Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When he woke up, it was with sharp lights bearing down into his eyes. Even with his eyes closed, it was all too much and they continued to burn and blind him. He lifted an arm to shield his eyes, only for something to stop him part way. He pulled hard at it only for his arm to be wrenched to a standstill, a blooming pain on his wrist. He tried one last time with the other hand, the clanging of metal echoed long past his futile attempt. 

All his muscles felt sore. His shoulders and legs were tight, his arms spent after the brief strain. He tried straightening up, wishing to stretch the kinks out of his arched back. He found himself unable to lean back particularly far, already up against a wall. He rested his head back. It wasn’t any less bright, but at least the coolness of the material felt nice. 

Why was he here?  

He felt like all his memories had been stuffed together into one unintelligible mess. It was hard to make sense of anything. He remembered fighting. And reading. He remembered cold rain that had sunk into his clothes. And something warm to drink when his hands and face were frozen. Nothing had any order to it. These memories could have been hours beforehand or years. 

Slowly, the brightness became manageable. He had to blink rapidly at first, only catching glimpses of his surroundings. Thick chains bound to the floor in front of him, tinted glass encircling him, and, beyond that, tables with chunks of black on them.

As his vision straightened out, he could make out his reflection in the glass. Pale hair and skin to match, unnatural in how gray he was. Black veins protruding from his skin and a reddish tint to one of his eyes gave him an unnerving appearance.

It was him, of that he was sure, but his reflection was off. It wasn’t what he felt should be staring back. He tried looking past the glass once again. No one appeared to be around, despite the bright lights and obvious signs of life. There were papers on the tables and someone’s dirty footprint within the glass chamber. Once again, his eye was drawn to the black lumps atop the tables. Some of the pieces were broken, their edges jagged and crushed inward. One of the smaller pieces had defined shapes. It was some sort of glove. 

It was a suit of black armor, his mind supplied. Demonic armor that fused itself onto the wearer and ate away at them. Armor he had been forced to wear, his mind corrupted and warped until he was nothing but a body, only capable of fighting.

Vergil choked in a breath, anger rising from deep within his chest and suffocating all other functions. That’s right, Mundus had been the one to do that to him. Had forced him to submit and serve for who knows how long.

Still, he was unsure where he was or how he got there. How long had he been unconscious? And how had the armor been removed?

Despite his unanswered questions, his first order of business would be to free himself of whatever bindings he’d been placed in. Shackles bound his hands and feet and anchored him to the floor. While the metal itself was plain enough, he could see magic runes etched into them, likely meant to sap his strength and prevent him from breaking them.

Vergil quickly found that there was little for him to do. He was unable to move, his line of vision didn’t offer much information, and the glass seemingly muffled any noise that came from the outside. 

That fact became apparent after two men came in. Vergil slouched over, making himself appear asleep. It didn’t matter, as the men walked past without a glance at him. He could see their mouths moving in speech and their heavy boots should have made some noise, yet nothing reached him. As their backs were turned to him, he jostled the metal chains. Neither head turned. 

Once they had fully left the room, he inspected the chains again. Pulling too hard at the metal caused the runes to activate with a white glow, immediately causing him to feel tired and weak. He traced around where the chains were welded into the floor and found it slightly singed his fingertips. It was likely doused with holy water. Whoever it was that had bound him, they had knowledge of demons and how to trap them. 

Vergil’s reflection caught his eye again. The mess of black seeping through his skin was likely a remainder of Mundus’ corruption. Even if he was out of the armor it seemed he wasn’t free from the demon’s influence quite yet. 

That was fine. He would train himself back up and get his revenge. It would be immensely satisfying to crush the demon king that had tortured him for so long. He would have to regain his strength, of course, but it gave him a goal. It had always been his goal, he supposed. Ever since he was young, defeating Mundus, and gathering the power necessary to do so, was his purpose.

More scattered people passed by before anybody paid him mind, giving him time to parse through everything. His memories were still a jumble but, like pulling a loose string, if he plucked one thing out he could follow that line. And by focusing on Mundus, he could delve back through his years of hatred towards the demon.

Eventually, a group of men stopped in front of his enclosure. He kept his eyes lulled shut, body limp, as to not alert them to his awakening. 

The door of the glass chamber opened, flooding him with sounds from the outside. There was a loud clunking of machines running in the background, as well as heavy boots against the hard floor. The men were talking to each other, having to raise their voices to be heard over the machinery. One of them was coming towards him, his footsteps getting louder before they echoed around him. 

Vergil could feel the presence of the man hovering over him like a dark cloud. He could hear the sliding of a pen on paper, smell his sweat, could feel his clammy hands grazing over and inspecting him. He kept himself perfectly still, save for his slow and measured breaths. 

The man left him, although the door of the glass cage remained open. 

“Any changes?” One man said.

“I’d have told you if there was,” another replied.

Vergil  heard the man’s footsteps retreat, although not going far. He could hear the scratching of metal on metal and presumed that the other men had moved on to investigating the demonic armor. 

“How about the other one? Has any progress been made?” 

“We’ve confirmed he is a demon but that’s about it.”

Vergil wasn’t sure what they were talking about but he guessed he was not the only thing being held here. He continued listening in on them, searching for whatever could help him free himself from the metal cuffs. However the background noises were overpowering, especially once the men weren’t right next to the enclosure, and they quickly devolved into idle chatter. Asking about wives and children, complaints about rain, etc. Nothing helpful to him in the least. 

The man returned towards him, cold hands feeling around his arm. He did his best to remain still as something was stuck into him. A needle, he presumed, but for what purpose? Was it an injection to keep him sedated? Or, no, based on where he felt it go in, it was aimed at a vein. Perhaps they were drawing blood from him. What would such a thing accomplish?

After this, they were apparently finished with him for the time being. The glass container was shut and, with it, any sounds from the outside. He found himself sitting with nothing but his thoughts, wondering how long he should wait before checking if they were gone. 

Vergil experienced two more of these occurrences without any incident. The men would come in, prod around, stick him with a needle, and then hover around the room for some time. They worked in the outside room often, even when not bothering with him. He was able to catch glimpses of this. The men were always dressed completely in white. They would parse through the black armor, taking chunks with them only to return them to the table later. 

Once, he saw a small unconscious demon being dragged through, contained by chains similar to what he was bound with. It was guarded by a half dozen men, all armed with long swords. He found the proceeding unnecessary for such a weak demon. 

It did remind him of something though. The men dressed in white, complete with hoods pulled low over their faces, armed with uniquely shaped swords, were ones he had witnessed before. 

With plenty of time to think, the memories from his time in Fortuna began to return to him. At that time he had kept out of the eye of those men in white–or the Order of the Sword, as he remembered they called themselves. They guarded the city from demons and were firm believers in their supposed Savior . He scoffed at that notion, much as he had back then. Still, it seemed to him they were doing more than just killing demons, but experimenting with them as well.

How fitting that he would end up in Fortuna again. The island’s connection with his father was what had driven him to it in the first place. And, once at the island, it had become clear that demons were not uncommon, being in much higher frequency than most other places he’d been to. Perhaps that’s why he ended up here after…whatever occurred to rid him of that armor. He still had little idea on that front. 

Of course, there were other memories he had of the city. Some of the rare pleasant times he’d had since childhood. Despite his overall frenzy to find information about his father, the Temen-Ni-Gru, and whatever else he thought would aid him, his time on Fortuna was the closest he’d come to peace in a long, long time. Such simple things that had felt special in the moment. Regular meals, a warm bed that he was able to sleep in–and truly sleep, not just dozing– and companionship, which was something he truly thought he’d forgone long before. 

Sharp flashes of light struck him, despite his closed eyes. Squinting open, he found the room to be bathed in strobing red lights. It looked like some sort of alarm but, for what, he had no clue. He doubted it had anything to do with him, given the lack of any people in the surrounding room. Perhaps trouble with one of their other captives.

Vergil stretched out his back and limbs as much as he could in his restraints. Sitting in one position was beginning to wear on him. His arms were particularly tired. On one, he could see dark, crusted blood in the spot they struck him with a needle. His blood was still tainted by Mundus’ corruption, having done nothing to clean itself since he woke. He wondered if the Order men knew they were taking tainted blood or if they assumed it was normal for a demon.

Something ran into the room. It was significantly smaller than any of the Order men and Vergil kept his head up and alert. At first it seemed to make for the opposite door but quickly changed its course, stopping in the middle of the room.

As it froze in view of him, Vergil got a good look at the child–it was very obviously a child–that was likely the cause for alarm. A metal cuff remained on one wrist, although no chain was connected. The boy had some demonic nature although he appeared in between a human and devil state. One of his arms was completely scaled, he had ethereal blue wings protruding from his back shoulder blades, and small feathered horns poked forward out of his hair. His hair was white, a fact that was not lost on Vergil. 

The boy pivoted around, looking frantically around the room. It took some time for him to turn enough to look Vergil in the eyes. He froze as he did, apparently not having noticed the other in the room until that point. Vergil could see a small patch of bluish scales on one side of his face, along with fearful blue eyes. 

The boy’s head whipped towards one of the doors. Freed from his daze, he ran towards one of the machines along the wall, not far from Vergil’s cage. Tilting his head, he could see the boy wedging himself between the metal and the wall, squishing in and curling in on himself. While sheltered from the view of anyone at the doors, his hiding spot would not last long should they inspect the room. It also meant the boy had little view of what was going on around him.

A group of Order men ran in and Vergil half-closed his eyes, keeping them open just enough to see what was going on. There were four of them in this group and they stopped just long enough to glance around the room. Not seeing anything they moved on. A poor inspection, if he’d ever seen one. Although that could benefit him if he needed to escape their notice in the future.

He looked over and caught the boy’s eye. He nodded, trying to convey that the men had passed through. The boy slowly crept forward, peeking around to check the doors. Only once he saw that they were alone did he fully remove himself.

The boy came closer to him. As he did, his scaled arm began glowing a light blue, which surprised the boy as much as it did Vergil. He came right up to the glass, seemingly curious about his arm’s reaction.

Up close, there was little Vergil could do to deny his resemblance to the child. His first thought was that this was likely Dante’s doing, but then there was the fact that they were in Fortuna, as well as the blue tints to the boy’s demonic nature. Dante’s devil trigger had been red. 

The boy’s eyes fixed firmly into him and Vergil wondered what he was thinking. 

Slowly, the boy backed away, not turning from him. Even as he crossed the room to reach the door, he continued looking back over his shoulder at Vergil.

Chapter Text

He remained alert as the Order men came and went, the alarm finally being shut off and sending the room back to its dim lighting. None of them had paid any attention to him. The boy did not return, although Vergil wasn’t sure if this was due to him escaping or being recaptured. 

It was not difficult to picture the boy running from those chasing him. While this child ran from men, and not demons, it was all too similar to Vergil’s own youth. The boy even looked to be a similar age as to what he had been when their home was attacked. 

This meant nothing to him, of course. Why should one random child’s struggle impact him? The similarities he’d noticed before were likely just coincidences, his mind finding meaning in what had none. What he needed to be thinking about was how to get out. 

He had begun picking up on the fact that whenever someone opened or closed the glass door, they went to the machinery beside him first. It was likely there was a mechanism there. This fact did him little good, as he had no way of reaching the outside. He could try his summoned swords, but he didn’t know precisely where to aim, or if breaking the machine would simply lock him inside. They were also no good for the binds. Shooting one into the chain had simply caused it to activate and drain his energy, the sword not leaving a dent. Even the glass was too strong. While he was sure it would shatter under his full force, that was out of reach for the time being. 

There were small keyholes in the shackles, as well as on the piece connecting him to the floor. Of course he didn’t have anything to open it on his own, but if he could get the keys from one of the Order men, that’d be helpful. 

With this goal in mind, he waited for the next time they came to check on him. It felt like a longer gap than the others. Perhaps they were out of sorts from the boy’s escape. Or perhaps he was simply more aware of the passing of time. Either way it was mildly infuriating. If he could only get those keys, he could get himself out of this damn cage. He’d been held against his will long enough.

He was used to being patient. He had to be. 

They did, eventually, come back. They appeared to be drenched. As soon as the enclosure door opened, he could hear the squelching of wet boots walking around. One seemed to be wringing out his clothing, the water pooling on the floor before. The man who inspected him did so with damp hands and sleeves, the drops hitting him were cold. 

“Can we make this quick? I want to get into dry clothes.”

“Just make sure you do it right. The last thing we need is Agnes complaining.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting reassigned. I don’t want to be around when this thing wakes up.”

“Relax. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Like how the kid wasn’t going anywhere?”

He listened intently to their talking. It was the only information he got from the outside, after all. It was refreshing to hear.

But what he needed to hear was the jingling of metal. The man close to him didn’t have anything, he was certain of that. But of the men outside, one of them had a keychain. He had made out three of them out there, plus the one close to him. It was only a light sound, likely imperceptible without demonic senses and, even with them, hard to discern. Was there any way for him to get those keys from him without bringing attention to what he was doing? It was unlikely, as he was far away. Besides, there was no guarantee those were the correct keys. It was his best lead though. His only lead. 

“I doubt it made it far in this storm.”

“I heard from someone on guard duty that he didn’t even make it out of the castle. They had the perimeter secured.”

Ah, so the boy hadn’t fully escaped. Although he hadn’t been found, either. He supposed that was good news. Why did that relieve him? It shouldn’t matter to him, not when he had his own problems at hand. 

The man grabbed under his arm, as if to lift him up. Now what did they need of him? As he was pulled up, something hit the ground and loudly rolled around next to him. 

“Hey, can one of you give me a hand with this?” The man next to him yelled directly in his ear.

One of the men grunted before his footsteps began approaching them. Oh, this was the keyholder. Vergil could hear the metal clanging growing closer as well. 

He imagined it would be quite cramped with three of them in the small tube. He tried to keep his muscles relaxed as each man grabbed under his arms, lifting him slightly off the floor. If he could just see where the keys were on the man, perhaps he could grab them.

Just barely, he could see gold attached to the man’s white clothing. They hung off his pants and a metal clasp. He doubted he could unhook it without being noticed, either due to his movement or the noise. Perhaps it could be ripped off entirely?

One of the men dropped him, sending him harshly back to the floor.

“It opened its eyes.” The first one sounded panicked.

“Probably because you’re screaming right next to it.” The second man let go as well. 

“You’re sure it can’t get loose, right?”

Fortunately for this man, he couldn’t get loose. A fact his colleague was quite confident in. So much so that he prodded at Vergil with his foot before shuffling him around to be on his stomach and stabbing him in the back with another needle. This one took longer than the ones that had come before.

This was apparently the end of what they needed him for this time, as they retreated not long after.

“Should probably let someone know it’s awake. Or getting there, at least.” He heard one of them say before the door shut.

With his charade ended, he was content to watch the mens’ every move. What parts of the room they frequented, how they moved around the fragments of black armor, how they cautiously glanced back at him every so often. One of them more so than the others. While it was satisfying to see the discomfort on the man’s face, it wasn’t particularly beneficial. It would be much easier to escape should the men be overly comfortable and relaxed. 

From then on, men were frequently coming and going from the room around him. Two stood in a lenient guard around the tables. After them were three more men. One with a clipboard and two with swords. He watched as the middle man went about looking at the demonic armor, writing as he went. He had a piece cut in half so that he could parse over the interior. He, at least, paid Vergil no mind. Whatever he hoped to gain from the armor was his sole purpose in the room. 

At some point one more joined them, bringing a white breastplate to the man, still hunched over the table. Whatever he saw in this new piece was unsatisfactory, it and its carrier being sent off again. 

One of his two guards began wandering around the room, seemingly bored. He fiddled with metal chunks left around and stopped at nearly everything in the room that could do something. This way the man approached Vergil reminded him of how a young Dante and him would approach wildlife around their home. This man was far too confident in himself, a fact Vergil would make clear if he wasn’t chained to the floor.

The man kicked at the glass, the sound reverberating around Vergil. There was a scar on his left cheek, one that became pronounced as he scowled. He seemed annoyed that Vergil wasn’t reacting to him. He kicked the glass again, harder this time. Vergil noted how the glass was likely made to withstand a great deal of pressure, and the man was aware of this. Breaking it did not seem a viable option.

The other man on guard called his scarred friend back over. It seemed there was some divide amongst them about how safe it was to taunt their captives. 

They later left him completely, having never opened the glass door. Only one guard remained behind. This man stood dutifully at his post near the front of the room, his back to Vergil. One arm rested on the hilt of his sword at all times. 

He seemed indifferent, from what Vergil could tell. When he did turn, his eyes rolled past the glass as if Vergil were just another piece of machinery he had to watch over. When his replacement arrived, he left without a word or gesture.

It had likely been quite some time since the alarm had gone off. A day or two, Vergil guessed. It was impossible to tell the passing of time except by the men coming and going. Even then, it was up to him to decipher what the intervals meant. 

This second guard was more restless. He ambled around the room, sat at the tables to eat a meal, poked at the machinery, and largely did his best to avoid making eye contact with Vergil. It was noticeable how much the guard’s eyes would flick towards him, only to turn away when he saw Vergil was watching him. And there wasn’t much to do, besides watch this other man. Even if he had something to busy himself with, he didn’t care to let his guard down while around his captors.

After the second guard left, the room went dark. The only light came from a dim green glow from some of the machines. Even in the low light, the armor still seemed the darkest thing in the room. It seemed to inhale the blackness around it and became a pit of empty space. 

He fell asleep at some point, although he didn’t realize it until he was woken up by the sound of knocking on the glass case.

Standing in front of him was the boy. Vergil was confused. Why would he come back? It struck him as naive, if not outright stupid, to try and sneak back into the place you only just escaped from. Still, here the boy was. The lights were still off so he was using the light from his glowing hand–which was still brightest when he approached Vergil–to search around the machinery for something. He was clutching something in his other hand, holding it like it was a lifeline.

The boy found what he was looking for and the door to the glass compartment opened. It was quieter than when the Order men came, with a dull humm being the dominant noise. 

The boy had seemed curious about Vergil at first, but that was no reason to return. Still, this may be his best chance at escaping. Especially as the child came back over to him, revealing the item in his hand to be a set of keys. 

“You can fight, right?” The child asked him. “That’s why they locked you up.”

Ah, so the boy needed protection from the Order men. It was a decent plan, to find someone stronger than him to keep safe. He had overheard earlier that the boy had not truly escaped, perhaps he needed insurance. No matter the reason, Vergil nodded. 

The boy unlocked the shackles around his wrists. 

“I’m Nero,” he said while unlocking the ankle chains.

It was an ironic name, considering how pale he was. Although, Vergil supposed, he wasn’t one to talk.

Nero’s hand hovered too close to the base of the chains and he flinched back, presumably burned by the holy water still lingering there. He moved more carefully as he finished. 

“Vergil.” His voice was hoarse. It was clear it had been quite some time since he’d spoken. 

He put one hand on the cool glass and tried to hoist himself to his feet. His legs were stiff and weak, shaking as they tried to hold him. Still, he could manage. He struggled through the meager few steps required to get out of the glass. Nero kept some between them now that he'd been freed. As Vergil slowly made one step, having to hold onto the wall for stability, Nero put a few small ones between them. 

“You know of a way out?” Vergil asked.

Nero nodded and Vergil motioned for him to lead the way. 

Their progress was slow-going. Vergil found his strength was lacking, even without the chains. Nero would poke around corners to be sure there were no guards. They had to reroute more than a few times to avoid conflict. Normally, Vergil would have no trouble cutting a path through the Order. But when he lacked both strength and a weapon, he conceded that it was best for them to remain hidden for as long as possible. It was rather infuriating, to be in such a state. 

Vergil wondered once again if it was possible that Nero was his child, or otherwise related to him. He was, in part, a demon. His human form closely resembled the twins. His age, his location, the Order’s interest in him, it all piled up in Vergil’s mind. 

Nero kept looking back at him as they walked. Not just to check that he was still there but a lingering stare, like the boy was trying to figure something out.

They moved from the tile and hallways of the laboratory to some sort of dirt tunnel, the walls clearly dug out of something. This section didn’t last long, soon depositing them into a building. High arching ceilings and dusty wood. Nero continued leading him through rooms filled with oil paintings, furniture that clearly hadn’t been used in a long time, and suits of armor standing like watchmen in corners. On more than one occasion Nero jumped at these, as if he assumed it was an Order member at first glance. 

He did remember these hallways, he realized. They had found themselves in Fortuna castle. He had ventured out for the library on a few occasions. If he remembered correctly, it was quite the walk back to the city, even on a mild day.

Peering out one of the glass windows, Vergil saw why the guards doubted that Nero had made it far. Hard rain pounded down, making it nigh impossible to see. He could hear the wind through the glass, causing it to creak, and throwing small stones and dirt around. 

  “You’re from Fortuna?” Vergil asked.

Nero looked back at him before answering. “Yeah. I lived in the orphanage there.”

Vergil nodded. It made sense, he supposed. It would be easy for the Order to take him from an orphanage, with not many people around to ask questions. Still, he wondered about the boy’s mother; it was likely she died at some point. And there was no father around… he thought.

Nero stopped at what seemed to be his hiding place. A small room, likely a closet or storage room, that was out of sight and easily overlooked. Nero disappeared inside, leaving Vergil to follow. He shut the door behind him, leaving the two in the dark room. It wasn’t particularly big but Nero stood on the opposite side, as far away as he could be in the space.

They would need some plan on how to get out of the castle. It was likely the Order had men posted around any obvious points of exit. And they might have to wait for the storm to pass, considering the state both were in. It would be easier for Nero to stay hidden, being smaller and more capable of movement. But Vergil doubted the boy was capable of overpowering one of the Order’s men, even with demonic blood. 

Nero had gotten something that had been hidden behind a shelf. He turned and slowly began approaching Vergil, in his arms…

“This is yours, right?” Nero shifted the Yamato in his arms to present it to him. She was far too long for him, much as she had been for Vergil when he first had to wield her.

Vergil snatched hold of her, immediately feeling a sense of relief. Having a weapon–and not just any weapon, but his weapon–would certainly aid in their escape. And, outside of that, he was unsure he would ever see the sword again after his fight against Mundus. 

He drew the blade, the flawless silver bathed in a soft blue glow. Hadn’t she broken that day? 

“I found it when I was running.” Nero had shuffled back to the other wall. “It was…When I touched it, it fixed itself.”

Vergil eyed the child. If the Yamato reacted to him, that was proof enough of his relation to the boy. He was unsure if this was something Nero was aware of. But he could deal with…that later. His primary objective would be to get them out of the castle, and then off the island. Staying within reach of the Order men would not be a wise decision.

Nero shuffled hesitantly, weight shifting back and forth between his feet. “You’re not gonna leave now, are you?” 

Vergil looked at him. Such a thing had not crossed his mind, although protecting himself was, in the long run, much more convenient than himself and a child. Was it because he was… No, it was likely just that he was repaying Nero for freeing him. He was clearing his debt. He shook his head.

Nero relaxed a small amount, his shoulders less tense. He slid to sit down, back against the wall. “We should be safe here.”

Nero looked ready to fall asleep, chin in his arms. His fatigue was obvious from his face, dragging down his eyelids even as he kept a constant watch on Vergil. Vergil stayed standing, wishing to push his legs further and get full control of his body back. 

“Thank you,” he said. He wasn’t sure if it was for freeing him or for the Yamato, or just in general.

Nero didn’t say anything, just nodding and letting his eyes finally drift closed.

Chapter Text

As Nero slept, Vergil crept out to explore their corner of the castle. It would be beneficial to have a route of escape prepared should the Order find them. 

His footsteps echoed against the stone flooring, hard to hear over the storm still raging outside. The castle felt abandoned. Thick layers of dust coated the furniture and cobwebs resided in near every corner. Light fixtures were cracked and rusted. He didn’t venture far but what he did see was the unkempt remnants of something grand. 

The people of Fortuna believed his father had once lived in the castle, back when he was the lord of the area. Vergil didn’t know if this was true or not. Any lingering presence would be long gone by now and the cold hallways were a far cry from the childhood home he remembered.

Vergil was quite aware of the fact that, as a child, he hadn’t known much about his father. Dante and he had been told stories, mostly of sealing away the demon world or of fighting for humanity. But considering the time their father lived for, they hadn’t known much.

He’d tried to remedy this after being on his own. He hunted down knowledge of his father and the legendary Dark Knight. Where the legends were most prominent and what discrepancies lay between versions. Sometimes Sparda wasn’t a demon at all, sometimes he died in the fight against the demon world, sometimes there were only the barest echoes of the story he’d been told. 

Vergil slipped back into the storage room, shutting the door quietly so as not to wake Nero, who was still fast asleep on the floor. What Vergil had first assumed to be wings now looked to be feathered arms, wrapping around the boy’s body. His head was tucked down, only the white hair and horns visible. He was easy to make out, dimly glowing blue against the otherwise dark glow. Thankfully, the glow was not strong enough to be seen from under the door, as Vergil had already checked. 

He would need to find clothes for them both if they were to make it far. Nero was visibly not human and Vergil was wearing little more than ruined scraps, which was not to mention the black veins. The people of fortuna were often completely covered and large cloaks were commonplace, a fact that may be to their advantage. If they could blend in, they could make it off the island. After that…Vergil didn’t have much of a plan. The Order was the immediate threat, which meant that getting off Fortuna was necessary, but it wasn’t like Vergil had anywhere to get them to. He was unsure how human Nero’s body was and, consequently, how many human needs had to be met for it to work. 

If Nero was his blood, he had a responsibility to care for the child. Vergil remembered wandering both the streets and wilderness, completely alone. He had no idea what to do besides survive, and simply did what he thought necessary for that. He remembered the nights spent running as demons chased after him, always too close for comfort. Loathe as he was to admit it, having someone with him at that time would have made it much more bearable. Had he had Mother or Father to keep watch while he slept or to lead him through the sprawling, unknown places.

Vergil looked over at the boy, only to find blue eyes staring back. Nero had woken at some point, gaze loosely fixed on him. 

Knowing Nero was awake changed little, as the two continued in silence for quite some time. Nero sitting in the corner of the wall and a shelf, Vergil standing with his hand absentmindedly moving around Yamato’s hilt. Only once did they hear footsteps going by and, even then, they passed without hesitation. Despite that, Nero’s eyes scrunched tightly together, the boy curling into himself as if this would be what kept them from being discovered. It was long after the single man left that he relaxed again. 

After some time, Vergil realized how quiet it was. The everpresent sound of wind and torrential wind had died down. 

He cautiously opened the door, letting in newfound light. Despite having been asleep a few moments before, Nero immediately leapt up to join him. Through the windows, it was obvious that the worst of the storm had passed. Gray clouds still filtered the sun and a drizzle still kept the windows damp, but they could see out the window. Mountains stretched up in the distance, circling the castle. Outside their specific window was a sheer drop, clearly untraversable. It seemed they had found themselves on an upper level, meaning they would have to get lower just to find a workable exit.

Nero set off down one of the hallways, seemingly having an idea of where to go. Vergil let him lead, although he kept an eye out for any possible points of exit. 

They made it to the foyer, where they were forced to keep hidden. Order men mulled about the room, sitting in the rows of pews or patrolling around the perimeter. It was clear they were not going to pass out the main doors without hindrance. 

Nero looked sullen, as if he believed it would be so easy.

Vergil led them to another room, the thick wooden doors being able to keep them out of earshot. It appeared he’d found the dining room, as a large table and chair sat as the centerpiece of the room. Platters and place settings remained on the table, although they likely shouldn’t be eaten off of, given the amount of dust and grime.

Nero pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. 

“They’ll leave eventually, right?” Nero looked around the room before and after speaking, making sure they were truly alone.

Vergil wasn’t sure. While they were bound to let their guard down eventually, it could be quite some time before that. And in the meantime, there was bound to be another way out of the castle. A servant’s entrance or a low window would work just fine.

Nero’s head lulled, propped up only by one arm. His eyes kept trying to drift shut, even as he forced them back open. 

“Rest if you need to,” Vergil said.

Nero jumped a little, apparently surprised by him speaking. The boy straightened himself and rubbed his eyes defiantly. “I’m fine.”

Arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere, so Vergil dropped the subject. He did, however, roll his eyes when Nero slouched over as soon as he thought Vergil wasn’t looking. It seemed the boy was somewhat stubborn. Not that Vergil was any less so. He had to admit he was also tired, his body not yet recovered and his strength sapped because of it. He had rested for moments in his confinement but even that had been guarded. And he had little way of knowing when he had last slept before that. Being enslaved by Mundus surely took its toll on his body and he was feeling it. His muscles ached and, despite how short of a time since getting out of the cage he’d been in, he felt the need to sit and rest more. 

But, he knew, it still wasn’t safe to do so. A pair of footsteps inched towards the room. Too obvious to be attempts at stealth, so it was unlikely these men knew the pair was here. Still, Vergil motioned for Nero to follow him and led him down a connecting hallway. 

Nero did not walk particularly close to him and he constantly bounced around. He would inch cautiously past a corner, linger at the edge for Vergil to go first, and then rush by until the next unknown area. 

As they went down one of the many hallways, one of the interior doors opened to a trio of Order men. They startled upon noticing him. It seemed they hadn’t even been looking for the escapees, at least not seriously. 

Nero was already past the open door, the men's backs to him as they drew swords on Vergil. If Nero were smart, he would take the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. 

He didn’t however. In fact, he didn’t move at all. 

Vergil drew Yamato, keeping the men’s attention on him. The sword’s blade was bathed in blue, something that had never occurred before Nero. He had noticed it before but it was even more obvious now, not being confused with Nero’s own glowing arms. 

The men watched him warily, bending down into fighting posture. Their swords were heavier and had curved tips, likely a standard issue. They didn’t have any ranged weaponry from what he could tell. 

The first man came at him, although it was easy enough to parry and push the man aside as the other two followed suit. His arms felt weak and unwilling to raise Yamato for long stretches. Even the initial parry left his muscles aching. Instead, he chose to dodge the attacks, letting the men encircle him in their swipes. It would be best to take them each out in a single strike and preserve his strength and he waited for the ideal moment to do such a thing.

One of the men silently broke off, lunging for the still-frozen Nero. When the man had noticed the boy, Vergil wasn’t sure. He evaded the latest slash and followed the third man, lashing out with Yamato. Nero was still frozen as Vergil placed himself in front of the boy, guarding him from the two standing Order men and the one on the ground screaming in pain. 

Vergil flicked the blood off Yamato and it splattered against the floor and wall. It was nothing compared to the pool around the man he’d dispatched, whose leg was mostly severed off.

Vergil stood at the ready for the two to charge him again. They approached slowly, like animals investigating something unknown. Their swords were held defensively across their chests, off-hands raised to provide support should they be met with resistance. 

Vergil felt something graze his back and grip ever so slightly at his shirt (or what had once been a shirt). He didn’t turn to look, not wishing to take his eyes off the two men who creeped closer and closer. They only stopped once they reached their companion. 

Even from the brief fight and burst of energy, Vergil could feel the effect it had on him. He let his hand holding Yamato hang loosely by his side. The two men knelt to hoist up their friend, carrying him between their shoulders. As they began backing up, the one between them hobbling on his one good foot, Vergil let them go. 

He let the men get well out of sight, the blood dripping after them in an obvious path, before he sheathed Yamato.

He turned his head to see Nero standing directly behind him, one hand loosely clutching at his back. Fright was still evident on the boy’s face, his mouth slightly open as he breathed in sharp gasps. Only when Vergil fully turned did he let go, although he still remained rooted in the spot.

“They’ll return after they’ve regrouped.” Vergil tried ushering the boy down the hallway, the opposite direction of the men. “We should move.”

Nero walked much closer now, keeping to his side. The boy didn’t say anything, although he now froze up at every noise, head spinning towards whatever the new possible threat was. Vergil had to stop and wait for him to keep moving. 

“Should we encounter the Order men again,” Vergil said, “you should get as far away as you can. I can deal with them.”

Nero nodded. His hands hovered around his chest, as if ready to reach out at a moment’s notice.

Chapter Text

Vergil watched the boy hover around as they walked. The ethereal blue arms twitched, shedding transparent feathers that dissipated moments later. The shattering particles reminded him of his summoned swords and the way they crumbled when broken or dismissed. Why he felt the need to connect such trivial things was aggravating to him. Why did every small thing about Nero remind him of himself, in some way? That fearful wideness in the boy’s eyes was like when he was young and caught his reflection. 

Vergil continued following the arm’s restless movements. How they would slightly lift off his shoulders, only to settle back. Or how the claws would drum and flex every so often. The feathered parts would fan out for a moment or the muscles would roll. It seemed like Nero was stretching them out as best he could without fully moving them. Like one would a limb that had fallen asleep.

Between this and the way Nero picked and scratched at his scales, Vergil presumed he was not used to his current form. Or any demonic form, for that matter. Vergil doubted the boy would have had access to any of his latent demonic power without the Order’s meddling. Vergil had triggered when young, but it was always volatile, brought about by moments of desperation. He had barely understood what was happening, and that was with the knowledge of his Father and what he was. It was unlikely that Nero would even have that.

Looking out one of the windows, Vergil saw a landscape of rocks and half-melted snow. Rain still came down in light droplets, only noticeable where they collided with the ground. Many of the windows had metal framing within them, rendering any gap too small to fit out of.

Sounds of the men talking echoed down the halls. Too far to be a problem, they kept moving. There were no sounds of these men moving either. Nero kept close, especially as they grew closer to the source of the noise. Through a half-open door, Vergil could see a short hallway connecting back to the foyer. A group of Order men were casually crowding the pews, some sitting while others stood around. Vergil realized they had stopped to eat, with their hoods down around their necks and heavy cloaks discarded on the backs of the benches. Nero seemed to realize this too, having stopped to stare past the door. 

There was a low grumbling, just barely audible. Vergil identified it as Nero’s stomach as the boy quickly removed himself from the sight of food. Nero kept his head down as they continued on, his stomach continuing to make noises. 

“You’re hungry,” Vergil said. It was more an observation than a question. 

Vergil wondered how long it had been since the boy’s last meal. And how regularly the boy was accustomed to having meals. 

Nero’s head lowered even more, eyes trained on the floor. “It’s fine.”

Vergil didn’t call out the fact that that wasn’t a proper answer. There was nothing he could do in the exact moment and instead added finding food to his list of priorities. He had no desire to watch Nero slowly waste away, quietly suffering, all because Vergil failed to provide something so basic. It would also not do for Nero to lack the strength needed to run from any threats, should the need arise.

The hall they were in came to an end. Only one door and a few steps separated them from the main exit. Nero stayed back while Vergil peered first out an exterior window and then past the door and into the foyer. 

There were no men visibly patrolling the outside. The only men in the room were those they saw earlier. He knew there had been more on guard here before, but perhaps they’d been called away after the earlier encounter. This was likely as close to unguarded as the exit was going to be. 

He watched the men, far too preoccupied with themselves to notice him. It could be safer to find a secondary exit and slip out without any further attention. However, the men were some feet away. If they were to run, they could be out the door before the men have a chance to react. But if they were to be chased, which he was certain they would be, Vergil was unsure of his and Nero’s stamina in comparison to the men. They were both drained, already running on empty. These men would be well-rested, although caught unprepared. 

Nero was looking up at him, wordlessly asking what they were going to do. He realized there was much more pressure when he was making decisions for someone other than himself. It was one thing to risk himself, another entirely when Nero was relying on him. 

Steeling himself, he beckoned the boy forth, motioning to be quiet. He positioned them so that Nero would be closer to the wall and exit, less visible should the men glance over. He ushered them the short distance, Nero’s steps frantic, and only once the large door began to creak open did the Order men begin to holler at each other and scramble to pursue. 

Hitting the outside air, they were met with infrequent raindrops and a soft, but chilling, breeze. Nero began to shiver almost immediately, even if the temperature wasn’t quite freezing. 

Vergil turned to see the men clambering over the pews to grab their swords and he pushed the heavy door closed, having to lean his body into it to do so. 

Nero waited for him, albeit impatiently, and then they took to running across the courtyard. There was no cover to be had out here and he wished to cross it as quickly as possible. 

The ground was slippery and made it hard to keep their footing. Especially given the fact that Nero was barefoot and what remained of Vergil’s boots offered next to nothing in way of traction or protection. The sunk and slid against wet snow, footprints being carved out with each step.

He only hoped the other men would have equal trouble, as the door squealed open once more. It didn’t sound like the men bothered to shut it. 

Moving across the grounds, he was thankful the breeze wasn’t stronger. Even when running into the wind, it didn’t have the force to slow them down. The worst it did was blow stray raindrops and snow into their eyes and force them closed. It changed direction often, too, whipping hair and loose scraps of fabric around in circles.

While trying to glance behind and check if the men were gaining, Nero misplaced his foot and pitched forward. Vergil grabbed his arm, trying to keep him upright. Nero stalled and then looked at him, as if surprised he hadn’t hit the ground.

Vergil tugged lightly on his arm, not wishing to give up any ground. This seemed to work, as Nero began running alongside him again. Vergil let go of him, only to find Nero reach out to grab hold again right after. 

It was mildly awkward, trying to run with Nero holding onto him. From the boy’s labored breathing it was obvious he was tired and likely struggling to keep up with Vergil’s longer strides. He didn’t try to break free from the weak grasp on his wrist, letting them remain tethered.

While scaling the cliff that surrounded the castle, they were able to gain ground on the men, whose gear and numbers slowed them down. Looking down, Vergil was relieved to see the men, much farther down seemingly giving up. At their rate of progress, there was little chance of them catching the pair, and they knew it. Not wishing to be hasty, they finished their ascent before  slowing down. Although, by then, the sounds of their pursuers had disappeared.

Nero was still intent to hold on as they walked, his arm held upwards to do so. The boy was only up to his waist, a little over half his height, and Vergil had to leave his arm hanging to not drag him along. 

Against his skin, he could feel how icy Nero’s hand was, as well as how it shivered. As they slowed down and the adrenaline wore off, it only became worse. He watched as Nero inched closer, his body curling up like this would provide relief. His hair was slowly coming plastered to his face, the rain weighing it down while the wind pushed it here and there and separated any large strands. 

While the drops were cold against the back of Vergil’s neck, he found them refreshing. He doubted his body was much warmer than Nero’s, although he didn’t feel the same chill the boy did. If anything, he was simply glad to be back in the open. It had been quite some time since he’d tasted clean air. It didn’t matter to him if it was slightly cold, as that just proved he was able to experience things for himself again, not just as Mundus’ servant.

Still, even if he didn’t mind a chill, this was all the more reason to find them new clothes and cloaks. If it was this temperature everywhere, he would need to make sure Nero was well covered. 

They were rather far inland, and had to go past small towns to get to the main city. He made sure they avoided all traces of civilization. There would be no point in stopping now, as it would only give the Order time to regroup and send out search parties. They needed to reach the port, lest they be cornered somewhere on the island.

The sun was in the midst of setting when they made it to the city. Glimpses of a dying orange silhouetted the stone buildings that only loomed taller and taller as they approached. The outer reaches of the forest bordered the city, so he led them there. They would be hidden from view but able to look in. 

Finally coming to a stop, Nero immediately sat and leaned back against a tree. His breaths came in choked gasps and he looked to be struggling to keep his head up and eyes open.

“Now what?” Nero looked up at him. Despite the exhaustion, there was a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Based on his memory, the island’s ferries didn’t run after dusk and would start up not long after sunrise, meaning they had no choice but to remain for the night.

He would have to go into the city before then to find something to cover them. Plus food for Nero. It would be best for the boy to remain hidden while he was gone.

He looked around to take in their surroundings. They were firmly amidst the trees and with how dark it was, likely invisible from anyone not specifically looking for them. The foliage from trees and bushes should provide adequate cover for the short trip. 

“I’ll need to go into the city and get us some supplies,” Vergil said. “You should be able to keep hidden here until I return.”

Nero looked skeptical. “You’re leaving?”
He gazed in at the city, streetlights dotting the dark horizon with specks of orange. The gray stone of the tops of buildings melded into blackness further down, indistinguishable from the streets.

“Not for long. A few hours, at most.”

“Won’t the Order find you?” 

It struck him odd, how concerned Nero seemed to be for him. How the boy looked at him with worry and newfound trust.  

“I’ll be careful,” he insisted. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Nero nodded. His mouth pulled like he wanted to say something, but instead he simply curled up on the ground, laying himself among leaves and grass and dirt. As Vergil left, he watched the boy lay his head in his arms as his eyes lulled shut.

Chapter Text

Vergil’s memory of the streets came back as vague notions of where to go. He stayed in the dark alleyways and corners not reached by the streetlamps. He moved about the uneven cobblestone, the buildings forming a half-remembered picture.  His steps echoed against the quiet night, telegraphing his location more than he would care for. It didn’t matter much, as there were few outside, but he was cautious nonetheless. 

There used to be spare cloaks at the church, so he was headed there first. With any luck, the Order members here hadn’t yet heard about his and Nero’s escape. And that’s if they knew about the pair at all. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Order’s experiments weren’t made common knowledge.

How many people would be looking for them? Was it only the men present at the castle or would it have spread to other parts of the island? What if men were already combing the forest where Nero was hiding?

He tried to ignore such thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. He knew he was walking slowly, his legs tired from moving all day, but the faster he returned the better. If he had to run a hand along the walls for support, so be it. The church wasn’t even particularly far, he just needed to turn down this street and go past the orphanage.

The orphanage. Vergil looked across the street at a building he had never paid attention to before. He had had no reason to give it any thought. But Nero had been in there, hadn’t he? Did he have a room there? Belongings he would want? The boy hadn’t mentioned wanting to get anything but, then again, Vergil hadn’t exactly asked. 

He must have been a suspicious sight. He was half-dead and staring at the building while lost in thought. 

Time was of the essence, he reminded himself. He needed to go to the church first. If Nero needed something, he could have mentioned it. 

The church was one of the more extravagant places in town. The tower and dome lauded over the nearby area. The stone was drenched in the shadow of the night, becoming a threatening gray. Only where streetlamps hit it were there splotches of the white the people saw during the day. 

He pushed the door in. It was smooth, likely oiled regularly. No lights were on inside, a good sign. He slipped in and shut the door behind him, leaving himself in near blackness. His demonic senses aided him and he could make out the circular room well enough. Rows of wooden pews all pointed towards a center stage and, behind that, Sparda’s form loomed over everything. The room was made up of the same stone as the rest of the city, but decorated with blood-red tiles and runners. With the statue’s size, Vergil had to peer up to see its face. Not much different from how he’d looked up at his actual father, he realized.

There were side rooms lining the room’s walls and he quickly parsed through to see which was the storage room. He was correct in remembering there were spare cloaks here. There was clothing, too. Simple trousers and the vest typically worn over shirts were all he could find to fit him, but that was ample. He changed as hurriedly as he could, which wasn’t very. He practically had to pry himself out of what remained of his old clothing, the fabric being torn and stiff and  matted down with blood and grime. It felt refreshing to get the clean clothing on. He shoved the ruined scraps of fabric into the trash.

He found more clothing to fit Nero, as well as cloaks for them both, and decided it’d be best to leave before anyone else arrived. His gaze lingered on the statue of Sparda as he left. A vague depiction of the Force Edge rested confidently in front of him, his hands resting on it leisurely. It reminded him of their Father giving him and Dante sword lessons when they were young. He’d made nearly that exact pose while giving a lesson and Vergil would try to mimic as best he could, thinking himself quite imposing with his training sword.

He put his cloak and hood on and left. 

With one errand down, he still needed to get Nero food. The boy was obviously hungry, even if he wasn’t willing to voice it. But where to go for that? He didn’t have any money and, even if he did, many of the shops would have already closed for the night. He supposed he could resort to breaking in but that brought a risk of bringing more attention to himself. Attention he needed to avoid if at all possible. Any delays to their leaving would greatly increase their chances of the Order catching them.

Vergil brushed down the street, realizing he was now on the same side as the orphanage. In one of the first-story windows, a light radiated out the open window. He could just make out whispered voices inside. All the other lights seemed to be off. 

He was slipping around to the back before he could rationalize himself out of it. He knew it was a risk. He knew he had already gotten Nero clothing and thus it was unnecessary. He did. But he found a window in the back of the building and no one around to notice him. 

He carefully placed the bundle of things he’d gotten for Nero on the ground, making sure it was hidden enough that a passer-by wouldn’t grab it. After that, it was simple enough to slide open the window and slip inside. 

Whatever voices he’d heard seemed entirely preoccupied, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else moving around. Standing in the dark room, he realized he didn’t have much of a plan. He wouldn’t let this deter him, moving silently across the room and into the next one. There was a living room and what looked to be an office. The front of the building, where he heard the talking, was almost entirely closed off. The entire place felt empty, despite how lived in it must be. There were only a few meager pieces of furniture, the nicest of which resided in the office. The rugs were faded, entire sections devoid of color and now just a dirty gray. Coming to a staircase, he could hear bits of small movements and whispers upstairs, so he went down instead. He landed in what he presumed was a laundry room. A washer and dryer took up most of the space. The rest was crammed with boxes and other things that needed storage. Many of the boxes had been labeled with marker, neatly packed and shoved away. He had to lean in to read the writing in the absence of light, but it was worth it to see the small box labeled “Nero’s things.”

It was little more than a shoebox. Anger bubbled in his chest as he held the box in his hands. It felt impossibly small. Impossibly light, as well. There may as well have been nothing inside. He opened it, just to make sure. Folded inside was a well-worn blue sweatshirt and a plain black scarf. He triple checked that he hadn’t missed anything, either folded in the clothing or hidden underneath, but that was it. No wonder Nero hadn’t said anything.

He grabbed the two items and placed the box where he’d found it. 

Chapter Text

Vergil staggered down the dark street, one hand running against the cold stone of buildings and the other clutching the bundle of clothing tight. His arms and legs ached from the effort his detour to the orphanage took. Anything other than a slow limp felt unmanageable but he kept his body moving all the same. 

Even within the city, night clutched the air like a thick, dark, blanket, smothering the sight of everything around him. He supposed it would be worse in the woods where the glow from windows wasn’t present. While good for hiding, he hoped Nero was faring well.

He kept going until he saw lights on inside a building. Through the window he could see bread and produce and sandwiches, as well as a man sweeping and a few others looking around. There weren’t many people inside, likely due to the hour. He hoped it was enough for him to blend in.

He entered as quietly as he could, not giving the bell atop the doorframe a chance to sound. One of the cloaked shoppers tilted their head toward him but, other than that, he went unnoticed. 

He avoided the man sweeping, as he was likely the one in charge.

The overhead lights were annoyingly bright and a cold, uncaring, white, making them a stark contrast from the night. He had to squint while his eyes adjusted to the store. The flooring was scuffed wood and the doormat at the entrance was a boot-print stained brown; whatever its original color was, it was unrecognizable now. A yellowed splotch in one corner of the ceiling dripped water into a bucket. Despite this, the food looked pristine. Baskets full of apples and berries, a case of neatly wrapped sandwiches, loaves of bread that had not yet lost the warmth of the oven, all laid out in the small store. 

Checking to see that no one was looking at him, he began slipping what he could under the cloak, bundled up with the spare clothing. It was shameful, having to resort to thievery in such a way, but he would do what he must. He stopped to lean against a case, his legs wavering beneath him, and grabbed a few of the sandwiches. He didn’t know when next he’d have an opportunity to find Nero food so it’d be best to supply himself now. 

The visual monotony of the simple cloaks and hoods made an eerie sight, all identical save for their heights. He was grateful for it at the moment, his features hidden and himself rendered invisible by the anonymity.

The man laid his broom against a display in order to ring someone up, the two chatting idly. He took the opportunity to grab two apples, red and unblemished, and slipped out the door. Even if they caught him leaving, he’d be gone before they had the chance to do anything about it.

Moving around the city streets, Vergil felt a strange sense of nostalgia hitting him. If he took that street he could find his way to a familiar house, or down that alley he could find a shortcut to the library. He didn’t, of course, but his mind kept urging him to retrace steps he had taken before. 

Returning to the edge of the forest, Vergil unsheathed Yamato just enough for the pale blue glow to guide him. The surrounding trees dipped in and out of view in the ghostly light, their edges sharpened in the darkness. He followed the light as it grew stronger and then matched a small glow coming from the ground.

Nero was still on the ground, partially asleep. His eyes opened half-heartedly at the intrusion. Vergil noticed how small he looked, curled up on the ground. How vulnerable, too. 

“It’s just me,” Vergil found himself murmuring as he sat down beside the boy and placed his supplies on the ground. “You can go back to sleep.”

Chapter Text

Nero didn’t wake up immediately. His head lolled back to the ground, returning to rest at the sound of the man’s voice. The ground was cold and hard beneath him, all packed dirt and tree roots. 

Vergil looked out into the dark of the forest. The trees and underbrush quickly grew dense, keeping eyesight limited. There was little wildlife which made the woods eerily quiet, the only sound being the distant hum of the city and the soft puffs of Nero’s breathing. Occasionally the boy would shift, the squashed leaves rubbing against each other a much more distinctive sound than anything else.

When Nero did wake up, it was obvious. His eyes opened first, shooting wide and taking in his surroundings. Vergil noted the tremors running through him and the way his breaths changed to strained inhales. Only after meeting Vergil’s eyes, and then scanning down to the pile beside him, did he calm, his head lifting up slightly. Vergil could see the boy squint in an attempt to make out what the pile was, struggling in the dim lighting. 

“Clothing and food,” he supplied. 

Nero shifted so that he was sitting up. His movements were slow and hesitant, more alert than Vergil would expect from him just waking up. He didn’t go straight for the pile, despite how obviously it held his attention. Instead, he hovered in his seated position, staring at the pile and shifting forward and back. His demonic arms twitched, the feathered ruffling and molting blue flecks that dissipated a moment later. He inched ever so slowly closer to the pile, as if Vergil would not notice the movement at all if it was incremental enough.

That was until something caught his eye. Nero shot towards the pile, falling forward onto his knees in the process, and pulled out the sweatshirt and scarf Vergil had procured.

“These are mine.” Nero’s voice was soft, as if he himself was unsure of the truth of the statement.

“It is all for you,” Vergil clarified. “But, yes. That is what I could find of your belongings.”

Nero didn’t seem to pay his words any mind, too concerned with the clothing. He worked his clawed hand carefully through the sleeve. He stopped when it came to put the sweatshirt over top his demonic arms, as if unsure what to do with them. As he shrugged it over his shoulders, the arms came to rest on the outside of the fabric, having phased right through it. Nero looked rather confused by this. It didn’t shock Vergil.

Having moved past whatever reservations he had, Nero reached for one of the sandwiches. His claws sunk deep into the bread, tearing through the thin wrapping. 

“You got all this for me?” Nero asked.

Vergil nodded. He had already said as much and was unsure why the boy seemed so surprised still. 

Nero ate quickly. Gone was the peaceful quiet of the forest, replaced instead with a different type of silence. This being purposeful. Even as Nero attempted to move silently, he still made noise. Light though it was, it captured attention more than any natural sound and was rather obvious in being a person trying to be stealthy. It would be rather obvious to anyone around that there was someone hiding here, even if they couldn’t tell the pair's exact location.

Vergil wished to be off of the island as quickly as possible.

It was still the middle of the night, dawn nowhere near approaching, meaning there was still a good deal of waiting before any boat would be able to take them to the mainland. Nero seemed satisfied with the sleep he’d gotten, now content to just sit up and look out into the woods. His gaze would dart to Vergil whenever he thought the man wasn’t looking. 

“Is there something you need?” Vergil asked. He met the boy’s eye only to have him turn his head away.

“It’s nothing.”

Vergil kept his gaze on Nero’s downturned head, the white hair and horns juxtaposed with the darkness all around them. He didn’t press. What the boy wanted to say, he hadn’t the slightest clue. He would say it on his own if it was important enough.

They sat there quietly for quite some time. Nero ate more and pulled on the rest of the clothing Vergil had acquired. Vergil kept watch for anything that may come looking for them but there was none. 

The slight breeze picked up into a cold wind and Nero curled in on himself, tugging his clothing tighter to his body. Vergil didn’t feel it as strongly. Perhaps due to a tolerance to the cold or perhaps him leaning against a tree sheltered him more. He supposed the night did have a cold aura to it, even if his body didn’t feel it. The yellow and brown leaves that clung to branches as well as being scattered on the ground. The gray clouds blocking out any vision of the moon and stars. The way the ground was hard and unforgiving beneath them, as if on the verge of freezing. 

Nero shivered, his knees coming up to his chest. Vergil pulled off his cloak. The fabric drowned the small boy when it draped over him, completely covering his body. 

Nero pulled back the hood enough so that an eye peeked out at him. “Won’t you get cold?”

“I’ll be fine.” Whatever briskness hit Vergil’s bare skin was tolerable.

Nero gathered the excess fabric into something manageable, covering every exposed inch of skin. “Why are you helping me so much?”

“I said I would, did I not?”

Nero’s gaze didn’t falter. “But why?” 

There was a desperate tinge to his voice, like other questions were trying to claw their way out without being directly asked. 

Vergil still wasn’t entirely sure. It was repayment for the debt of freeing him. It was out of obligation. It was because of all the similarities that crushed into the forefront of his mind that he couldn’t just shake off and explain away as coincidences. It was…

“Have you always lived at the orphanage?” he asked.

Nero looked taken aback by the question, an unasked “why” hovering on his face. 

“Yeah,” he finally broke their eye contact. “They told me I was left there as a baby.”

“Have you any idea who your–”

“No.” Nero cut off his question. His words were sharp and bitter. “No one did. Just that I was left wrapped in this.”

He pulled out the black scarf from under the cloak. He held it carefully, as if it held some answer he had yet to find. As if the loss of the scarf would mean the loss of those answers forever.

There had to be plenty of perfectly identical scarves throughout the city. There was no ornamentation or pattern to the fabric to make it stand out. He was sure most people had a scarf nearly identical to that one. But still…

“May I?”

Nero handed it over without a word. The thing was threadbare and was riddled with small tears and stains. It was barely more than some random scrap of fabric. He turned it over in his hands, felt along what was left of the seams, likely something Nero had done himself time and time again. He looked for anything identifying and found nothing but an old scarf.

He handed it back. 

Nero cradled it in his hands, eyes turned up to Vergil with some sliver of hope. 

“I visited Fortuna once, likely around eight or nine years ago. I was only here for a few months, but…”

Vergil’s breath hitched when he felt Nero’s body against his side. Four hands clawed and scratched around him in a tight grip, begging him not to leave.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do at such a moment. 

He opted to pick up the cloak where it had fallen in Nero’s sudden movement and placed it back over the child, not wanting him to get cold again.

Chapter Text

Vergil held tight to the thin fabric, making sure it was still covering Nero at all times. He didn’t know what to do. So rarely did he ever feel so completely at a loss but Nero was hugging him and there was the sound of choked-back tears and it all felt so foreign. 

He looked down at the tufts of hair that still poked out from under the cloak. They had become an odd mixture of gray and tinted blue. The cloak rested on top of the small, off-white horns, casting a dark shadow on the top of his head. He wondered if the horns would be soft like the feathers they appeared to be composed of or if they would be more solid. 

He slipped a hand under the hood of the cloak, his fingers threading into hair. Nero went still under his palm, the only movement being the involuntary shaking that came with holding in too much. Vergil worried he had frightened the boy.

A faint memory of his childhood slipped into his mind. He had clutched at his mother, inconsolable about something long forgotten. He remembered how soft it all was. Her dress, clenched in his small hands. Her voice, assuring him it would all be okay. Her eyes, and the way she looked down at him. He thought of her hand in his hair, the comforting movement of it. 

He tried copying that motion, gently rubbing circles with his thumb. He doubted he was as soothing as his mother but Nero relaxed all the same. The grip upon him loosened but didn’t pull away. He felt Nero’s head rest against him fully. It no longer felt like he was being held to like a lifeline but more that Nero was leaning into him. It was softer, in a sense. 

Maybe this was what Nero was like normally, when not in constant fear of when next the Order would appear. Or maybe this softness would have come if Vergil had only known about him sooner. If he’d not been defeated by Mundus. If he’d not chosen to stay in the demon world. If he’d never left Fortuna at all…

He tried not to let his mind wander down that path any further. What-ifs would do nothing to change the present. His actions were his responsibility. It would do no good to dwell on it all.

All he could do was think for the future. How to get them off Fortuna and away from the Order, how to keep both himself and Nero safe from demons and Mundus, and what to do with this softness. 

A particularly sharp gust of wind hit them, strong enough for him to feel the cold rubbing against his bare arms. Nero curled towards him more tightly, his legs pulling in under his chest. Vergil tried adjusting the too-large cloak once more, despite him already being completely covered. Really, he doubted it did much at all. 

Vergil dared not disturb their semblance of peace. Nero eventually drifted to sleep, the only signafier being the way his demonic arms drifted down, resting at his sides instead of being outstretched. Vergil stayed alert. His body still ached with all that had transpired and his mind, he feared, was growing sluggish with the lack of rest. But still, he couldn’t let his guard down. He couldn’t do anything other than focus on all the sounds around them and rub gentle circles against Nero’s head. 

Left with nothing but the silence of the night, Vergil’s thoughts stumbled through plans and possibilities of what to do once they were off the island. He’d need to continue supplying food for Nero and thievery would only do so much. He needed to find them adequate shelter to save Nero from more nights spent at the mercy of the cold. He’d need to make sure Nero was safely away from prying eyes, as his demonic appearance would likely cause trouble amongst normal people. 

All of this, of course, meant he’d need to earn the capital required to care for the child. On top of that, they would likely have to keep moving to avoid the demons that constantly hunted him. With his being freed from Mundus’ control, he doubted the demon king would simply let him be. If anything, once Mundus’ army caught his scent, they would pursue him even more vigorously. 

For a brief flash, he thought of Mundus recapturing not just him, but Nero as well. The pain and hopelessness that prevailed in the demon world. At best, Nero would be killed. At worst…

He needed to prioritize keeping them away from Mundus’ forces. If nothing else, prolong anything learning about Nero for as long as he could manage. 

Loathe as he was to admit it, his brother may have had the right idea. Demon hunting was, naturally, his specialty. It was what he had spent his life doing. He hadn’t much clue towards human society and what he would need to do to fit himself and Nero into it. And if it could earn him the money he needed and keep them moving, it would suffice. Finding who hired for such jobs would be its own problems, as well as keeping Nero safe and hidden while he fought, but he at least had some idea of what to do moving forward.

The simplest solution would be to go to someone he already knew took on those jobs–Dante. But that was out of the question. To turn to his brother’s doorstep in need of assistance was unthinkable, especially with how they had last parted. He might well just turn him away. Then there would be his reaction to Nero. He thought of the possibility that Dante would turn Vergil away but insist Nero stay with him. That this being he needed to take care of would be stripped away just like that– 

Nero shifted under his hand, his head nuzzling to the side, revealing now dried tear stains upon his content face. 

No. Nero was his child (how quickly his mind had begun insisting upon this) and was his responsibility. He would make sure Nero was taken care of, and that was that.

The sun rose in a halo of reds and oranges that bled around the edges of the trees. It seemed to suggest the approach of warmth, even as the cold wind continued to strike against them and cause branches to dip sideways. Morning songbirds began to stir, ushering in sounds that felt as peaceful as the quiet. 

He deemed it time to finally rouse the sleeping child. His child, some part of his mind reminded him. His child.

He shook Nero’s shoulder, slowly so as not to startle him too much. Nero came to quickly, although his eyes opened more groggily than times before. He wiped at his eyes with his palm and his back arched, as if he was waking amongst warm bedding instead of dirt and trees.

His eyes came to rest on Vergil, his motions hesitating for a moment. He blinked once, twice, as if remembering all that had come before. 

And then he was back to his languid movements. His mouth opened wide in a yawn, revealing his inhumanly sharp teeth. 

“We should start for the harbor soon,” Vergil said.

Nero looked at him with sleep-glazed eyes and nodded. A content smile and perhaps something like hope written on his face. Vergil wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant such a gaze.

Nero continued stretching, reminiscent of a cat awakening from a nap in the sun. He kept Vergil’s cloak on, wrapping it around himself as he rose to his feet. Vergil would need it back once they had to pass through town but, for now, he supposed Nero had the better use for it. His lips had a prominent paleness and his hands trembled with chills.

Nero bent down to gather the rest of the food that had been gathered the night before. Initially, he tried piling everything in the crook of one arm. With an apple precariously resting on top, threatening to roll off as soon as he moved, he apparently decided it was a two-handed task and began to readjust. He shuffled the food to fit more properly in his small arms, the demonic arms nearly overlapping their normal counterparts. Having fulfilled this, he apparently decided he was hungry for the apple and pulled it off the top to eat, leaving jagged bite-marks in his wake. Still, it seemed something wasn’t as he wanted it. Nero looked up at him with something of a confused stubbornness, the face of being met with a problem he had to solve. As Vergil was about to ask if he was ready, he was met with one of the demonic arms reaching out and taking hold of his hand. Its movements were stilted, likely due to Nero not being quite used to moving them as separate entities, and the clawed hand was larger even than Vergil’s hold, but it still satisfied him. Vergil found he had no qualms with the surprisingly solid hold.

Chapter Text

As the sun rose in full, they skated around the edges of the forest. Brief echoes of morning conversations floated past them on the breeze, all unnaturally mundane against the past few days. Some commenting on the chill of the night before, some children entertaining themselves, some lower and less merry. He could see the stark white of the Order members patrolling the outside of town, talking to each other in hushed tones. They gazed to the woods like a monster was about to jump from it and attack at any point. Vergil led them ever so slightly farther away from the city.

He wasn’t sure if these men were looking for them specifically but he had no desire to find out. Getting off the island would be difficult enough as is, being seen now would make it near impossible. 

Next to Vergil’s suspicious gaze, he could see Nero looking over the city with a twitch of longing. The boy lagged slightly behind as they heard the sounds of a group of children playing, his head turned to the sound. Vergil wondered what the boy’s life had been like thus far, if he had once been one of those children or if he had been on his own, like Vergil had. 

He gave the demonic hand a slight squeeze, urging them onward. 

It had, admittedly, been quite some time since he had been in Fortuna, and his knowledge of the city was lacking to say the least.

“Do you know how to get to the harbor?” Vergil asked.

His voice was still scratchy, his throat straining more than it should, but Nero wouldn’t know the difference. 

“I’m not sure…” Nero looked into the city with unease. “If I know where we are, maybe.”

He understood. From what he did remember, the winding streets, tall buildings, and overhead archways could make the city into something of a labyrinth. Easy to lose one’s way in. At least, he presumed it would be for a child.

This was unfortunate in terms of time restraints and only further his idea that they should be as close to the shore as possible before entering town.

Vergil had known they were going to have to go past people eventually but he still wished to avoid it as much as possible. He wanted to cover as much ground as they could before they risked being spotted. But, all too quickly, the trees grew thin. They became sparser and sparser the closer they came to the rocky coast, meaning it was time to go into the town.

Heading inward from where they were, they were situated behind two of the towering stone buildings and he could see the glare of the morning sun off the windows. A small divot of space between two would put them onto Fortuna’s cobbled streets. 

Nero hesitated to pull his demonic hand away from Vergil, despite the glaring need to hide it. The boy hadn’t said much of anything that morning, just glancing between him and the streets they passed with sobriety. 

Vergil pulled his hand away as they came to the small alley. Why he felt colder when the demonic arm wouldn’t have had any body heat to warm him, he wasn’t sure.

Nero’s hand retracted quickly. The boy readjusted himself so that he was entirely covered by the cloak. It was imperative that no one get too good a look at Nero. Him too, of course, but his paleness and the remnants of his corruption would be harder to recognize than the boy’s demonic appearance.

Once Nero was done, Vergil peered out the side of the alley, confirming that there were no people in the immediate area to question them. Thankfully, it seemed the outskirts were less heavily populated. He slipped out onto the street, Nero right behind him. 

Nero’s head initially swiveled around, likely him trying to get his bearings. In the distance, there was the sound of grumbling engines and cars rumbling over the uneven roads.

“Do you recognize where we are?” Vergil asked.

“No,” Nero’s voice wavered. “I’m sorry.”

While it would have been convenient to know the precise route to take, it wasn’t essential. With how close they were to the ocean–close enough for the air to taste of salt–it wouldn’t be too long before they found their way.

Vergil led them in the direction away from noise, which also happened to be the same direction they’d been headed before. The road they were on curved, following the edge of the city. Glancing at the window signs, this seemed to be a seedier part of town. A sign for a bar flickered, its orange lighting acting as a second sunrise. As they went by, even the briefest glances inside the window showed a few people slouched over the counter. Looking upwards, many of the buildings’ windows were broken and patched with wood or other temporary things. In one, he saw nothing but shards of broken glass and moth-eaten curtains being pushed by the draft. Considering the lack of lights, it wouldn’t be surprising if much of this street was abandoned. 

Which was fine by him. Preferable, in fact.  

Come to think of it, he had met Nero’s mother on some back street, hadn’t he? Not this one, of course. He was fairly certain he’d never been in this specific part of the city before. But, still, there was something familiar about the empty street. It hadn’t stayed empty long back then, with people mulling around and with it the unmistakable feeling of eyes on him. 

It seemed this time would be similar. The deserted street emptied out into a busier area after the rounding of a corner. While not particularly loud, there were a handful of people walking and a single Order member leaning against the facade of a building. 

Nero brushed closer, the loose fabric of both their cloaks rubbing against each other and the indent of a hand underneath reaching towards him. 

Vergil understood the danger and Nero likely did as well, what with the prior days fresh in his mind. Still, this particular man seemed less than alert. He didn’t seem particularly interested in those going by, including the pair, and Vergil felt a fight with him would be no challenge. 

“Do not worry,” he whispered, noticing that Nero kept a wary eye on the man. 

It didn’t seem to make much of a difference, especially considering there were only more as they kept going.

It seemed that, in order to get to the harbor, they’d have to go through one of the busier parts of town. 

They stood on the edge of what might be the town square, as people mulled around a fountain and small seating areas with potted trees and bushes. From a first scan of the area, he counted four–no five order members, all with a hand resting over their swords. 

Vergil pulled them off to the side, into the shade of an alley as one of the men walked past. It wasn’t clear if these men were on guard because of them and, if they were, if they knew what to be looking for. Still, that wasn't a reason to let his guard down. They’d need to move carefully. 

The good news was that he could see a slice of a ship in the distance, off a side path towards the other end of the square. It was likely that was the way to the port and, with it, their escape. 

The men didn’t seem to be patrolling but instead stationary in a certain area, meaning it would be difficult to wait for an opportunity to move. They were smartly positioned, if nothing else, with eyes over the whole area. 

They would need a plan to get through the area without drawing attention to themselves. If the Order members knew to look for a man and a child then even with their cloaks they may be caught. With that, it may be easiest to wait for even more people to crowd in so that they could slip in unseen. Still, by the time such circumstances arose, they may find the first ferry gone and they may have to wait some time for the next one, leaving them open to even more threat. He’d rather avoid that at all costs.

A tug on his cloak shook Vergil out of his thoughts. He turned his attention back to Nero.

“I know where we are.” Nero said, sounding excited despite his hushed tone.

Vergil reexamined the distance between them and the harbor. It was likely there was more than one way of reaching it and that some side street would get them to the same place.

“Do you know another way over there?” He pointed towards the sliver of harbor in their view. 

Nero continued tugging at his cloak, although he was careful to keep his hands hidden. “Back the way we came. There’s a shortcut.”

Vergil let him lead the way. Nero looked at the streets with a newfound confidence, as if he was someplace completely different. 

“You didn’t recognize this place before?” Vergil asked as Nero pulled them off a road to the left, like he had traveled this way countless times.

“It was backwards,” was all the boy said in his defense.

From there, it seemed they’d have an easy time of it. Nero did seem to know where he was now, if only on this specific path. The scent of the sea crept closer and with it came the sights and sounds of the harbor. Waves made wooden docks bob around while stained rope held them in place. There were a few ships around. What he’d seen a bit of earlier now seemed to be a large carrier boat with crates of goods being off boarded by Fortuna men, still dressed head to toe despite the labor. There were what he assumed to be fishing boats, small and with only one or two people on board any given boat. And then, thankfully, there was the ferry off the island.

It seemed small, at least next to the cargo ship. One main flat deck and a smaller enclosed area above that. 

Being for the people and not for workmen, it was situated at the first pier. Once Vergil had scanned the area to some adequacy, he ushered Nero over and onto the dock, their footsteps echoing down the ramp and then a small step up the loading plank. No one even stopped them or paid them any attention, all going about their own business. He supposed taking the ferry was normally a casual affair. 

He wasn’t sure how long it would be before they left port and he looked around for the most hidden spot to wait. There were dark corners on the main deck, underneath the upper cabin and in among ropes, lifejackets, and other emergency supplies. That seemed to be the best they would get. 

Nero seemed unsteady now as Vergil guided him. Whether from the boat’s motion or nerves he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. He looked eager to sit down once they’d found their hiding place for the journey. 

“What’s gonna happen after this?” Nero sat with his back against the cold metal wall.

Vergil wished he had a complete answer, both for Nero’s sake and for his own. 

“First will be finding reliable shelter and supplies.” 

Find who hires devil hunters. Find a place for them to live. Make sure Nero is fed and safe and not too exposed to people who would cause him harm. Don’t draw Mundus attention. His thoughts began to dwell on the possibilities and plans he would need for what was to come, so much so that he nearly missed the ship finishing its preparations to set off and the group of Order men that came on board just before that happened.

Chapter Text

Hey yall, 

so when I started this fic I uhhh...kinda was knee deep in a depressive episode and had no actual plan I was just trying to keep writing. With that said, this fic is going to be on indefinite hiatus  and if/when I come back, it may just be completely rewritten. I love me some child!Nero and decent dad!Vergil so something in that genre will return (eventually). But given my mental state and the US's...everything, I need to unwind and therefore am giving my man Vergil a scrap of joy. 

(I.e. Im writing a Vergil x Nero's mother fic and nothing can stop me.)

So, if you are interested in reading that, first chapter will be up in the coming day or two. 

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

If you keep reading this, you'll get a preview of this new fic! 

Uh basically I feel bad cancelling this fic so here's the preview to take the edge off. Enjoy. 

Fortuna was often cold. The proximity to water and the freezing temperatures that were  normal for the mountain peaks meant the winters were harsh and a cold spell could appear even in the midst of summer. 

On this particular day, the sky had gone a merciless gray and the bleary sea churned under it. Winds whipped doors open and shut and the frigid rain pelleting down wasn’t helping. Most of the city people were inside, and those that were outside were quickly trying to get somewhere else. Cloaks and bonnets were pulled in tight, desperate for any relief. The white-clad guardsmen required to be outside stood tucked in tight to buildings and walls. 

One figure walked at a casual pace, cloak not clutched any tighter than usual. They must have been soaked to the bone, their cloak long-since drenched by the rain. Their walk had been long and, by the look of things, unhurried. 

The destination for this trek would prove to be the Fortuna library. Tall and auspicious, a glow emanated from the library’s windows as the figure approached. 

The building fit the city’s archaic architecture, made of white stone and featuring a dramatic brass dome. The rain panged off the metal and the stone was darkened with water. Water curtained down from the eaves, soaking the figure one last time as they walked up the grand steps.

While the library was typically a quiet place, today the wind rattled the frames of the glass windows and the rain could still be heard pelting against the building. The only ones inside were the librarians, and the silence of man-made noise made the figure’s footsteps even louder as they echoed through the room.

The figure greeted neither of the two librarians sitting idly by the front desk. Instead, they disappeared into the rows of books. 

The two librarians’ heads turned to follow the figure as it became enveloped by the shadows of the tall shelves, the sound of footsteps retreating into the familiar silence. The head librarian scoffed and went back to . She hadn’t expected anyone to come in today, let alone a stranger. No one from the city would be so rude as to not say anything. She had been working at the library for decades and knew most of the regular visitors well.

The other librarian, however, was a young woman. With little else to do she’d been spending the slow hours reading, but the stranger seemed much more interesting. Very few visited Fortuna and even fewer stayed for long. 

This wasn’t her first time glimpsing the stranger, as she’d first noticed him one morning when most of the island was at church. Like the rest of the city he was covered by a large cloak. All she could do to identify him was the foreign sword he carried. It was long and slim, more delicate than those the Order wielded, and could just see the sheathed end hanging below the cloak’s hemline. 

The storm raged on well into the afternoon, all the while the library was undisturbed. Had the younger librarian not gone wandering to try and locate the lone visitor, it would be as if no one entered at all. But, even as the library prepared to shut for the night, he could still be found tucked away at a table in a back corner. Around him were dust-filled tomes that hadn’t been read in years. Some were old enough that the titles were long worn off. The pages were yellowed and stained, as if they’d been left outside to weather the elements. Some had leather covers, others looked like they’d had their covers replaced. On most, the binding was coming undone.

“We’re closing soon. You’ll have to leave.” 

The stranger didn’t look up. Pale hands half-covered by gloves toyed with the next page.

His head nods, face still invisible to her. As he stands, he begins gathering the books into a neat stack. 

“If you want, I can keep those out for you,” she says. He stills but still doesn’t directly respond. “If you plan on coming back.”

“That would be… much appreciated.” His voice is low and raspy, as if he’s not used to talking much. 

“When will you be back?” She reaches out to one of the books, helping stack them. 

“Tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiles at him. He can’t see it under the hood, of course, so it’s just for her. And if he smiles back she can’t see it either. 

The books are placed into two neat stacks together on the table. The few with still-legible covers are records of demons and their realm. Some of the books could be hundreds of years old. 

She turns to ask about the book selection, but the stranger has already disappeared. A moment later the library’s door opens. The storm hollers in before slamming the door shut.