Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Nero could describe the current state of his existence in one sentence, it would be: "Please just fucking kill me."

Nero wouldn't doubt he was actually run over by Nico this time. His head hurts to the point it pains him to think. His chest feels like it's been slashed open, his arms feel like they've been broken, torn off and wringed like wet rags, reattached and the same goes for his legs. He can swear he feels his organs creaking and pure agony makes itself known inch by heart-burning inch. His skin may as well have been peeled off from the tip of his nails to his eyelids, in the sense that it burns and it feels like he's freezing.

He has half an undead brain cell enough to register he's moving– carried, if the slow flow of wind across his face and light swaying of his body is any indication. By who? Hard to tell. The muscled arms wrapped tenderly around him can only belong to Dante or Vergil, but they're both built like tanks.

Vergil… he remembers pushing her out the way of something, then it felt like someone dunked a whole pool of boiling water on him and all else was blank. He feels wet, too. Not water, it's not this slick. 

Water doesn't smell like copper.

Agonizingly, he cracks an eye open, before lamenting the fact he can't see a thing beyond blurs and every spark of light striking his retinas may as well be a needle. There's something else impeding his vision– coming from the top of his head and caked in red. 

That… that's his hair. Since when did his hair grow enough to fall into his eyes? Kyrie cut it short just the other day…

There's a red blur to his side and a white mop on top of it. Only one person that could be.

"...Dan-..." Fuck, that felt like he just cleaved open his throat with a pen. With the blunt end. His voice is barely a rasping whisper.

The blur jolted in surprise, then moved a bit closer. The arms around him tightened ever so minutely before relaxing. 

"Shh. Don't try it kid. Just rest." He spoke unusually softly and low. Dante always means noise and chaos, when did he learn to lower his voice?

Nero, because it's in his blood to be a stubborn little shit, tried again. "D-demon…"

"Dead, kiddo. Now zip it and get some shut eye." Dante sounded serious. He never sounded serious, much less concerned. Nero must really look like shit.

Like deadweight.

Nero noticed he was rolled up on something. Both on his clothes and something else. Something thick and… silky? He can feel his coat somewhere between it and whatever– hold up.

Since when was he this small–

Shit, what happened to his mother?

"Ver…" That's all he can manage before his vocal cords give up on him.

As if summoned, she responded. "I am here. Now rest, you are stable but severely weakened." Vergil spoke from… up?

Oh. Vergil is carrying him. His misery riddled brain can barely manage to register it– or register the implications. Since when was Vergil this big? Nero falls comically short of either twin, especially Vergil, but this is a new record–

He realizes the better question is his previous: since when was he this small? To the point he can be bundled up in his own clothes and… Vergil's coat?

As if reading his mind, she answered. "The spell that hit you completely drained your devil of energy. A curse that would kill most– Your body was unstable, but it did what it must to survive. Rest."

Nero's logical mind knows it should be concerned at the fact he almost bit the dust, but deep down he's just glad it wasn't Vergil that took the hit.

Wait. His body did what it must to survive? With drained reserves? Demonology, as much of an expert as a devil hunter should be, isn't his forte. However, he knows some basic stuff, and it includes the fact that a demon's corporeal form is almost entirely sustained by their own power, if they're fully drained of it then you have something akin to V in her last hours happening.

Then it clicked. He's got zero power left and his body couldn't sustain itself in a normal state. Add in his now considerably smaller stature and… maybe the fact he's three quarters human? Anyways, he's a kid for a while now. Lower energy cost to maintain a small body or something like that, which must suck far more than he can currently process. Oh well, he can comply with the twins' request to stay down, at least.

He lets his body relax to the best it can– which means he's still using his ticket to the pain train– and lets his head rest on Vergil's bare arm.

Someone lightly pat his hair, the other playfully poked the baby-fat on his cheek. 

He felt safe. Safe and sleepy. So sleepy…

Next time Nero is somewhat conscious is when he realizes someone lowered him into a bathtub. His body being totally consumed by the lukewarm water is as tremendously soothing as it is mind numbing. The misery that pecks away at his mind ever so slightly eased– Like crows scared off from a carcass.

He opened an eye with no small measure of effort. There's bubbles everywhere and it smells like strawberries. The water should be redder, with all the blood that coated him earlier, but apparently he was hosed somewhat clean.

Someone is running him a bath, his mind concludes. A warm, thick and viscous liquid pours on top of his head, the click of what can only be a closing shampoo bottle graces his ears as calloused fingers try to gently rinse blood and gore chunks out of his hair to the best of their (lacking) ability.

A small plastic container dips into the water by his side, collecting liquid and bubbles alike, before he feels it slowly pour over his hair and the fingers moving along, lightly scratching at his scalp. Sometimes they'll wipe his forehead too, not letting the concoction fall into his eyes or possibly interrupt his breathing.

The process repeats until he feels his head lighter and lighter. Cleaner, really. He feels otherworldly calm and all the pains in his body seem to dim into the back of his head.

"Am I… doing this right?" A voice, small and shy, that Nero thought he'd never hear again reached his ears, yet it still sounded distinctly like Vergil.

She moved on to washing his neck, carefully maneuvering his lolling head so she could use the water to scrub out the sticky blood gunk with a sponge, before doing the same with his now much smaller shoulders. He felt vulnerable, but at the same time, safe. Soothed– Like the assurance that even if his whole neck was out there for anything to sink their fangs into, only a timid hand would reach. An assurance of protection from one of the deadliest beings in existence.

That question kept repeating in his head. It was both meant and not meant for him. Vergil was questioning herself and Nero found it fucking funny.

The cold, aloof, ever stoic and unapproachable dark slayeress pondering on whether she's washing her son right? Dante would be rolling. Nero may have been kicking and screaming some other time but the energy, will and clear headedness are just not there right now.

Nevermind she apparently cares enough to do such a thing.

"Yea" He whispered, not thinking it would be heard, but the small jolt of Vergil's hands proved otherwise. They immediately stopped their work, slowly closing on themselves before resuming.

A hand dropped into his hair again, scratching lightly, and he was promptly knocked out.

Once again, he came to awareness. Pain following shortly after because it is what it is.

Carried once more by his mother, as a bed almost comes into focus. He can barely make out anything of it, but it somehow looks extremely inviting. The storm blue curtains almost hide the dimming, golden light of a sunset. The dull color of the walls, somewhere between yellow and gray, are just the right shade to leave him feeling blind with eyes open.

 His current clothes are fitting for a kid. A navy blue onesie that reeks of demonic energy. It was probably made from Vergil's power, given the faint blueberry scent and the fact it tightens and softens around him like it's alive and with the sole job to envelop him. It warms him just right, but it's like his skin doesn't want to keep much needed heat– losing warmth faster than it can be given.

He'd feel embarrassed if he didn't feel like dying.

Vergil peeled off the comforter and laid him to rest, before pulling it back up to his chin.

Too lethargic to complain about being cared for, Nero curls on himself. Probably into a semi-fetal position in a half assed attempt to get the heat he so acutely feels he lacks– or to just keep what little he has, even if all his body is surrounded by nothing but. His teeth aren't chittering, nor is he getting goosebumps, but he still feels like a solid block of ice. He may or may not have let out a soft whine that managed to activate his shame response, but the flushing hotness that should follow was nowhere to be found.

He barely cracked an eye open again, witnessing Vergil sitting on one of those cheap plastic lawn chairs and accepting a glass of water from Dante, all the while his ears scantily pick up on words amidst the endless buzzing in his head like "soon as" and "all dead", before he disappears out the doorway, accompanied by red energy swirling in violent rivulets that Nero could only interpret as blind rage about to erupt. An active volcano that hasn't exploded only due to some fading divine intervention.

His mother turned to him, the blur that comprised his vision managed to pick up on many silver blue scales dancing in and out of Vergil's skin, a scent of what he can only describe as some sort of burning static permeating every nook and cranny of the room. Some other time, he may have prepared for a tough fight, with blue rose loaded and red queen spitting out fire.

Like he was watching the imponent dark clouds of a storm overhead, forever expecting a great flood to come down. All he can do is helplessly watch as she took a few deep breaths before speaking, the scales receding and her eyes returning to their usual steel instead of a horrific sapphire glow.

"Nero? Can you hear me?" Vergil asked. The twins have been keeping their voices low around him for the sake of not worsening his headache, but Vergil never sounded that… it's a cold and dry tone in a way only Vergil can really make, but it has some sort of gentleness to it.

It reminds him of some dream he had a long time ago…

He had it in him to hum in affirmation, if only it burned his throat all the way down to his rigid lungs.

"You need to drink. Can you sit?" 

Nero very shakily tried. With such thin and weak arms, he didn't make it halfway. His small muscles didn't obey him and burned in rebellion. It must be a pitiful sight to behold and he almost wanted to feel ashamed of being so weak just for the slightest rush of warmth. 

Fucking hell… When did he become so pathetic?

"Hold on." Vergil said before setting the glass on the nightstand and hesitantly grabbing him under the armpits, like she was triple measuring her strength every second she touches him and deeming ever more fragile. Vergil guided him up and held him there until she was sure he wouldn't fall, though it was mostly his spine locking up in place and Nero being too stubborn to say so.

Vergil didn't let go of him to grab the water. A hand carefully helped support his head and the other guided the glass to his lips, a tail wrapped around his midriff kept him sitting up with little effort and relieved great pressure from his back. The razor sharp scales that usually lined lts surface having collapsed into respective sections, leaving a rough and sleek silvery surface that coiled snug around him.

 Nero felt like a puppet with cut strings and every bit as useless.

He at least tried to look indignated. Even if barely thinking, he knows that he would raise hell were he in any better state of… he would say mind, but his body is in just as much anguish.

His face scrunched up in what he hoped would at least express his simmering anger underneath it all.

Judging by Vergil's lips slightly tipping up before being forced to remain neutral, it didn't work. "There are better times for this." Her expression shifted to her usual scrutiny and the same tone he couldn't quite put a finger on. "Drink, you need it."

Nero reluctantly did, before almost choking upon realizing just how thirsty he truly was. Luckily, the glass was big and he was pretty small, probably not older than eight or nine– Damn, he's younger than his own kids.

Now that he thinks about it, Kyrie would be all over him. She loves children after all and still keeps a photo album of when he was adopted at just about the same age he's at now. He'd readily take Kyrie fawning over him than being strung around by his mother.

Or maybe Vergil's just…

The glass emptied and Nero was left gasping for air. He just chugged all that without taking one breath. The sudden motions made his whole body ache and tremble terribly, feedbacking into dulling agony.

Vergil steadied him with a hand on the shoulder, her tail coiling on his waist ever so slightly tighter.

 "There, breathe."

Nero wheezed a sigh. He sounds like he's got a foot in the grave and it sure as hell feels like it. His thoughts are interrupted by a hand on his forehead– an oh so warm hand he never wanted it to leave– before Vergil made her statement.

"That's… unfortunate. I'm afraid there's little that can be done but rest as your devil side recovers." The back of her fingers moved to just barely caress his cheek, before carefully maneuvering him to be laying down again as the tail uncoiled from his abdomen and he tried to understand what just happened.

"Sleep. It will help you recover." Vergil said, wiping his bangs away from his eyes with careful fingers, another comforter having manifested over him from apparently thin air. His clothes warmed like they have been freshly ironed. it's like he's inside a perfect hot water bottle, but never quite enough to begin melting the glacier his insides have become.

Nero complied in short order, relishing in the attention even if his usual self would be far less tolerant of it. Falling asleep is gonna be a bitch when he feels like a living freezer and his head throbs and throbs but he'll have to manage.

Vergil gave him only the slightest of a head pat before retreating. "You will survive this. I'll make sure of it."

Nero didn't think too much about it.

Apparently, enough misery can mean dreamless sleep. Maybe he should get run over by Nico every so often if he doesn't want to wake up clutching his right arm until it's purple.

Anyways, what brought him to rise was this incessant presence trying to do just that. Something lightly poked his cheek, not even denting all the baby fat. It almost tickled. It kept poking, with just a bit more force each time.

"Nero…?" 

The finger– no, tail poked with enough force to successfully reach his cheekbone and he decided that was enough to at least open his eyes.

He came to awaken, registering the dull aches all over his body first and foremost. Slightly better compared to his previous dreadful state of being, but not enough to make any real difference.

"Hm?" He wasn't so sure speaking wouldn't tear open his throat again, but he could muster up that much without (too much) pain. He noticed Vergil was holding something– and that something smelled good– before she spoke again.

"You have to eat." Vergil was holding a small tray with a bowl on it. "No need to consume it all, but eat something you must."

Confident that he can at least answer the need to be independent despite his… size, Nero waved her off. He even tried and– with the assistance of Vergil's tail– successfully sat up, albeit slow and shaky, ultimately having to lean his back on the bedframe to stay sitting. 

See? He's good as new.

Vergil huffed, more in amusement than exasperation. "You need this. Your devil side cannot sustain you while it regenerates from what few reserves it has." She said before firmly balancing the tray on his thighs, that tantalizing scent steaming up just under his nose.

It smells so fucking good. It's a chicken soup with plenty of vegetables. He might wrinkle his nose at it some other day, but Vergil was wrong about him not being hungry.

Reluctantly, Nero accepted and started to dig in, even if lethargic and clumsy with his smaller arms and hands being comically unskilled at handling a spoon, or their own weight, but he was eating on his own. (There's not one fucking chance Vergil would be allowed to spoon feed him, just making food for him is already too much.)

She observed intently, although her thousand yard stare revealed her mind was somewhere else entirely.

 "What you did was foolish." Vergil scolded without tone.

Nero hums in a "Don't care" fashion. If he can avoid harm to his family, even at great cost to himself, he will.

Not like he's worth much… can't even brush off a little curse? How pathetic is that?

"The spell that hit you was designed to weaken and kill hybrids by Mundus himself. Were you any more of a demon you would certainly be on your deathbed. Thankfully, you are merely bedridden for now."

Oh. Well, that just means Nero saved Vergil's life, and his now smug face reflects that. Much as it already hurts his sides, he can't just resist feeling a bit giddy about it.

Vergil's expression hardens and focuses at him. Nero can only laugh internally as he happily munches on a tasty and slightly mushy piece of chicken and broccoli.

"This is no laughing matter. If you could not exist solely on your human side you would be dead." Vergil's voice dripped with admonishment. 

Nero is still smug. If there's one person that would complain about having their life saved, it would be Vergil. Not like he doesn't know it goes both ways but he's happy with that.

Vergil glares at him for some time, as if he hadn't already understood the gravity of the situation before sighing in resignation. "I have overcome death once. It is unwise to test if you inherited that particular ability. Die, and I will drag you out of heaven the same way your grandmother separated me and Dante from fighting." Despite what one would think, Vergil's words carried no irony.

 "By the ear."

Huh. Leave it to Vergil to make that sound like a genuine threat.

Nero had figured his mother was awkward at expressing herself months ago, when she brought him the still beating heart of an aspiring demon king for his birthday before disappearing without a word. He was way too confused about what had transpired, with Dante's thunderous guffaws and Nico's immediate grabby hands over new material overloading his head further, but eventually it clicked that Vergil had tried to do something nice for him.

Nero suddenly felt fuzzy, before gulping down the remains of his soup until he felt full– full and sleepy. The soup is actually managing to warm up his insides, but he knows it won't last. It's also the best thing he's eaten since the last Kyrie cooked meal. His clothing must have picked up on it because its material softened to something like cotton as it closed in on him, vainly trying to provide the heat he desires. 

Vergil stared at him with an expectant look. Of course, the crease in her brow is permanent like existence itself pisses her off, but he's spent enough time around Dante for a basic guide on what the depth of each of Vergil's many scowls meant.

The one he currently tries to make sense of is being forced on, not a natural bitch-face of hers. Vergil only forces on a scowl if she's unsure about something or wants some input and has no clue how to ask. Not to be confused with the irritated one, that's only when she's really annoyed and within minutes or less of mauling something to death, most likely Dante.

Nero figured he could make a phrase without exploding. Just so she'll stop looking at him like that, it gives him the creeps that someone can look angry and puppy eyed at the same time.

 "It's really good." Before he cringed at his high pitched voice. The burning in his throat completely drowned out by the depth of his embarrassment.

In Vergil's case, the result was subtle but immediate. He could see the very small flutter of her jaw– could see the pride swelling behind her eyes as they slightly widened, but he elected to simply hand over the tray and plop down to sleep again. Curling up on himself.

The last thing he saw was Vergil's doppelganger grabbing the tray and heading down to the kitchen with these silly little rhythmic hops as its tail swished around madly. Vergil sat disturbingly still.

If he could, Nero would have such a dumb grin right now. His mother is a liar and her doppelganger is the emotions buried behind all those diamond walls. 

Good to know Dante was right about that one.

Nero woke up again in the middle of night with a strong need to take a piss. His body is still painfully sore, but tolerable. The dim golden light of the night lamp revealed Vergil reading a book. His shifting brought her attention to him.

"Did the light wake you?" Vergil asked, voice laced what Nero deduced to be a smidge of guilt.

With a soft sigh and the confidence he could still speak, Nero answered: "No. I just…" Fuck, its way too uncomfortable to speak, he needs to make it quick. "Need to pee." 

Nero froze in shock and shame. Be it the phrasing or his child voice, he cringed really fucking hard. His throat still burned a bit, but he's having so much worse that it doesn't matter.

Vergil visibly relaxed. "Ah, I see. Can you walk?"

Firstly, of course he fucking can. He's feeling a little better and not that weak. Second, Nero can pretty much freely move in the bed, walking surely can't be that hard?

He sat– actually sat on his own! Fuck yeah! – and tried to put his feet on the ground. He felt a light stab of pain on his knees and his thighs burning hot, but otherwise just felt a bit woozy and stiff. Nero's fine, perfectly fucking fine.

He breathed in, regretted every choice he ever made, took one lousy step and– Vergil offered him a hand as she too stood up.

Initially, Nero thought to refuse, but that same look in her eyes made Nero incapable of not humoring her. He reached, his much smaller fingers tightly clung around her sword-calloused and gloveless palm, steadying himself by clinging to her arm if he felt a bit too dizzy as they walked, but it all worked out.

He didn't miss the shadow of a smile on Vergil's face, or the way her hand seemed to slightly vibrate like a kid having a sugar rush. He swears that if her tail was out it would be wagging like a really happy dog.

He shook his head. All's absurd with this family, isn't it?

Vergil waited outside and, after he did his business, he could finally take a look at himself in the bathroom mirror. Thank fuck the height of both it and the sink is adjusted for normal people, not towering half-demons. Even a kid could take a good look at themselves.

Speaking of. He looks… well, like a kid. One who's been missing out on sleep for years and way too pale– paler than his mother. His hair is all messy and long and the bags under his eyes could match Vergil's were they any deeper. His face is soft with youth, his form-fitting onesie reveals his frame is small and lanky and he couldn't feel more… lost. The last time he felt this was many years ago, back in the orphanage when he wasn't adopted yet and he really didn't miss the feeling.

He tried not to look too much at himself as he washed his hands. The cold water stung but it kept his head out of it enough not to think. Those times are long behind him, just have to forget it now. 

Oh, were it so easy.

That pervasive sense of not knowing what to do or where to go (or where he came from, or if there was a place for him in this world–) only dissipated when he noticed his onesie had a hood. Aside from it's many little intricate ornaments in the shape of vines like Vergil's coat, he found this little hood to catch his attention the most. He pulled it up out of curiosity and–

This has to be a fucking joke.

Cat ears. What the fuck. What.the.Fuck.

He stomped out of the bathroom with the hood over his head, ignoring the way his body protested the many hurried movements, while pointing at it and trying to glare daggers at Vergil. It almost faded once he took in the height difference again. He had to nearly crane his neck to look at her face, he just barely over her hips. Vergil is really fucking tall.

She did a once over on him and just chuckled, low and mirthful. Chuckled. Vergil barely ever conveys anything other than annoyance at everything and here she is, chuckling at his stupid cat ears.

"In my defense, Dante suggested it." Vergil clarified.

Nero wanted to yell, but couldn't. Angry whispers are all his dry throat allows him. "And you just went along with it?!"

Vergil settled down to one knee, where they're almost at eye level and he saw this… whatever that look on her face is, but it paralyzed him. "I told him he'd face your fury, take it up to him."

Oh he's furious at both of them alright– Vergil raised a hand slowly, reaching to pet the spot between his faux ears while trying (and failing) to not look endeared. 

The half baked smirk on her face… fuck, V really is in there. Somewhere.

"I… it suits you." Vergil ruffled the ears, a flush being forced down her neck while the same couldn't be said for Nero.

His own hands rose to Vergil's own, whether to hold it there or push them away, Nero wasn't sure. Before he could find out, both her touch and his anger backed down.

"Now, to bed with you." Vergil stated,offering her hand once again. He didn't hesitate to take it.

After helping Nero settle back under the covers, Vergil pressed one singular kiss to the knuckles of his right hand before shutting the light off without a word.

Strange as this all is, he could get used to it. 

Chapter Text

It starts simple. They came back from hell. And Nero, the stupid, useless idiot goes there to pester them. He thinks he can get close to them, visit, and try to get to know either of them better. Only for both to shut up, or tell him just enough to get him to walk around in circles for months. Every conversation avoided with a crooked, mildly annoyed grin or pure silence and an immovable stone face.

Every attempt to talk shut down, every conversation ended so quickly it may as well have never began. Any advice, something basic, just tossed his way like he didn't already know. A phone never answered, an invite never given. A hunger never sated, a gift never enough.

Yet he still tries, like that one lonely child in an orphanage, seeking within a black scarf for comfort and warmth he'll never get, from people who will never come.

It's worse when they get fed up. Dante just drops his whole act when Nero follows him to one too many bars, tells him: "Can't you get the memo, kid? Flock off. I already told you: You're dead weight."

Or Vergil's annoyance filled tone if he tries to quote poetry and reveals himself to be a literature illiterate: "I hope you can understand that you need to stop bothering me. You do not interest me, and you mean nothing to me. I should have corrected the mistake of you before you were even born. Leave. Do not return."

Nero just stays there, stunned. There's nothing he can say to them, to either of them, to convince them to put up with him. At best he's dead weight, normally he's a liability and at worst–

They're leaving. He doesn't want to be alone again– not as this one of a kind freak if nothing else. They're all he ever wanted but they hate him. Just please don't leave-

Vergil noticed his pathetic hand extended to her as she turned to walk away. Dread filled him when he realized it was his monstrous arm. 

"Ah. I forgot you do serve a purpose after all." Was the last thing she said before he was clutching the bloody stump of where his arm should be.

Dante cooed from somewhere, not like Nero can take his mind away from all the blood leaving his system, leaving him feeling cold. Like his skin is ice and the tears threatening to spill over will make him die a little faster.

"Geez, you down already kid?"

"If he dies, then at least he won't inflict any further shame upon Sparda's bloodline."

“Could’ve aborted him…”

“I tried. But he wouldn't die.”

The same old hum of reality being torn open, a portal awaiting passage. They go through without looking back. Nero didn't even try to look but he knows they didn't look back. His attempts at stopping a bleed out ceased, and he just laid there. Staring at the ground and waiting for his life to leave him too. Vainly hoping that since he's been left at death's door again, he'll have the courage to knock.

It ends simply. A pointless, petulant creature that exists to take up space and waste air finally dies. Net positive for the universe.

Then he wakes up.

Nero woke up once again sometime in the morning, judging by the few rays of sunlight that managed their way through the closed curtains. His body was still sore just like yesterday– but hey, he could walk! That's a hell of an improvement.

Even if his legs aren't really in their best days now… or his thundering heart. Despite the adrenaline, the lethargy does not let up. He can barely twitch his fingers right. Laying there, motionless and now suddenly aware he's not alone.

Vergil was still there, sitting on the chair and reading her book. He'd call her a vampire if he didn't know she was half demon and the literal queen of hell. God knows both of them fit the bill, their paleness could very well mean they'd burn up in the sun.

A sudden, sharp and cold burning in his elbow, like someone violently twisting his forearm off it's joint came as quickly as it left. It made him do this half assed gasp that came off as a disgruntled attempt at a sigh.

Her eyes snapping towards him filled him with something close to but not quite dread.

Vergil noticed his awakening as he uncurled himself, storing away the book within her coat. "You didn't sleep well."

Nero actually sighed now, sore and cold all over but definitely better than before. Well, better is an understatement. He feels mildly alive now.

"Morning." He said, wincing before trying to stretch and quickly finding out that was a horrible idea. Trying to pretend he didn't just have a jolt of white hot agony run through him might have failed. 

Vergil didn't comment for a full minute, which gave him time to get his head back into the real world for good, so he commented first. 

"Where's Dante?" Nero rasped.

"He, Lady and Trish are hunting down the remaining cultists like bloodhounds. They will not see another sunrise." Vergil explained.

Nero hummed in understanding, wiping a few loose strands away from his eyes– why'd he get rid of his long hair in the first place? Kyrie loved it– then his stomach growled as he lay a hand on top of it. He wouldn't mind having more of that soup…

Vergil stared at him in that one way he can never figure what is going on through her head. "I'll make breakfast." She said, decisively getting up to leave.

He couldn't let this go on. “Look, you don't have to bother-”

“Nonsense.” She cut him off sharply with a baffled tone she only uses when Dante says something (too) dumb. It relieves a knot of tension within him he didn't know existed.

Quickly rethinking the situation, Nero had all intents to follow. But with all the coordination of a drunk and the fact his legs did not like the strain he put them through yesterday, rigid like stone, he just shuffled around awkwardly.

Vergil noticed his pitiful effort. "It would be wise to rest."

Nero felt some anger simmer under his skin. He feels like a damn tree, perpetually stuck in one boring spot. "I've done nothing but rest. I wanna move!" Fucking hell, he does not miss his kid voice. If Dante called him a brat right now he wouldn't judge. Too much.

Vergil seemed like she wanted to argue against it, but indulged him nonetheless.

"Fine, I will take you downstairs. For your own sake, stay still." She said, approaching and tenderly picking him up by the legs and back, securing her hold with a tail wrapped around his midsection. 

This had not been the plan.

Nero felt far smaller than he truly is while he tries to burn alive in shame. He won't admit to snuggling himself closer to Vergil– to the welcoming warmth that bleeds into him– but he's sure she noticed, if the tightened hold of him was any clue. He also realized that it wasn't really him that felt cold, it was something under his skin that greedily drank all the warmth it could get, even from himself. That was probably his demon quarter, nearly dead like ashes with a few scattered ambers slowly learning to burn again like they should. It batted away his prying senses with the air of a teenager demanding five more minutes before getting ready for school.

Nero sighs, closing his eyes and resting the side of his head on her shoulder. He wanted to move, not be moved.

The shift in lighting could only mean the windows of the kitchen were bright open. The dull gray sky was somewhat of a blessing because his eyes were probably not ready to handle the sun. He could vaguely make out some pretty dark clouds in the distance, there's a storm approaching.

Vergil carefully set him down on the island, straightening his wrinkled onesie and hair while lightly prodding around him, observing which spots make him wince and which he seems to be okay with like a scientist may experiment on a rat.

All was well until she triggered, sniffed around his head and neck before growling in approval, nuzzled her massive armored jaw against his scalp, de-triggered and went to the fridge like nothing happened.

Nero just shrugged to himself.

As soon as it opened, his eyes locked on to the pizza box. He wasn't an all consuming goblin like Dante, but his hunger was getting the best of him.

"Can I get a slice?" Nero asked.

Vergil threw a reprimanding glance at him before returning to rummaging the fridge. "Contrary to what Dante may say, I will not neglect my parental duties further and feed you something unhealthy."

A simple no would have done it. No need to throw him for a loop while she's at it. Parental duties? He's a grown fucking adult, he just looks like a kid-

Is she trying to make up for lost time? Something within his mind deduced, and couldn't find enough evidence to contradict itself.

You know what? Dante told him once that sometimes it's best to just roll with shit as it unfolds and he reckons it applies to now. 

Turns out what Vergil considers a healthy breakfast is orange juice, two perfectly fried eggs, toast and sausages. To her credit, it is pretty good. Not as good as Kyrie's though, no one will ever be.

Nero noticed Vergil wasn't eating, just sitting across from him and looking mildly satisfied. If he concentrates, he can hear a very low rumble emanating from her.

It reminds him of a purring cat.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" Nero asked through a mouthful of toast.

"Don't speak while chewing, it is unsightly." Vergil chastised, completely missing the point and making Nero pout.

She seemed perfectly content, maybe even amused. "Don't make that face and eat your breakfast. I may give you some chocolate after lunch if you do."

If there is one thing that can successfully bribe Nero one hundred percent of the time, it is chocolate. He pouted for its own sake, but did as he was told.

"You forget to chew, Nero. Slow down or choke." Vergil warned.

The prospect of some sweet, sweet chocolate was just too good to risk losing. He may have shoved a bit more than he could chew into his mouth, but it didn't matter.

"Such a ravenous little thing…" Vergil had a fond squint to her eyes as she muttered.

Nero just ate until it was all crumbs, the orange juice downed just as swiftly. What did she say? Something about ravenous? Whatever, he's got his shot at some sweet chocolate now.

Vergil frowned at him. "Hold on." Before she cupped his jaw and cleaned the edges of his lips with careful thumbs.

Vergil then grabbed his plate and glass and deposited it on the sink while Nero practically went into shock. The pure absurdity of the entire situation finally clocked in. What hit him even harder is that Vergil isn't actually that bad of a… mother. 

The most amount of time they ever spend together is awkwardly sharing the same space in the van, Nero complaining about having his kills stolen by Vergil if they, by miracle or Dante, hunt together and the ensuing arguments or spars.

It hit him that he never really gave Vergil space to try to be a parent and now that she has the chance she… Vergil's actually…

 She's trying.

And holy fuck, it's working. The onesie he is wrapped in must have detected his distress because it tightened around his small frame as if to anchor him in reality.

"Nero?" Vergil materialized in front of him, dropping to one knee where they met at eye level. Her openly concerned eyes shocked him, that silver blue filled with something almost like fear before it was reeled back and replaced with cold calculations.

She lay one hand on his oh so small arm to steady him.

 She's trying to be my mom.

"Are you well?" Vergil never sounded worried but this is probably the closest thing.

Nero did not feel the steadiness of his voice. "I- I'm good, just… a bit dizzy." Really? That's the best he can come up with? It's not like he's lying, but that's not the kind of excuse to not worry Vergil further.

Vergil was slightly relieved, but her perpetually paranoid mind must know something is off. "I see. I told you not to eat too fast. Nap time, then?"

Nero cannot allow that, he may have the body of a kid but his mind is of a grown ass man. It was all too easy to remember why he hated being treated like a kid, no matter what form his body is in.

 "Fuck off-" 

Vergil pinched his cheek, not enough to hurt, but enough to startle. "Swear when you are back to your normal form, until then no boy of mine will be foul mouthed." She scolded. Scolded.

He just got scolded. By his mother. Never in a million years did he think this would ever happen, or that he'd actually feel like shit because of it. He absolutely wanted to say she was a decade or more late for that but he couldn't find it in him to defy her. Nero supposed it wouldn't hurt to go along with that since he never lets any of his kids swear either. It's only fair.

Vergil rubbed a thumb apologetically over the spot she pinched. "Let's put you back to bed."

She once again picked him up, and Nero tried to burn in shame. He could adequately process just how wack this whole situation is later, he'll just enjoy living the fulfilled wish of his true kid self– of when he was just a cursed, useless, abandoned child that forever inhabited the most isolated corner of the orphanage. The same kid that wished for his parents every birthday. The same kid that watched other children receive gifts from their parents on Christmas while all he got was suspicious glances and other dirty looks.

All the while, his own longing eyes looked up to the sky and pondered why Sparda would do this to him– at least until he lost faith.

Fuck. He hates being a kid. He hates all of this.

Vergil was halfway up the stairs when she asked. "Is something of the matter?"

Nero slightly uncurled himself to respond. "Just… hate being a kid again."

Vergil hummed. "I see."

Her tail appeared in a shower of blue sparks, slithering around his small and lanky form. It was probably thicker than him, but only now as it settled on his chest did he notice how warm the scales were and he couldn't resist wrapping his arms around it like it was a heated pillow.

Vergil deposited him back in bed as she took her spot on the chair again, still allowing him the beckoning heat of her tail as she took to distracting him with random movements. (Mostly having it rub across his face like some clingy pet.)

Before getting comfy and sleepy, Nero pointed out: "You didn't eat anything."

Vergil responded. "The cultists I destroyed will sustain me for a long time, do not concern yourself." 

Coming from her mouth, that sounded like the most normal thing in the world. No one can deliver violence with as much pinpoint martial excellence as Vergil. Demons gain power and sustenance from human blood anyhow, so she's not lying about being fine. He also wondered just how few were left for Dante to hunt, or in what state (besides mist) were the bodies. Not like his uncle would struggle, dealing with people like that is a simple process: Aim, shoot, reload, repeat until dead. It was Nero's fuck up to end up like this.

"Oh. Ok." Was all he had to say.

He curled himself around Vergil's tail for all that precious warmth and he felt it wiggling in clearly involuntary motions before being forced to calm and stillness. 

With nothing to do, his mother opened her favorite book, the one emblazoned with the burning V he stared at for plenty of time after the Qliphoth fell. In those months, he wondered if the woman with the same name was gone forever or if Vergil did at least remember their one month of being a devil slaying duo.

Weirdo though she was, Nero did miss V. Her weird sense of humor, the horrible poetic timing, the strange way she ate hamburgers by avoiding all the sauce...

Vergil fumbled with the pages as if looking for something in particular while Nero dragged his fingers along the receded scales, relishing in the heat at the tip of his fingers before it was sapped by the weakened quarter of his being. Apparently his mother was enjoying it too, if the perpetual low rumble that disturbs the air is any indication.

He stayed snuggled up with the tail until an insistent need to bite something arose. He ran his tongue across his teeth, to no avail. He needed to chew something because his teeth were itching to all hell-

His teeth. Itching.

What the fuck.

Ignoring it in favor of feeling his soft fingers brushing against armor stronger than steel, Nero tried scratching away lightly at them. Vergil wouldn't feel it, right? This stuff can casually brush off bullets, of course she won't feel it. Scritch and scratch was the song of his nails against hard scale. It was a good distraction.

Still. His teeth itched and did not stop itching. He clenched them, trying to get rid of the irrational need at any cost necessary. He even took a small bite of his own finger before having to stop himself from self cannibalizing.

It's maddening. It's stupid.

Why the fuck are his teeth so-!

"If you are teething, bite. I won't feel it." Vergil spoke without taking eyes away from her book.

Before he figured out what to make of it– or how Vergil even knew– his teeth sunk into the hard scales. Contrary to what he thought, they're actually somewhat rubbery and do slightly give way beneath the meek pressure of his jaw. It alleviated the need as he grinded his mandible, bonus for giving him a perfect explanation as to why he always enjoyed eating every part of a meal, including his insistence on gnawing on bones when he was little. Another weird but probably related quirk of his is that he never had baby teeth– one set for life.

It doesn't change the fact he just bit Vergil.

He stopped biting the appendage like he's trying to kill it and looked at his mother, who was completely unbothered and still ruffling pages.

He stared for a second, failing to come up with a decent apology. He knew she didn't want one, but he felt bad enough to give one. "Um… sorry…?"

That got Vergil to look at him and blink. "For what?"

Vergil could be annoyingly aloof at times. "I bit you?"

"I don't see how that's a problem." Vergil went back to her book.

Nero just stared, slightly perplexed.

The mother looked at the child again. "It's normal for nestlings to bite things at random. It strengthens your teeth and you would have to bite far deeper to cause any harm. Suit yourself." She explained, rubbing the massive appendage in his face before running through pages again.

Nestling. Okay. Fuck that, he's not a nestling– Not in mind, at least.

He tried to ignore the urge to sink his teeth into Vergil's tail again, but gave in far faster than he'd like to admit. Gnawing at it and feeling the perfect bliss of an itch well scratched was addicting. His rebellion against his own need only made him close his maw harder and made him feel like crap for doing something that should hurt his mother, even if she's not actually feeling it and is happy to help.

What the fuck has his life come to? 

I want off Mr.Sparda's wild ride.

He gnawed away happily, trying to get his molars to bite down too but the tail was just too large.

Vergil seemed to have found what she was looking for, because a poem slipped out her tongue with the fluidity of a river. 

"I have no name 

I am but two days old.— 

What shall I call thee?

I happy am 

Joy is my name,— 

Sweet joy befall thee…

Pretty joy.

Sweet joy but two days old,

Sweet joy I call thee; 

Thou dost smile. 

I sing the while 

Sweet joy befall thee."

Nero listened to every word with rapt attention. It was so familiar to have those words out of Vergil's mouth yet so painfully distant. She was his old friend but at the same time isn't.

 A single burning doubt plagued his mind. Releasing his teeth from the armored appendage, he shyly asked:

"Do you…" He bit his lip, wincing. "Is V still…" Good job Nero, can't even make a fucking question. Great work.

Vergil's eyes practically lit up, a smirk dancing on the edges of her lips. "Ah, regarding that, I have something to show you." 

She stood, finally taking away the tail from his reach– to which he curled back on himself and nearly whined– by heading to the middle of the room, then drawing Yamato. Much to Nero's rising worry, what came next was even worse.

"Do not worry, Urizen won't come to be." Vergil assured ineffectively. Why or what is Urizen even going to–

And jammed the katana through her belly.

"What the-" Nero started and didn't finish as he observed Vergil's body shimmering with blue energy. Fear, dread and despair gripped his heart until a platinum-blonde, skinny as hell, sickly pale woman popped out from Vergil's back in a purple-black hue. One who wore a laced up corset and black leather trousers Vergil would gladly choose death over wearing and many swirling tattoos on every bit of exposed skin. Even sporting a signature silver cane to boot.

Vergil's form morphed into her sin trigger and kneeled motionless on the floor as Yamato stuck out from her chest.

Graciously landing on her feet, the woman took one deep breath and spun her cane once, before turning to him with a smile and a voice smooth as silk, jade eyes fond. 

"Hello Nero."

Chapter Text

Nero blinked once, twice, fifty times and still thought he was hallucinating. Sanity had always been a touchy topic for Nero, he knows he's lost it at some point, but whether he is a high functioning madman or far more crazy than he thinks has just come into question.

"V…?" He whispered in disbelief.

She leaned both hands on the cane in a failed attempt at casual gesture. "I hope. Unless something was amiss with the splitting process then–"

"V!" Nero jumped out of bed with the dumbest, biggest, most genuine grin of his life–

Only to fall face first on the floor as his legs betrayed him and his body locked up.

"You fool!" V quickly ran over, helping Nero back to his ass. "Do you want to die? If so, you are almost there." She helped him sit up by supporting his arms and straightening his body from the awkward angle he managed to put himself in.

Nero's head snapped up the moment his body allowed him to, still with the biggest smile of his life and didn't waste a second to wrap his arms around her neck in a hug as something born of hysteria bubbled out of his mouth. Could be laughter, could be tears.

"V, you crazy-" He cut himself off before finding out if she's as strict as his mother. (Probably, though.) Something kept pouring out of him, his chest kept rapidly contracting like he was laughing, yet his eyes were wet.

"There, there…" V soothed him while rubbing his back. "Now let me see your face."

He let go just enough for V to get a good look in, uncaring for how many teeth his dumb smile shows as she studied the red spot where his forehead met the floor. Wiping away a bang, and running tender fingers over it to gauge the damage from his wince, she pressed a light kiss to it. "It will heal, fret not."

Nero is being overwhelmed with a bit of everything right now, freezing in response. V just did the thing that every mother does when their kids get hurt… he isn't sure how to feel, or what he feels.

Nero shook off some of his disbelief. "V… holy sh- uh, you're really-"

She just lifted him like one would an actual child– and like he weighed nothing, too. Now that he really looks at her, she isn't that skinny anymore. There's some actual meat around her bones to the point she almost looks like a healthy human being. Gaunt limbs have acquired some muscle and he can't exactly pinpoint every vein and artery in her body with a naked eye anymore, thanks to her skin gaining something resembling color. The tattoos are much more faded out and her hair just shy of a golden blond. She could pass for Trish if he squints and ignores hair length.

Oh, right. Trish is a copy of his grandmother. The wonders of genetics.

She smiled openly, so much more openly than Vergil would ever dare to. It mesmerized him, or maybe it's vertigo.  "Here? Unless this is a collective delusion, then yes: I am here in…” The woman squinted at nothing for but a second. “I would say full, but I believe half is more appropriate?"

He laughed at the absurdity, truly taking in the image of his one weird ass friend that effectively came back from the dead. 

He tried to calm himself down and his breathing. "You look…"

V perked up where he didn't. "Healthier? Yes, accepting one's humanity and ridding the body of demonic corruption tends to have collateral effects. Not at all unpleasant, mind you."

Nero laughed again, still not quite believing what he's seeing. It isn't lost to him that he's putting his body through a lot of strain but he doesn't care. Not yet.

"Who isn't healthy is you, my foolish boy. You need my cane more than I do." She used a hand to brush his hair to the side, giving an attentive eye to the sore spot on his forehead. "Do such a thing again and I will make you a coffin out of Dante's pizza boxes."

Nero huffed, now fully believing V to be back in the not disintegrating flesh. "Bite me."

The gothic woman harrumphed and flicked the tip of his nose, much to Nero's indignity. "Your hard head will be your end, foolish child. It isn't unbreakable."

Nero pouted as his… mother? Friend? Both? Wait, that's not right… She's only half of Vergil. Anyways, she's carrying him back to bed and he's already forgotten to complain about not being a child.

After setting Nero down, V sat on the chair and spoke what Vergil would never voice. Because that's apparently her job. "So this is how you looked like…" 

She cupped his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs over all his soft features, her eyes studious and framing every single second of these few moments for eternity. Her smile stretched from ear to ear as she played with the youthful fat on his cheeks.

" To hold infinity in the palm of your hand… " She wistfully quoted. "I wonder if i- if Vergil would have been a good mother…" V pondered to herself, before slowly shaking her head.

That little slip up wasn't lost to Nero. "Aren't you my– eh… half-mother? Step-mother?"

V hummed inquisitively, brows furrowed as she went into deep thought. 

Nero put some thought into it too. "Maybe like a… an aunt?"

V hummed into a sentence. "No, that doesn't sound right. Frankly,  the technicalities don't concern me– You are my son."

Nero felt… something. Not a bad feeling by any means, he just doesn't know what to feel about what he's feeling, as if his head wasn't all over the place enough.

"If you will have me." V asked with a tone that spiked urgency in Nero.

"Of course! I mean, sure– It's not really normal but I think that stopped mattering by now?" He quickly added, noticing his excitement fading away and quickly becoming aware of all the sore spots on his body gaining a fierce sharpness.

V smiled. "Thank you, Nero." Her expression was quickly swapped to one of worry. "Ah. I see your recklessness has caught up to you…"

That was the perfect time to be reminded of the fact his body is still very much weakened and even more pissed off at the fact he won't stay down to properly heal. His joints ache terribly, his muscles burn and ice poured in his veins as he was effectively paralyzed by sheer unholy suffering. Even his lungs seized, not allowing him more than a few, very slow long breaths or his ribs raise hell.

V took in his pathetic image as he doubled over in bed, curling into himself with a low, pained mewl.

"Sweet dreams form a shade…" She stroked his hair, hopeless to bring a distraction to his torment. She brought his head to the pillows and covered him up neatly before tangling fingers in his hair.

She pressed a kiss to his crown and told him some sweet nothings, trying to provide much needed comfort and not really failing, but his self inflicted torture is too great for it to matter.

It is still appreciated, through it all.

V held his hand, a light and gentle touch to simply let him know he wasn't alone. His onesie has seemingly lost its supernatural abilities, but he'll take this over living clothes any day. 

"Foolish… carelessness was Vergil's near end, learn from this."

In hindsight, it really was a horrible idea to just ignore his predicament and wing it towards V, if the way his body felt like it was being crushed by the very air was any decent indicator.

A pained squeak escaped him.

"Shh. It will pass, Nero. It will pass." She whispered, humming some soft tune known only to her.

V wasn't judging him for it. Sure, he felt like hissing and spitting at the fact she probably felt pity for him, but still. It's nice to have a friend back from the technically dead, even if temporarily. Hell, Nico once joked V had become the mom friend of their psychotic trio, given the fact she'd try to break up their endless bickering with a stern tone an outsider could only say belonged to an exasperated mother.

Not including how much she looked out for him when they shared a battlefield, that is. Griffon had been his meat shield more than once, shadow had morphed into a literal shield many times and nightmare once rammed a behemoth who had tried to crush him.

Of course, it was only so his screams wouldn't interrupt her reading– or so V justified– but knowing what he does now… eh, safe to say he's got his doubts.

Eventually, his nerve endings either fried or the pain started to burn a little less hot, not sure which. The Nico in his head called him a little bitch and he nearly spat out a fuck you to no one. He's gonna find a way to evict her from there, no one lives in his head rent free. Besides Kyrie, of course.

All too suddenly, the burning heat that toasted him a second ago completely vanished, like a valve releasing a bunch of steam all at once, giving him a particularly strong shiver that left him gasping like a hurt kitten. V cradled his small hand as she drew invisible patterns across it, something melancholic in her eyes.

"It will pass." V assured.

At some point, his body adjusted to feeling like permafrost again and, even though it still sucks and feels his fingers are threatening to fall off, it's better than the previous hell. At least her hand feels warm…

"Sorry." Nero whispered after a minute of building up courage.

V stopped humming. "For what?"

So that's where Vergil gets her aloofness from.

Nero huffed as much as his pained lungs allowed him. "Really?" Only a croak escaped him.

V sighed. "Is it so wrong for a mother to tend to her foolish child?"

When she puts it like that it makes him feel like an asshole. More so for causing trouble and worry than for being a hot mess.

"Guess not." He murmured.

"Good. I will get you some water, stay here." She slowly let go of his hand, checking his pulse and making sure he's still in one piece before evaluating his temperature– human skin isn't meant to be so cold– before heading downstairs. Not before Nero turned his head to watch her leave and observed the demonic half of Vergil, still kneeling and impaled.

V paused her stride to watch the motionless creature as well. It's like staring at a nuclear bomb, what with all the inhuman stillness and unblinking eyes. It's eerie, even if you know that it won't blow up, you can't help but imagine.

She turned to him, then at the sin-trigger. V was definitely thinking of something.

"Would you mind if I left you in her care for a moment?" She asked like it was a perfectly fine question to make. Not at all insane. The pure normalcy of her tone made him not want to scream too much.

That thing is Urizen . If it is let loose…

V must have seen his face contort into objectively righteous horror. "Ah, I should elaborate on what Vergil told you."

 She motioned vaguely to the beast. "Urizen was Vergil's demonic half without memories, morals, honor or anything that may have resembled common sense in favor of an endless lust for more power and defeating Dante, casting all else out in the form of me and the familiars." She motioned to the faded tattoos on her own body.

She rounded the creature, pointing to its head, her hand seemingly unaffected by the blue fire spewing forth from the exhaust-like horns. "This time is different. It knows and remembers all I do, and by virtue of being a perfect split, the more…” V chewed on her cheek before continuing. “Overbearing instincts demons possess towards their young remains untampered with."

Nero let out a breath he didn't notice, painfully, that he was holding. Ok, that's much fucking better. By what V is implying, there won't be another Qliphoth and hopefully no ultra-powerful demon to hunt down. The 'overbearing instincts' does have him a bit concerned, though.

More curious than concerned, perhaps.

V kneeled, firmly grasping the katana's handle sticking out from the demon's chest. "If I remove the Yamato, it will return to consciousness, possibly annoy you to no end and try to lick you. But rest assured you will be in safe hands and It cannot possibly be worse than Dante."

Nero can easily take care of himself, but curiosity is killing him. If V is pretty much Vergil with a gothic shtick and somewhat sociable attitude, what is the non-catastrophic demonic half of her supposed to be? An elegant whirlwind of death? Perpetual bloodlust like any other demon?

Overbearing instincts … that will ring around in his head for a long time. Aside from that, would it agree to rejoin into Vergil again? Would it change its mind and start killing people? A million things could go wrong. This is reckless, stupid, Murphy's law incarnate and should never be agreed to. Besides, V is only going down to the kitchen for a few minutes at absolute worst, there is already zero need for a babysitter– much less Urizen. That monster as a babysitter may just be the stupidest idea he can conceive.

Nero nodded in approval.

V yanked the sword out, not a drop of blood across the edge or spilled from the demon.

It jostled itself to life as if it had been startled out of a daydream, gazing up at who awoke it. For a tense moment, Nero thought he was about to see V be ripped into a whole alphabet, but it just growled noncommittally and looked around the room after taking its other half into notice.

Until it spotted him. The change in body language was instantaneous, from relaxed and perhaps a bit annoyed to a swishing tail and shoulders tightened with excitement. It chirped and got to its feet, hastily making its way over to his bedside.

"You know how frail he currently is, mind your claws." V warned. Yamato manifested her sheath across the impossibly sharp edge, before the woman put the sword to lean on the nightstand as it hummed contently. 

Vergil's triggered form growled and clicked like it was saying "yeah yeah, I know" before waving V off for good. It was uncanny how easily he could discern the intent behind each growl and chitter, like it was some language seared into his instincts he need only practice to master.

Rodin! It trilled, obviously addressing him.

Nero watched the demonic killing machine kneeled right in front of him with nothing short of apprehension. It cooed, its giant hands gripping the mattress like it wasn't tall enough to look at him. It was both enamored and entranced by his very image, judging by its unblinking (does it even have to blink?) eyes. He could see its tail raised and languidly wagging from side to side like a far too dignified cat. As if it wasn't enough, it purred with the cadence of a truck's engine– rumbling pretty much everything in the room and blissfully bleaching his mind of nearly any thought.

His body immediately found relaxation as sore muscle let go of tension, his eyelids grew heavy but he kept them open for the sake of not falling asleep just yet. He felt safe in a way he hasn't in essentially ever, like the world was just this and nothing else could even reach him.  Whatever did would be torn apart to become his dinner, thanks to this big, blue, uncute demonic cat that happens to be the demonic half of his mother. Not that he'd eat whatever had the bad luck of stumbling across this demon, but he just knew it would try to feed him and whine about it if he didn't eat.

Rodin, you grew so much… I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I wasn't strong enough and I didn't know what to do. The devil whined, chirped and chittered.

He looked into the unblinking glowing sapphire of the beast's eyes, trying to guess what was going through its head in a futile attempt. Waiting for an answer didn't yield any results in the form of speech, but the same can't be said for its actions. It moved one hand to shamelessly pet his hair while cooing ceaselessly.

I want to make it up to you. I don't know how. Nor if you even want me to.

Nero sank further into his pillow, the pull of exhaustion playing tug of war with his every cord and the constant visual and audio reminder that Vergil's sin-trigger form looked like the ugliest stray in the world was tearing him in two. Nero slowly raised his own small arm, reaching to pet where the exhaust-like horns met her thick armored skull and caressed that spot.

You're too forgiving, nestling. I'll try. It croaked.

It was laughable just how small his hand was in comparison to Vergil's bulky devil form. Even his own trigger was far slimmer than Dante or Vergil's own old DT, probably because of his quarter heritage.

He didn't think the beast would even feel it, but the way it leaned into his touch with all the tenure of an excited puppy showed him much of what he knows about Vergil is indeed a farce. It kept trying to nuzzle against his hand and inadvertently throwing it off, forcing Nero to pet under its jaw, which resulted in a rumbling purr that could probably be felt across the street.

He kept petting this goofy little death machine until it noticed something, shifting her face so his hands couldn't reach and taking them on her own. The gigantic paws were probably the warmest thing when she gave just the slightest squeeze, before one of them reached his forehead.

They are so warm… oh! His onesie is alive again, tightening around him and pulsing with waves of warmth that are absorbed as quickly as they are made. He hums in satisfaction with a tired sigh as he retreats further into the comfy bed.

The beast ruffled its wings, moving one to cover him up and, hadn't the frostbite been under his skin, it would be the warmest he's ever felt.

Until it decided to climb into bed with him. Nero stared, mildly mortified, as it ceased all contact and rounded the bed– outside of his field of view in a motion that filled his soul with dread. What if V was wrong? What if a catastrophe is about to happen? Did it change its mind and is now on a rampage?

His thoughts were quickly put to rest. The devil found its own spot laying by his side and took a tender hold of his small form, wrapping him up with a pair of wings even if he's already wrapped in two pairs of covers. The back of his head was dragged against the glowing blue V in its chest and she kept purring away, nuzzling her snout against his scalp in just the right way to make him feel numb.

Chittering, cooing, clicking…

Warm up. Too cold.

It didn't lessen the frigid sting under his skin, but it did help him feel like he has nothing to worry about and in his condition, that's a win. He also saw her tail setting itself down in an arch in front of him, the gesture has such a protective undertone that he couldn't help but smile.

The gothic woman walked back in with a large glass of water, stopping momentarily to assess the scene. 

"Hm." V hummed for no apparent reason.

Nero pulled his mind away from the bliss to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I wasn't quite sure you would be comfortable with this." She said, something dancing on the edge of her lips.

No sane individual would be comfortable cuddling (or in his case, being the human teddy bear) with one of the two most dangerous demons in existence, V has that right. However, putting up with Dante and Vergil's antics and breaking up their endless bickering before it leads to a fight– or breaking up said fights and talking to them like children so they reconcile without restarting their dumb rivalry– tends to wear down one's mental state.

He's just cold. The devil crooned.

He sank further into the devil's embrace, sighing contently as he was fussed over.

See? Physical contact is important for such a little one.

"Vergil will keep that in mind." V spoke with a relieved smile. "Now, drink this." She offered the glass.

The demon carefully picked him up to a sitting position, setting him down on its lap and making him feel like a glorified doll before ensuring he stayed upright by holding his midsection. To say it's excruciating feeling this helpless is an understatement, but what can he do? It's his own fault for undoing what little healing he had made.

Besides, plenty of physical pain to stop him from thinking too hard.

Once again, he drank the water like a lost fool in the desert. This time being helped by two halves of an individual instead of one. He never felt so humiliated in his life, but it's not like his arm could even handle its own weight properly.

V hummed again as she watched him make the same mistake of yesterday. "I thought about painkillers, but you're in far too volatile of a condition to risk it."

 She set the glass down on the same spot as before. "I'm surprised you didn't choke."

Nero was about to throw her a glare, but a repeated tapping on his back threw him off.

V eyed the demon, did a double take on Nero and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Stop that."

Demon-Vergil grunted.

No.

Nero is confused. Is there something on his back? 

V's hand partially covered her face. "He doesn't need... He is a child, not a baby."

The beast clicked and chuffed.

He's a nestling. A small one.

"Nero…" V's shoulders dropped, before she sighed. "I'm sorry." She apologized, powerless to stop both the beast and the pieces of the puzzle coming together in his head.

The most self conflicting smile appeared on his face. Partly due to confusion, indignation, amusement, bemusement, seething rage, shame, wonder, sheer disbelief and so much else.

He chuckled lowly, truly unsure if he's happy or upset, before leaning his back on the beast to signal he really doesn't need to be burped. It obliged, proud of itself and thinking it did a good job. The hooks of its lower set of wings connected over his chest, bringing him close and making him feel like a kangaroo cub. Nero melts into the warmth.

V was trying not to go red as a beet. "As I said: Overbearing."

Nero shook his head with a wry smile and settled for feeling like shit. A happy kind of shit, before moving to lay down again, aided by the blue demon once it noticed what he wanted to do.

Back to the same positions, except V is in Vergil's chair and Nero now has a giant demon to cuddle with.

The woman picked up the book with her namesake, reverent to its worn pages and many years of age. She worked her jaw, thinking over which words (or poetry) was right to use.

 "Being part of Vergil's consciousness has its boons. She entrusted this to you…" 

Nero could say no shit. Didn't though.

"You wouldn't know what it truly means." V said with a genuine smile.

Nero ignored the way his hair was ruffled by the devil half of his mom. That book means a lot to her, he knows that much. Ever since he gave it back, it's always been with her, somewhere within her coat or in her hands if she decides the demons she's fighting aren't worth the effort while her doppelganger goes ham.

"Ever since that fateful day, Vergil shut out her heart in an effort to never feel the grief brought on by it; to never feel weak and helpless again." She explained, getting Nero to pay attention like she's telling the most fucked up bedside story. 

He's not naive enough to not know what she's really doing.

"For a lifetime, she could only trust herself. With but one exception, no one was ever allowed to see what misery corroded her mind; Ignored and left to fester in tunnel vision of a singular goal." V opened the book, landing on something she seemed to like.

"And then, the poison tree."

Nero slowly blinks, trying to make sense of whatever she's saying because it's clearly important. It doesn't take a genius to figure that Vergil would never spill the beans on this, but the same doesn't go for her humansona.

"I'm sure you know the details of that. However, something you perhaps may have never understood is that this book is far more important than you'd believe." She closed the Blake anthology, letting its cape go into his full view.

"Vergil entrusted you with her heart. You could have burned it, torn it apart, brutalized it…" V looked at him with a gaze Nero would spend years before he could list out all it meant. "Yet, you handed it back in an embarrassed hurry. All in perfect condition– healed, even."

She cracked a smile Dante would be proud of. "You will never understand the magnitude of what you achieved. A mirror shattered into pieces so small… yet you pieced it back."

Nero's heart accelerated, churning with some unknown emotion. 

"Thank you, Nero."

The devil half nuzzled his hair, lightly chirping.

Thank you, Rodin.

They all fell into silence after that, sans the rumbling purr threatening to cause an earthquake. Nero was understandably unnerved for a while as he wondered just how ostensibly fucked had Vergil's life been, when simply taking good care of something that wasn't his became one of the best things to happen to his mother.

They're all really fucked up aren't they?

He makes a necessary sacrifice. "You're welcome." 

Oh, that burned. Burned all the way down and up.

V's face morphing into a sheepish smile as she hid it behind the book made it all fucking worth it.

His eyelids had already felt heavy, his limbs so sore and tired. The beast fawning over his hair made sleep all the more tempting.