparently. He began a new list in his head: Things he knew about Dante. First, he loved irritating the absolute shit out of Vergil. Second, he was fucking terrible at reading poetry. 

Chapter Text

Time was one hell of a slippery bitch. Nero had a vague idea of its passing, or at least the way warm strips of sunlight moved across his face. Sometimes the curtains of his hospital room would be open during midday and the concentrated light of the sun would be enough to turn the view of his eyelids from a deep dark nothingness into an illuminated red. The sun often rose and fell and the nurse's shifts came and went, but it was hard to keep track of how many days it had been. It didn't stop him from trying, though. All he knew was that this whole experience had given him one hell of a complicated relationship with his own body, the useless lump of flesh that felt like a prison on most days. A prison that forced him to lay still and silent as nurses switched out his bags of IV fluid and fuss over taking his blood pressure. Sometimes his old man stayed in the room while the hospital staff did all the mundane shit required for keeping Nero's body going. They'd try and strike up a conversation about what a tragedy it was that his son was in this state and what a doting father Vergil was for being by his side through it all. He mainly replied with wordless hums or grunts until the nurses generally gave up and continued to work in silence. 

Other times, when they were alone, Vergil would recite poems from his book in a low murmur. It was never clear whether he was attempting to read for Nero, or if he was simply mumbling to himself. Nero hated poetry. But it was kind of sweet, anyway. He weirdly didn't mind the distraction. Today though, Vergil had slunk away to some far corner of the hospital the second Dante had shown up with Trish and Lady in tow. 

"How's the kid?" Lady asked. 

"You know, same old, same old," Dante said in his usual joyful cadence, as if he wasn't talking about how his nephew was still in a coma, the absolute ass. 

"So no changes at all?" 

"The doc says he's not brain-dead, but there's no sign of improvement, either. " 

"Hmm," Lady said, because to be fair, how the fuck did you respond to that. 

"I'm glad to see he didn't kill Vergil, after all," Trish chimed in. 

"Yeah, well I'm not," Lady grumbled. 

"He was going to kill Vergil?" Dante asked. "I understand the sentiment, but this is news to me. " 

"We had to talk Nero down while you were busy kicking Vergil's ass. Or getting your ass kicked by Vergil, whatever," Trish said casually. 

"For the record, I was doing the ass-kicking. " 

Ha! Nero hadn't seen much of the fight, but he'd seen enough to know that Dante had been getting his butt spectacularly handed to him, the fucking liar. To be fair, Vergil was one tough fucker. Nero had beaten him, but it definitely hadn't been easy. He and his damn judgement cuts were insane. 

"How'd you manage to get him to stick around, anyway? Vergil, I mean. He's not exactly the cuddly sort, but from the sounds of things he's barely left Nero's bedside," Lady asked. 

And that was a question that Nero sorely wanted to know the answer to. He'd often wondered it himself. 

"A magician never reveals his secrets," Dante said with a smirk obvious in his voice. 

Nero would've groaned. Of course, nothing was ever that easy. 

"God, you are so lame, you know that? You don't pay me enough to put up with your shit," Lady groaned. "Speaking of which, you planning on coming back to the shop anytime soon?" 

"Nah, not til the kid is up and kicking again. Besides, someone's gotta keep an eye on Vergil. Take it off him for one second and next thing I know he'll go all genocidal again." He said it in the same lazy, chipper way that he said everything. 

"So, you wanna leave the shop to me in the meantime, then?" She said. 

"Of course, not. If anything, he'd leave the shop to me!" Trish cut in. 

"Sorry, ladies, but it's in Morrison's hands. I left him with all the details while he was sorting out the other paperwork. Now, this legendary devil hunter is hungry and there's a slice of cold, greasy cafeteria pizza with my name on it. That, and I've got to go check on Vergil. " 

"I'm not a child, Dante," came the rich tenor of his old man. 

"Coulda fooled me, bro! You hungry?" 

"No. " Vergil must've realised that Trish and Lady were still there, because he added a quick: "however, I will escort you anyway. " 

It was oddly funny to see the old king of the underworld avoiding Lady, not that Nero blamed him. He'd never managed to get on the receiving end of her wrath and he fully intended to keep it that way. There was the sound of receding footsteps as the two brothers left, bickering as they went on their merry (well, Dante's was, anyway) way. Then there was the feel of soft fingers gripping his bicep, followed by a gentle squeeze of his arm. 

"Hang in there, kiddo. Be waiting for you on the other side of this," Lady said gently. 

And then she, too, left. Now only Trish remained in the room and she was as quiet as ever. She'd never really struck Nero as the chatty type. The two of them hadn't really ever spoken to one another directly and the silence would've been awkward if Nero had been awake. For once, he was glad that he has one hell of an excuse not to speak. The only sound in the room was the rasp of his oxygen mask and the beeping of the machinery that was keeping him alive. Nero almost breathed a sigh of relief when a hospital aid stopped by to kick Trish out of his room. She sounded apologetic about it, but he was glad for a break from the awkwardness that was so thick that it was almost tangible. Although that sensation was immediately followed by a pang of guilt. It had been super sweet of Trish to stay, even if they hadn't known each other too well. Hell, especially because of that.

Now, instead, he could focus on the babbling of one of his regular nurse's aids as she talked him through the procedure of lifting him up and changing his pillowcase and bedsheets like it was the most interesting thing in the world. And for the umpteenth time, Nero wondered how long this whole damn coma fiasco was going to last. 

Chapter Text

Vergil was ashamed, that was the only word for it. He was far from the most emotive half-demon on the planet, but Dante was pretty good at reading whatever cryptic language it was that Vergil was written in. Part of being a twin, he supposed. But watching him around Nero and seeing the look that crossed his face as he regarded his son whenever he thought that Dante wasn't looking, it was obvious that he felt a twinge of regret. The fact that so much of Vergil consisted of the events of that one day, when Eva hadn't come for him, had died before she'd reached him. ("That day, if our positions were switched, would I have your life, and you mine?")  And now here stood (or rather lay) Vergil's son, a child that he hadn't even known had existed, a child whose arm he'd ripped off... It was clear that Vergil was mulling some things over. But wasn't not like Dante could say that he was free from guilt, either. He can't help but think that if he hadn't left the Yamato with Nero, none of this would've happened. 

Lady had asked him how he'd managed to convince his older brother to stay, but it hadn't taken a lot of effort on Dante's part, honestly. Vergil had protested a bit, but it was obviously more for show than anything else, a last-ditch effort to preserve his dignity. And Dante had kept that snippet to himself. Vergil always hated it when people got a hint that he had a heart and while it was a little brother's sworn duty to annoy, there were some lines that he didn't cross. He got it, honestly. Dante wasn't too eager to let his emotions too close to the surface, either. Which is why Nero was honestly sort of fascinating to him. The kid kept his honestly quite gigantic heart right on his sleeve and he didn't seem to care who saw it and Dante both pitied and envied the kid for it. 

Though it obviously didn't sit too well with Vergil to be around Nero, more often than not, he stayed anyway. It was sweet, really. The worst thing about Vergil was not that he was a massive asshole, it was all the times when he wasn't a massive asshole. The times when they'd been kids and Dante had crawled into his older brother's bed for comfort after having a bad dream and Vergil surprisingly hadn't kicked him out. Or the time he'd fallen out of a tree that they'd been climbing and landed wrong, likely breaking his leg in the process, judging from how badly it'd fucking hurt. And Vergil had carried Dante home so gingerly, careful not to jostle his injury. If Dante could just hate Vergil already, it would've made things so much easier. But he'd tried to muster up the energy to hate his brother for so long and it'd never really worked out. He was pretty terrible at holding grudges, honestly. 

"Introspection doesn't suit you, little brother. Keep it up any longer and there'll be smoke coming out of your ears. " 

"Fuck you, Verge," Dante laughed back. 

"Language, Dante. You've clearly been spending too much time around Nero." 

"Yeah, well. He's your son." Then, because he can't help it, Dante adds a soft," it's not your fault, you know. " 

 "I have no idea what you're talking about. " 

"That you didn't know about him, I mean. It's not your fault. " 

He wasn't sure that Nero would agree with him, honestly. Kid was pretty heated, to say the least. And having had the experience of their old man not being so present in their own life, Dante could say from experience that it didn't exactly feel great. The problem with having a legend for a father was that Sparda hadn't really known how to be a person, to stay with his family and just exist. Dante had learned far more about his dad from other people's stories than he had from actually living with the guy. A problem that he and Nero seemed to have in common, the thing about having some dude with a fancy title as a dad was that they were always more legend than person. More the Devil Lord Sparda than dear old dad, and far more Dark Slayer, far more of the Alpha and the Omega than Nero's beloved pops. 

"Of course it's not my fault, Dante. I was in the underworld for... A very long time. "

His voice was steady but if he had to wage a bet, he would've bet all his money that Vergil was saying it for his own benefit more than Dante's. 

"And not exactly yourself for most of it," Dante added, mostly for Nero's benefit. 

Nelo Angelo was always a touchy subject, but Vergil only hummed half-heartedly in response. It was clear that the conversation was over, though, so Dante turned his attention to Nero. 

"Hey, kiddo. " 

"Dante, he cant-" 

"Can it, Vergil. " He breathed in and mustered up what he wanted to say, then began again. "So, an update on things: Kyrie's all settled in again at the orphanage and the kids aren't giving her too much of a hard time. Kylo's back safe, too, and Nico said she's going to kick your ass when this is all over. Lady and Trish are back at the shop, keeping things running nice and smooth so when you finally join us back in the land of the living again, you'll still have a job. Sorry, know it's been a couple days since I've given you the run-down, but you know how it is with your old man. He's a pain in the ass to keep an eye on, a full-time job in his own right. " 

Vergil huffed at that but didn't interrupt him again. 

"That's about it, really. Heard the girls are actually keeping the lights  and water on at the shop, which is a nice change of pace. And-" 

Something in the corner of his vision caught his attention and he reeled on Vergil. "God, Dante's Inferno, really?" 

"It's not my fault you don't have enough class to enjoy the classics, Dante. " 

"No it's just... you used to beg mom to read that to us every night for a month straight. " 

Vergil crossed his legs in his seat. "I have no recollection. " 

"Hey, you think one of the docs have got a cure for selective memory? I think it's classified as a real disease now, it's called Acute Jackass Syndrome and you tick all of the boxes. " 

"I hope it's not terminal, or I might end up losing you very soon, little brother. " 

"Hey! You can't just hijack my insult!" 

"And yet, I believe I just did, Dante. " 

"Yeah, well... You suck!" 

"It seems that your debating skills haven't improved since we were eight. " 

"God, you're the worst. Never should've let V deal the final blow to Urizen. Which, by the way, I looked into that, actually. Does everything you do have to circle back to William Blake? Is that who Nero's mom is? I'd believe it, honestly. " 

"I see you're as crass as ever," Vergil said back. 

"That wasn't a no. " 

"God, why couldn't I have been born an only child. " 

"Yeah, yeah, love you too, Verge." 

Chapter Text

Vergil was not the social type. In contrast to his irritant of a little brother, who was all easy smiles and ceaseless chatter, Vergil much preferred to keep to himself. The company of rich verses was far better than the party that incessantly orbited Dante: Arkham's daughter, who shot Vergil nothing but dirty looks whenever her gaze passed him, and the thief- the demon with his mother's face and voice but nothing of her softness. The moments he'd spent around her as V had done little to soften the knife to his chest that turned just a little more each time he heard her speak. And yet, here he remained, near the bedside of his child, the one who would not wake.

Lady had once asked Dante how he'd gotten Vergil to stay. She hadn't meant for him to hear, most likely, but with the enhanced hearing granted to him by his demon blood, he'd caught it anyway. It was an excellent question. Why had Vergil stayed? In all likelihood, Nero wouldn't pull through, much as Dante liked to pretend otherwise. People died, they did so every day. This was a lesson that they had both learned at the tender age of eight. 

It was funny, how one's first experience with death forever shaped them. When Vergil, then still a child, had learned of his mother's death, that day had forever marked him. His life was split neatly in two as if swiped by his own Yamato. What had originally simply been the consecutive march of one day after another, was now divided into before and after. The before, when death was simply something that happened in theory, some far-off concept of an old man passing peacefully, surrounded by his loving family. And the after, the time when death had become an unwelcome acquaintance that always loomed just out of sight. It was more than possible that the same fate had befallen Sparda, too.

How am I supposed to recover from this? Vergil had asked himself. And the answer was that he didn't, he simply filed his pesky emotions away and vowed to never feel that helpless again. Thirty four years later and he still hadn't processed it, not really. 

And so why wasn't it possible that Nero, too, would stop breathing? In fact, he already had. The only thing keeping air circulating through his lungs was a machine.

But even if Nero woke up, what then? How was he supposed to be the boy's father when he didn't even know of Nero's existence until a few short days ago? How would he even begin? It wasn't as if Vergil's own father had left much of an example for him to follow, but despite his complicated feelings towards Sparda, Vergil had managed to outdo him. Where his own sire's biggest fault was simply disappearing when they'd needed him most, at least Sparda had been there at all. For Nero, his only interactions with his father had been getting his arm brutally ripped off, travelling around with the masquerading human half of his father, a weak man who was quite literally always followed by his nightmares, and being beaten to a near-unconscious stare by Urizen so many times. Not to mention being on the receiving end of Vergil's Judgement Cuts more than once. 

It was difficult to see Nero, once so filled with fire, now left as a comatose shell of himself. Usually clean-shaven with cropped hair, he was now a slack-jawed face on a hospital pillow with persistent stubble and fluffy white bangs that were beginning to curtain his face. 

Vergil reviewed the short list of things that he knew about his son, most of which he'd picked up from his time as V. As he'd surmised to Dante, Nero was arrogant, vulgar, impatient, and hot-headed. He was not one to mince words and he kept his emotions incredibly close to the surface. And yet, Nero was also kind, selfless, even. He was incredibly strong, even if he was sorely lacking discipline, and he was stubborn. He definitely seemed to have his uncle's unfortunate penchant for idiotic one-liners, as well. All in all, not a very long list. But it was a start. 

Vergil sighed and shifted his position. His left foot had grown uncomfortably numb from how long he'd been leaning his weight on it, and so he switched to his right. In the background, there was the chatter of Dante and his co-workers. From the sound of things, his little brother was being teased about something. Vergil was more than familiar with that characteristic moue. 

The sight outside of Nero's hospital room never disappointed. It fascinated Vergil to observe how the sky on earth was ever-changing, constantly shifting in its hues and cloud formations. Before his unfortunate time in hell, he'd taken it for granted and barely spared it a second glance as he rushed to fulfil his petty ambitions. Vergil swore that he would never make the same mistake again. Today, the evening sky was painted a deep, moody purple and the cloud covering was sparse as it gave way to stars. His mind drifted back to his considerations as he lost himself in its great expanse. 

Vergil was here because he had been given another attempt at redemption and although he had blundered it so many times, he was not going to let it slip away again.  Oh, how his natively empathic little brother had given him so many chances and he had squandered each and every single one of them. He thinks he should tell his brother this or explain to Nero why he has stayed. But it's awkward to even admit it to himself and Vergil has, richly ironic as it was, never been the best with words. 

After all, how could he explain to the ever-chipper Dante that one of his greatest regrets in a life filled with sighs was letting his pride get the better of him? How he wished so often as he lay in hell, body and mind broken and battered by Mundus, that he would have stayed. If only Vergil had let the moment of their shared victory against Arkham last forever, that cherished "jackpot!" as they faced him down together. No, he had selfishly ruined it, tainted his brother's good graces as he always did. And when Dante had tried to spark it up again ("Why'd you leave me hanging? We used to love saying that!") Vergil had simply let his selective memory take over. The reminder of one of his biggest failures was too painful to dig up again. 

Furthermore, Dante was not naive. It'd taken him so long to realise it but his little brother was not the fool, Vergil was. And maybe his extensively bloody and sordid history could not be washed away with the simple act of standing at the bedside of a boy who wouldn't wake up, but dammit Vergil was not letting this chance get away from him. Not this time. And so, Vergil stayed. 

Chapter Text

When Dante had been a child, he'd spent most of his time glued to his older brother's side. Sparda had often liked to joke that his two boys had been Siamese twins, separated at birth, but that Dante's residual need to stay close to Vergil had remained.

This would be the point at which Eva would lovingly scold him for making up stories, because, the unsaid truth was that Dante had been gullible as hell at that age and he definitely would've believed it. A gullibility that a young Vergil never failed to take advantage of in desperate attempts to chase Dante away, but, more often than not, ended up grossly backfiring and only making him cling all the harder.

It'd been far too long since they'd had a moment like this, one where he and Vergil simply basked in each other's company. It'd taken Nero nearly dying to accomplish it, but the two of them finally had a common goal, something to keep them together. And, fuck, but it was nice to finally stop feeling like one half of a whole. Because one thing Dante had learned, that fateful day, hearing his mom's final breaths as he cowered in the closet, was that people died and they did so every day.

And so he'd made a promise to himself at the tender age of eight not to let anyone get close to him ever again. Because loneliness was far better than the crushing feeling of losing his mom and his brother on the same day. 

Fat lot of good that vow had done. Lady had wormed her way into his heart, or more accurately, shot a giant hole in his face and then kicked down all his emotional walls. And Trish had done the same. The kid, too, much as he'd tried to keep him at a distance in case he had his father's same skill of taking Dante's heart and stomping it into tiny pieces.

But there was something so downright charming about Nero, even if he had an incredibly limited vocabulary that was crass as hell, and seemed to have about as much common sense as his damned father- which was, to say, not a whole lot.

Speaking of which, something had been bothering him, niggling in the back of his mind for all three weeks that they'd been here. And maybe it was dumb to poke the bear when the peace he and Vergil have finally managed to get was such a fragile thing, but it was taking all of his willpower not to broach the subject. So screw it, Dante gives in. Impulse control has never been his forte. 

"So, Verge," he started. 

It took a while for his older brother to look up from his book like he'd been so wholly immersed in the story. Dante stretched lazily in his chair using it as an excuse to avoid Vergil's gaze as he posed the question. 

"I gotta ask, you're not gonna do some crazy apocalypse shit again, are you?" 

He shifted in Dante's peripheral, crossing and uncrossing his legs, then finally shutting his book and placing it on Nero's bedside table with a sigh. 

"Ah, caught red-handed," he said dryly. "This poetry collection is one of the most dastardly books known to man. " 

Dante stood, suddenly needing to move around to burn up some of his nervous energy. "Don't give me that shit. You know it's a valid question. I mean, shit, starting two apocalypses in forty years? Most people don't even manage one. It's actually kind of impressive, in a super fucked up sort of way. " 

He fully expected Vergil to snap at him or say something condescending. But, instead, his brother only sighed again. 

"No, Dante," he said quietly. "I think we've both had enough of that for one lifetime, hmm? " 

And it was nice, because Vergil really was trying. Not just by being there, by keeping Dante company even though he'd told his little brother time and time again that he didn't think Nero was really in there. Vergil was actually changing for the better.

For once in his life, Vergil didn't have some grandiose scheme for world domination and just generally fucking over Dante. And Dante had his brother back. Not some clunking suit of armour, or some skinny poetry-spouting dude, but Vergil, in the flesh. And better yet, the version of him that Dante hadn't gotten to experience since they were eight: his dry older brother who was introverted and kind of a dick, but who didn't actively hate his little brother's guts quite so much.

The twin that he'd fight with over stupid shit all the time, but at the end of the day, they'd eat at the same table, be shoved into the same bath by their mom to wash up, and fall asleep in the same room. And it was really nice to have him back. Dante's eyes started itching and his nose stang with the sheer happiness at the thought. 

"Dante," Vergil said haltingly. "Tell me of... Nero." 

And he couldn't help but turn to his brother with a big goofy grin. Vergil was avoiding his gaze, but he smiled anyway. Dante had to swallow a few times to stop his voice from coming out thick. 

"Uh, let's see," he scrubbed a hand through his hair as he thought, scratching at his scalp with a rasping noise. "Well you know that he's got a girlfriend, Kyrie, and they run an orphanage on the side?" 

Vergil nodded, still not meeting his eyes. He was staring at his hands as he clasped and unclasped them. It was sweet that he'd remembered all this stuff. 

"He was a kid when we met- well, even more of one. Believe it or not, he's actually calmed down a lot," Dante laughed. 

Vergil raised an eyebrow at that. 

"Yeah, I know, I know. Hard to believe. Ya had to be there. Uh, he was the knight of this holy order bullshit in Fortuna. Some cult shit that worshipped dad. " 

"The Order of the Sword," Vergil whispered. 

"Yeah, that one. How'd you know that?" 

His twin continued staring at his hands, tight-lipped. Dante knew him well enough to gather that he wasn't getting an answer. 

"That's about it, I think. Oh! Wait, he uh fixed up Yamato for you," Dante continued. 

"Yes, I was wondering about that. It was split in two, was it not?" 

"Yeah, apparently he restored it with a piece of his soul or something. I don't really know the specifics. An associate of ours had some nutcase dad who'd been keeping it to study it when Nero found it and put it back together. "

He eyed Vergil carefully, gauging his reaction. His older brother reached for the Yamato and unsheathed it, then turned the blade over in his hands as he examined it. The harsh lights of the hospital reflected in its blade as he spun it in his hands. Dante stretched again, suddenly exhausted from the emotional conversation. It had been a while since he'd gotten a decent night's sleep. He'd caught naps here and there, lounging in the hospital chair with a magazine on his face, but it hadn't been much. 

"Listen, I'm going to head back to the shop and catch a few z's in a proper bed for once. " 

"I've seen your room, Dante. I'd hardly call that 'proper'." 

"Anyway, you know where to find me if anything happens, alright?" 

Vergil nodded. 

"You're welcome to do the same, sometime, alright? I know it ain't much but if you ever need some proper sleep..." He let the offer hang in the air. 

His older brother hummed, whether in agreement or simply to let Dante know that he'd heard him was anyone's guess. He doubted Vergil would take him up on it,  anyway. In all three weeks that they'd been there, he hadn't seen his twin so much as nap. And sure, the two of them didn't need sleep as often as the average person did, but it was bound to be taking a toll on him.

Still, it was a problem for another time. It would no doubt be one hell of a talk and Dante was still recovering from the conversation today. Right now, he needed sleep. As he headed through the door and out into the hospital corridor, he heard the unmistakable sound of Vergil's voice mumbling quietly. Probably to Nero, the old sap. Dante smiled to himself with the thought that his older brother did have a heart, after all. 

Chapter Text

Dante often wondered what would have happened if Vergil had found out about Nero sooner. He'd done the math, because screw Vergil, he was better with numbers and he wouldn't let his older brother tell him otherwise, and the kid would've been born somewhere around the temen-ni-gru fiasco. Or, as Dante liked to call it, baby Vergil's first apocalypse. He tried to picture it in his mind, a daddy Vergil looking after a baby Nero, but the image was so ridiculous that he couldn't take it seriously enough to dedicate actual thought to it. Nah, he doubted his twin had it in him to do all that paternal bullshit. In Dante's mind, Vergil was just not the type of guy to comfort a little Nero after a nightmare, to lull him back to sleep after a rough night. Vergil had not cut the crusts off of his sandwiches or read him bedtime stories, but maybe that's not what parenting was about. Maybe being a parent was just about being there at the right time and, hell, Vergil was here, wasn't he? 

"If you're not going to tell me about his mom, then at least tell the kid." 

Vergil gave a frustrated noise in response. "Is a man not entitled to a little privacy, Dante? Haven't I shared enough?" 

And he did have a general point, but just maybe not on this topic. 

"She's his mom, Vergil! Isn't he entitled to know?" 

His older brother sighed again. He seemed to do little else. He looked so much younger than Dante, which was still super weird to think about, but the prominent scowl on his face definitely aged him. He had pronounced frown lines, meaning that even the few seconds of the day the old git didn't dedicate to brooding still left him looking like he was. It gave the effect of scowling even when he wasn't; his frown only lightened, never disappeared, and Dante wondered if Vergil liked it that way. He cared, god but Vergil cared so much. But he also liked to pretend otherwise. Vergil's love was a scared, small thing, like he was afraid to have it at all, in case it was taken away from him. 

"One day. But not now. It's... still too soon," he all but whispered. 

"It's been twenty-five years, Verge. She really screw you over that badly?" 

Heh, screw. He decided to keep that joke to himself, though. Dante, for one, liked having his head intact. Vergil made a face and Dante wondered if he'd read his thoughts for a minute, before it clicked. 

"Look, privacy, fine. But what's the harm in telling him, huh?" He asked. "Especially if you think he's not even in there," He added bitterly. 

"How long do we give him, Dante?" 

"What?" His voice was sharp. He didn't like the sound of this. 

The monitor beeped, the oxygen mask rasped, the blood pressure band contracted and expanded. The sounds of Nero's life, now. 

"You've heard the doctors. No improvement in just over three weeks. No guarantee that Nero is ever going to recover. How long, Dante?" 

Dante got to his feet, reeling. "That's your kid, you absolute asshole! What, you're just going to pull the plug?" 

Vergil made an annoyed sound but didn't answer and Dante saw red. Because his older brother really infuriated him sometimes, with his stupid pride and his stupid impassive mask. 

"You tired of pretending to care, is that it? You're can't wait to just get it over with already? He could pull through and you'd never know it, you'd just be killing your own son!" 

He was leaning over Vergil now, hand on the hilt of his sword. He didn't want to cause a scene just yet, but he was itching for a reason to unsheathe it. 

"And I would mourn the loss!" Vergil spat back at him. 

"Yeah, would you? Would you really?" 

"Of course I would!" 

And Dante must've really hit a nerve if he'd managed to get that much of a rise out of him. Vergil did not often raise his voice. Nor did he often acknowledge his feelings. Dante should apologize, he'd clearly gone too far, let his emotions get the better of him. But he needed to calm down first. He needed to quell the heat rising to his muscles, the burn of his inner demon revving for a fight. 

"But think of the others, Dante. Think of Kyrie, of his orphans, think of that bizarre woman in that outfit that bares her midriff. " 

Dante laughed at the last part and it helped dispell some of his adrenaline. "Which one, bro? You've seen the company I keep. Gotta be more specific. " 

"Hmm. Brown hair, grating accent?" 

"Oh. Nico, yeah. " 

"And think of Nero, brother. At what point does this prolonging become cruel?" 

And shit, Vergil really did have a point. 

"You're right," he conceded. "You're right and I'm sorry, it's just..." He rubbed his gloved hands together nervously. "It's just hard, you know?" 

"Yes," Vergil agreed. 

It's hard to grieve for a person when they're not even gone yet, Dante didn't add. 

"Look, I'll think about it, alright, Verge?" 

"You don't have to make a decision now. Besides, I'm not sure it's entirely your own to make. I'd just like you to consider it. " 

"Yeah, I mean, I guess I am next of kin, being his uncle and all. But, hey, you're his father. " 

"Yes," Vergil agreed. "I suppose I am. " 

And he was, he really was, because even if he hadn't changed the kid's diapers or taught him how to ride a bike, parents were supposed to be there when it really mattered. Vergil had been at Nero's bedside the entire time. And maybe Vergil's love was a small, scared thing and maybe Vergil didn't love Nero yet, he barely even knew the kid, but he had the capacity to love Nero. In the past few months, Dante's older brother's heart had grown several sizes, like he was the fucking Grinch or something. (And man, what a fitting metaphor, Dante would definitely have to point out the overwhelming resemblance later). Or maybe, he'd just stopped being so afraid of having a heart. Vergil's love was scared, small thing, but once he gave it, it was more precious than anything on earth. 

Chapter Text

Nero didn't sleep, not really. Guess he didn't really have to, considering he hadn't moved in over three weeks. Instead, he drifted in and out of consciousness, seemingly at random intervals. He'd fall asleep without knowing it and then come to again with a massive hole in his memory. Time had become a really fucking confusing construct. What had felt like forever had apparently only been a few weeks, but this thought didn't do a whole lot to fight off the overwhelming paranoia that time was slipping away from him. He had the sense that he'd wake up an old man, with all the years have passed him by in the blink of an eye. That is, if he woke up at all. And it was incredibly frustrating that his old man had finally found his own heart and Dante had finally opened up a little and it'd been incredibly inconvenient timing on their part. They'd both learned to actually express their emotions like normal human beings and Nero wasn't functional enough to take advantage of it. 

He'd been wrong before when he'd said that the boredom of his coma would kill him. What was far, far worse was still being there but having no one acknowledge it. To lie there uselessly as his father and uncle debated what to do with him. Nero had always been stubborn, but this was one issue that he couldn't just overcome with force. Try as he might to wiggle his fingers or open his eyes, it simply wouldn't happen. He was completely out of his depth with this. The doctors had begun discussing the subject of taking Nero off of life support and god but it was weird to have people discussing the prospects of giving up on him when he was right there, listening to the entire thing. Dante still have him updates on life outside, which Nero was eternally grateful for. His uncle, at least, was determined to give him a fighting chance. 

"Tell you what, Verge," he'd said the other day. "If the kid wakes up, you've gotta tell him about his mom. Sound like a deal?" 

Vergil hadn't answered. Or if he had, it wasn't verbally, which meant that whatever he'd said was still up in the air. His old man had been using him kinda like his own personal diary, though. He occasionally told Nero bits and pieces whenever Dante left. Maybe he'd figured that he needed an outlet and Nero wouldn't be able to hold whatever he said against him later. That, or maybe he did genuinely want to share his past with his son. Either way, he let the monotone, nasal quality of his father's voice rush over him.

He told Nero about his time investigating the Order of the Sword and he wishes he could've answered with all the wacky shit he'd experienced being raised there. He didn't regret a lot, he generally considered it a waste of time to agonise over shit he couldn't change, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't loathe the process of being raised with all that cult stuff. Religion as a whole wasn't a bad thing. He'd admired Credo's devotion to the order so much that he'd followed in his footsteps.

Credo had always been something like an older brother to him, and while Nero had never matched his level of devotion in any shape or form, it'd taught him a lot of valuable things in terms of fighting and defence. Even after all the awfulness that they'd been through together, he couldn't help but commend Kyrie for all the faith she had in the Saviour. But for him, a generally pretty fucking disliked kid with a lot of emotional issues, the weekly sermons about how the blessed saviour had sacrificed himself for the unworthy souls that made up the church congregation...

It hadn't exactly given him the best relationship with himself. Religion itself wasn't the issue, but when it was sharpened into something perverted, into a nasty, fearful thing that used fear to fill the pews every Sunday, that's when it became a problem. That and the fact that Nero always had to pretend that being sprinkled with holy water didn't really fucking hurt. He'd always been a terrible liar. He'd also had to do a lot of unlearning after he left, a lot of figuring out what he actually believed and not just what he had been taught to think. Back at their orphanage, he and Kyrie didn't preach all the Fortuna bullshit to the kids like the other homes did. They'd both agreed that their little brats should be encouraged to form their own opinions. Religion was never a bad thing and it definitely made Kyrie happy, but it'd just never been for him.

Dante chatted in the background, explaining that he'd broached the subject of pulling the plug with Kyrie. He'd brought up Vergil's point to her, wondering out loud how much longer they'd give Nero and when it was kinder to simply give up. It'd been quiet on the other end of the line for a while. Kyrie had likely been processing the entire thing and he wished he could've been there to comfort her, to tell her that it was all going to be okay. Eventually, she'd agreed, on the condition that she could bring the kids so that they could all say goodbye. Nero's heart had just about broken at that, at the idea of them having to say goodbye to yet another guardian after a lifetime of abandonment.

But the call had sounded close like there'd been a phone in Nero's hospital room. Either Lady had finally gotten Dante to stop being such a fucking old man and start using technology from after the Jurassic period, or Vergil had gotten a cellphone. He hoped it was the latter because the idea of his incredibly stuffy old man trying to work out how to use newfangled technological devices after his twenty-year stay in hell was honestly hilarious. 

It's so silent in the room that, aside from the humming of the air-conditioning unit, the only other sound he could pick up was the ticking of the clock. And with all the recent talk of pulling the plug, of giving up on Nero, he couldn't help but think darkly that each tick was counting down the seconds of his life. He really, really has to wake up soon. Pity he has no idea how to. 

Chapter Text

Kyrie had brought the kids to say goodbye. The visual of Nero's grumpy old dad cornered by their energetic brats had to be fucking hilarious and he wished the circumstances had been less soul-crushing so that Nero could've appreciated it fully. Better yet, he wished he could've seen it. The second they'd been set loose in the hospital, they'd obviously made a beeline for Vergil, judging by the hurried footsteps, followed by their excited chattering and incessant questions. Or Kyle and Julio had. Carlo could still barely string three words together, and he'd never been particularly chatty around strangers. Nero was glad to see that that, at least, hadn't changed. 

"You're so tall!" Came Kyle's unmistakable voice. 

"How come you look like Nero?" Asked Julio.

"I like your coat! It's pretty!" 

Vergil made an undignified noise in the back of his throat. It sounded almost like panic. Yeah, maybe it was for the best that his old man hadn't known about Nero before now. He didn't exactly seem to know what to do around children, let alone what to do with them. Kyrie's soft hand found Nero's own calloused ones and she ran her thumb in circles over his palm. 

"Boys!" She said in that gentle yet commanding tone of hers. "Give Mister Vergil some space!" Then "alright, Carlo, alright. I'll put you down." 

Watching Vergil (or rather, hearing) interact with the kids, a thought occurred to Nero. He'd always figured his old man was a massive prick but maybe he was just actually awkward. Maybe his general silence and general standoffishness stemmed from the fact that Vergil really just didn't know how to interact with people in general. And maybe it wasn't so much general congenital bastardry but rather a defence mechanism. A "get them before they get me" mentality. Hell, Nero could relate. He'd taken up that very same mantra to cope with how widely disliked he'd been growing up. But if Kyrie could love and accept him despite all his flaws, maybe Nero could do the same thing for his old man. Because the fucker had ripped off his right arm but Nero thought with dark amusement that he had always hated that arm ever since it'd sprouted. It was definitely still his fault and Nero was definitely still mad about it, but it was sort of hard to maintain his general annoyance at the guy while listening to Vergil try and fail to hide his mild panic around the brats. 

"Come on, Verge. They're just kids. Stop acting like they're gonna kill ya," came Dante's teasing voice. 

Because his father was kind of a dork, honestly. A generally murderous dork, but a dork nonetheless. 

"Newo, up?" Carlo must have decided that all three seconds that Kyrie's attention was off of him was far too much.

He zeroed in on the next best thing, that being Nero, and demanded attention from him. Small problem: Nero couldn't exactly give it to him and the kid didn't really have the capacity to understand why. Kyrie must've still been distracted with herding the other little devils. 

"Newo," he insisted again. 

And this definitely didn't bode well. He could practically smell the incoming tantrum because to Carlo's mind, his second favourite person (Kyrie was definitely his first, not that Nero could blame him) was ignoring him. There was a general scuffling noise as the kid did his best to clamber onto Nero's hospital bed to get his attention. There was a distressed sound from the kid as Carlo struggled. Then the small indent of a tiny toddler on the mattress next to him. 

"Newo, up. Newo, up!" 

The child's voice increased in volume in tandem with his growing frustration. He imagined Carlo with his arms stretched out, demanding to be picked up and paid attention to. He was starting to sound upset, his voice beginning to rise in pitch. 

"Newo, up now!" Came his final demand. 

And then the damn broke. Carlo threw himself against Nero's side and began thrashing around. He was angry now and letting it be known. Carlo kicked and pummeled at him and the noise of that finally caught Kyrie's attention. She looked down at the scene and gasped, dropping Nero's hand in favour of defusing the bomb. 

"Carlo, sweetheart," she began softly. 

But the toddler was not having it. He continued to kick and scream against Nero's body, knocking things askew as he went. He was dangerously close to face territory and, sure enough, he picked himself up briefly in response to Kyrie's gentle pleading. But then he threw himself down again, launching himself against Nero and knocking his oxygen mask to the side with his flails. Nero felt the plastic mask shift from covering his nose and mouth to his cheek. He felt the cool air seeping into the skin of his face. He expected to choke, then, because he couldn't breathe by himself and now his mask was no longer there to help him. But instead, he took a deep breath, all on his own. Then, he took another. And instead of the bitter taste of pure oxygen, he caught a whiff of Kyrie's perfume. There was an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with an inability to breathe. He'd missed that homey scent of her more than he'd known. He took in another breath and it sucked all the tension out of the scene. They'd evidently all been waiting with trepidation for Nero to start choking, but instead were rewarded with a new revelation. Dante replied with a whoop. It was almost overwhelming to breathe in the scent of his hospital room and its visitors, as opposed to the cool, medical air from his mask. But he definitely wasn't complaining. It was the kind of overwhelming he could get used to. 

"Yeah, you go, kiddo! You keep fighting!" Yelled his uncle. 

Kyrie must have used the distraction to scoop Carlo because he felt the weight beside him dissipate. Then he felt her soft hand on his bare cheek. He could've cried with relief at the sensation of her skin against his without the complication of his oxygen mask in the way. 

"Oh, Nero," she said in a voice that was tight with joy. 

And that was a sentiment he echoed because this meant that slowly, bit by bit, he was coming back to himself. 

The nurse, however, did not find the situation as joyous as the rest of them. She had to reposition and replace a lot of equipment that'd been jostled in the wake of Carlo's tantrum. She honestly deserved a raise with how often she had to put up with the general shenanigans of Nero's visitors. 

Oops, was the only thought he could muster. 

Chapter Text

Growing up, Nero had not been well-liked. And that was putting it mildly. Rumours followed him his entire life as a kid, ones about how his mother had been a whore and his father an outsider. And yet, as one of the other kids at the orphanage had been kind enough to point out, not even they had wanted him. If he could just be quieter, if he could just pay attention to the order sisters' lessons, if only he could just sit still, if only he had a filter, if only he just knew how to fit in, to be like everyone else. His transgressions piled up more and more every day. And so

Nero tried all of that, forced himself to just shut up, to think before he opened his stupid mouth, to shift his fidgeting into less obvious outlets, but it still wasn't enough. The scorn clung to him like a mist, following him everywhere he went. Like there was a massive sign hanging over his head that just begged people to hate him. Try as he might to just be normal, it never seemed to work out for him. As for the few unlucky souls that actually, genuinely liked him for him, only pain and misfortune seemed to befall them. Credo, Kyrie's mom, and her dad... All of them were long since dead and buried. Forever was such a fucked up concept because as hard as he tried to process that they were all gone and never coming back, he couldn't really wrap his head around it. Even now, it was one hell of a puzzle. 

But as Nero lay in his hospital bed, he thought about how much that had all changed. He'd grown up in isolation, sure, but he wasn't alone anymore. He had Lady and Trish. Nico, who was the closest thing to an irritating sister he was ever going to get, had come all the way from Fortuna just to wish him well, in her own little way. He had an uncle and a father, too, and a girlfriend that loved him. He had Kyle, Julio, and Carlo, who all looked up to him. He wished he could've shown his younger self that. Look, kid. Look how many people love you. He wondered if his younger self would've even believed him. 

Nero could sense the demonic presence of his old man sitting in the chair beside his bed, like always. Vergil was definitely an odd one but he was trying, in his own way, and he hadn't willingly abandoned his kid like Nero had thought all those years. He had a father. And an uncle. It was a weird, wack-ass, fucked up sort of family, but what could be more fitting for a weird, wack-ass, fucked up sort of kid?

Maybe he'd had it wrong this whole time. Maybe it wasn't about fighting, tooth-and-nail against his useless body. Hell, maybe it wasn't about fighting at all. Maybe it was about a gentle awakening like the ones on those lazy Saturday mornings when he'd blink his eyes open sleepily and roll over to the sight of Kyrie's bare back laying next to him. He'd lie there for a while, staring at the way the sun caught her pale skin, illuminating it in an angelic glow. Her hair became liquid fire in its rays and Nero would lay there, mesmerised, wondering how he got so lucky. The overwhelming need to press his lips to one of the freckles that dotted her body always won out eventually and it would inevitably wake her up (she'd always been a light sleeper). But she never minded. She'd always turn to him with a smile and a greeting in her morning voice, still husky with sleep.

All in all, it was a lot of maybes. 

But stranger things had happened. So Nero opened his eyes, slowly. He didn't fight it anymore, simply let himself come to. The sun was painfully bright and he felt like crap, but he was a man on a mission. He leaned up to get a glance at Vergil. He had a book open in his lap, because of course he did, and he looked tired, far more exhausted than Nero had remembered. But he was there. He was actually right there in front of him and after all this time, Nero could touch him. His limbs were stiff and moved about as well as his devil breakers did after they got all stuffed up with demon gunk, but he could move. So Nero sat up slowly, trying to ignore the way the room spun. He stretched out his arms towards his old man... Only to get jerked back by the millions of wires attached to him. This was not how he pictured this moment going, and he'd imagined it a thousand times. He yanked them out of him and there would definitely be consequences for that later, but for now, he could not give less of a shit. Because his old man looked up at the movement in his peripheral and met his son's eyes. "Nero?" He said softly, voice quaking with disbelief. 

"Yeah, dad. It's me." He sounded like crap. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't used it in weeks. Because, well, he really hadn't. 

Nero sucked in a breath to psych himself up. Then he reached out in what was supposed to be a hug but ended up as him damn near falling off his bed. Vergil had to catch him before he face-planted. He'd make do, he decided. So Nero shifted in his father's grip and wrapped his arms around him. His old man did not throw him off and scoff at him, as he had in Nero's deepest fears. Nor did he wrap his son up in a fierce hug as he had in Nero's weird coma-addled fantasies. Instead, there was a surprised intake of breath and Vergil's arms fell limply at his sides. Nero didn't care that it wasn't being returned because dammit he'd wanted to do this for a while and he was milking it for all it was worth. His father was not the cuddliest to hug. He was overly warm and his body was hard with lean muscle, but Nero didn't mind. His old man smelled nice, cool and crisp, like the beginning of winter when the cold air misted up his breath. It was incredibly fitting for a man that Nero had once considered to be an iceberg. He didn't think that anymore, though. Eventually, just as he was beginning to pull away, one of his father's gloved hands came up to pat him on the back awkwardly. It was... Nice. 

"It is good to see you well," Vergil said haltingly. Nero couldn't help but gently laugh at that. It was just the right amount of awkwardly endearing, a sentiment that he was beginning to associate with his old man in general. 

Nero pulled back, not soon after, and gave an embarrassed cough. He rubbed his nose uncomfortably and couldn't help but notice that Vergil was similarly avoiding his gaze. "You, uh. You stayed. Thank you," Nero mumbled. 

"Yes," he said. He could hear pensiveness in his voice, mixed with just a splash of something positive. Pride? Joy? Nero couldn't quite tell. "I suppose I did. " 

Chapter Text

The gathering was in full swing. Nero weaved his way through the throng of people towards the kitchen. So many were there for him, they'd come all the way from Redgrave and beyond just to celebrate his awakening. Beer tabs were popped and chatter buzzed around him. It was nice, really, but he was a lot like his old man. The socialisation was a little too much for him after three weeks of not using his voice, which was still a little scratchy from disuse. 

He finally made it towards the eye of the proverbial storm and just as he'd expected, Kyrie was there. His place of solace. She was tending to the sinkful of dishes with her back to him. Nero wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Nero," she smiled as she turned towards him. "Shouldn't you be talking to your guests?" 

God, but she was beautiful. Three weeks without being able to look at her, and now he couldn't stop staring. "And leave you all alone with Dante? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I tortured you like that?" 

"Nero!" She scolded half-heartedly, batting at his bicep with her hand. But she was smiling up at him. 

The man in question was busy scarfing down pizza from a plate that sat on the counter next to him. Kyrie had set aside a special one without olives just for him. "I'm frankly wounded, kid. " He didn't bother to swallow, just talked with his mouth full of food. Sometimes, Nero really regretted being able to use his eyes again. Dante was responsible for almost all of these occasions. 

"Gross!" He complained as he extricated himself from his girlfriend. "Finish your food first before you talk. You're a fucking animal!"

Dante turned to Kyrie with fake hurt, "all I get is abuse." 

"Yeah, because you freaking deserve it!" Nero retorted. 

Dante grinned at him as he finished off the last of the pizza in his mouth. Then, with a glint in his eye, he grabbed the next slice and chewed with exaggeration, being sure to keep his mouth as wide as possible.

Nero groaned. "Can we kick him out yet?" 

"He's family," Kyrie said.

Dante loped over to Nero and patted his hand against his nephew's shoulder. "Yup, which means there's no getting rid of me." He hadn't even wiped his fingers first, the absolute savage. He'd gotten grease all over Nero's shirt and it'd been intentional, judging from the smug expression on his face. 

"You're the worst, you know that?" 

"Real glad I've got you to tell me that again, kid." He sounded like he meant it, too. It was rare for Dante to get all sentimental, so Nero accepted it with a quiet nod. Better not make too big a deal out of it. 

He added it to the tally: another silent declaration that the lone orphan kid had grown up to be loved. Lady and Trish burst into what was quickly becoming a little gathering of their own.

Lady offered Nero a smile. "It's good to see you back in action, kid." 

Trish gave a gentle squeeze to his arm, a silent affirmation that she shared the sentiment. That was two more points. Kyrie showed her gratitude to have Nero back everyday, and their brats couldn't get enough of him. Even Carlo had gotten more chatty in his presence. He was almost forming full sentences now, though he mainly stuck to using as few words as possible. 

He bathed in the banter of Dante and his friends, happy to simply be there to watch as the three of them bickered. Not long after, Nico discovered the impromptu little meeting. She barged in, fully intent on being as loud as usual. 

"Thought you'd be here, Nero," she drawled. "Followed the smell of little bitch and it led me right to ya!" 

He gave her an unimpressed look, but she ignored it. She only alternated between sipping the beer held in her left hand, and sucking in the smoke of her cigarette from her right. Nero waved away the cloud of nicotine that seemed to follow her everywhere. 

"Speaking of which," she looked up at him with her shit-eatingest grin yet. "I told you comas are for little bitches. That's three whole weeks of that shit, Nero." 

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall next to her. "You're insufferable, you know that?" 

"Yeah, and you like me anyway. What does that say about you, huh?" 

The party died down and guests slowly began to leave. It'd been an amazing day filled with soaking in the presence of his loved ones. Only one more person was needed to escalate it to perfect. 

"He's on the roof," Dante said, as though reading his thoughts. "Never been much for people." 

Nero nodded his thanks and Dante returned to telling Nico wild stories about his glory days. His uncle went overboard with his hand movements and his face lit up as he spun what was most likely a greatly exaggerated tale. Uncle... When had that term become less weird to him, he wondered. Now, Nero could use it in his mind without balking at all. Probably about the same time that he'd been able to comfortably think of Vergil as his father, he mused.

Vergil was standing against the far edge of the roof, leaning his arms the concrete wall the skirted along the sides. The tails of his coat whipped in the same wind that ruffled his hair. Vergil did not look real in that moment but Nero slid next to him anyway. He gave a slight incline of his head to acknowledge his son's presence, but did not drag his gaze away from the horizon. Nero would have thought it rude before, as just one of the many ways that Vergil made other people feel small. But no, it wasn't that deep. It was just sort of how Vergil was and Nero had come to accept him for the father that he was, rather than agonising over what could have been. They were both quiet for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was nice, actually. 

"I, uh, read that book you gave me." 

"Oh?" 

"Can I be honest?" 

"I've never known you to be anything else," Vergil said quietly. But it wasn't the insult it could have been. Instead, it was tentatively affectionate. 

"I mean the pictures were nice, I guess, but Blake used a lot of words and I don't get what he's saying most of the time." 

Vergil laughed a little and it was soft. It wasn't mocking, it was simply amused. "I could explain them to you sometime, if you'd like." 

Nero smiled and mimicked his father's position, with his hands leaning over the concrete and his back straight. He'd compared the man to a glacier, once. Cold and unknowable, with icy walls that kept people at a distance. But Nero felt that was no longer true. No, Vergil was more like a gentle breeze: so understated that it was easily missed, but quite refreshing once one took the time to notice. Because his father's love was not a fiery, all-encompassing thing but Vergil loved him and that was enough. 

"Yeah?" Nero said. "I'd like that." 

Chapter Text

I felt that I left things on such a sad personal note and have been considering updating this for a while now. 

I think I can safely say that, while I struggled for a while, and I definitely still have bad days, I think I've moved on or at least learned how to continue with my own life. 

I thought this was a necessary update, because loss seems to be so prevalent around me. I know my students seemed to be facing so much grief and loss. I've also put so much of myself into this fic, so what's a little more? 

So for my final year of my teaching degree, I did my practical at a special ed school, and because Christopher was on the spectrum and talked about all the horrible experiences he had in class, (while obviously understanding that every kid is different and he's by no means the bible), I tried to use some of that that as a guide. 

Somewhere along the way, I realised that I actually genuinely really loved working with kids on the spectrum and essentially discovered the next step in life which is trying to be the teacher he never got to have. It was fulfilling, working to try and make him proud, and to use the experiences he shared with me while he was alive, keeping him alive by doing something I love, rather than staying at a standstill by mourning him. 

I'm officially starting a full time job tomorrow working in an inclusive education school (with mostly kids on the spectrum, one of whom is named Chris and immediately attached himself to me). 

Did some self discovery, figured out that I'm probably autistic too lol, and got a memorial tattoo. 

Basically, I just wanted to say that if you're going through a loss right now and it feels all consuming, it's not selfish to try and move on. You will get through this.