Archive of Our Own

Dante's shop seemed like its own separate universe. The outside was deceiving, the narrow facade of the brownstone gave little indication of just how many rooms it housed. He imagined the older devil hunter must have paid at least three times as much in rent and maintenance as he and Kyrie did for their measly little one-story back in Fortuna. No wonder he was always broke, and just why did he need so much goddamn space anyways? 

Usually, he wouldn't feel compelled to overanalyze the cost of living for a man who seems to survive on pure sheer will and day-old pizza, but today was a unique situation. 

When he woke up this morning, the red blinker on his answering machine illuminated the tiny desk he rarely used, as he took most of his work calls from the van. This meant that the person calling knew his private extension, and that was a very exclusive list. It could have been Lady or Trish, though they usually swung by for a visit, as an opportunity to raid his kitchen and take Kyrie’s leftovers was too good to pass up. It could be the landlord, on his ass for this month’s rent, but that couldn’t be true either since he just paid it last week. 

That only left...

He picked up the receiver slowly, listening with bated breath as the message played.

“Hey, kid. It’s been a while huh? Hope you haven't gotten into too much fun while we've been gone, heh. Well, I'm sure you'll tell us all about it. Why don't you swing by tomorrow? Your old man would like to talk with ya...shocker, I know. So, you better not keep him waiting too long m'kay? He gets bitchy when he's impatient.” The message went silent and Nero didn’t really know what he expected. Leave it to Dante to downplay returning from a one-way trip to hell as if he merely went away on a really long but pleasant holiday. Six goddamn months the twins had been missing-in-action, and yet no one seemed even the least bit concerned. Lady and Trish just shrugged when Nero suggested they go look for them, stating it was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

“Why are you so worried? Loosen up a little, hun. You’ll age faster that way, even with your demonic heritage.” Trish had laughed after he brought up a possible rescue mission for the third time.

“Oh please. Those two are probably having the time of their lives down there, fighting to their heart's content without you butting in again. They'll come back...eventually.”  Lady told him in what she thought was reassurance, but it only further fueled his need to bust into hell and drag their asses out himself, if they hadn't killed each other already.

He continued to fret for months, despite not having a clear reason as to why, well, one he wouldn't admit to himself at least. That didn't stop Nico from trying to pry an answer out of him, however, no matter how delusional it was. 

“D'aww, does the wittle Devil hunter miss his uncle and daddy?” she'd coo, her lips puckering in faux sympathy. 

“Would ya knock it off! What is there to miss? I just want to make sure they don't wreak havoc down there, is all.” 

“You keep tellin’ yourself that tough guy.” 

Eventually, business was steady and all the extra space in his brain was filled with charred demon remains and all the usual blood and guts that came with the job. Now all those thoughts came rushing back like a tidal wave, crashing against his membrane and forcing him to drown out everything else, Dante's friendly little message playing over and over in an endless loop in his head. He, Vergil, wanted to talk to him, and boy was that going to be a strange encounter. 

The last time he saw his father in the flesh, he had been pumped up on adrenaline and a sense of urgency due to the world nearly entering another apocalypse courtesy of the Sparda bloodline. At no point in time during that fateful day did he have even a second to truly process the hourly revelations that seemed to have no end in sight. But it had been six months, and six months was a lot of time to think, or as Nico put it, “worry like a little bitch”. Eventually, the rational part of his brain was kicked into high gear.

The process went something like this:

Revelation 1: You have a father.

Revelation 2: That father is Vergil.

Revelation 3: Vergil is Dante’s brother.

Revelation 4: Dante is your uncle.

And then from that point on it has just been a series of frustratingly kicking his tools around in his garage, begrudging happiness and morale-crippling self-doubt, sprinkled with the odd session of cursing both Dante and Vergil's names and how stupid they were for leaving him behind to have the ultimate grudge match in hell. He almost did not get out of bed this morning, still not completely ready to face the music, but his pride was on the line. The last thing he wanted to appear, especially to his seemingly-hardcore father, was as a coward. 

And so, after a long morning pep talk from Kyrie and a kick in the ass from Nico, here he was. And he was anxious beyond belief. Currently, he was standing near the entrance of the shop, unconsciously wringing his hands together, a nervous habit he developed as a child and could never quite kick. Trish was lounging in her usual spot on Dante's desk, clearly amused by the situation. A downright devilish smirk curled at the corners of her ruby lips.  Her eyes unnerved him, like staring into the glassy sockets of a porcelain doll.

“...What?” Nero snapped after her prolonged eye contact failed to cease. 

“Nothing.” she grinned, folding one long leg over the other.

“Uh-huh sure.”

“ It's just that...I don't think I've seen you this nervous since ‘Gloria’ put on a little show for you.”

 He outwardly cringed at the memory. “You gotta stop bringing that up. And I'm not nervous!”

“Uh-huh sure.” she echoed his earlier flippant words back to him. 

“I'm not!”

“You're wringing your hands.”

Damn was his tell that obvious? No wonder Nico always kicked his ass at poker.

“‘Just warming them up for when I punch’em both in the face. And speaking of, where the hell are they anyways?” He hoped his irritation masked his anxiety. 

Trish threw her hands up, gracefully unfolding herself from the desk like the petals of a deadly rose blooming from its bud.

“Aww, relax Nero. There is no need to be all anxious. Dante is just having a chat with Morrison upstairs.”

“...and Vergil?”

“Hmm, I think I last saw him go into the training room in the back.”

“You have a--how goddamn big is this place anyway?”

Trish snorted, apparently not as impressed as Nero was with the square footage.

“Clearly not big enough now that it is going to house both of them. They'll need their own separate wings,  otherwise, the shop won't survive the year.” The blonde grumbled, perhaps reluctantly remembering all the times Dante’s shop was wrecked throughout the decades. 

“Unbelievable. Six months wasn't enough to get it all out of their system?”

“They can't help it, it’s how they bond. At least now I can tell they aren't actively trying to kill each other anymore.”

Well, that was at least an improvement he guessed, more than he expected. 

“Yeah, well, let's see how long that shit lasts.” Came a distant reply in an unmistakable timbre.

Morrison descended from the staircase, the remnants of a dying cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. 

“Morrison.” He greeted the broker who tipped his hat in return.

“I'd love to stay and chit chat Nero, but I hear your daddy gets in a mood when he is kept waiting, and I tend to ramble.” 

Nero snorted, stepping aside as the broker reached for the door handle. 

“Last thing I need is to be on that one's bad side…’ end up with one of ‘em ghost swords up my ass. Talk with ya real soon.” and with a final wave of his hand, he disappeared, leaving Nero just as fascinated as he was the first time he met him.

“He's wrong you know.” A familiar gruffiness echoed from the upper staircase. Unconsciously Nero felt himself ease up, that voice providing a comfort he didn't know he relied on until it was gone.

“We aren't like that anymore.” 

Nero turned towards the source and raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Oh really? Now, why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because up until now it was. Hell, if you told me that twenty years ago, I'd have called you downright nuts. But 6 months of uh...working through our issues, and--:

“And by  ‘working through your issues’ you mean 'stab the fuck out of each other and as many nearby demons you possibly can' right?” He retorted, barely withholding the bitterness from seeping into his tone.

Heavy boots creaked against the aging, brittle wooden steps as Dante finally descended the staircase.

“Hey, give us a little more credit than that. Sometimes we ran out of things to kill, and then we had no choice but to talk.”

He looked the same, his hair a little more dishevelled, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced, but the mysterious burden that seemed to always lay beneath the surface of those icy pools had evaporated. He looked...At peace, and not in the laid-back sense which was just built-in to his demeanour, but truly at peace, even though he had just literally been to hell and back. 

Dante stopped in front of his nephew and took a moment to study him just as Nero had. 

“I know you won't believe me, but we really took your words to heart. We thought of other ways to settle our differences, so you don't have to worry, alright? We'll behave.”

Nero chuckled in disbelief. “Now that's the biggest lie you have ever told.”

“I'm serious. Well, at least I am. I'll be good ol' uncle Dante from now on. And Vergil...I'm sure he'll make an effort.” He reassured him weakly. 

“Oh wow. Aren't I lucky?” 

Dante let out a mirthful laugh, patting Nero on the shoulder to show his amusement.

“That you are, kid. Alright. Now go on, I think you have kept him waiting long enough.”

“ I waited 23 years, he can wait a few minutes.”

“Look I don't defend my brother often, but in his defence...you know what? He can tell you that himself. Go on kid, stop dragging your feet.”

“Fine.”

“Just holler if you need some backup. I never pass up an opportunity to kick his ass.”

“Sure sure.”

Nero managed to navigate his way through the winding halls of the shop's back half.  The wallpaper was faded and curling, water marks staining the robin's egg blue paper brown in a couple of places. There was a charm in its gloom, and somehow he expected this area to be just as messy and chaotic as the front, but there wasn't even a cobweb or a dust bunny to be seen. The broom was still out too, leaning against the wall as if it had recently been used, and perhaps it had.

Muffled grunts could be heard coming from the very last door on the left-hand side, as well as faint music. 

Nero took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was surely going to be an awkward encounter, and gently knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Answered Vergil in his strange raspy tone, such a contrast to the playful gruffness of his twin. 

Nero braced against the wood of the old door, it was heavier than he expected, and he finally pulled on the handle and entered. 

He was greeted with a sight he was also not expecting. His father's bare back faced him, curved as he bent forward, predator-like, and lethal.  Yamato was twirling expertly through his fingers, no different than those old Kurosawa films he watched during those rare movie nights at the orphanage.  He didn't know why, but he always thought Vergil would be covered in the inky black tattoos just like his human counterpart, but this just indicated to him that V was truly gone. He thought about the book he still kept on his nightstand.

A symphony he recognized vaguely blared from a record player resting on a nearby shelf. It synched up perfectly with his father’s graceful movements, his hands commanding the Yamato as if it was an extension of his own limbs. Nero had never seen so much patience, each careful motion exquisitely carried out with a calculated ease. He much preferred a more brutal approach to fighting, his objective to rip and tear rather than to puncture. In that regard, he was a lot like his boisterous uncle, whose finesse was as lacking as his tact.

He didn't want to be caught gawking, so he urged himself to say something.

“Classical music, huh? Aren't you like a child of the 80s?”

Vergil halted mid-strike, both hands gripping the hilt like he did right before he created those reality distortions. Nero felt their deep cuts as if he still brandished their scars on his skin.

“Unless that's the 1880s…”

Vergil scoffed and turned to face him,  The subtle smile gracing his lips showed no irritation, however.

“It aids in concentration and expands your mind, Nero. You ought to try it sometime, unless you want to end up like Dante.”

There was a certain twinge of vulnerability, seeing his father like this, and not covered up to the neck in heavy leather. There was no protection, no armour, open for an attack. If he was wounded, Nero would see him bleed.  He silently wondered if Vergil had done it on purpose, to put Nero at ease, but perhaps he was overthinking it. 

“Wow. You haven't even been back a full 24 hours and you are already throwing jabs, huh?”

The elder twin just shrugged, strangely similar in manner to Dante. “Apologies, I am not exactly sure how to interact with you. I imagine the feeling is mutual.”

Yeah, no shit. He badly wants to say, but he bites his tongue.

“Fair enough.” Nero nodded in agreement, looking down at the floor, attempting to avoid the scrutinising gaze of the older man that he felt as if he could see right through him.

Vergil placed Yamato back in its sheath and made his way to the record player. There was a light hiss of static that crackled from the ancient contraption, indicating the record had played out its final note. Vergil lifted the needle off, and the room was finally silent. It unnerved Nero a little bit, as he struggled to fill the tense quiet, unsure of how to begin.

How do you start a civil conversation with the father that abandoned you, and specifically in a way that doesn't end in blood and tears?

Vergil slowly sauntered towards him, towel rubbing the sweat from his brow and neck, before stopping about 2 feet in front of him, a puzzled look in his eyes. It was like he couldn't believe what he was seeing either. Vergil was a massive man, he towered at least a good five inches over his own six-foot stature that was nothing to scoff at. He just appeared to be a wall of muscle, a human in peak physical condition just by virtue of birth. Nero perhaps had it easier than most when it came to his metabolism and building his physique, but even he had to watch himself sometimes. Too many doughnuts and he is softer than a marshmallow, which also just happens to be his guilty pleasure. 

Nero shot him a questioning gaze in return, unable to determine what the man was thinking. Vergil was by this point more of a mystery than V to him. After a second, Vergil shifted those cold irises towards the floor, as Nero had done so earlier, his lips pursed as Yamato vanished into thin air. 

And that is when it clicked for him. Vergil was nervous and perhaps just as intimidated as he was. There was no putting on airs about it now, they were alone, without Dante's constant watch and perhaps unwittingly judgemental tendencies. 

He noticed Vergil wringing his hands together too. Well shit.

“You called me here, father. What is it that you wanted to say to me?” Father. That word felt as heavy as lead on his tongue and just as strange.  It seemed to prick at Vergil's blood-reddened ears as well.

“Indeed I did. But now that you are standing here before me….the words escape me.”

Nero snorted, unable to stop the disbelieving head shake.

“Well, now I know we are family. We communicate better through kicking each other's asses than by talking.”

Vergil hummed in agreement.

“Then perhaps that is what we should do.”

Nero sputtered, unsure if he had heard him right.

“Wait what? Are you serious?”

“Deadly so. I promised you a rematch last time, did I not?”

“Uh, you mean the one I never agreed to?”

“Oh come on, you haven't lost your nerve, have you? Or do you perhaps believe last time you won by a fluke?” The confident, snarky way he said it was oddly reminiscent of a teenage Credo during one of their many spars, it threw him for a loop.

Oh, now that got his demon side growling.

“..Okay old man, so that's how you wanna play it, huh?” Red Queen materialised from his strap and he revved it cockily.

Vergil chuckled as he shifted into a fighting posture, his blade re-materializing in his hands, facing forward and aimed at the other’s abdomen.

“Show me what you've got, child.” He taunted.

Nero gritted his teeth and surged forward, his Red Queen finally revved to the max. He took a calculated offensive approach, swinging the sword from an offhand angle, testing his father's limits. Their swords clashed as Vergil parried the sudden blow, sparks fluttering off the metal with the pressure coming from both sides. 

“Before we continue, some ground rules.”

Nero rolled his eyes and pressed further on his blade. “Come on, really? You scared I am gonna slap your shit again with my devil form?”

Vergil scoffed, meeting Nero's increase in strength with ease. “No. I just don't want Dante busting my balls if we tear the training room to shreds.”

Nero raised an eyebrow at Vergil's choice of words.

“That's an interesting turn of phrase coming from you, Mr. Proper. One might say it is almost Dante-esque in nature.”

Vergil blinked, perhaps not having realised he even said it.

“Well, I did spend six months in close proximity to the idiot, I may have picked up one or two of his phrases…” He trailed off, using this discussion as an opportunity to counter, whacking Nero back with the bottom of his sheath.  Nero attempted to evade the brunt of it, but Vergil still had an edge in speed. He was knocked back and he slid a couple of feet away, narrowly missing and nearly tripping over a strange chest in his way. Was that there before?

“Believe me, it won't happen again.” Vergil grinned haughtily, and it was spoken in such a way that Nero was not sure if he was referring to his usage of Dante-isms or Nero's ability to attack him. 

Nero recovered his stance quickly, powering up Red Queen at the same time.

 “Just tell me your damn ground rules.”

“Very well.” A beat, punctuated with a twirl of Yamato.

“There will be no shifting forms of any kind, no large throws, no usage of abilities that have massive area of effect properties, and most importantly of all...no guns.” Vergil grimaced at that final point as if he was disgusted at the mere mention of such a weapon. 

“Of course, you would hate guns. They are too much fun.”

Vergil scoffed. “More like they are not the true weapons of a warrior. Swords require dexterity, fluidity, and mastery over oneself, any old idiot can pick up a gun and kill something. There is no finesse.”

“Sounds like someone never got the hang of a gun.” Nero shrugged. 

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe...if you're up for it.” The young man grinned, already liking where this was heading. They did have a lot of catching up to do after all. 

Vergil’s mouth twitched in response,  prideful and dangerous.  “Boy, your grandmother handed me a pistol when I was seven years old, I know how to shoot a gun.”

“Well, then grandma sounds like she knew what she was talking about, unlike you.”

Vergil looked affronted, like every word that came out of Nero’s mouth was physically wounding him. 

“Perhaps you are Dante's spawn after all.” He grumbled, readjusting his stance so that he was in a forward crouch.

Now it was Nero's turn to feel insulted, he was unsure why.  “Hey, now that's taking it too far.” 

“Let's continue this discussion another time, for now, we resume.” Vergil suggested.

‘Yes, let's.” 

The two men studied each other carefully, planning out their next move while also trying to predict their opponent's. Nero knew he could not run in guns blazing like usual (especially when he literally wasn't allowed his Blue Rose) and instead had to rely on his sword mastery. He didn't even have the edge with his devil form, which helped him trounce Vergil last time particularly because the man didn't understand the depth of its power. He had to be careful to not underestimate this deadly slayer, for a nagging feeling he tried to ignore was telling him that he had gotten let off easy last time.

“Your stance is incorrect.” Vergil pointed out, aiming Yamato downwards to Nero's feet. 

“Doesn't matter, I'm still going to kick your ass.”

“Talk talk talk, and more talk. Just like your uncle, it’s incredible.” He shook his head disbelievingly. 

Nero dared a step closer, feigning innocence. “What? Are you telling me you don't smack talk your opponents?”

In response, his father tightened his grip on Yamato. Nothing got past him. “ It's not ‘smack talk’ when the victory is assured. Then it is simply fact.”

“ Well, you know what they say. When you assume…”

Nero made a sudden attack on Vergil's seemingly unguarded left-hand side, only to be parried again and again each time he tried to get an inch in.  He stumbled back, holding the blade at both ends as Vergil attempted to drive the very point through what would have been the centre of his chest if he hadn't blocked it at the last second. The amount of force behind that single blow almost gave him whiplash.

“...Yes. You did just make an ass out of yourself, didn't you?” Oh, that shit-eating grin struck a nerve he didn't know he had. 

Nero gritted his teeth and forced him back with a strong lunge, revved his sword and attempted to get a hit in while his father regained his posture, but he was too slow, Yamato's scabbard acting like a heavy shield several times its width as his he swung it side to side. This was how Blue Rose never so much as grazed him last time they fought. Chilling memories arose of when that very sword protected that twisted tyrant king that made up one-half of Vergil.

How much pain has this man put him through? Not even counting what occurred this past year, but all the emotional damage being an abandoned child had caused. Why he was so quick to anger, so distrusting of others but so desperately wanting to and always, always alone.

He growled in frustration, almost feral and barely keeping his demon at bay. His hits became harder as he bashed relentlessly on the scabbard, all gnashing teeth and violent rage.

Vergil sensed this change immediately, dropping all his somewhat playful pretences, he became more serious, knowing just how dangerous this particular hybrid could be when he wanted to. Nero's strength had increased tenfold within seconds, his blows powerful enough to cause Vergil to slide backward as he tried to defend against the onslaught. He needed to stop this before it progressed.

“Nero, I said no--”

“What's the matter old man? Nothing to critique this time around?” Nero interrupted cruelly. His crystal blue irises became bloodied with crimson, his inner devil clawing its way out of the confines of his mortal flesh.

Vergil grit his teeth, holding back his own devil that was roaring in frustration, wanting nothing more than to rip this fledgling to shreds for daring to challenge a superior, but this was his fledgling, and so the instinct to protect was stronger still. 

“Nero, this is no place for-”

“For what huh? To use the power I inherited from my father ? the power I never fucking asked for?!” Nero's right arm shifted, his fingers elongated into claws and the scaly tough skin formed, as if to emphasise his point. 

He suddenly lifted the newly-transformed arm from his sword and made a fist, intent on driving it through his father's side. 

Vergil teleported out of the way, but Nero was able to track him with ease, grabbing him the instant he reappeared and launching him into the opposite wall. Vergil managed to recover, landing on his feet less than gracefully. The demon inside was enraged, shifting below his skin, but he resisted. 

He took another cautious approach, hands-on his hilt, but he did not raise his weapon.

“Son, you have to calm yourself.”

Those were apparently not the right words to say. 

“All I ever wanted was a family! To know where I came from and why...why I was brought into this world!” He cried, voice more gravel than vocal cords at this point, it pricked at Vergil’s ears. 

 “What do you want me to say, Nero?” It was almost not a rhetorical question.  “I was unaware you even existed, how was I going to be able to give you what you wanted?”

“You could've stuck around!” Nero was livid, fury embodied, spittle flying like venom from a cobra.

This was like a cold shock down the older demon’s spine.  There was such pain in those young eyes, a naked loneliness he remembered carrying like the sword at his side for decades. He did that, no matter how inadvertently, it was his choice to walk away and leave his child to fend for himself in a cruel world. 

“...”

Vergil's silence was telling, at least to the raging demon inside his son.

"...What? Nothing to say?"

 "Nero--"

"No, it doesn't even matter. Nothing you say will ever make it okay."

The older man merely clenches his fist so Nero turns to leave, all the rage bleeding out of him in an instant and leaving him cold.

"I know." The words are spoken so quietly that Nero almost thinks he imagined them.

"What?"

Vergil looks up to meet his eyes, and there is no coldness in those grey irises anymore.

"I know. The fact that you'd even think I would believe that is telling of how little you think of me. Which I suppose is to be expected."

Nero finally turns back towards his father, reluctant, but realising he is still going to give him a chance. It's what Kyrie would tell him to do anyways.

A silence passes over them when Vergil does not continue. Eventually, Nero's gaze softens and his devil slinks back to slumber within himself. 

His old man seems far away now, lost in some distant memory he could never hope to learn about from the tight-lipped demon. 

Well, he could try. 

“So, million-dollar question...” He began when the hostile mood finally dissipated.

Vergil is snapped out of his musings, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “Oh? I wonder what it could possibly be.” The sarcasm was unexpected and not appreciated.

“Ha ha. But seriously though…" He shoves his hands in his pockets nervously, "who is my mother?”

Vergil sighed, expecting the question but still not ready for it.

“Even if I told you it would not mean anything to you.”

“Doesn't matter. I have a right to know".

“Very well.”

The older man's eyebrows knit together as he struggled with how to begin. As the silence grew lengthier, Nero's anxiousness grew with it.

He finally clears his throat. “She was...special." a flaccid remark after all that build-up if he ever heard one.

"...that's all?"

"For me to take notice of her, that is saying quite a lot." 

Nero scoffs. "You sure think highly of yourself."

An unknown emotion passed over his face for a second before his expression steeled itself once more.

"...hm.

"Oh come on old man, you can't be that thin-skinned."

Vergil shook his head. "No…it is just...that sounds like something she would have said."

It was now Nero's turn to be stunned into silence.

"Oh."

"Like I said, she was special."

"What else do you...remember of her?"

Little lines like eroded grooves appear on his father's forehead as he looks for the answer searchingly. 

"A lot of those memories have dulled. I only get flashes of things...side effects of...my time in the underworld. All happiness leaves you eventually...only fear remains."

A cold shiver runs up his spine at that chilling revelation. 

“Oh. That sucks…I am sorry.” Nero's mind wanders to Kyrie and how empty his life would be without her deep impressions on the wrinkles of his brain. 

Vergil hums, expression calm and collected once more, a skill that fascinates the young hunter. He doesn't want to know what it takes for one to become hardened at will. Probably more than he would ever know.

 "But I know she was never afraid. She should have been...but she always had that look in her eye, like she had seen the monster within me and with her look alone she could beat it back into submission."

Now this , Nero was familiar with. 

"Ah, so you were pussy-whipped."

His father eyes him incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"Must run in the family then, I mean I am definitely whipped for Kyrie."

He becomes thoughtful once more, hand coming up to his chin. "Ah. Perhaps it does, father never could say no to mother. I dare say he even feared her at times."

"Used guns and had a demon lord by the balls, grandma was a badass."

“A bit crass but…I would have to agree.” 

There was a beat of companionable silence as both weighed the heavy Revelations that had been revealed, but of course, that would never last.  Before he could stop himself, a question that had been lodged in Nero's throat wrenched free and past his lips.

"Did you...love her?”

His father became visibly uncomfortable. “...I cared for her.”

“Apparently not enough to stay with her, huh?”

The older demon bristles, not liking the turn this is taking. “Nero…”

“What? Am I wrong? ‘cause it seems to me that you did what you had to do and then got the hell out of there.” They had gone all of five minutes before Nero felt the urge to clobber the other man again. 

As a matter of fact…

Before he even knew what he was doing he was revving Red Queen up again. Vergil prepared himself in tandem. This time it wasn't rage driving him to draw blood,  it was just frustration and hurt at the selfishness of the man in front of him. 

“That is not true. I had no choice but to leave.”

Nero rolled his eyes, sick of the excuses, before charging his father once more. They continued a flurry of parries and counters, some furniture not surviving the onslaught around them.  Dante was sure to be thrilled. 

 Nero pressed his blade into Vergil’s trying to twist it back onto its master.

“Yeah, to pursue your fucked up desire to become an unfeeling monster.”

There was a small audible gasp from Vergil before he could stop himself as if the very word had wrenched itself clean through.  He grits his teeth before forcing him back and away with a well-timed counter. 

“ Why do you twist my words? You are making wild accusations simply to confirm your assumptions of me.”

Nero laughed incredulously, feinting left before jabbing Red Queen into Vergil's ribs. The older man winced, shoving Nero back with the hilt of Yamato before teleporting behind him. Before Nero could react, Vergil grabbed ahold of his son's arms, trapping them behind his back almost painfully.

Nero grunted, his wrist unable to properly grip his sword in this position and it dropped with a clang to the floor.

“What the hell, let go of me!"

“Not until I see you are willing to listen.”

“Like hell, I've heard enough from you!"

“I had no choice, Nero. I really didn't.”

Nero fought against the restraint of his father's grip but to no avail, he might as well be deadlocked. “You always have a choice!”

Vergil resisted easily, pulling Nero's back closer against his solid wall of a chest. 

“I was putting her in danger! The longer I stayed, the more likely her blood would be on my hands!" 

This gave Nero pause.  “...Why?”

“I told you once.”

He remembered V. All I wanted was to be protected and loved, but I had no choice, I had to survive.

It all clicked into place then. “You were hunted.”

Vergil released him from his hold but kept a hand on his shoulder, perhaps in a rare attempt at sincerity.

“Yes. Dante and I led very different lives, Nero. It was one of the reasons I was so envious of him. It had appeared to me at the time that he did not struggle, did not have to beat back the wrath of hundreds of demons in Mundus’ infernal army, at an age when they should still be playing with toys. Despite everything, he was protected in his anonymity, I was not.”

Nero remembers Morrison’s handwritten manifesto, detailing the days when Dante went by another name. If the demon king never pursued Dante during that time, it could only mean his attention was otherwise occupied by his brother. Unfortunately for Nero's rage, his story checked out. 

Nero shrugged him off and turned to face him.

“Fine.” 

"Hm."

Again the room falls silent, and the heat emanating is more from just the stifling room around him but the blood filling the younger's cheeks as well. There is an apology on his tongue that is fighting its way out of his mouth, but his embarrassment holds it at bay. Maybe one day that will become easier for both of them.

Surprisingly it is Vergil who breaks the silence first.

"Nero…I wish… there was more I could give you, including the answers that you seek but–"

His son quiets him with an outstretched hand. "It's alright father. I am starting to realize there is a lot I still don't understand, so we are just gonna have to be patient with each other alright?"

It's the closest thing to an olive branch that he can extend, and he offers his hand to emphasize the significance of it. 

Vergil is hesitant,  eying his open hand like it will crumble the instant he touches it. Nero then remembered the last time he had grabbed this arm was to rip it off. 

They would just have to push through, so Nero takes a deep breath and extends his hand even further in encouragement. After a moment he feels light deft fingers graze his, taking extra care to exert only the lightest of pressures. 

"Alright."  He can see those grey storms for eyes clear just a bit, a small tug at the corner of his father's lips. 

Nero can't help but smile at that too, satisfied. 

"You know, one thing we could do if you don't mind…." 

An errant finger runs soothingly against the pulse of his wrist and its gentleness makes the younger's cheeks heat. 

"What is it, son?" He reddens even further if possible at that concerned fatherly tone. 

Nero scratches the back of his head in embarrassment. "I mean it would be cool if you could show me some of that sword stuff you do."

His father cocks his head to the side, not dissimilar to a dog trying to understand your unfamiliar commands. 

"You mean Iaijutsu?"

"Uh, is that what that thing you do is called when you pull out your sword  and then quickly return it to your sheath?"

"Precisely." 

Vergil takes Yamato out once more, delicately holding it out and motioning for Nero to take it.

Once it is situated in his hand, Vergil begins carefully arranging his limbs until he is happy with it, easily falling into the role of a teacher. 

“ This is called Iai-Goshi, and it is the first posture of Iaijutsu.” He claims with confidence. 

It's so deceptively simple, the younger soon realizes. So much balance, control, coordination and grace were needed just to hold this one position and they all had to work together in tandem harmoniously. His father had made it look so easy, fluidly moving through multiple stances as if it were as familiar to him as breathing. A newfound respect for the older man begins burgeoning within him. He can already feel how this accentuates his own power and confidence, like a tuning fork to his unrestrained strength. Maybe his father had some things to teach him yet. 

"How many postures are there?" Nero asks inquisitively, finally looking up at his father without the veil of fear and anxiety like he had previously.

Vergil lifted an eyebrow and something akin to pride curved his lips upward. It made Nero flush. 

"Well, technically only two for combative purposes…but to do them well? It may take a lifetime to perfect." He admits, and Nero recognizes the comment for what it is. 

Nero nods, accepting this offer wholeheartedly. 

"Damn. Well, we better get started then." He can't look his father in the eye, so he instead readjusts his grip on Yamato. 

Vergil only hums. Small steps, baby steps even, but nothing is harder than the first ones you take plunging into the unknown.

"Yes, let's."