Chapter Text
In retrospect, Nero should have known something was off when he picked up the phone and Lady was the one on the other end tempting him with a job. In the first place, they—meaning Devil May Cry and its associates—contact him with jobs once every new moon, if that often. Fortuna isn’t exactly close, so he’s pretty far down the list unless the situation is dire. And these days, “dire” means Dante, Vergil, Lady, and Trish are all occupied with jobs of their own, which means when those times come along, it’s Morrison giving him a call, not Dante, and certainly not Lady.
But when Nero answered the phone this time and was met with Lady’s usual cool and calm tone, he didn’t think much of it.
Or, he didn’t think much of it until this moment, anyway.
Because like, if there’s such a grave job that Lady (and Trish) can’t handle but Nero for some reason can, why is she not getting right to it? Why is she stalling? Or maybe hesitating is a better word for it, since it’s not like she’s making small talk. She’s just standing there with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face like it’ll do the talking for her. Trish isn’t much better—And on that note, why is Trish here?
A job that Lady and Trish can’t handle but Nero can. He’s not sure he’s buying it. If the impending disaster is on that scale, shouldn’t they call in Dante and Vergil from whatever job they’re on?
So. It’s not really a great sign, to say the least.
Nero’s been sitting on the sofa in Devil May Cry for a good ten minutes with no one rushing to fill him in on the details of this alleged job. He’s getting more than a little suspicious about there being a job at all. Also, it’s more than a little awkward; he’s pretty sure he can count the conversations he’s had with either of them on both hands, and majority of those conversations weren’t, like, casual chats. Whenever they talk it’s work or demon related.
“So, uh, anyone wanna fill me in on what’s going on?” Nero looks between them, and then back to Lady, “The job you mentioned?”
Lady and Trish share a series of looks. Who’s gonna be the one to tell him? they seem to say, and Nero feels his chest go tight.
It’s nothing serious. It can’t be. After what happened last year, and after literal Hell, surely there’s nothing that could… And even if there was, he’d like to think they’d… Well, not that it matters anymore.
Nero rolls his shoulders and leans back into the sofa cushions. He clears his throat. Forcing nonchalance, he says, “C’mon, out with it. What dumbass thing did they do this time? You can tell me.”
The two share another look. He really wishes they wouldn’t.
From where she sits perched on Dante’s desk, Trish shrugs with equal, if not greater, nonchalance. “They aren’t in condition to inform us.”
That’s not exactly good news, but if it were serious, surely Trish wouldn’t match his levity. Right?
Either way, the next breath Nero lets out is steeped in relief. “Okay. Uh, what exactly does that mean?”
“They’ve been cursed. Possibly hexed.”
“Cursed?” Nero doesn’t mean to sound skeptical but he can’t help it.
Demons he’s used to. Well, relatively used to, all things considered. Demons and their shit get weirder and weirder the longer he has to be involved with them. Magic, though? He doesn’t even understand how Dante and Vergil’s supposed and alleged demon magic works. So, curses? Hexes? On a good day it’d sound like vague bullshit, and right now isn’t faring much better.
Before Nero can ask for clarification or press for details, Trish adds, “Whatever or whoever it was that’s responsible didn’t leave any traces behind. At least, not any traces that we’ve been able to identify so far. If not for the fact they’re obviously… afflicted, it wouldn’t be apparent anything’s wrong at all. It’s entirely possible something else is responsible. That’s why we have to investigate.”
Nero nods along, pretending it makes more sense to him than it actually does.
The most unbelievable thing to him is that, after everything Dante’s been through, most of which Nero admittedly knows little about, a curse is what takes him out of commission? On its own, Dante getting cursed isn’t all that shocking, but that alleged curse having any significant effect on him is surprising. A curse sounds like something he should just be able to walk off with no issue. Same for Vergil; maybe minus the whole getting cursed in the first place bit. Maybe.
“Sure, okay. And the affliction is… what, exactly? They switched bodies? Can only speak backwards? Or, oh, maybe exclusively in riddles, that’d be fun. Maybe they shrunk down to the size of dolls and we need to find them a house.”
Lady and Trish share another weighty look—And at this point it’s starting to piss him off a little. They called him all the way over here in the first place. The least they could do is be upfront about whatever’s going on. Ideally before his worry manages to gnaw through his patience and he makes an ass out of himself. Losing his temper isn’t going to do him any favors when it comes to getting answers.
”You any good with kids, Nero?” That comes from Lady.
Nero blinks. Almost flinches at an implication that isn’t there in the first place. The puzzle pieces don’t immediately connect as his brain works to answer her question. It’s a variation of a question he’s asked himself more than once since he and Kyrie started accumulating orphans. They’re not his kids, but the longer they stay the more they sort of become his kids whether he wants them to or not.
While Nero wouldn’t exactly call himself “good” with kids, it feels disingenuous to claim he’s bad with them. At the very least he’s trying, and not everyone can say that when it comes to dealing with kids. Whether they’re little ones or nearly teenagers, he does his best to afford them the respect they’re owed and hear them out. He can play their games and indulge their imaginations. He can talk to them without feeling awkward and without looking down on them, and he likes to think they’re comfortable talking to him in return.
That said, effort only goes so far when dealing with traumatized orphans. Sometimes it feels like providing a roof over their heads and a warm meal is the only real thing Nero has to offer, and what does that amount to really, in the end?
He’s not gonna know until they grow up, and maybe that’s the real option Nero is extending to them; the chance to grow up. The chance to be children.
Lady is still waiting for his answer.
Nero looks back and forth between her and Trish again. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for.
Both of them are waiting patiently, like his answer actually matters.
Nero brings his hand up, palm to the ground, and lets it wobble back and forth. Middling is probably accurate and fair.
“Good enough,” Lady declares as she pushes away from the wall to stalk over to him. It’s definitely menacing. “Listen, we need you to keep an eye on things here while we check out the job those idiots were handling.”
”Wait. What?”
“Don’t worry,” Trish adds, sauntering over from Dante’s desk. Equally menacing. They’re both closing in on him now. “It’s a job like any other. You’ll get paid. Well…” She hums with a half-smile.
“Hey, can we rewind this conversation? I missed something. Or maybe you did. They, uh, they need babysitting? Dante and Vergil. Those two need babysitting. Because…?”
The pieces slot together, but his mind refuses to see the picture.
Lady heaves a sigh, completely ignoring him. “Unfortunately. I don’t want to see the trouble they’ll get into if left alone.”
“The trouble they’ll get into because they’re… child-sized?” He already knows it’s wrong, but it’s the most his brain will allow.
”Actual children,” Trish says with a humorless smile. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you there will be trouble if word gets out that they’re in this state. Attempts on their lives being the least of it.”
Actual children.
Still, what does that really mean?
“Wait. Attempts on their lives?”
“Of course. Their present reputations aside, there are plenty of demons and humans alike who’d jump on the opportunity to see the sons of Sparda dead.”
“...Right…”
Not that Nero doesn’t understand, but he kind of doesn’t understand.
Trish continues, “Assuming you manage to keep a low-profile, that shouldn’t be an issue.”
”If the goal is to keep a low-profile, am I taking them somewhere else?”
”That’s up to you,” Lady tells him. “If you wanna keep them here, keep them here. If you wanna try hauling them to Fortuna or somewhere else, go for it.”
There might not be a worse idea out there than bringing them to Fortuna, for too many reasons to name. Outside of Fortuna, Nero has no idea where he’d take them, and he doesn’t have the funds to get them a room in the middle of nowhere for a few weeks either, even if he were to get reimbursed for it later. He’s definitely not about to take them on a road trip.
Devil May Cry should be fine. Hopefully. It’ll probably be more comfortable for Dante and Vergil, too.
Or.
There’s just one last thing.
”So, when you say actual children…” He gestures with his hand in lieu of having to actually say it.
Trish puts a hand on her hip and thinks for a moment, and then she calls out their names at a volume that makes Nero jump.
There’s an immediate thump from upstairs, followed by some scuffling. The second Nero catches sight of them he can’t tear his eyes away, can barely blink. Two children practically tumble down the stairs in their haste to get ahead of each other, and it finally, properly clicks; Nero can’t imagine these kids are some other pair of white haired twins.
The boys bound over to where the three of them are gathered, not paying Nero any mind at all, like he’s not even there. Before he can get irritated, it sinks in—Actual children. They have no idea who he is. Nero can see it in their expressions, in their curious, skittering eyes.
Any lingering doubts he may have had—or hopes, rather—are dispelled when one of the boys—Dante, if hair is indicator enough—grins up at Trish and says, “Mom, can we play outside now?”
Nero does a double take, although he can’t quite figure out which of them it’s meant to be directed at. It might be Trish. Because… Mom? Trish? Seriously? Since when? How’s that work out when Sparda is their father and they’re half-demons?
Nero’s really regretting not making more of an effort to pry family history out of Dante and Vergil this last year. It’s just that it seems like every topic he attempts to broach is either touchy or a loaded subject, or just plain none of his business. From the very start he’s been curious about Dante and his history, but now that it turns out they’re related it doesn’t mean they owe him their life stories. The both of them are far from being eager to share, but at the same time, how else is Nero meant to get to know them if not by asking questions about them, their lives, and their family?
How are they meant to be family if they won’t let him be their family?
“I’m afraid not. Dante, Vergil, do you know who this man is?” Trish gestures to Nero, and the boys dutifully turn around to look at him.
Face to face with them, Nero is taken aback by how truly identical their faces are, because they sure as hell aren’t identical as adults. At least, they’re not identical to this extent. Right now, the only true difference between them are the expressions; one is staring at him with wide-eyed curiosity while the other is glaring at him with undisguised suspicion. Ignoring the hairstyles, it almost feels unreasonable to assume the former is Dante and the latter is Vergil. They’re kids. Kids can and often do grow into very different adults. But…
Well.
Nero already kinda suspects glaring might be his father’s default expression, and this glare is pretty much a dead ringer for it.
Dante looks him up and down, and as he looks his brow starts to furrow. “No? But he kinda looks like Dad. Right?” He looks to his brother for confirmation of this, rather than Trish.
Vergil looks at Dante, and then, despite them being at about their eye level right now, he still manages to look down his nose at Nero. Yeah. No doubt about it. This has to be Vergil.
Vergil looks him up and down in much the same manner Dante did, doing his best to give away none of his impressions. Then, as he looks away from Nero he shrugs and declares, “Not really.”
Nero twitches. This brat.
All this time with demons and crazy people confidently proclaiming he was a spawn of Sparda or descended from Sparda or whatever, just for Sparda’s actual son—his own father in pint size form—to reject the possibility in half a second.
”What? No way, he definitely does.”
Dante leans in close like it will let him see Nero’s features better. Then, when that proves unsatisfactory, he lifts his hand and reaches forward, for Nero’s face, and—Is promptly yanked back by Vergil without a word.
The twins exchange brief, heated looks. When Vergil shakes his head, Dante pouts, only to turn the look on Trish moments later. “You said we could play outside. You promised.”
Trish laughs. The sound is fond but not particularly gentle. “I made no such promise, actually. If you want to outwit me, you’ll have to do much better than that, little boy.” She gestures to Nero as she introduces him properly. “This is Nero. He’ll be keeping an eye on you both for a while.”
“Who is he?” Vergil asks, watching him from the corner of his eye.
“A friend. Don’t worry, he’ll take care of you both. Or you still think you two will manage on your own?”
There’s a challenge in Trish’s tone, but Vergil keeps silent.
Meanwhile, Dante attaches himself to Trish’s side. “Why do you have to go? Take us with you. If we can’t go with you, can’t we at least go home? I miss my bed and our yard and our things.”
Trish pats the top of his head carefully, barely even touching him. “Because I have to. I’ll be back before you know it. So be good for Nero. Both of you.” She removes Dante from her side and gives Vergil’s hair an equally light ruffle that leaves several locks tipping into his face as she passes him.
”How long have they been like this?” Nero asks.
“We found them like this less than a week ago,” Lady tells him. “If we’re lucky, whatever this is will wear off on its own, but we’re not taking our chances on that one.”
Lady heads for the door. Trish follows after her.
They intend to leave. Now.
They’re leaving Nero here. With them. Which he understood was the plan from the start, but now that it’s actually about to happen his nerves are going haywire. The task isn’t keeping an eye on Dante and Vergil, his uncle and father, while they’re recovering from illness or injury. The real task he’s been given is to watch over and protect two half-demon children who have no idea who he is.
”H-Hey wait. You can’t just— I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”
”Just keep them alive and out of trouble until we return,” Trish says over her shoulder.
”And when is that gonna be?”
Lady shrugs at Trish. Trish shrugs at Lady. It’s not reassuring.
Lady opens the door and Trish makes for it, saying, “A week. A month. Who can say? After all, we don’t know what we’re looking for.” She sends a last smile and wave to Dante and Vergil. “Be good for Nero, boys.”
“Don’t worry, Nero,” Lady tells him, following Trish out the door. “They’re just just a couple of half-demon children. You’ve handled worse. You’ll do fine.”
The door closes, leaving Nero alone with two half-demon children. Two half-demon children who happen to be his father and uncle that he barely knows.
What’s the “worse” that he’s handled?
Nero heaves a sigh and drags a hand down his face. “Fuck my life.”
He winces.
Swearing in front of them is probably bad, right? He tries to watch his language in front of the orphans back home, so he should do the same with them. Right? Yeah. Kids are kids. It doesn’t matter that they’re half-demons. Or that they’re related to him. Or that they’re supposed to be, like, thirty years older than they are. Forty years? Something like that.
They’re staring at him. Both of them are. Unblinking. They watch him like he’s a creature they’ve never seen before and are wondering if he’s venomous or safe to play with. Nero can’t say he cares much for it; he shakes off the nerves.
”So, uh, how old are you two?”
Dante gives him a big grin—And Nero’s seen the adult Dante smile plenty of times, but this smile reaches Kid Dante’s eyes so effortlessly it’s jarring. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s not sure he’s ever seen one of Dante’s smiles reach his eyes.
“Seven,” Dante says, holding out the appropriate number of fingers and wiggling them.
Nero nods. Yeah, that tracks. They’re very… small. No muscle. Fragile bones. Thin necks. Hands too small to wield weapons that are bigger and many times heavier than them. He figured ten would be too optimistic of an estimate, but seven is younger than he thought. Seven is… The youngest orphan back home is older than seven now.
If a demon comes for them while they’re like this… They won’t stand a chance.
Nero swallows. “Very cool. Hey, huh…”
“Can we play outside?” It’s not a question and Dante is already moving for the door with Vergil following after him.
Image reels of mangled, bloody, little bodies flash through his mind, and Nero jumps to his feet. It’s not like demons are in the streets or anything, but, like, Devil May Cry isn’t exactly in a great part of town, either. They’re vulnerable in more than one way, and demons and humans with a vendetta aren’t the only things capable of doing them harm.
“Hey hey, now, let’s not do that.”
Of course they ignore him, so Nero reaches for Dante, his elbow, his shoulder, whatever part of him he’s able to reach first, because he knows the second they’re out that door they’ll disappear in a second and be lost to him. However, before he can make contact, Vergil shoves Dante forward and shoots Nero a glare so icy he freezes in place.
Their “mom” vouched for him, but he’s still a stranger. He’s a stranger and they’re seven. So yeah, no touching allowed. With that in mind and Dante almost at the door, Nero takes a few large steps to beat him there. He stands in front of the door and keeps his hand pressed to it for good measure.
“Trish, err, your mom? Said no playing outside. She said that, like, not even five minutes ago.”
Nero doesn’t know how long he can realistically keep them from going outside. If this ends up being longer than a few days, they’re going to have no choice but to go out anyway. So if these two could wait a few hours if not a few days, that’d be great. Nero needs some time to adjust to and accept this situation. And the same goes for them.
It’s already been said; they don’t want to be here. He doesn’t know if the promise of Trish’s eventual return is enough to keep them from running off. In the event they do just that, Nero has no idea how he’s supposed to find them. Sense them, he guesses? Not that he's all that good at it. But their presences are much weaker compared to what he’s used to, and not exactly the same either.
Dante scuffs at the floor, whining, “But it’s so boring. There’s nothing to do here.”
Nero sympathizes. Devil May Cry is less of a disaster since Vergil moved in; the utilities haven’t been shut off once and there’s less trash and random junk strewn all over the place, but that doesn’t make it child friendly. There are multiple weapons hanging from the walls, including firearms, and speaking of arms, Nero knows for a fact there are devil arms around here but he has no idea where. The last thing he needs is one of these kids to stumble across something like that and play with it because there’s no TV or games or anything else that might interest them.
“Maybe going out for a walk isn’t the worst idea in the world, actually.”
Instead of lighting up at the prospect of getting what he wanted, Dante scowls at it not being exactly what he wants. “A walk?”
”Yeah, a walk. Dunno if you’ve noticed, kid”—Nero’s insides twist just saying it—“but we’re in a city. You don’t have some big, private yard all to yourself and your brother to play in. Playing outside means playing in the street where there are cars and strangers and… So, yeah, a walk. Take it or leave it.”
Dante groans and flops back into a lounge chair. “Fiiine.” He kicks at the floor, and after momentary despondence he bounces to sit up, seemingly rejuvenated. “Let’s go, then. Let’s go!”
“Whoa, hold up. I meant… y’know, later. Not right now.”
The scowl returns and he flings him back against the chair. “Later? Later when?”
“Later. Like, after lunch maybe. Or dinner. For now, let’s get to know each other a little, yeah?”
Dante groans again, louder, and slinks off the chair and onto the floor, where he remains. He says nothing.
Vergil walks over to stand by Dante. “Sure. Let’s start with who you are.”
Somehow, he doesn’t know what to say. “I’m… I’m Nero. I’m a friend.”
Vergil stares at him.
“Uh. I’m a devil hunter, so—”
Dante sits back up. “Wait, really? That’s so cool! How many demons have you killed?”
“I don’t know. I don’t exactly keep count. Gets hard to keep track of pretty quick.”
Nero can’t help smiling a little as Dante’s jaw drops. Dante looks to Vergil to share in the amazement, but Vergil is less impressed, still staring at Nero stone-faced. If anything, Vergil might look more suspicious of him now.
“What’s the biggest demon you’ve taken out?” Dante asks. “What was the scariest? When did you start? How strong are you? Do you have a devil arm? Can I see it?”
While Nero parses out the barrage of questions and tries to figure out how and if he should answer any of them, Vergil presents a question of his own. “How do you know her?”
“Her? Who? You mean Tr—your mom? Well. It’s kind of a long story.” Vergil narrows his eyes at the non-answer and Nero rushes to continue. “But, uh, we’ve known each other for years. She knows I wouldn’t let anything happen to either of you.”
”Happen to us? Like what? Demons?” Nero can’t tell if Dante’s excited or concerned about that possibility.
“Like anything. It’s just in case. You two have nothing to worry about, got that?”
“Sure, but what if—Ow! Vergil! What was that for?”
Dante swings an arm out at the leg that just kicked him, but the retaliation is half-hearted at best; Vergil dodges the blow just by stepping away. Nero is about to scold him for hitting Dante in the first place, but Vergil grabs Dante and pulls him to his feet, and then drags him away to the stairs, up them, and presumably back to whatever room they’ve been staying in. He does it without giving Nero a single glance and with Dante complaining but not resisting the entire time.
Nero hears a door close. He drops back onto the sofa and lets out a long breath. It hasn’t been a day. It hasn’t even been an hour.
And would it have killed them—Lady and Trish—to give him some real heads up about the situation here? He has no idea how he should approach this. How is he supposed to do this?
What are the right things to say?
More importantly, what are the wrong things to say? And what will happen if he says them?
After everything that happened in Red Grave City. More specifically, after the revelations that were made there, Nero has made more of an attempt to keep in regular contact with Dante, as well as Vergil.
Before Vergil entered the picture, Dante was a valuable resource, a wellspring of information when it came to demons, an emergency contact in his back pocket if he ever needed it. Even with Dante being… well, Dante, his mere existence made Nero feel like his back was never truly against the wall whatever the enemy. As disorganized and inattentive as he is, Dante always manages to be reliable when he’s needed the most.
They talked once every few months. Once a season, maybe, and it was always work or demon related. They saw each other less than that. Only for work. It was fine. It was comfortable. It was preferable even, because Dante is… Dante; they aren’t friends. They’ve known each other for years at this point, but it doesn’t feel like Nero knows him any more than he did those years ago in Fortuna.
From all their previous interactions, Nero never would have guessed they were related. At least, not this closely—And Dante knew; he knew the entire time. Dante never gave him a reason to think they were connected. He never gifted Nero anything, never favored him or offered him fatherly-adjacent advice or anything like that. Dante was just Dante, the legendary devil hunter who he knew he could count on in a pinch.
Now, though. Now that Nero knows, now that they’re family, they’re supposed to be keeping in regular contact with each other. Vergil included. Especially after that bullshit where they jumped into Hell pretty much immediately after telling him they were related, and proceeded to be the equivalent of dead for the following six months.
Nero still gets pissed if he lets himself think about it too much.
What keeping in regular contact looks like in practice is this: Vergil never calls—Nero isn’t entirely sure the man understands how to use a basic phone, much less the smartphone Nero stupidly gave him—and Dante calls when he remembers to, which typically coincides with when he wants something or when Nero calls him first. That means the bulk of calling falls to Nero, and honestly, the both of them are such poor conversationalists he might have let weekly calling slip to bi-weekly over these last few months.
The last time Nero called was nearly a month ago—But that’s because they were busy with a job, a different job than the one that resulted in this, he thinks. They were supposed to call him—Always always they’re supposed to and they never fucking do anything he asks them. It’s not like Nero wants, or thinks they should, check in before and after every job they take, but like, it’d be nice, especially with bigger jobs or jobs that might come with risks like this attached.
Part of him regrets not sucking it up and just calling them first like usual. Maybe then… He doesn’t know. It’s not like it would have prevented this, probably, but maybe he’d know something about this last job, would be able to give Lady and Trish some information that’d help solve this mess faster.
If he’d called, maybe he would have found out about this sooner.
Lady said they found them less than a week ago, but how long have they actually been like this? How did they find them? Were they at Devil May Cry?
A couple of suspiciously quiet hours pass while Nero tries to make sense of things and make a game plan for how to approach the next few days. They are most definitely going to run off on him and he needs to be prepared for it, starting with familiarizing himself with the city and the surrounding area specifically.
And on that note, how many exits does Devil May Cry have? Are the windows upstairs big enough to crawl out of and what do they drop down to?
Nero doesn’t know the answer to either question, and that realization puts his nerves into overdrive.
He heads upstairs with measured steps. It’s still too quiet. No scuffling like earlier. No conversation cut short or brought to a hush. There’s only the slight creak of the wood as he makes his way up. At worst, they’ll be gone, but that possibility doesn’t have Nero’s legs moving any faster.
If they’re gone he’ll panic, and he doesn’t want to panic this soon into the job. The job. It’s just a job.
Instead of finding them gone, Nero mercifully finds them in Dante’s room, curled up together like cats in Dante’s bed, napping peacefully. It’s kind of surreal. Maybe a little cute too.
Nero isn’t going to pretend he understands Dante and Vergil’s relationship. They’ve tried to kill each other, after all—he thinks, he’s not totally clear on all the details—more than once, but they obviously don’t hate each other. If they hated each other, they wouldn’t be living together now, working together now.
At the same time, there’s not exactly affection between them. Not that Nero’s been witness to, anyway. They bicker and banter and threaten each other—or, Vergil threatens Dante—and, sure, it feels like it’s what siblings do. Kind of. But from what he understands, Dante and Vergil have spent more of their lives apart than together. Are family bonds just that ingrained? Nero wouldn’t know, but this past year might be evidence of the opposite.
These twins in front of him right now, though, whatever tore them apart hasn’t happened yet. They don’t know life without one another, maybe can’t even conceive of it. If they are alone and there is no comfort to be found elsewhere, they can always find it in each other. That’s family.
For a second, totally unbidden, Nero imagines crawling next to them on the bed and wrapping himself around them. Almost instantly he banishes the thought.
They’re family, but in the loosest possible sense. They don’t know each other at all. There is some affection between them, he thinks, but he wouldn’t call it intimate. It’s a condescending type of affection that keeps him at a distance.
All that has been the case. So why does it only sting now?
It’s not like they retained memories of Lady and Trish but not him. They think Trish is their mom—maybe—but that’s different. He thinks. He hopes it’s different. He’d rather not have them think he’s, like, Sparda or something—Sparda’s brother they’ve never heard of—that’d be too many layers of weird.
Instead of curling up around them or next to them, Nero sits at the corner of the bed and leans back against the headboard. He pulls his legs up and crosses them; the twins don’t stir even a little. They don’t trust him, but they’re too young and too inexperienced to sense his presence while they sleep, even when he’s this close. He bets they wouldn’t wake if his leg were to press against them.
Would the adult versions of them wake up?
Nero sighs and lets himself slouch to the side until he’s lying across the bed. It’s been way too long of a day and the day isn’t even close to being over yet.
He kind of wants to go home. He thought he was going to get to beat something up, or at least punch something. Maybe he was going to get to punch them because they did something royally stupid again. Punch them and then listen to them make excuses for leaving him behind.
They don’t even want him here. They never do. At least that hasn’t changed.
He lets himself close his eyes.
He lets them stay closed.
He lets his breath slow and even out.
Maybe when he opens his eyes Dante and Vergil will be back to normal.
As if.
One lesson he has learned is that nothing involving them is ever easy or straightforward.