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Chapter Text

SPARDA

38 years ago

Sparda had changed over the thousands of years of his existence. Where once he was a ruthless beast, feared by all in the underworld, these days he considered himself a family man. His love for humankind began long before Eva, but his love for her was far stronger than anything he had ever felt.

When he chose to stay by her side, turning his demon side away, he was prepared to give her everything he had as long as he could.

Dante and Vergil were not a part of his plan.

While he had mastered human nuances over the years, being a father was not a role he ever thought he would assume.

He feared for his sons, and fear was not an emotion he felt lightly. They were half demons, half of him. He knew how strong his blood was. The older the demon, the stronger the blood, and he was old.

When Eva announced her pregnancy, Sparda began to plan. There were so many things he needed to teach his children. He needed to help them learn to protect themselves, how to control themselves. Depending on their demonic traits, he may need to help them understand themselves in a world where few, if any, existed like them.

All of that, and more. How do you explain to a child why demons were evil? The nuance would be lost on a child.

The first time he held his sons, he feared he would break them. How could something so soft and gentle have come from him? The Dark Knight who had killed hundreds of thousands of his kin, and hundreds of thousands of humans before that.

The first time the twins cried in his arms, he handed them back to Eva as though stung, afraid he had done something wrong. Her laugh and her teasing was what saved him. What an incredible mother she made.

Protecting his wife, protecting his sons, would always come first, no matter what.

So, when the time came that his family was being threatened, Sparda refused to sit and wait for them to come. He took the fight to them. 

It would prove to be the biggest mistake of his life.

Chapter Text

VERGIL

“What’s wrong, father dear, are you stuck?” Nero flipped and danced away. His new Devil Breaker caught Vergil off guard. He hated the things, although he had to admit that Nero’s usage of them was nothing short of genius. Not that he would admit it aloud. This new model was some sort of anti demon rope. It shot forth from Nero’s hand and wrapped him in an electric vice before he realized it.

To be fair, he was taking it easy on Nero. Of course he was, this was a teaching moment. Powerful and clever while Nero could be, his traits in battle leaned much too far toward Dante’s influence than Vergil liked.

Vergil triggered and busted through the rope with ease. Nero whined, “Hey, that’s not fair! No triggers!” He immediately triggered himself afterward and leapt toward Vergil. The ensuing crater from Vergil blocking with Yamato, his feet digging into the ground, would have been worrisome in any other location. In the eighteen months since Dante and Vergil had returned from hell, while cleaning up the devastation of the Qliphoth in Red Grave they also located a few places that were simply beyond saving.

It was quite lucky, too, as when Dante and Vergil had their first honest to God fight since Dante’s recovery from Mierlda, rather than destroying the office and everything around them Vergil simply dropped them off here. There was nothing but destruction to damage and not a soul around for miles. Turns out, having a play ground on which to cut loose was incredibly useful in keeping them both calm.

The same could be said for Nero, it seemed, as he had eagerly accepted both Dante and Vergil’s offers to spar. It has since become a weekly tradition. 

They fought in their full triggers for a while longer, neither getting one up on the other. Eventually, Nero let his trigger go first, and Vergil followed suit. Nero exhaled heavily, hands on his hips. “Every time I fight you I feel like I’ve run a fucking marathon,”

“But not with Dante?”

“Dante’s nicer, let's me hit him more,”

It seemed Nero was onto their secret now. While Nero was undoubtedly strong, so much so Vergil was still amazed by it, he was not quite on his or Dante’s level. His previous victory over Vergil was, perhaps, a little exaggerated.

“He always has been a sentimental fool,”

“As opposed to a pompous ass,” 

It had taken them a while to reach this friendliness. It seemed that at some point, Nero gave up on trying to figure Vergil out and opted to treat him normally. It helped, when Vergil finally began to learn how to explain and express himself better, although he was still working on that.

Overall, they had an understanding now, a dynamic that seemed to be working.

“How does Nicoletta come up with all these things?” Vergil mused, examining Nero’s new arm. 

Nero shrugged. “All I know is sometimes she gets a new idea and locks herself up for days. I don’t know what she’d do if I stopped using them.”

“They are a crutch,” Vergil replied.

Nero glared at him before saying, “No, you’re just mad because they always catch you off guard.”

“They do not, you simply have too many of them to keep track of.”

Nero jeered at him again, “Would it make you feel better if I stopped using them against you? Give you a little handicap?” He wriggled his fingers.

“I care not what you use,” Vergil closed his eyes and folded his arms. He would not rise to the jest. He didn’t want Nero thinking it was anything he couldn’t handle. They were simply annoying. 

The air suddenly carried a faint taste of copper, rot, and ozone. “Do you smell that?” Vergil asked.

Nero took a big sniff of the air. “Yeah, what the fuck?”

With the smell drifted a chill that made the hair on Vergil’s neck prickle. He followed the feeling, Yamato held close to his side, Nero behind him. After a few minutes walking away from their battle site, they crested a hunk of rubble and looked down into a crevasse below. 

“What the fuck?” Nero breathed softly.

Vergil wasn’t sure what he was looking at. It seemed to be a rift, sure, but it was unlike any he had seen before. It looked more similar to the portals he cut with Yamato than anything else, but Yamato did not seem to react more than a gentle prodding.

There were no demons crossing through that Vergil could see.

“What is that?” Nero asked.

Vergil didn’t respond, he had no answer. The tear was long, perhaps ten yards, and cut jaggedly into the fabric of the air.

“Do you think something came out of that?”

It did not feel to Vergil like a portal to hell. He had been through enough of those to recognize them by their stench. This smell was different. It seemed older somehow. 

“Dad?” 

“Sorry,” Vergil finally replied, “I have no idea.”

Chapter Text

DANTE

The jukebox was broken again.

“Damn thing breaks every couple years, I swear,” Dante grumbled as he kicked its side gently. He was looking for a distraction, any distraction would do. He couldn’t read a magazine, because if he read a magazine, he could have used that time to look through that damn book.

Unfortunately, he asked for the damn book, didn’t he? He and Trish looked high and low for this information, and now he was afraid to read it. Not to mention, the thing was thick, like one of Vergil’s ridiculous tomes. This was something he might have even seen his father reading in their library back in the day.

Dante grimaced. Thinking of Sparda was the wrong call. He lumbered back over to his desk, flopped in his chair and swung around dramatically. The book still sat there, right where he left it. 

He glanced at his portrait of Eva. He owed it to her, didn’t he? He had to learn more so he could find out what happened. 

When he was a teenager, he bottled it all away. He tried to live as “Tony Redgrave.” When Vergil came calling, and his demonic powers awakened, Dante felt angry. Angry that his father never came back. Angry that Sparda left, whatever reason he had. If he was dead, then fuck him for seeking out a fight. If he wasn’t dead, then fuck him for letting Eva die.

For years Dante thought that way, when he let himself think of his parents at all. Then, everything with Nelo Angelo happened, and thinking about the past at all became too much.

Dante had since lost any hope he had about Sparda, but he also lost a lot of his anger. Sure, he might have been the one to clean up mess after mess that Sparda left, but what happened to Vergil hadn’t been Vergil’s fault. Perhaps what happened to Sparda wasn’t Sparda’s fault either.

Maybe it was just old age, or Vergil getting a new lease on life — or, hell, maybe it was just because of the thoughts Mierlda jammed in his head — but Dante wanted to try. There had to be some sort of answer, somewhere. 

No way in hell would he and Vergil not have heard about it if a two-bit demon brought down Sparda. And Mundus’s lack of claiming the kill was also suspicious. What else could have happened?

He flipped the book open to a random page. A wall of thick small text greeted him. 

“Ugh,” he hung his head. 

“Reading not going well?”

Dante looked up. Trish stood in the doorway, dressed in her typical black leather. 

“I haven’t even started,” Dante groaned.

She sauntered over to the desk and perched on the corner.

“Not sure I understand what you hope to learn from that. Getting it for you was a bitch, too. You still owe me for that, by the way.”

Dante waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll order pizza and call it even.”

Trish lifted an eyebrow. “If your brother lets you order pizza.”

“Hey,” Dante pointed a finger her way, “Vergil doesn’t decide what I eat.”

Trish crossed her arms, her face skeptical. “Why don’t you just make him read through this? Isn’t that, like, his one hobby?” 

If only, Dante thought. They hadn’t actually spoken about it much. Sparda and Eva were both difficult topics between them, and Dante was still trying his best not to piss Vergil off too much. Part of him was afraid even after all these months that Vergil would run.

“Ah, yes, let me just ask my once-trapped-in-hell brother to read a book all about places and things you can find in hell.”

“I doubt it’s very accurate,” Trish shrugged.

“That’s even worse! Imagine him sitting over there in the corner, complaining every time whoever the fuck wrote this got something wrong. Do you know how annoying it is when Vergil gets up on a literary high horse?”

“Can’t say I do, no,” Trish looked vaguely amused. 

Dante continued, “It is not fun. It’s the one thing he will talk about, and Trish,” Dante looked her in the eyes, “he’s so boring.”

“I never would have guessed, given his star personality.” She replied dryly. “What were you hoping for anyway? You’ve been to hell, Dante.”

Dante sat back in his chair, his head tilted back. “I know,” he said, “but it was so vast, there’s no way that was everything, right?”

“Of course not. Honestly, you might have seen more of hell than I have, what with you and your brother’s little trip last year.”

Dante rested his elbows back on his desk. “If Sparda isn’t dead he has to be somewhere, doesn't he?”’

“He could be sealed away.”

Dante scratched his beard, “no, I don’t think so. It’s the same as if he were killed, some big mouth demon would have said something. Do you know how often I have had to listen to demons talk about my dad? It’s constant, Trish.”

“I know,” she rolled her eyes, “but what if he managed to kill everyone involved? Then the secret died with them.”

“Maybe, but being sealed doesn’t mean you’re just erased from existence. Mundus is still down there, somewhere, just sealed up tight.”

Trish turned away, her expression somber. “Look, Dante, I just don’t want you to get too set on this. It might not be like it was with Vergil, he might just be gone. ”

Dante scoffed. “He’s been gone my whole life, Trish, it’s not like I’ll be losing him again.”

She looked sharply at him then, and Dante felt a slight chill. He and Trish had been friends for years now. Long ago he had gotten over the fact she looked like Eva. After all, he was a twin himself, the concept of sharing a face wasn’t unfamiliar. Occasionally, though, it would strike him, if only for a moment, that similarity she shared with his mother.

“If this gives you hope, you might be.”  She stared at him until he looked away. “I’ve seen what that loss does to you, Dante. I don’t want to see it again.” With that she stood and left without another word.

Dante drew his hands down his face. “Always gotta cut right to the heart, don’t you Trish?”

Chapter Text

SPARDA

37 years ago

Sometimes having two half demon children was exhausting. Sparda, a demonic being of strength and power greater than any in the human world, could grow tired just watching his sons have a go at one another. 

They were truly unique creatures. He and Eva often remarked on how lucky they were to have twins. No matter how often they fought, Sparda knew their bond was thicker than blood, and they would take care of one another long after they needed Sparda and Eva. He dreaded the thought of one of them being without the other.

Although Dante and Vergil would deny it, they needed each other. And, no matter how many times they bloodied one another in their endless fighting, he always seemed to find them huddled together in their sleep afterwards.

He watched them now as they played around the tree a little ways out past their house. What began as Vergil reading in peace, was now a no holds barred challenge to see who could climb the highest. Both twins had already fallen from the tree more than once, sabotaged by the other as they were climbing. The game seemed neverending and tiresome.

“What adorable little children you have,” said a cool voice beside him.

Sparda immediately tensed, reaching for his demonic essence. How had this man sneaked up on him?

“Who are you?” He demanded.

The being before him was clearly a demon, although he was disguised much the same as Sparda himself. He was thin and wiry, with a face gaunt as a corpse. His fingers were a tad too long, his face too hollow, and his posture too withered. 

“You don’t recognize me?” asked the man.

Sparda narrowed his eyes. He reached out with his aura, searching for anything familiar. His eyes widened. “Caeloth,”

Caeloth in his grotesque new human form tore his eyes from where they studied Dante and Vergil to look at Sparda. “So you do remember,”

Keeping his guard up and an eye on his sons, Sparda asked, “Why are you here?”

“What? You think I wouldn’t want to see your little family? Were we not as such ourselves, once? Before you betrayed us.”

Sparda drew up to his full height. “I did what I had to do.”

Caeloth’s laugh rumbled in his throat. “Of course you did. And damn anyone who didn’t go along with you, isn’t that right?”

Sparda took a step forward. Caeloth was once a friend, a comrade. “Caeloth,” he began.

“No!” Caeloth turned to him, fury in his sunken eyes. Sparda glanced at Vergil and Dante. Hearing the shout, his sons had stopped their game to watch, eyes wide. He did his best to wave them off, but he could feel Vergil’s eyes on him a while longer even as Dante returned to their game. 

“Caeloth, please,”

“You left me, Sparda. Did you really think that Mundus would believe I wasn’t loyal to you? That I didn’t help you? Did you think he wouldn’t hand me over to his torturers the moment you chose to stop him from taking the human realm?”

Sparda schooled his features into steel. Caeloth had been a friend, yes, but a friend who saw humans as lesser creatures. There was no convincing him back then, Sparda believed, even if he had been loyal serving under him as a Dark Knight.

“I’m sorry,” Sparda said, and he meant it. There were many things he was sorry for, but high on the list was betraying some of the demons he had fought with for centuries, even if he still believed it to be the right course of action. 

Caeloth turned from him. “You’re sorry,” he spat. He stopped, lifted his head, and gazed toward Dante and Vergil. He stood there for so long, Sparda began to grow nervous, but he waited nonetheless.

“Such curious creatures,” Caeloth said finally.

Sparda moved until he was standing close enough to whisper. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Caeloth looked sidelong at him. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t sure at first. I thought, I might come and kill you. Perhaps kill your children,”

Sparda nearly unleashed his demonic form right then, but Caeloth continued, “but being here now… it’s just too damn peaceful.”

Without moving an inch Sparda asked again, “So why?”

“I hated you for a long time, you know. You and I were brothers once, and you left me behind without a word. But, it seems there is someone I hate even more.”

Sparda felt Caeloth’s aura spike in his rage. He ventured a guess, allowing himself the slightest bit of hope, “Mundus?”

Caeloth turned to him, and his eyes were pits of smoldering charcoal. 

Sparda huffed and took a step back. Could he dare hope his old friend was telling the truth? His rage seemed genuine enough. 

“Mundus has sent a number of demons through the veil to seek my family out. Luckily all have been weak thus far, but I fear the day something with greater strength gets through.”

“Or, gods forbid, he sends some as a distraction for you while he attacks your family during your absense.”

Sparda whirled on Caeloth. “What do you know, Caeloth? Tell me.”

“Just saying it is only a matter of time before he tries such a thing,” Caeloth shrugged. “You know I am right.”

Sparda knew Vergil and Dante could survive a handful of fodder demons. But a full on attack? He could not let that happen.

“There is…something, we might be able to do.”

Sparda eyed Caeloth questioningly. “You would help me? What is in it for you?”

Caeloth laughed in his throat again. “The banishment of Mundus would be a start. Perhaps you and I could find a way to settle our differences afterward, were I still inclined to run you through.”

His mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. Was this…banter? Sparda felt his flicker of hope blossom. Perhaps Caeloth could be an ally once again.

Caeloth grinned a skeleton’s smile, “What do you know of Tartarus?”

Chapter Text

NERO

When Nero crossed through Vergil’s portal to the Devil May Cry office, he was greeted by the usual sleeping Dante. What was unusual, was the giant leather bound book he was face down on. 

Vergil, who had been stoic and silent for the last hour as they examined the little anomaly they found, stopped suddenly beside him and blinked when he saw his brother.

Nero let loose a little chuckle as he traipsed over to Dante, a gleam in his eye.

He slapped his palms down on Dante’s desk and shouted, “Look alive!”

Dante sat up with a snort, blinking rapidly. It wasn’t quite the startle Nero was hoping for, but it still made him grin. “The fuck are you doing, old man?”

Dante stretched. “I was reading,”

“Is that what you call it?" Nero smiled sardonically, eyebrows raised, "Must have been riveting.”

Vergil finally seemed to get over his short circuiting brain as he inched closer to Dante and the book. “What is that?” he asked.

Dante sighed and closed the volume. “It’s a book about hell,”

“And you’re reading it, why?” Nero questioned.

Dante opened his mouth but didn’t manage to answer. Nero narrowed his eyes. He looked at Vergil, back at Dante, then rolled his eyes as he realized the twins were doing the thing he hated again.

For Nero, understanding Dante was occasionally difficult, but getting easier with time. Understanding Vergil, however, was almost impossible on a bad day. Put the two brothers together and all understanding flew out the door because sometimes they just didn’t speak. Sometimes Nero would watch them silently glare at one another as they did some weird form of twin telepathy.

It was infuriating. Nero leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “Hey, someone want to fill me in, or are you going to keep up the staring contest?” Vergil threw him a cold glare. Luckily, those looks didn’t really affect Nero anymore. Turns out seeing Vergil in a mundane setting took some of the mystery out of the man.

“I assume,” Vergil began, “that Dante is trying to find out what happened to our father.”

Vergil seemed a tad annoyed, but Nero didn’t see anything wrong with the curiosity. “How’s a book about hell going to help?”

Dante threw up his hands, “I don’t fucking know.” He petulantly crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“Did you…learn anything interesting, at least?” Nero asked in an attempt to fill the awkwardness.

“Oh, sure. Apparently hell’s a big ass place. You want to hear about Sheol? Gehenna? Tartarus? Pandæmonium? It’s fucking impossible, keeping this shit straight.”

“I told you it would be pointless to attempt to narrow your search this way.” Vergil said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Most of these places are either sealed off or unreachable through regular means. Some of them are nothing more than myths.”

Dante’s face darkened. “Yeah,” he said, “you’re right.”

It hurt to watch. Nero sympathized with Dante wanting to find Sparda. Although he never knew who Vergil was, his childhood was filled with days either daydreaming or hoping to find his dad. It had to hurt, not knowing why or how he disappeared.

“Well,” Nero began, remembering why they returned to the office in the first place, “you never know, maybe this info will end up coming in handy with what we just found.” He looked at Vergil.

Dante glanced between the two of them. “Why? What happened?”

“We found an anomaly,” Vergil replied.

“Uh, what the fuck does that mean?”

“It means something that is irregular or—,”

“Not the definition, you jackass,” 

Vergil’s lips quirked ever so slightly. 

Nero slapped his hand to his forehead. Children, they are children! 

“We found some sort of rift thing,” Nero supplied.

Dante’s eyebrows lifted, “Sorry, rift ‘thing?’”

“I have never seen this before,” Vergil said, “I wanted you to take a look and see if you’ve ever come across anything like it.”

Dante’s grin slowly took over his face. “You came to the number one most experienced demon hunter in the city to ask for professional advice, huh?”

Vergil exhaled slowly, as though trying to keep calm. “That is not what I said, Dante—,”

Dante held out a hand, “Worry not, dear brother, my experience is unparalleled, no need to be modest. This, of course, wouldn’t be the first time you sought me out for help, anyway,”

A ring of small spectral swords appeared about Dante’s neck, hovering dangerously close. Dante didn’t seem bothered, but he stopped talking. The shit eating grin stayed.

“Jesus fucking Christ, let’s just go,” Nero commanded.

Dante was as dumbfounded as they were. In their earlier poking and prodding, Vergil and Nero had found that the tear was not so much a portal or doorway, but a window. They could not enter, nor had anything yet come out.

There was no clear visual to work from, just an eerie dark blue mist and what seemed vaguely to be cavernous walls.

“Nope,” Dante finally said after examining it much the same as he and Vergil had earlier, “never seen anything like it before.”

“Fantastic,” Vergil grumbled, flipping Yamato over in his hand.

“What should we do about it?” Nero asked.

“I think a better question is, what can we do about it?” Dante sighed. He stopped then, turned around in place, his eyes scanning the debris and the chasm walls around him as if noticing them for the first time.

“What?” Nero asked.

“Kinda hard to tell but, I think this is around where ground zero for Verge’s tree was.”

Vergil visibly curled in on himself ever so slightly, his back to Dante and Nero.

Dante didn’t seem to notice. “So,” he said, sauntering back over to the rift, “what’s so special about this place?”

“The veil is thin here,” Vergil answered softly, “which may also make sense as to why Sparda decided to settle down nearby.”

Dante rubbed his chin. “Good point. All right, so, if this thing doesn’t go to hell, where’s it going?”

“You’re the expert on demonic places now, after all that reading. Why don’t you tell us, oh great demon hunter.” Nero gave a mock bow.

Dante grinned at him and shrugged.

Nero folded his arms, shuffling back and forth on his feet. Dante wasn’t wrong. What could they do? Vergil couldn’t seal it, as it was not quite a gateway. They could not pass through it either. Having no course of action was maddening.

In near silence, a black hole swirled and expanded into existence above their heads on a nearby toppled building. Nero’s eyes widened, “Holy fuck”

Nero, Dante, and Vergil all simultaneously drew a weapon and leapt closer together, facing the new threat, the rift to their backs.

Through the portal came a man, emaciated and lanky. His face was sunken, and his eyes hollow. Nero could feel an unnatural presence from him and knew he had to be demonic.

The man smiled.

Chapter Text

SPARDA

?? years ago

It leeched off of him, this place. Every emotion he felt was drawn out of him, leaving him a husk near breaking. Power was nothing here. He could claw and rage and tear at his surroundings as much as he wished, but all it got him was a fresh coating of black ichor.

His love for Eva, drained. His pride in his sons, stifled. It was like returning back to his earliest days, the days when emotions were nothing more than feelings that helped him survive.

Humans taught him to love. Humans taught him to treasure. 

He needed to return to Eva, to Dante and Vergil—his sons, his wife! If Mundus was really rising once more he couldn’t waste time. But, there was no way out. He had not the Yamato to attempt to portal away, he left it with Vergil to protect him.

It was difficult, in this leech of a world, to gather the strength to fight. Anger bled away like a gash in a wrist. 

How long had he been here?

No, he would not be beaten by this place. He was Sparda. 

Everything he learned about Tartarus came from Caeloth or old tales, both of which were plenty fallible. But as he looked about him at this landscape of flesh and rot, he knew one thing of legend was true.

Tartarus, the primordial prison, was alive. It was feeding off of him, his emotions, his struggles. This dimension of myth that had been lost to demons of old was keeping him hostage.

Sparda tore at the flesh of his prison until his body failed him. When he fell, he cut with his claws, fangs—everything he had. He would win. He would return home. He would see Eva and his sons. 

There had to be a way.

There had to be a way…

For the first time in his too-long existence, Sparda cried.

He lay on the ground, his tears stolen. Why cry? There was nothing left to feel. Perhaps, someday, he would be reborn. Perhaps, someday, he could meet her again.

He walked endlessly. The prison had no space, just an expanse of blue mist and walls and black molten ichor. He could walk forever in any direction. He passed mounds of bones, hunks of flesh. Did demons not dissipate here? Perhaps in death, rather than rebirth, he would simply lie down and join the masses of ancient demons merging into the flesh of his prison around him. Until then, he could only move forward.

What was her name, again? 

Eva. Eva, Vergil, Dante. His family. His family needed him. He had to survive for them!

Sparda continued walking.

Could that be another living creature? 

Sparda approached, no real thought or feeling directing him. 

A demon sat there, ten times the size of Sparda. He too was covered in the blood of Tartarus, his skin slathered in ebony liquid. How long had he been here? This creature was ancient, even to Sparda. His massive head turned, his piercing red eyes alight with fire despite his state. He fixed his gaze on Sparda.

“Yet another who has submitted to die,” said the beast. “Have you nothing left to fight for?”

Nothing? Had he nothing?

He had Eva, her golden hair and soft lips. Her laughter, her love, her kindness. Vergil, his eldest. Studious, and far too serious a child, a boy who longed for love and approval. And Dante, his youngest, attention seeking, brave and full of so much heart.

No, he did not have nothing. Sparda had everything, and they were waiting for him.

“Ah, it seems there is fire in you yet, little knight,” spoke the titan. “I, on the other hand, think there is only one act of defiance left to me.”

He lifted his hand, and with great force rammed it through his own chest. 

“Rage for me, little knight. Escape.”

His massive body disintegrated, until there where his heart once lay, sat a blade. 

To look upon it filled Sparda with emotion he thought was long since lost to him. A hulking weapon of flesh and bone that seethed with the passion of a dying titan, Sparda strode forward and hefted his new devil arm.

Chapter Text

VERGIL

“Sons of Sparda,” said the stranger, “it’s been too long since last I saw you.”

Vergil’s skin prickled. Why was this being so familiar? Vergil was positive he had never met him, yet there was something inside that made him angry at the sight of this person.

“And you are?” Dante called out, setting Devil Sword Dante over his shoulder.

“My name is Caeloth,” smiled the man, “I was a friend to Sparda, long before the two of you were born.”

Friend? 

Vergil narrowed his eyes. Did Sparda have friends? Certainly not after he sealed the gates of hell. “What brings you to us now?” Vergil demanded.

Caeloth fixed his gaze on Vergil and his smile dissipated.

“Ah, the son who fell,”

Vergil gripped Yamato tighter.

“I sympathize with you, little half breed. Mundus’s torturers are not to be trifled with.” Caeloth’s gaze was dead, penetrating, and unsettling.

“What do you want?” Vergil asked, his voice clipped.

Caeloth’s demeanor changed, then. Rather than the soft smile he sported before, his hollow face became haggard, angered.

“What do I want?” He repeated the words. “Sparda was once the best of us, until humanity corrupted him. He was my mentor, my friend, my comrade!” His voice gained fervor with each word. Vergil unsheathed Yamato with a flick of his thumb. Nero and Dante readied themselves beside him.

“I let you live once, little half breeds.” He spat the words, “But, no more.” His gaze settled on Nero. “You continue to corrupt the once pure blood of the great demon knight, and I will not stand for it.”

Caeloth disappeared. Vergil was disoriented for a moment, how fast! He drew his sword and turned to Nero.

Caeloth had him by the neck, held aloft in the air. His scrawny arms hardly seemed capable of such a thing, yet still Nero struggled to free himself.

Vergil snarled, “Release him!” and attacked.

In a flash, faster than Vergil could even reach him, Caeloth summoned a blade and ran Nero through the stomach. Vergil’s heart stopped. 

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

Caeloth threw Nero against a wall of rubble with strength to crack bone. Vergil pivoted without thought and dashed to Nero.

Dante continued his offensive.

Nero lay in a heap of rubble. Vergil frantically freed him and was relieved when Nero coughed. His relief turned sour at the sight of all the blood.

“Nero!” He cried.

“I’m okay,” Nero choked. “Or, I will be,” he grinned with blood in his teeth. “Kick his ass, dad, I'll lend cover fire.”

Vergil knelt beside his son, his hands held aloft, uncertain what to do. But, Nero knew. No matter how hard he got hit, he always came up swinging. This was Vergil’s son.

He nodded, and rejoined the fight. Nero was stronger than Vergil, in his own way. Vergil’s chest swelled with pride. That pride soon turned to anger.

How dare he hurt his son.

“Die!” He spat as he joined his brother in fervor. This pathetic creature thought he could face both of them and live? Foolishness.

The fight seemed to be going well, at first. Annoyingly, neither he nor Dante were landing many blows, which Vergil found odd. On top of that, Caeloth was leading them toward that anomaly. It set off warning bells in Vergil’s mind.

“Dante!” He gestured with his head, and he and Dante pulled back.

“You’re pretty tough for a scrawny little guy,” Dante quipped. 

“That means little coming from the abomination of Sparda,” replied Caeloth.

“Abomination, huh?” Dante growled.

“Your tainted blood cannot be allowed to continue. You sully the memory of the Dark Knight, of my friend, my brother!”

“Alright, I’m fucking sick of this,” Dante grumbled. Vergil was inclined to agree.

Their next bout was more successful, both sides landing hits. No matter how they sliced him, however, Cealoth kept coming. He seemed hell bent on destroying them even at the cost of his life. He ran Dante through with his sword and spun him about before tossing him off down a nearby crevasse.

Vergil triggered. How this demon managed to hold so much power while still being unrecognizable was beginning to irk Vergil. Had this demon simply hid away for thousands of years? Where had he been? Had he been sealed away the same as Sparda?

Dante, fully triggered, wings extended rose from where he fell. He and Vergil flanked, each attacking with Caeloth in the middle. He teleported at the last moment of the charge and Dante and Vergil collided.

Vergil may have been angry and blamed Dante, had it not been such a concerning maneuver. Were he and Dante actually losing? Impossible.

Dante, unperturbed by the collision, rolled and flipped back up into the air. “Are you behind this?” He asked, his demonic voice distorted. He gestured back at the rift.

Caeloth looked at the cut in space. “No,” he replied, “but I was drawn here because of it, you could say. Meeting you was a mere bonus, but, it seems, the kin of Sparda are,” he looked Vergil and Dante up and down, “laughable. How disappointed he would be.”

Vergil felt another surge of anger and closed the distance, Beowulf ready to go. Dante followed suit, of the same mind, as he equipped Balrog. If cutting him would not work, then they would break his bones to dust.

Vergil stepped in close, pommeling every inch open to him. Caeloth almost caught him with a knife to the eye, but a clear shot rang out hindering him, his wrist exploding from the shot. Nero was on his feet, closer than before but outside of melee range, Blue Rose held aloft.

It was time to kill this demon who would dare besmirch the name of Sparda —

The ground rumbled and the air crackled with ozone. Vergil caught a whiff of that same rank scent from before, this time stronger. 

Dante, Vergil, and Caeloth leapt apart, each facing that mysterious rift. As they watched, it spread. Quick, jagged, like it was being hacked open with a serrated blade. 

The air froze, each demon enraptured by this warping of reality. After a few long seconds, it happened again. A cut, tearing through space itself. The tear grew taller, wider. 

Dante caught Vergil’s eye. Did they let this continue? Yet, what could they do? 

The rift shattered like glass. Vergil was overcome by an overwhelming pressure, the smell was horrendous. 

“Impossible,” Caeloth muttered. As Vergil looked, Caeloth grew even paler than before. His gaunt face resembled more than ever a corpse freshly drawn from a river.

“Vergil,” Dante said, barely loud enough for him to hear. His voice sounded awed, amazed, and afraid.

Vergil turned back and his breath caught.

An all too familiar visage, tall and winged and horned, an enormous blade of serrated bone and sinew held aloft at his side, his entire person covered head to toe in a viscous black fluid — was Sparda.

Chapter Text

DANTE 

Dante stared at the imposing figure before him. It really was their father — Sparda! Dante wanted to shout, to call out to him, to say something. But, what could he say? 

Not to mention, Sparda’s visage was off putting to say the least. His eyes were aflame, his body hunched as though all his energy was focused on staying upright. 

The sword of bone he held was as long as he was tall. He gripped it with both hands. As Dante stared he dropped its tip to the ground and it dipped into the earth as though its weight was immense.

“You,” Sparda spoke, and a chill flew down Dante’s spine. This was a side of Sparda he had never before seen. 

Sparda’s eyes were fixed on Caeloth. The man in question backpeddled, seeming in his fear and surprise to forget his power, his speed.

Sparda leapt toward him with a dash that put Vergil to shame. Dante almost called out, but what could he say? Did Sparda know how long he had been gone? He didn’t seem to spare Dante or Vergil a second glance in his haste.

Sparda grabbed Caeloth’s human form by the top of the head and lifted him up into the air. 

“How much time did you cost me, brother?” He spat the words, his hand clenching tighter on Caeloth’s skull.

Despite his initial fear, Caeloth managed a pained smile and spoke through gritted teeth, “It hurts to be betrayed, doesn’t it? To be left behind by someone you trusted. How was your sojourn in Tartarus, Sparda? I’m quite curious how you escaped.”

Caeloth’s eyes bulged, red capillaries bursting. His grin widened as Sparda’s grip tightened.

“Sparda!” Vergil shouted. Dante looked at him, surprised. While he stood shell shocked, unable to move or speak, Vergil had taken a few cautious steps forward. He was still triggered, but perhaps that was wise. They had no idea what to expect.

Sparda made no indication he heard his name.

“What did you do to them?” 

Caeloth’s bloodshot eyes flicked past the dark knight to Dante, “Oh, Sparda, that dream of yours is gone.” Caeloth laughed. “Your whore of a wife is dead, killed by followers of Mundus!”

Sparda clenched his fist with finality, but Caeloth dissipated into smoke and reappeared a ways off. His laugh was blood curdling. He cut quite the figure, a frail man with a hunched form, covered in blood and riddled with wounds. He smiled and laughed, and Dante felt he saw the true face of insanity. A man who cared not what pain he faced, who had no ultimate goal in mind outside of causing harm.

Why, though? Betrayal? Was it really as simple as that?

Sparda’s voice rumbled in fury, “Why, Caeloth? We could have banished Mundus forever. Why?”

Caeloth licked blood from his teeth. “I don’t care who rules hell.” He said. “I went to you that day because I found a way to the human world and I took it. I wanted to see what had become of you, of the great Sparda, of my friend.”  He looked at Sparda with vitriol. “And what do I find? I find the great Dark Knight playing house with a human. Creating half breeds with an inferior species – you were nothing like the Sparda I knew.”

Caeloth held his arms out and looked at the sky. “I thought if I saw you again, if I could just understand why you chose to betray me, perhaps we could be together again. But, when I get here, all I find is humanity. It was all such a disappointment, just like you.”

Caeloth’s form began to bleed away, shifting until his meat suit fell and his true form stood in its place. A demon taller than Sparda, thin, boney, and riddled in spikes and jagged edges, Caeloth’s true form was a hellish sight.

“Enjoy your family reunion, Sparda. Or, what’s left of it.” 

Caeloth disappeared through a black void just as he arrived. Sparda took one last swing, but all he managed was to destroy where Caeloth had been standing moments before. Dante and Vergil leapt forward as well, but in the resulting fallout Sparda merely batted them away as he let loose a feral roar, raised his wings and took to the sky in a crater inducing bound. 

“Where is he going?” Dante cried, ready to give chase. 

Vergil gently touched his shoulder and faced the direction Sparda flew. “Home,” he said softly.

“Was that fucking Sparda?” Nero gasped as he climbed across the new debris Sparda’s appearance had caused. Dante nodded. He still couldn’t believe it.

“You okay there, kid?” Dante asked.

Nero, battered and bruised and covered in blood gave a thumbs up. “I’ve had worse. It’s starting to heal up, anyway.”

“It never should have happened,” Vergil hissed, “we should have been better prepared –,”

Dante groaned, “Better prepared for what, Verge? Our fucking dad to come bursting out of a random ass portal you found hours ago? Or, for some psycho who apparently is an old family friend, showing up and trying to kill us?”

Nero cut in, clearly agitated, “Shouldn’t we be following after him?” 

Dante and Vergil shared a look. Dante took a deep breath before facing Nero. “He’s clearly headed back to the house,”

“And?” Nero gestured with his hands as though he was missing the point.

“And our house was destroyed by flames long before the Qliphoth uprooted the city,” Vergil answered.

“It’s going to be rough.” Dante finished, looking eastward to where Sparda flew. 

Nero pinched at the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was much too similar to his father. “Isn’t that all the more reason for you two to be there? You’re just going to let him go back to his house and not explain what’s going on?”

“Of course not,” Vergil said, “we are just…”

“Giving him a minute,” Dante finished, “to calm down.” He clapped Nero on the shoulder, “Plus, we needed to make sure you were alright, kid,”

Nero’s ears turned just a little bit pink. Messing with the kid was much too easy, he was adorable.

“Well, I’m fine. Come on, we need to go.”

SPARDA

Red Grave was a disaster. Everywhere he looked, Sparda found nothing but destruction. Did Caeloth do this? Did Mundus break free? 

Is she really gone?

From the air, he saw it. His home was destroyed, much like everything else. Oddly enough, it still stood as though placed on purpose. Most homes and buildings were toppled or broken, but the house he once shared with Eva stood level in a sea of destruction. 

As he landed, he realized what was off about it. Scorch marks. Whole walls were burned away. All that remained of the interior was the foyer and the family photo on the mantle. It, too, was burned, but he could still make out Eva and Dante’s faces. 

He stared at Eva. How long has it been?

He knew time had passed. Tartarus, much like hell, had a strange flow to it. While hell, however, felt like time moving quickly, or out of sync with reality, Tartarus just seemed so stagnant. It never changed, yet he knew time passed. It played tricks on the mind to make you forget, and by the time you could remember yourself all concept of time was lost.

Looking around the house, it didn’t seem as though it were decrepit, at least. Less than a century, he hoped.

He was afraid to hope Dante and Vergil lived. What would have become of them, if Eva were truly gone?

He let his body switch, magically changing from demon to outwardly human. It was such a natural change for him now, but it hurt to do anyway. “Eva,” he said quietly. This was the voice and the face she loved. This was the face of the man he had always hoped to be.

VERGIL

Dante, Vergil, and Nero all triggered and took to the skies to follow Sparda. Vergil tried to keep his mind focused on the task of flying. If he let his mind wander now, if he worried about his father, he knew he would freeze. 

When Dante first began to speak of Sparda again, of the possibility that he was alive somewhere, Vergil had felt terrified. He had long since accepted the actions he had taken in his youth, just as he accepted the events he brought upon the city at the hands of Urizen. He had never expected, however, to need to explain those choices to his father. How could he even begin?

The house came into view. The trio landed a bit away, near where the old playground still partially remained. A white headed figure could just be seen in the distance, gazing up at the portrait on the mantlepiece.

Nero spoke first, “I guess I’ll just wait here. You guys go get him, yeah?”

Neither Dante nor Vergil moved.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Nero asked, his attention directed at Dante.

Dante swallowed, “I didn’t think about what it would mean for him. How are we supposed to explain this? Will he even recognize us?”

Vergil stepped toward his brother and brandished Yamato. “He will recognize this. Are you ready?”

Dante nodded and together they walked down the path to the house.

SPARDA

He could feel the presence of two beings approaching him. Whether demon or human he found himself uncertain. He cared little, either way. When they reached the foyer, Sparda said, “Now is not a good time,”

“We know,” came the reply. 

Sparda peeled his eyes away from Eva’s portrait, and turned. Two men stood before him, both with silvery white hair. While similar in face, everything from their manner of dress and style of hair to the way they carried themselves spoke of disparate personalities. 

The one farther away was dressed in red.

The one closest to him was dressed in blue.

The man in blue raised his hands placatingly, and took a step forward.  In his hand, he held the Yamato. 

Sparda staggered back. “V-Vergil?” His eldest gave a small nod. He looked past Vergil. “Dante?”

Dante gave a little wave, “Hey, Dad, been a while.”

Chapter Text

SPARDA

“Is it really you?” His sons, grown men now, nodded in unison. They were alive. The sorrow brought by the news of Eva momentarily felt soothed. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. 

He felt exhausted. Drained emotionally and physically from his time imprisoned. When he opened his eyes once more, his sons were looking at him with twin worried faces. They seemed nervous. Of course, it had been many years for them, he supposed.

“How long?”

Dante answered, “Thirty seven years.” 

Sparda inhaled deeply. “What happened to her?” he asked, his voice fragile as glass. Both Dante and Vergil looked down, but Dante shuffled forward a couple steps. 

“You disappeared,” he began, “and after a while a horde of Mundus’s demons attacked. I’d done something stupid, and Vergil was off avoiding me outside. The house caught fire and,” Dante’s eyes drifted to the little white cupboard still standing in the blown out hall. “Mom hid me in that,” he nodded toward it, “and took off looking for Vergil. She…” his breath hitched, “she didn’t make it.”

Sparda watched his son closely as he recounted his story. He looked anywhere but Sparda and Vergil, his eyes drifting skittishly, filled with guilt.

Sparda noticed Vergil was watching his brother just as closely,  with slight surprise on his face. Was this something Dante had never spoken to him about? 

Vergil spoke next, his voice equally reverent, “I was attacked outside. It was,” he mulled over the words, “not a pleasant experience.”

There had to be more to the story. Sparda gazed at Vergil, waiting for more. With a huff, Vergil continued, “After that I came home to find it empty. Dante and mother were both gone.”

“We just missed each other.” Dante said, “When I looked for Vergil all I found was blood. I thought he was dead.”

Vergil nodded along curtly as though familiar with the story.

Sparda absorbed the information. His heart ached. “How long were you apart?” 

“About ten years,”

“At least that first time,”

Vergil shot Dante a venomous look, as if he said too much.

The first time?

Sparda drew his fingers over his forehead. 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Dante said somberly.

“And Mundus?” Sparda felt a spark of rage amongst his sorrow. “Has he broken free? All of this,” he gestured at the destruction around them, “was this all caused by him?”

His sons had an odd reaction to that question. Vergil flinched, his gaze flitting away to the ground. Dante winced and looked at his brother. Curious. Sparda’s eyes narrowed at his children.

“No,” Dante finally replied, “this wasn’t Mundus. Honestly, he’s sealed up tight, no need to worry about him.”

“Then what did happen here?”

Dante scratched the back of his neck while Vergil maintained his silence. “Look, Dad, the stuff with Mundus was a long time ago for us. Since then? We’ve had years of shit happen. I don’t think we can lay it all out right now, especially when you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“Dante is correct,” Vergil began, then  added, “for once.” 

Sparda nearly rolled his eyes at his son. Had he been in a different mood, he may have. His boys were now in their mid forties, yet Vergil still had to take the time to throw a dig at his brother. Age truly had not changed that base instinct, it seemed.

“There is much to tell, and much to discuss. From you, as well,” Vergil said.

Dante clapped his hands and rubbed them together, the sound reverberating off the hollow walls about them irreverently. “Well,” he said, “looks like what we need to do is head back to the shop, let Dad get some rest, have a discussion about what the hell just happened here, and then find a way to kill that piece of shit that got away.”

Sparda smiled tiredly. Dante grew to sport colorful language, it seemed. If only Eva were here to chastise him. His smile fell.

“There is…one thing we must do first,” Vergil’s speech was careful, as though he dreaded the words he needed to say. He looked pointedly at Dante.

“Oh, right.” Dante turned around and waved his arms in a beckoning gesture. Sparda watched as a youth, perhaps early to mid twenties, sauntered toward them. His cropped hair was the same color as Sparda's, the same as his sons. As he drew closer, Sparda felt a kinship to the young man. He lifted a hand awkwardly from his pocket and waved. “Hey,” the young man said.

“Father, this is my,” Vergil’s mouth opened and closed once before he managed, “son,”

Son?

Dante snorted and added, “Nero, Sparda. Dad, this is Vergil’s kid, Nero.”

Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but Sparda felt something in his thought process halt. He studied Vergil’s face. “You have a family?” He asked.

“Not exactly,” Nero answered. 

“I have a son,” Vergil reiterated simultaneously.

Sparda was overjoyed, whatever the situation was. That he and Eva had a grandson! That Vergil had a child! It was not that Sparda did not believe him capable of such love and affection, of course, but for some reason he always saw Dante as the more likely one to be a family man. 

Sparda smiled softly and stepped forward, hand outstretched to Nero. “It is an honor to meet my grandson,”

Nero blushed and reached out, shaking his hand with a firm grip. He side eyed Dante as if nervous. Dante merely grinned like a fool.

The pain that Sparda felt from Eva’s loss felt manageable with the warmth he had gained from these boys. 

Oh, Eva, how splendid they are.

NERO

Nero was doing his utmost not to freak out. In his head he logically knew Sparda was his grandfather, but to actually see him? To have him acknowledge him and act like a person? It was surreal, to say the least. Nero had found himself thinking that just seeing Vergil in a mundane setting had been odd enough, but this was a whole new level, especially given his upbringing.

Vergil opened a portal back to Dante’s office. As Sparda followed through last, he looked up to the neon sign above the door.

“Devil May Cry,” he read aloud.

“That’s right!” Dante beamed, “welcome to the most renowned devil hunting shop in town.” He tramped up the steps and held the door open.

As Sparda walked through the threshold he asked, “Why ‘Devil May Cry?’”

Dante looked like a deer in headlights. “Huh?” He asked.

Sparda turned to him. “The title, why choose that one?”

Nero looked smugly at Dante from behind Sparda. “Yeah, Dante,” he grinned, “why did you call it that?”

Dante spun on his heel, clearly avoiding the answer. “Don’t blame me,” he grumbled, “blame Lady,” he leapt behind his desk and fell in his beloved chair. He spread his arms wide.

“Take it in, this shop is all mine.”

“And if it weren’t for me and your friend Patty it would be a sty.” Vergil snapped.

Dante waved a hand dismissively.

Nero sat on the couch and watched as Sparda took it all in. As he quietly ran his eyes over everything, Dante looked a tad skittish for a moment. Sparda focused on his displayed devil arms appreciatively. “You earned all these yourself?” He asked his son.

Dante grinned with pride, “Yep, every single one! Plus a couple I’ve got with me, and a few more I’m renting out to other hunters.”

Sparda narrowed his eyes, “You rent devil arms?”

“Yeah, gotta pay the bills somehow. I can’t use all of them all the time,” 

Vergil, who had been stoically silent throughout the exchange, cleared his throat and said, “Dante, could you and I have a word outside?”

Nero noticed the way Sparda’s back stiffened, but Vergil almost looked desperate. Nero threw his dad a curious look.

Vergil gave a curt nod in his direction. He’s probably just freaking out, Nero realized. 

The twins stepped outside, and Nero realized he was alone with his grandfather.

Sparda surprised him then by striding about the office again until he came to rest casually on the couch to Nero’s left.

Nero drummed his fingers awkwardly for a moment, then Sparda said, “Your weapons, they are not devil arms?”

”Oh, no, I mean I do have one, but I rarely use it.” He gestured to his sword, “That is Red Queen, and this,” he pulled out his revolver, “is Blue Rose.”

Sparda hummed appreciatively. Seeing him now, in his human form, Nero could see much of Vergil in him. Knowing what he knew now of his father, he had little doubt a tiny Vergil once ran around trying earnestly to emulate his dad.

“And your arm?” Sparda continued his questioning.

Nero detached the Devil Breaker, his arm phasing back to normal. Sparda looked intrigued. Nero handed him the arm. 

“Curious, I’ve never seen anything like this,”

“My friend Nico made them,”

“Well they are truly skilled at their craft,” Sparda said.

“I’ll tell her you said so. It’ll make her day.” Nero thought for a moment, “You know,” he said, “she even made Dante some weird Devil Arm hat-thing. Don’t tell him I said so, but it’s actually pretty cool.”

Sparda smiled and they fell into an easy silence. What was taking those idiots so long?

 “This uh,” Nero licked his lips, “must be pretty strange, huh?”

“Yes,” 

“I’m sorry about your wife, I don’t know a lot but it seems like she was pretty incredible.”

“She was.” Sparda shut his eyes for a moment. “You are a devil hunter as well?” He changed the subject and focused his attention back on Nero.

“Yeah, I, uh, I’ve got another Devil May Cry branch set up in Fortuna.”

“Fortuna?”

Nero grimaced faintly, “yep.”

“I remember that place. Did Vergil settle down there?”

Nero tried not to laugh, “No,” he said, “definitely not. He and I only learned about one another, like, last year.”

“I see.” Sparda pursed his lips. “It seems there is much about my sons I do not know.”

“Forty years is a long time,”

“Yes,” Sparda’s face fell, “it is.”

Nero's heart broke for his grandfather. "Don't worry," he said, "everything will work out."

Chapter Text

VERGIL

Vergil was filled with panic. He thought seeing Sparda alive would bring relief, and in a sense it had, but it also brought an overwhelming pressure. Vergil often found himself too proud to feel regret. Of course, he regretted hurting Nero, and Dante. He regretted choosing hell over his brother.

Despite all that, he could not let himself regret everything he had done. If he let the regret spiral out of control, where would it end? 

No, better to view some choices as necessary. He would not be here without the Qliphoth, that was a fact. Loss of life, lamentable as it was, had given him his freedom back.

He could not regret that.

How was he to explain that to Sparda?

Sparda lived to defend humanity. He was their protector, their savior. One thing he never thought he would have to face in his life was his father’s disappointment. He couldn’t lose him after only just getting him back.

Vergil led Dante outside the shop and up to the top of the building. The panic had set in, Vergil could feel it in his throat, his jaw, and behind his eyes. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking.

How pathetic. Since when was he so shakable?

“Hey, take a deep breath, Verge,” Dante said quietly from his side. Vergil hadn’t noticed how close Dante had gotten.

“Why can’t I calm down?” Vergil’s mouth betrayed him.

“It’s okay, you’re having a bit of a panic attack,” Dante held out his hands.

Vergil turned to him, “What?” He shouted. “I do not have panic attacks.”

Dante smiled softly. “Apparently you do,” he softly touched Vergil’s arm. Vergil realized he was holding his breath. Dante motioned for him to breathe in deep and exhale.

Thoroughly humiliated, Vergil did as Dante bid.

“This has never happened before,” Vergil muttered as he felt his jitteriness begin to dissipate.

“Yeah, well, I think if ever it was warranted, this would be the time.”

Dante waited in silence for him to speak, his hand still on Vergil’s shoulder. “What do I even say to him?” Vergil’s voice carried no gravitas. For once he sounded broken.

It was clear Dante had no answer for him, but still he said, “It’s your call. Whatever you say, however you want to say it, I’ll back you.”

Vergil felt an ugliness rise in his chest. “I suppose I should be grateful that the perfect son will have my back,”

Dante’s soft smile turned into a hardened grimace. “Come on, Vergil.” 

Vergil sighed, “You’re right, I apologize.”

“We don’t need to tell him everything right away. Maybe we should focus on him first? Go sort of chronologically?” Dante suggested, walking around nervously. Vergil realized Dante was every bit as flummoxed as he was. 

“And what happens if he…” Vergil searched for the right word, “what if he disowns me?”

Dante stopped pacing, “He won’t do that.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he’s our dad,” Dante’s voice was insistent, “even if he gets mad and tears you a new one, he isn’t going to disown you. If we can move past everything, then I don’t see why you and he can’t find common ground too.”

Vergil wasn’t certain, but he nodded.

SPARDA

Nero was constantly fidgeting. Despite their friendly conversation, it was clear the boy was nervous. Raised in Fortuna, he had said. Sparda remembered his days there, though not exactly with fondness. He wondered what became of the isolated place, the Order of the Sword. He could ask Nero, he supposed, but he was afraid to learn any more information today. What had his sons not told him yet? Apparently quite a lot.

“You said you work for Dante?” Sparda asked what he hoped was a casual question.

Nero pulled a face, “Sort of, but also no. I run a second branch of Devil May Cry, but I don’t report back to him or anything like that. Just help out sometimes, I guess.”

“But you didn’t meet him until last year?” Sparda asked, remembering Nero’s earlier words.

Nero frowned. “No, I met Vergil last year. Dante and I crossed paths about six years ago now.”

Sparda raised his eyebrows. He met Dante first? “Where was Vergil?”

Nero seemed fully uncomfortable now. He shuffled where he sat and said, “Look, sorry, but I think that’s something you’ll need to hear from him. I’m not sure it’s really my place.”

Curious. Nero’s reaction coupled with Dante and Vergil’s earlier expressions painted an uncomfortable picture. He found himself afraid to learn the truth. What was Vergil so ashamed of?

The door to the shop opened and Nero let out a deep breath. Dante and Vergil entered, but Vergil kept his face down. Something wasn’t right, but Sparda felt it was not his right to demand answers from his grown children as he may have in their youth. He would wait.

“So,” Dante began, “we were talking and we think the best course of action is to try and get through events chronologically.”

Sparda tilted his head, motioning Dante to continue.

“We don’t know who that demon was, but he seemed to know you. We also have no idea what happened back then, so you can fill us in there. And, uh, well…since then, like I said before, a lot has happened to us. I say we just take it one thing at a time – at least, the big things.”

“That seems a wise course of action,” Sparda said. He tried to catch Vergil’s eye, but his eldest was clearly avoiding him. It reminded Sparda of when as a boy Vergil had broken one of Dante’s toys and tried to hide it.

“But first,” Dante continued, “you look about ready to drop. I only have the two beds, but please take the one up in the loft. Get some rest.”

Had he the energy, Sparda may have refused, but he was so tired, emotionally drained, and physically weak. He climbed the stairs and welcomed sleep like a warm blanket.

Chapter Text

DANTE

Dante exhaled as Sparda disappeared into the loft. He rubbed his eyes and turned to Vergil. “You should try and get some rest too,”

Vergil’s eyes scanned Dante’s furniture. “I doubt I could sleep on your couch, Dante, I will be fine.”

Nero stood and crossed to Vergil’s side, “You could come stay with me and Kyrie for the night. Give you a second to, you know…” he motioned vaguely with his arms.

“That’s a great idea,” Dante said.

“But, Father…”

“He’s fine, Verge, I’ll keep an eye on him. You can come back in a couple hours.” In truth, Dante wanted Vergil to go because he needed a moment to himself. He needed to sit with the thoughts in his head for a while, to prepare himself for what was coming. 

Vergil looked unhappy, but he finally gave in. Dante shared a look with Nero. They were both worried about him. Dante clapped Nero on the shoulder and gave him a nod. He and Vergil exited the shop.

He felt the telltale hum of Yamato cutting a portal, and his brother and nephew were gone.

Dante moved over to his desk chair and collapsed into it. He wasn’t used to keeping himself strong for Vergil, usually his brother either saw through Dante’s lie or was sure enough in himself not to need reassurance.

The old book was still sitting on his desk. How ironic that Sparda showed up today of all days. Truly, sometimes the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

What was it Caeloth had said? 

Did you enjoy your sojourn in Tartarus? 

Dante flipped the book open and looked up the name. He had briefly skimmed the passage before, but paid little attention to its details. The information on the place was incredibly scant.

Dante read the single passage of scrawling scholarly text:

Tartarus, the Eternal Prison

Tartarus is no mere place—it is a living prison, forged in the dawn of time to hold the titans, whose crimes shook the foundations of the world. Cast into its depths, they suffer unceasingly, for Tartarus feeds on their torment.

It is a realm sustained by emotion—despair, rage, sorrow—drawn from its inmates like breath from dying lungs. No door is known, no path remembered. Tartarus is sealed beyond reach, its secrets lost to time.

Let none seek it. Let none remember where it lies.

“That’s it?” Dante asked aloud. He leaned back in his chair. Feeding on emotions? Had the place fed on his father this entire time? How did he return? Dante shut the book, wincing when it made a loud noise. He had almost forgotten Sparda was actually here in his home.

Despite the nervous energy he felt within, Dante smiled. He looked at the portrait of Eva, and he released a silent laugh. Vergil and Sparda, both back in his life. 

Since childhood he had always known Eva was dead. He saw her body. He knew.

With Vergil, he thought him dead, but that same knowledge wasn’t there. It lead to daydreams, to hope. Sparda? Dante never even knew if Sparda left because of a fight or some other demonic business. It was nothing more than a mystery. Sure, Dante had been angry and resentful of his father for a long time in his youth, but that never stopped the hope back in the early days.

After he killed Nelo Angelo, Dante thought that was it. His family was gone. 

Then, Nero drop kicked him in the face.

Vergil returned from the grave.

Sparda reappeared from another dimension.

Suddenly, his family was back. Dante was no longer alone. It left a war of emotions inside. After everything, how could he be so lucky?

Yet, on the flip side, how could he explain his mistakes? Certainly, Dante hadn’t quite summoned an evil tree or tower, as Vergil had, but he’d done things equally bad, hadn't he? 

He let Vergil fall. He fully intended to kill his brother, more than once. Told Vergil he hated him. He never looked for Sparda, not once.

Worst of all, he failed to protect Eva. He was the one who had been with her. It was his job and he let her die. She had been the first, but she wasn’t the last. How many friends had he failed to save over the years? 

Dante leaned back in his chair, placed his feet on his desk. There was so much, so much that needed to be said. He talked a big game before, but he had no idea what he was doing. Vergil was the one who made plans. Vergil was the one who thought about what he was going to say before he said it. 

Dante was a mess. He turned his senses to the loft upstairs where his father slept. Even after all these years his presence was soothing. Dante found himself drifting off to sleep.

SPARDA

When Sparda woke, everything was still. He did not feel groggy, he rarely did, and as he took in his surroundings he remembered: his sons were alive. He was at Dante’s home. 

He closed his eyes and let himself feel the presence of those around him, but all he felt was the warm flame of Dante downstairs. 

Has Vergil gone somewhere?

Quietly, Sparda stood and magicked himself into something presentable. It felt like it had been ages since he truly wore his human face. In many ways it felt more natural to him than his own. 

He headed downstairs. He saw Dante to his left, his feet propped up on his desk, head tilted back asleep. Sparda studied his son.

His hair was much the same as it had been as a child, perhaps a tad longer. His face was aged, but he could still see the boy he knew there, even with the scruffy beard he sported now.

As children Vergil and Dante had been impossible to distinguish based on their features alone, if styled the same. Now he felt that even if they tried to fool him, he could easily tell who was who. Life had hardened his sons, shaped them into the men they now were.

And he had been there for none of it.

A portrait on Dante’s desk caught his eye, and Sparda reached for it. His breath caught when he saw her. Eva, his love, smiled back at him. He wasn’t sure how long he stared, but eventually Dante stirred. 

“Hey, Dad,” he said as he stretched and dropped his feet to the ground. His eyes flickered when he saw the photograph, but he kept his face genial as he said, “You feeling okay?”

“I am fine,” Sparda reverently set the portrait down.

Dante yawned, “What time is it?” He checked a clock on the wall. “Vergil will probably be back in a couple hours. Are you hungry?”

“Where did he go?”

“Oh, he spent the night at Nero’s. Said my couch just wasn’t good enough for him.” Dante forced a laugh.

“And you slept here?” Sparda frowned.

“Guess I did,” Dante kept a smile on his face. Sparda remembered Dante to be a happy sort, but the smile he sported now didn’t seem the same. Where before he wore his emotions wholly on his sleeve, now Sparda couldn’t help but feel his reactions were, while not disingenuous, at the very least incredibly practiced.

“Are you alright, my son?” Sparda asked.

Dante’s smile fell a little. “I mean, I just got my dad back from the dead, so yeah.”

“This must all be quite a lot to digest, I imagine.”

Dante shrugged, “Probably not as much for me as it is for you, honestly. I’ve had some pretty crazy things happen.”

“Ah, yes, I imagine the exploits of a renowned devil hunter are quite the tale.” Sparda began to roam the office once more, his eyes scanning every surface. As his eyes moved over the displayed devil arms again he asked, “Vergil still carries the Yamato,” he looked back to Dante, “do you still have Rebellion?”

“Uh,” Dante’s eyebrows shot up and he looked askance. “Sort of? I mean, I kind of broke her last year,”

“You broke her?” Sparda was shocked. Rebellion was a fine weapon. For her to break she must have been hit by something incredibly powerful. That knowledge alone made him worry for the life Dante led.

“Yeah,” Dante replied, “but I, you know,” his hand made a vague stabbing gesture toward his chest, fumbling over his words, “I mean, I used her to absorb Devil Sword Sparda,”

“You absorbed it?” 

The side of Dante’s mouth ticked up. “Sure did. Hurt like a son of a bitch, but, hey — it was effective."

Sparda rubbed his forehead. Already he could feel the impending headache the next few days would cause him. “And just what caused you to absorb my sword?”

Dante made the face then, the one Sparda was realizing meant it had to do with whatever it was his sons didn’t want to tell him yet.

Sparda sighed. “I’m sure I’ll learn eventually. As you said yesterday, there is much to go through.”

Dante stood. “Yeah,” he rubbed his neck and walked over to Sparda. 

“Sorry about your sword, though.”

“If you absorbed it, I assumed it was reforged in your image?” Sparda assumed it was possible for a half demon. In truth he had no idea what his sons were capable of, he’d never gotten the chance to learn.

“‘In my image,’ huh?” Dante chuckled. Dante flicked his wrist and summoned a long dark blade. Sparda examined it curiously. 

“This is a powerful weapon,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Dante replied dismissively.

“Ah, yes, given your grand arsenal, I’m sure you are quite the weapons connoisseur these days.”

A devilish glint appeared in Dante’s eye. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Chapter Text

NERO

Kyrie was always happy to see Vergil. She often complained that he didn’t come over to visit enough. Nero knew it was still strange for Vergil, having a kid. Not to mention, Nero and Kyrie looked after the three orphan boys they took in after the Savior incident.

It always felt like inviting Vergil over was a lot to throw at him. Luckily, by the time Vergil dropped them off at Nero’s it was late enough that the boys would already be getting ready for bed. The last thing Nero wanted to do right now was overwhelm Vergil further.

Before heading inside, Nero stopped Vergil and asked, “Hey, you uh, you doing okay?”

Vergil stared back at him for a long while. Nero forced himself not to show any discomfort. One thing he had learned about Vergil was that the man didn’t try to act like an ass. Sometimes, he just misunderstood kindness or worry as pity. Nero wanted to show that he meant it. He wanted Vergil to trust him.

Vergil slowly spoke, “I gave up everything to try and take the power of Sparda. I’ve killed so many innocents through my actions. Sparda dedicated his life in the human world to defending them from demons, and had he been here he would have had to defend them from me.”

Nero listened, but didn’t say anything. He had never heard Vergil be this open before. 

“And worst of all is that I don’t feel guilty over everything I have done. Some, certainly,” his gaze wandered over Nero’s arm, “but I am not like Dante.”

“I’m sure that if anyone can understand, it’s Sparda though, right?”

Vergil looked at him quizzically.

“I mean, he’s old as fuck and he spent the first however many years of his life as a demon.” Nero pulled a face, “I mean, not that he isn’t a demon, but — you know what I mean.”

Vergil’s eyes fell to the ground. Nero shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky as it faded to dark.

“Look, Dad, you did some really fucked up stuff. But, you also had a lot of fucked up stuff done to you, and I know you haven’t even told me half of it.” Nero looked at Vergil. “Regardless, the least you can do here is own up to the shit you did do.”

Vergil’s eyes snapped to him, but Nero held his gaze unflinching. 

“You’re right,” Vergil said softly. 

VERGIL

Vergil lay in Nero and Kyrie’s spare room, staring up at the ceiling. His son was right. There were things he needed to own up to, starting with his treatment of Dante and raising the Temen-ni-gru. 

He ended up getting very little sleep the rest of the night. He mostly went over in his head ways he could explain his actions to his father. None were particularly appealing.

When morning came, he was up especially early and set out a pot of coffee for Kyrie and Nero. He wasn’t much of a fan, himself, but they always had a cup each morning. It was the least he could do. He considered leaving before they woke, but he knew it would only anger Nero.

He sat down at the kitchen table and waited.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. Nero shuffled out of his and Kyrie’s room in a pair of sweats and a ragged T-shirt. 

He rolled his eyes when he saw Vergil. “Figured you’d be up early.” His words were partly cut off by a yawn. “Is that coffee I smell?” He padded over to the coffee maker.

Vergil patiently waited for him to pour a cup and take a sip. Immediately Nero grimaced at the taste. Vergil smirked. “Don’t drink it if you dislike it,”

“It’s the effect that’s important,” Nero assured him.

“Dante always loads his with too much sugar,”

“I do occasionally, but sometimes you just gotta power through.” Nero took another gulp as he sat across from Vergil. “Doesn’t matter. Are you heading back then?”

Vergil nodded.

“Alright,” Nero tapped his finger on his mug. “I’d like to talk to him too, after you guys have had a, you know, a minute.”

“Of course.” Vergil hesitated, “Thank you, Nero,” he said.

“You’re welcome to stay anytime,”

Vergil smiled faintly. “Not just for that,”

Nero downed the rest of his coffee in lieu of a response.

Vergil stood and headed outside. Nero called a farewell after him, and Vergil sliced open a portal home.

As he stepped into Dante’s office, Vergil was greeted by a curious sight. Dante had called forth Cavaliere and had it sitting on the floor in the middle of his office. On his head sat Dr. Faust.

Sparda was examining Cavaliere with abject curiosity. “A devil arm that took the form of a motorcycle. Fascinating,” he murmured.

Dante noticed Vergil, "Oh, hey!”

Vergil felt a lick of irritation, but it dissipated as Sparda straightened and fixed his gaze on him.

“What are you doing?" Vergil asked tiredly.

Dante shrugged, “Talking about weapons,” he dismissed Cavaliere and Faust. “You’re back early,” he said casually.

Vergil hummed in response. He looked at Sparda, “It’s time we talked.”

Sparda nodded. The trio arranged themselves in the room for a long chat. Sparda and Vergil sat on the couch while Dante angled his desk chair toward them. It was oddly formal, and it made Vergil’s skin prickle.

When the silence dragged, Dante said, “So, Dad, you were in Tartarus? That’s what that skinny guy said, right?”

Sparda straightened in his seat. “Yes. He visited me when you both were young, and I foolishly trusted him. We had been close, once. I should have known better.”

“What did he want from you?” Vergil asked.

“Mundus was beginning to show signs of breaching his prison, I was worried for our family. Caeloth said he wanted to take revenge on Mundus for the torture he had dealt him. He wished to banish him to Tartarus, the eternal prison.

“As far as I knew, Tartarus was impossible to reach. But, Caeloth found a way. An ancient passage in hell. But, it wasn’t really Mundus he wanted to trap there.”

“It was you,” Vergil finished.

Sparda looked at him. “He was angry that I betrayed him and sealed hell.”

“Yeah, don’t know if you know this, Dad, but pretty much every demon hates you for that.” Dante grimaced.

Sparda sighed, “Yes, and by extension you two as well, I imagine.”

“Very much so,” Dante replied.

“I am sorry, my sons.” Sparda put his elbows on his knees, hands gripping one another fiercely, hunching forward in a rare glimpse of bone deep exhaustion. “I never meant to leave you unprotected. I meant to return. I foolishly trusted Caeloth because, I suppose, some part of me hoped that I wasn’t the only demon that could change.” He looked to both of his sons, sorrow in his eyes, “I am sorry,” he repeated.

Dante looked at the floor. Vergil kept quiet for a moment, then he took a deep breath. “You are not the only one who has poor decisions to apologize for.”

Sparda looked at Vergil expectantly. He knew something big was coming, Sparda was no fool. Vergil looked to Dante. He gave an encouraging nod, but his eyes were filled with fire, as if to say he had Vergil’s back.

So, Vergil told Sparda. He described those early days of fear. He explained how he hunted Dante down and ran him through remorselessly, how he raised the Temen-ni-gru. The desperation he felt to be strong enough to protect those he loved, to protect himself.

Dante was mostly silent, adding the occasional detail here and there. Vergil couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken so much. Sparda listened, his expression stone. The man gave nothing away.

After a time, the tale of twenty six years ago finished, Sparda continued to stare intently at his son, his eyes searching. Vergil couldn’t begin to guess what it was he searched for. 

“I caused suffering for many, Dante included, and I can’t even say it was the worst thing I’ve done.” Vergil’s hands clenched.

Sparda finally spoke, “What happened after?”

Vergil glanced at Dante. “After we fought, I refused Dante’s help and chose to fall into hell.”

Sparda continued to watch him expectantly, continuing to give nothing away.

Vergil lifted his chin and inhaled, “I challenged Mundus, and failed. He took me captive.”

Sparda closed his eyes and turned his head away.

Vergil avoided looking at either Dante or their father. He awaited Sparda’s wrath.

Sparda stood and faced his son. “On your feet,” he commanded.

Vergil stood and faced his father just as Dante backed away. 

What happened next left Vergil sputtering. Sparda pulled him into a crushing hug. He held Vergil, tight enough his arms shook. After the shock wore off, Vergil slowly raised his hands and placed them on Sparda’s back.

“I should have been here to guide you, to teach you.” Sparda said, “Demonkind is cruel, and terrifying. For you to have been thrust into it so young…”

Vergil choked, “You’re not…disappointed?”

Sparda continued to hold him as he said, “Disappointed? No.” He pulled back, hands still on Vergil’s shoulders. “Vergil, I am a very old being. I’ve killed more innocents than I could ever count. What you did is horrible, but I cannot condemn you for it. Had I been here, it never would have happened.”

“You don’t know that,”

“No, I don’t. But, do you know what I do know?”

Vergil felt like a child as he looked at his father.

“Eva accepted me, monster and all. She taught me I could be better. She made me feel safe and loved. We cannot change the past, my son, but you can always choose to be better tomorrow. You’re not alone anymore. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you.”

He pulled Veril back into another hug. Vergil buried his face in his father’s clothes like he once did as a boy, clinging tightly to the man who always used to make him feel safe.

Chapter Text

SPARDA

He held his son, trying his best to help him understand. This wasn’t only Vergil’s fault, he too was to blame. Vergil clung to his coat like the boy he once was. For the moment, nothing mattered but his son.

The telephone on Dante’s desk rang shrilly, pulling them out of their moment. Sparda looked up and Vergil pulled away. Dante dove for the phone, “Devil May Cry,” he said, back to them, a tremor in his voice. There was a pause. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll head out now.” He returned the phone to the receiver.

“Got a job,” he said, “so you two just chill for a bit, yeah? Shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“What?” Vergil asked.

“Don’t worry, just a little thing. No reason to send the whole team. I’ll be back in a couple hours tops.”

Sparda stepped forward, “You are going to kill demons? You shouldn’t go alone.”

Dante sighed, “Look, like I said, it’s not a big job.”

“You still shouldn’t fight alone,” Sparda insisted.

Dante chuckled dryly, “Most of my fights have been alone, seriously, I’ll be fine! This is literally my job! I can handle a couple local small fries.”

Dante slipped out the door before he could argue again. Sparda whirled on Vergil. “Shouldn’t you go with him?”

Vergil folded his arms. “He said he would be fine.” 

Sparda stepped toward the door, intending to chase after his son, but Vergil grabbed his shoulder. 

“If Dante says he can handle it, then he can.”

“I don’t like the thought of him being alone.” Sparda murmured. 

As a child Dante had hated being alone. He always wanted company, wanted attention. He would pester Vergil, or Eva. Occasionally, he would follow Sparda around like a puppy.

From what Vergil had said so far, he and Dante had spent a number of years apart. Sparda clenched his fists and faced his eldest once more.

“You said you fell into Mundus’s clutches, how long were you there?”

Vergil swallowed. “About ten years,”

So, his sons had spent at least twenty years of their life apart. “How did you escape?”

“Perhaps we should wait for Dante,”

“Tell me.”

Vergil exhaled. “They put me in demonic armor and turned me into Nelo Angelo, Mundus’s weapon. Dante…Mundus lured him to Mallet Island and he and I fought, but Dante didn’t know it was me. He killed me, and then sealed Mundus again. He didn’t learn it was me until after.”

Sparda looked horrified. “He killed you?”

“Obviously, not fully. But he destroyed Nelo Angelo. Had he not, I likely would not be here now.”

“How are you here now?”

Sparda saw it then, the slump to Vergil’s shoulders. The exhaustion in his eyes. This was what they had dreaded telling him. This was a recent event, the event that caused all the destruction, he was sure.

“I think Dante will want to be here for this one.” Vergil’s voice was soft, fragile.

DANTE

He had not teared up when Sparda and Vergil were hugging, most definitely not. The call from Morrison had come just in time, really, else Dante may have lost all his dignity in front of his dad and asshole brother. He never would have recovered, had that been the case.

A simple demon hunt, though? That, he could handle. In the year after the Qliphoth, random small hell gates had occasionally popped up in the destruction of Red Grave, and Morrison set up a hunters' network of sorts. If demons were spotted in the city, the work went to Dante and Vergil more often than not.

The pay wasn’t good, since the jobs were usually small, but Morrison said he and Vergil were helping to clean up their own mess anyway, so they had no right to refuse. Dante supposed he wasn't wrong. 

As he flew toward the sighting, he tried to focus on his task. It proved more difficult than he imagined. He realized that for the first time in, well, decades, he felt giddy. So much of his life he had spent drowning himself in sorrow, living in his worst memories, that having this new change was making him feel genuinely happy. 

What a strange world.

On the way, he spotted the tear from Tartarus that Sparda had wrought. They still hadn’t learned how he had done that. He made a mental note to ask as he flew down, releasing his trigger upon landing.

He knew there wasn’t anything he could do now, but he wanted to check on it anyway. Add taking care of this rift to the list of things they needed to do soon.

The tear was different now that Sparda had come through it. Where before it was more of a looking glass, now it was a true hole in space, a doorway.

We can’t let anyone accidentally jump into Tartarus, he thought. He made another mental note to call Morrison. He should’ve called him yesterday but, well, it wasn't exactly the first thing on his mind. How often did your dad return to life? 

“If you’re looking to leap into Tartarus, I can give you a hand.”

Dante whirled around. Caeloth perched a few meters up above on a busted slab of concrete.

“Ah, Dad’s not -best friend, what brings you back here?”

“I knew one of you would come back eventually. Call it a stroke of intuition and long suffering patience. Although, I suppose you are here sooner than I expected.” He lifted a slim spiked hand, waving the thought off.

“Alright,” Dante readied Ebony and Ivory, their barrels trained on Caeloth’s skull, “what do you want? Why wait around?”

Caeloth grinned, his jester’s smile filled with shark-like teeth. “I wanted revenge on Sparda before, but, do you know what our little fight yesterday made me realize?”

Dante’s skin crawled as Caeloth stood up to his full height. His devilish grin stayed on his face.

“The Sparda I once loved is still in there, after all. He’s just a captive of his feelings for humanity, for you. ”

Alarm bells rang in Dante’s mind. He had no Yamato to teleport away. He had no phone to call for help. 

Dante blinked, and Caeloth was in his face, his speed somehow greater in his devil form. He fired Ebony and Ivory, but Caeloth let the rounds hit him and gripped his wrists, stopping him from firing again.

“I just need to make Sparda angry. If I kill you and your brother, and the human, he’ll have nothing left to tie him here.”

Dante laughed, his voice pained, “You do that and you’re fucking dead,”

Caeloth’s grin widened, “I would gladly give my life to see the Legendary Dark Knight rise again.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Dante equipped Balrog and kicked upward with all his strength. He clipped Caeloth on the chin, but as he tore himself free of the demon’s grasp claws ripped through his flesh, scratching bone.

He teleported away, triggering the moment he gained enough distance. Caeloth was on him again before he could decide whether to fight or run.

The way Caeloth fought in his true form, the way he sliced and tore and ripped at Dante’s armor, his wings, his flesh — it was unlike any enemy Dante had ever faced.

He knew Caeloth was strong, but in the fight before he was certain he and Vergil would have won by the end, even without Sparda’s interference.

As those spear-like limbs and fingers shredded into him, however, he could hardly form a strategy. He tried to absorb blows with Royal Guard, or create a protective field with Dr. Faust, but just like before Caeloth merely took the damage Dante dealt. It felt like the last gamble of a dead man.

If he continued cutting away, eventually Caeloth might fall. Problem was, Dante didn’t think he would last that long. In a battle of endurance, Caeloth would surely win, and he knew it.

Caeloth’s claws shredded through one of Dante’s wings and he fell to the ground with a roar.

Caeloth landed on him hard, driving him into the ground with enough force to break the earth. Caeloth laughed maniacally as he cut into Dante over and over again.

It would be just his luck to die the day after his dad came back to life, wouldn’t it?

Dante felt his trigger slip away with his consciousness.

VERGIL 

Dante had been gone less than thirty minutes when his phone rang again. Vergil normally hated answering the damn thing, but he gratefully took the distraction today. His father may not hate him for what happened twenty six years ago, but there was a lot more to the story, and none of it was good.

“Devil May Cry,” Vergil said.

To his surprise, Morrison was on the other end. “Hey, Vergil,”

“Morrison. Dante already left.”

“I know, someone just called in saying they saw a demon that sounded a lot like Dante fighting some spikey creature straight out of Lovecraft. Normally I would leave him to it, but this thing sounded really nasty.”

“Where was this?” Vergil demanded.

Sparda turned to him, recognizing the urgency in his voice. After Morrison finished the directions, Vergil slammed the phone down, breathing hard.

“What is it?” Sparda asked.

“Dante is fighting Caeloth. We need to go.”

Sparda didn’t say I told you so, he didn’t make Vergil feel like a fool. He sensed the direness of the situation and followed Vergil without a word. Vergil took them back to the site of the rift, placing them up on higher ground.

What he saw enraged him. 

Dante, covered in blood, sliced nearly to ribbons. Caeloth stabbing and shredding in glee. Vergil saw red. He triggered, dove for Caeloth. His body moved of its own accord. Vergil hardly knew what he did, he just attacked. 

He lost track of where Sparda was, where Dante was. All that mattered was destroying this abomination. Less than a year after Vergil nearly lost Dante to Mundus’s torturers, and here he was again at death’s door. Unacceptable.

He slammed Caeloth into a busted wall, rubble raining down about them. Caeloth laughed.

“You will suffer,” Vergil hissed.

“Ah, the protective older brother? I see a spark of the Dark Knight in you. Unfortunately, your blood is tainted by humanity."

Caeloth was in no condition to defeat Vergil as he was. Clearly, his fight with Dante had taken a lot out of him. Still the demon smiled with his razor teeth, as if this was all merely part of the plan. 

Vergil narrowed his eyes. He placed the Yamato expertly, ready to remove Caeloth’s head from his body with ease.

“What are you planning?” Vergil asked.

Caeloth laughed again, the sound an unpleasant cackle. 

“I want him back.” Caeloth disappeared into darkness. 

“Dammit!” 

Vergil turned. Sparda was with Dante. Only seconds had passed. It felt like an eternity.

A figure slammed into Vergil, knocking him off his feet. The force threw him through the air, across the crater. He rolled head over heels before digging his claws into the ground and flexing his wings to stop his inertia. 

Black blood bubbled up from the cuts in the ground.

Vergil looked up just in time to watch his reality wink out of existence.

Chapter Text

SPARDA

As Vergil attacked Caeloth, Sparda dashed to Dante’s side. There was blood everywhere. Dante’s body looked like it had gone through a meat grinder. For a moment, he thought his son dead, but then Dante’s eyes fluttered open for a split second as he coughed, blood sputtering out of his mouth. He was alive. Sparda let loose the breath he had been holding. He  looked up just in time to see Caeloth collide into Vergil. It sent him flying toward the rift. Sparda unleashed his true form, moving as fast as he could to catch his son before he fell beyond his sight. 

The portal winked closed and Sparda passed through emptiness. He rounded on Caeloth, who stood with his hand outstretched and wreathed in blue light. “What have you done?” He shouted, his voice booming. 

Caeloth grinned. “Come now, Sparda, I’ve freed you. You don’t need to pretend anymore.”

Sparda stalked toward Caeloth. “Pretend?” Caeloth did nothing as Sparda lashed out toward him, grabbing him by the throat. “And what is it that you think I am pretending?”

Caeloth sputtered, “I thought you were gone. That was my mistake. You were never gone. You just needed the right push. The Dark Knight is still in there – he’s just held back by your family.”  

Sparda roared and threw Caeloth away from Dante. He crashed through solid walls of brick and concrete. Sparda leapt after him, stomping him down into the ground. He held Caleoth there, the ground forming around his body, Sparda’s foot digging into his chest. 

“You did this knowing I would kill you?”

“If it sets you free,”

“You’re a pathetic fool, Caeloth. I have always been free. I kill when I choose, as I always have. It’s just that nowadays I find humanity much more agreeable than abominations like you.”

Caeloth’s smile fell slightly.

Sparda leaned in close. “I want you to know that whatever misguided sense of duty you had, I am killing you now because you hurt my sons.” Sparda kept his foot on Caeloth and grabbed his arms. He began to pull. Caeloth’s arms popped and started to tear. His grin widened again. 

“You hate demonkind so much now? When one of your own sons has done far worse than most of us?” He asked, his voice strained through the pain. Sparda narrowed his eyes, but gave no response. “You’ll never be a human, you know.” Caeloth laughed, “You’ll return to the underworld eventually. Once your sons have passed of old age, and you have nothing left. You can’t escape who you are, Sparda.”

“I don’t intend to.” Sparda ripped Caeloth’s limbs from his body and summoned Titan. The thick blade was made to eviscerate, to cut and pulverise and rend space itself. It would do just as well against Caeloth.

He didn’t stop until every inch of Caeloth was utterly destroyed, leaving behind nothing but a devil arm and a blue stone. Sparda shattered the arm without even examining it. He deserved worse. Sparda half wanted to capture him and leave him in Tartarus once they located Vergil, but after watching the way Caeloth carved into Dante, he felt better having the beast erased from existence entirely.

Afterward, he tried using Titan to cut his way back into Tartarus, but, as he expected, it did not work. The blade was made with the intention of escaping, not returning. It did not have the same properties or precision as Yamato. Cutting through the veil in the human world could lead him anywhere, theoretically, but most likely he would end up in Limbo or Hell. 

Sparda examined the blue gem Caeloth had on him. It was a curious artifact wrought in silver that Sparda knew he must have used to close the gate somehow, but he could not make it work in reverse.

He had little time to try, anyway. He needed to get Dante to safety. 

“I’m sorry, Vergil, we will find you.”

When Sparda returned to Dante, he was beginning to heal but still looked to be in rough shape. He bent down and picked up his son, heart breaking at the slight cry of pain Dante made.

“I've got you,” Sparda whispered. 

Sparda laid Dante down on the couch in the office. What was he supposed to do? Dante’s wounds were slowly mending themselves, but the sight was still gruesome. He still bled and lay passed out. How much first aid did his sons need? They always healed quickly as boys, but Eva still usually applied bandages when needed.

Should he take Dante to a hospital? Has he ever been to a hospital? Would they know what a half demon was?

In the end, Sparda ran and grabbed clean towels and held them against the most grievous wounds on Dante's stomach. He may find something better if he left to search, but he couldn’t. He knelt there by Dante’s side instead, too desperate and afraid to move.

“Where’s Vergil?” Dante mumbled almost incoherently. Sparda lifted his head to see Dante struggling to open his eyes.

“Dante!” He cried.

“What happened?” Dante asked groggily.

“You were attacked by Caeloth. He did a number on you.”

“That explains it,”

“Explains what?”

“The excruciating pain,” Dante moved as though he wanted to sit up.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Sparda set a hand on his shoulder, “you stay down and rest.”

“Where is Vergil?” Dante asked again, eyes roaming around. At his silence he asked once more, “Dad, where is Vergil?”

“Caeloth pushed him into Tartarus,”

Dante’s face went paler than it had already been. “You’re joking,” he said softly, clearly understanding full well that Sparda was deadly serious. He would never joke about this. “We have to go get him,” Dante made to sit up once more.

“We will,” Sparda shoved him back down gently but firmly. “But you are still losing blood. Let yourself heal.”

Dante’s eyes flashed. “Heal?” He hissed, “You want me to sit here on my ass and heal while Vergil’s in a place that feeds off negativity and emotion? You think we have time for that?”

“Dante, please calm down,”

“Fuck being calm,” Dante sat up with all his might, swinging his legs over the couch. Sparda was forced to relent or risk hurting him. Dante grabbed the blood soaked towel around his abdomen and looked down to see long angry red gashes across his visible skin. His hands were shaking.

The sight seemed to break his rage enough for him to say, “I just got him back, Dad, I just got him back, I can’t do it again.” He put his face in one hand, the other wrapped tight around his midsection.

“I can’t lose him again,” he repeated. His voice cracked. “He’s been imprisoned enough — he just got his humanity back! We can’t leave him, it’s too much,”

Slowly, Sparda wrapped his arms around his youngest son and sat with him, gently resting his chin on Dante’s head.

“We are not abandoning him. But I need you to be okay too, my son.”

Dante leaned into his father’s embrace and cried.

Chapter Text

DANTE 

Vergil was gone again. Dante let a demon get the better of him again and Vergil was paying the price. How many times was Vergil going to pay for Dante’s mistakes? If he was gone permanently — no, he couldn’t let himself think that way now. Vergil needed him. 

They knew he was in Tartarus. Dante would tear the prison to pieces for the rest of his life searching, if that’s what it took. Sparda came back. Vergil could too.

Sparda hovered by Dante’s side until his wounds stopped bleeding. He should have been trying to sleep, but he couldn’t. Not knowing Vergil was out there.

“What is Tartarus like?” Dante asked, voice hollow. 

Sparda turned to him, expression hard. “It is not a nice place,” he said.

“No shit,” Dante felt irritation rise in his chest, but he pushed it down. “Tartarus feeds on emotions, right? What does it feel like?”

Sparda did not answer.

“Okay, how does it work?”

Sparda thought for a moment, eyebrows pinched. “I do not know, but the prison itself is a living entity. It feeds on power, and emotions are a form of power. Perhaps, the most important type of power.”

Dante couldn’t stop the hollow chuckle. “Don’t tell Vergil that,”

Sparda gazed at Dante searchingly. “Dante,” he pressed, “what happened after you killed Nelo Angelo?”

Dante winced. “So, Vergil told you.”

“I know you both wanted to take it slow and tell me together, but, please,”

When Dante replied, his voice was devoid of emotion entirely. He couldn’t bring himself to put up the charade, not now, not even for his dad. “Vergil was in a really bad way after everything. He used the Yamato to split his human and demonic sides. The demon side, Urizen, raised the Qliphoth tree. He killed thousands, destroyed half the city, and then he ate the Qliphoth fruit. His human side helped us fight him, but they rejoined in the end.”

Dante avoided looking at Sparda.

“I see,” Sparda said softly. “And that was when he met Nero?”

Dante scoffed. “He ripped Nero’s damn arm off to get his sword back.”

“I see,”

Dante rolled over to face Sparda. “You see what?” He demanded. He was angry. Was he angry at Sparda? Maybe a little, even though it wasn’t fair to be. Regardless, he felt like the wall he’d built up for years was crumbling around him as he watched. He couldn’t help it.

“You see what, exactly?” He repeated as he sat up, “Your fucked up excuses for sons? The one who killed thousands and the one who couldn’t stop it? The one who embraced his demon side, and the one who couldn’t save your wife?”

As he said it, Dante regretted it. He rarely lost his cool this way. It was just so much, lately. It was the culmination of years and years of pushing it all down. Of being constantly afraid. Of wishing more than anything that he wasn’t alone, then being the one unable to save his family every single time. Even when things started looking better, he fucked up. 

Sparda should be disappointed.

Dante froze as Sparda’s hands rested on his shoulders. He was too afraid to look up, so he shut his eyes.

“Dante, never say those words again.” Sparda’s grip tightened. “I could never blame you for Eva’s death. And what happened with Vergil was out of your control. I could not be more proud of you. And, I could not be more proud of your brother. Do you know why?”

Dante felt like a child as he shook his head.

“Because you’re both still here. You found one another again. Despite hardship after hardship, despite making bad decisions, you were here when I needed you. Everyone makes good and bad decisions in life, Dante, trust me, I know better than most. The trick to doing better, lies in never giving up. You don’t give up. Neither does Vergil. That’s why we will find him.”

Dante studied Sparda’s face. He looked desperate. He wanted Dante to believe him.

Dante nodded. “You’re right.” He took a deep breath. “You’re right, we’re going to find him.”

Sparda touched his cheek. “We still have much to talk about, but it can wait.”

Sparda stood, stepped away from Dante. A thought struck him then. “Dad, we need to call Nero.”

NERO

“You’ve been in a good mood lately,” Kyrie smiled. 

“I’m always in a good mood,” Nero laughed.

Kyrie raised an eyebrow. 

“What? Can I not be in a good mood?” He pulled on a t-shirt and hopped onto his side of the bed. He gave Kyrie a peck on the cheek. 

“Of course you can,” Kyrie smirked, “it’s just nice to see, is all.”

“I mean, yeah things were rough for a bit, but, I don’t know,” he rubbed a hand on his neck, a stupid smile on his face, “I like having, y’know,” he looked down at his lap, “family.”

Kyrie leaned forward and hugged his arm. “I know. I’m so happy for you, all of you.”

They settled in for the night. Just as Nero was growing comfortable, the phone began to ring.

Nero groaned. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up and reached over to where the phone sat on his bedside table.

With a yawn he said, “Devil May Cry,”

“Hey, kid,”

“Dante? What’s wrong?”

Without the Yamato to instantly travel, Nero had the whole drive to Red Grave to think. He couldn’t lose Vergil now. He couldn’t. They were just beginning to get somewhere. He was just learning what it meant to have a father — his father.

He looked forward to seeing Vergil every week, to their practice fights and the jobs they worked together. Sure, Vergil was still an obtuse pain in the ass half the time, but Nero finally found that connection despite it.

Vergil was important to him.

On the phone, Dante sounded so afraid, so broken. It had frightened Nero, and reminded him of the time Dante went missing. Despite that fear, Dante had a determination in his voice. Nero knew his uncle wasn’t about to give up.

Nero drove as fast as he could, not stopping for rest. He, Dante, and Sparda would find Vergil and bring him home. 

He refused to let his father reside in darkness any longer.

Chapter Text

SPARDA

“What I don’t understand,” Nero said as he paced around the office floor, “is how the fuck Caeloth closed the rift in the first place.”

Sparda raised his eyebrows and reached into his pocket. “Ah, I believe he used this.” He held out the blue gem in the palm of his hand.

“What the fuck is that?” Nero stopped his nervous pacing to stand next to Sparda, examining the gem.

“I don’t know,” Sparda admitted, “I saw him brandish it, the portal closed, and I assumed it was related.”

From his desk, Dante squinted at the stone. “Wait a second,” he said, “I think I actually know what that is.”

There was a heavy silence, Nero and Sparda looking dumbfounded at Dante as he suddenly began flipping pages of the old book on his desk. Nero eventually questioned, “You do?”

Dante’s eyes flicked between the two of them as he realized they were both staring at him. He stopped flipping pages. “C’mon, Nero,” Dante rolled his eyes, “I read.”

“Name one book you’ve read in the last decade other than that one,” he pointed at the book.

“Guns and Ammo,” Dante began flipping pages again.

“That’s a magazine.”

“Same thing,”

Sparda and Nero shared a look. Nero shrugged.

“Ah-ha!” Dante exclaimed, pointing at an illustration with his finger. Sparda and Nero crowded around Dante’s desk to look.

“It’s a Keystone — uh, looks like it can seal small rifts. Demons used them when they didn’t want to be followed by others, blah, blah…Neat, wish I’d known these existed, like, thirty years ago.”

Sparda examined the stone. “Considering I’ve never heard of such a thing, I’d imagine this is very old. Few likely still remain.”

“So how did Caeloth get his hands on one?” Nero asked.

“Caeloth has always been eccentric. He used to be fascinated with old aspects of hell, that is how he learned of Tartarus I imagine.”

“But it isn’t going to help us here,” Dante groaned and leaned back in his chair. He winced at the motion a little. Clearly he was still in a bit of pain, despite being mostly healed up.

”Perhaps not with reaching Vergil, but I do believe this will indeed prove useful to us.” Sparda said.

“How so?” Nero asked.

Sparda faced his grandson. Nero had been on edge since arriving, understandably so. Regardless his eyes were steeled and intent on the task at hand. He wanted Vergil recovered as much as he or Dante.

“The only other way I can think of to reach Tartarus is through the passage Caeloth originally took me to.” 

“The one in hell,” Dante clarified.

Sparda nodded.

Nero tilted his head. “Okay, and?”

Dante rubbed his forehead. “And, we are undoubtedly going to have to deal with demons chasing us. Vergil and I get enough shit on our own, can you imagine how they’ll react to the return of Sparda himself?”

“Fantastic,” Nero resumed pacing.

“If we can locate a portal to hell,” Sparda continued, “we can head through and seal it behind us. We travel to the door to Tartarus and leap through.”

“Then what?” Nero whirled around. “Do you have another magical dousing stone we can use to locate Vergil in an infinite prison dimension?”

“Nero,” Dante said quietly.

“No, Dante we can’t just run into this without thinking. Sparda was gone for over thirty years! I can’t do that to Kyrie.” He froze as if realizing for the first time. “Fuck, I can’t do that to her.”

“Perhaps you should stay,” Sparda tried to say it as soothingly as he could. He didn’t want Nero to get the wrong idea.

To his surprise Nero rounded on him with fire in his eyes. “Fuck that, I’m not staying here!”

Dante shook his head. “You can’t have it both ways, kid. Sparda and I are going, with or without you. And I intend to stay as long as it takes to drag him out of there. But we have no way of guaranteeing it will be any time soon.”

Nero’s pacing began again. As Sparda watched him, Nero reminded him so much of Eva. Granted, Nero was more vulgar, more rough than his beloved. But, she too paced when she was worried. She too would never leave a loved one behind, no matter the cost. Nero was trying to think of a way around the problem, just as she would have.

Nero stopped. “What if,” he licked his lips, “what if you guys went and leapt into Tartarus or whatever, and then you cut a portal like before.” His eyes flicked to Sparda.

“You mean from Tartarus back to here?”

Nero nodded.

Sparda thought for a moment, “I did it once. With Titan I am sure I could again.”

“That way,” Nero folded his arms, fingers tapping as he spoke, “we could come and go, right? We could have an anchor spot.”

“That’s all well and good Nero, but,” Dante spoke from behind his hands where they drummed on his forehead, “what if we can’t get far enough into Tartarus to find him without leaving the rift entirely?”

Nero shrugged hopelessly. “You’re right,” he sighed, “it’s stupid,”

“No,” Sparda held up a hand, “not exactly.” Nero and Dante looked at him expectantly. “It may actually be the perfect lure,”

“How do you mean?” Dante asked.

“A rift would cause a change in the dynamic of Tartarus. The being itself would be wounded. The rift I made was closed relatively quickly, so we had little time to examine the effect inside.”

“But it could attract demons caught in the prison,” Dante simplified his thought, catching on quickly.

Nero perked up, “Okay,” he said, “what’s the catch, then?”

Sparda looked at Dante. Dante exhaled heavily. “Well, kid, it’s not like we can control what starts heading toward that beacon, and we certainly can’t let any of it into the human world.” Dante stood, stretched, and with a crooked smile said, “So, Dad and I go on a nice little stroll through hell, leap into an emotion sucking prison dimension, open up a gateway, and then keep a bunch of hellbeasts at bay while searching for my pain in the ass brother. Sounds easy enough.”

Chapter Text

VERGIL

Vergil was no stranger to having his emotions torn from him. He was no stranger to the hollow void he now felt. It was all too easy for him to settle into that void, to accept the familiarity. 

How simple it was to let it all go, all those pesky feelings he fought so hard to understand day to day. Anger, regret, loss — these emotions often ruled his thinking. Without them he felt a blank slate, no emotions dictating his thoughts, no underlying hopes to nag at him and force him to take actions he rarely understood. Perhaps this freedom was a blessing in disguise. Had life not been easier as a puppet? There were no right and wrong decisions then, no letting down those he loved. No dangerous moral choices to fuck up.

No Nero, he thought.

It was a fleeting thought, one he barely realized he had. It began in the back of his mind, but with it he felt a flare building. What emotion was this? Love? Gratitude? Protectiveness?

Whatever it was, that warmth filled him, stretching over limbs long since frozen. Tartarus began to pull them away. For the first time, Vergil grasped for them, held them close. No, life as a puppet had not been easier, it had not been better. He had done his masters bidding, certainly, but he fought against those orders every time. He would choose freedom over slavery always, even if freedom came with humanity, with emotions, with thoughts and feelings he struggled to understand. That was freedom.

Nero.

Dante.

Sparda.

He had family now, didn’t he? He wasn’t a puppet anymore, his emotions were his, broken and frayed and clipped as they were.

There were many things he still wanted to do with Nero. Things he wished to teach him, to talk to him about. They were still so new to one another. 

His father just returned from beyond the grave. He had a parent again. Long had it been since he felt the weight of being a son of Sparda dissipate, but with his father in reach it finally had.

And Dante. He had years of hurt and hatred to make up for. Years of abandoning his little brother, of blaming him, of cursing his name. Years of missing him, of wishing they could have their brotherhood back one day, of thinking everything he had was gone or ruined.

This was his chance, wasn’t it? He could have all that he hoped for, the chance at being better, at making amends — of knowing his child — all he had to do was hang on.

Loss of time also was not unusual to Vergil. There were whole spans of his life that were black. More than just the nightmares he purged as V, his torture and imprisonment left much to be desired.

Over the last year, things started returning. Little things, things that caught him off guard. Things about his time with Nero’s mother. Childhood memories of him and Dante. 

When Tartarus began to jumble his sense of time, he felt calm. They would come for him, he knew. He could trust Dante.

He could trust Dante.

He began to grow desperate. Holding tight to those emotions proved more difficult than he ever imagined. He had always considered himself strong of will, but his body wanted him to submit to the nothing that awaited. 

He stayed in one place for most of his time in Tartarus. He didn’t want to wander and become lost, in the off chance it mattered in this place. He tried meditating. He recited poetry — full volumes of William Blake and Rimbaud. Every time he felt that light inside him begin to slip through his fingers, he recited a poem aloud:

“Let it come, let it come,
The season we can love

I have waited so long
That at length I forget;
And leave unto heaven
My fear and regret.
A sick thirst
Darkens my veins.

Let it come, let it come,
The season we can love

So the green field
To oblivion falls,
Overgrown, flowering,
With incense and weeds
And the cruel noise
Of dirty flies.

Let it come, let it come,
The season we can love”

Sparda discovered his love of humanity through poetry and the arts. It stirred something within Vergil as well, something incredibly human and beautiful and kind. It helped him hang on when he worried he would lose everything.

They were coming for him. He had faith. 

His family was coming for him this time.

Chapter Text

DANTE

Sparda insisted they wait until Dante was no longer in pain, much to Dante’s chagrin. While they waited, he called up Trish, but it went to voicemail. 

“Hey, Trish, uh guess this is one of those heads ups you guys wanted me to start giving. Uh, Jesus, it’s been like two days but my dad is back, and now we are going to go grab Vergil from a prison dimension he got stuck in. So,” he paused, not knowing if this was quite what the girls meant when they said he needed to start telling them about things, “if I’m gone for a while just let Morrison know. I’ll be back when I can.” He hung up.

When he turned toward the door, Sparda was looking at Dante quizzically. Dante hadn’t even noticed he came back inside.

“A girlfriend?” Sparda asked, his voice oddly hopeful.

Dante snorted, “Hell no, just a friend. She’s,” he glanced at Eva’s photo. He needed to explain her appearance, didn’t he? Before something bad happened. Later, he decided. There had been more than enough exposition on his life lately. For now what was most important was Vergil.

Dante forced a smile, “Doesn’t matter.”

Sparda’s shoulders slumped so faintly Dante barely noticed. “I had hoped,” he said, “that you would one day be able to settle down. Have a family.”

Dante sucked his teeth, “Not really my scene,” he replied.

Sparda nodded, resigned.

Another conversation Dante never expected to have. How was he supposed to explain he just wasn’t interested. It was rare someone truly caught his eye, and even then he couldn’t commit to anything long term, let alone when it came to starting his own family. Flirting was one thing, raising a child in this hellish world was another thing entirely. How Sparda could even dream of such a reality was beyond him.

As much as Dante wanted to protect humans, as much as he saw the good in them, there was a whole lot of ugliness too. He had seen more than his fair share through life. If not always strictly happy with his lot in life, he was at least content.

Dante had his friends and now his family back. He didn’t need more than that.

Changing the subject, Dante asked, “Can we leave now?”

“Are you in any pain?”

“None whatsoever,”

“Alright.”

As Dante had never actually done the job Morrison assigned him, he suggested they start their search for a hellgate in that area first. What awaited the trio was a small gate that, as Dante expected, barely merited three devils of their caliber to handle. Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect as the gate itself was already so weak it seemed nearly ready to run out of power on its own.

As they prepared to leave, Dante turned to Nero, pulling him aside. “Are you going to be okay, kid?”

“Me? I’m not the one leaping headfirst into a clusterfuck.”

Dante chuckled. “You’re right, but you are the one who is going to be waiting around.”

Nero laughed darkly, “Yeah, despite everything I said I get to just sit on my ass while you run off again.”

Dante grabbed his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “that’s not what’s happening. This is the best plan we’ve got. A lot is going to ride on you.”

Nero avoided his eyes. Dante squeezed his shoulder. “I mean it, kid, if something comes through a rift from Tartarus, it’s going to be big. You could be the only one here to face it.”

“Not if I call up Lady and Trish,” Nero replied, “Just because you’re averse to asking for help doesn’t mean I am.”

Dante laughed. “Okay, you got me, kid.” He smiled at his nephew warmly. He may not have settled down like Sparda wanted, but having Nero around was one of the greatest joys in his later life. “We’ll come back, Nero, and we’ll bring Vergil with us.”

“I know.” Nero did something Dante never expected, then. He pulled Dante into a hug. Flabbergasted, Dante patted his back a couple of times. “Hey, now, don’t get sentimental, we got work to do.”

As Nero pulled away he muttered, “asshole,” but he was smiling.

Sparda strode toward Nero and held out a hand. Nero shook it, his face confused yet serious. Dante fought the urge not to make fun of him. Sparda had that effect, sometimes.

“We will be back as soon as we can,” Sparda assured Nero. 

“You better,” Nero replied, “there’s still some things I wanted to talk to you about. Plus,” he rubbed his neck, embarrassed, “I’m kind of curious what it would be like to spar,”

Dante guffawed. He couldn’t help it this time. “I see, Vergil and I just aren’t good enough for you anymore, huh? Moving up the demonic ladder,”

“Hey!” Nero rounded on Dante, flipping him off as he cried, “I can still kick your ass any day, old man!”

Sparda smiled softly and turned toward the shrinking hellgate. “Are you ready, my son?” 

Dante nodded at Nero one last time before joining his father. 

As the two traveled through the gate, Dante smelled the telltale acrid tang of hell, and felt the heavy pressure of the air. It had been both too long, and not long enough since the last time he was here. Hell was not his favorite place, due to its lack of pizza and sundaes, but even he could admit the very air here was invigorating to his demon side.

“How long do you think it will take before someone realizes you’re here?” Dante asked his father.

Sparda gave Dante an exasperated look that Dante hadn’t realized he was capable of. “Let us make haste, lest someone else from my past decides to appear.” He began walking off in a seemingly random direction.

“You know where we are going, right?”

“Of course,”

“Cool, because I’ve always just guessed when I was here,”

Without slowing, Sparda questioned, “Have you been here a lot?”

“A few times. Most recently Vergil and I spent some time down here last year after the whole Qliphoth thing.”

Sparda hummed in response. 

Dante felt a pang in his chest at the sound, it was so very Vergil.  

They walked for what felt like a few hours. The landscape about them changed very little, but Sparda still strode on confidently. Eventually, Sparda stopped. Dante felt a chill run down his spine. 

An ungodly screech filled the air, followed by the scampering and scurrying of hundreds of pairs of clawed feet and winged creatures. A cacophony of voices calling out Sparda’s name, cursing him, claiming their right to kill him.

“Well,” he said, retrieving Ebony and Ivory from his holsters, “that took longer than I expected. Quite a nice welcoming party, if I do say so myself.”

Sparda had no response except to summon his new double handed sword of bone.

“Let’s rock, Pops,” Dante grinned.

Chapter Text

SPARDA

Dante fought like a hurricane. The last time Sparda had truly witnessed his son’s fighting prowess, had been when he was seven years old swinging around a wooden sword.

Now, his son was a sight to behold. He switched styles and weapons on the fly so quickly that Sparda sometimes missed it entirely. One second he would be slicing through enemies with Devil Sword Dante, and the next he would zoom past Sparda on Cavaliere.

He absorbed blows and redirected energy, fired guns with deadly accuracy, and dashed so quickly it was hard to keep track of his movements.

Sparda was astonished. He always knew his sons would be strong, but Dante’s versatility was truly impressive. His son had come into his own as a devil hunter without Sparda’s guidance. Sparda grinned as he cut down his enemies.

He was still a devil, after all, a good fight would always get his blood pumping.

They took care of the first wave quickly. 

“How far are we?” Dante asked.

Sparda examined their surroundings. “Hard to say. Perhaps we should pick up the pace?”

“Sparda…” Sang out a voice. It was followed closely by another. 

“Or, we can deal with them first.”

“You’re alive?”

“Kill him! Steal his power!”

“It was a mistake to return here,”

Sparda sighed. “Perhaps you should have made this journey without me.” Sparda spoke as he engaged the new horde. “My,” he searched for an adequate word, “ popularity is slowing us greatly.”

Between what looked more like dance moves than actual fighting Dante laughed, “Ah, don’t worry about it. Even if you weren’t here, we usually get all sorts of critters chasing us down.”

Dante stretched as they finished carving up the second horde. Luckily, despite large numbers, none had proved especially difficult.

“We could always fly,” Dante suggested.

Sparda glanced at his son. “How long can you hold your trigger? It would not be wise to burn too much energy.”

Dante rubbed his chin. “I should be fine. If I need a break, I’ll let you know.”

“Dante, I don’t think wearing yourself out too soon is wise —,”

“We can’t waste time, dad.” Dante barked. “I’m not the one we should be worried about.”

Without waiting for Sparda’s response, he triggered.

Sparda’s eyes widened. Other than a brief glimpse of Vergil in the chaos of their earlier battle, he had never truly seen one of his sons in their demon form. This one was nothing like he expected. Half devils rarely were able to transform into something so wholly demonic, they were usually tied down by an image of their human selves.

This Dante was incredibly powerful. Sparda felt a swell of pride. He couldn’t help it — to think his son who had once been afraid of his demon side could have mastered such a form so completely.

And once more with no guidance from him.

Sparda reverted to his true self and they took to the blood stained sky.

Dante did end up needing to stop and rest, after which they were again swarmed by low to mid level demons. Once dispatched, Dante slumped onto the ground, looking surprised when Sparda joined him. 

“I will keep watch, if you need to sleep.”

Dante snorted, “No, I’m not that tired,” he seemed amused by Sparda’s worry. After a moment of silence, he quietly asked, “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I do not know, but if I was able to hold on, I believe Vergil will as well.”

“He’s been through too much, Dad, been imprisoned too much." He cursed, "It’s my fault he’s there now.”

“If it is anyone’s fault,” Sparda assured him, “then it is Caeloth’s. Do not despair for your brother yet, Dante. We are growing closer.”

As they flew once more, Sparda began to take stock of the state of the hell he had seen thus far. It was strange, how empty it seemed. When Dante said they would be beset by devils smelling his blood, his mind had naturally turned to enemies he once had. Demons he had betrayed or fought against in his youth, like Caeloth. So far, they had seen none.

Of course, he knew based on some of Dante’s devil arms that his sons had dispatched many of these demons in the past. But, the further they flew, the more he began to wonder, just how many had Dante actually taken out? And, did he have any idea what they meant to Sparda? He had continued Sparda’s work of protecting humanity, of course, and for that Sparda was immensely proud. But, layered in that success, Dante – and likely Vergil as well to some extent – had cleaned up the loose ends Sparda had left behind as well.

Immense though hell was, with Mundus sealed and many of his top supporters now dead, hell was relatively peaceful compared to how he remembered it. Dante had acheived so much so quickly. Things that Sparda himself had not been able to do in his thousands of years, somehow Dante had done in only a few decades. "Incredible," he murmured, his eyes fixed on his son.

Dante's head whipped around, "What was that?"

"Nothing, my son."

Finally, he felt it. He felt that inescapable heaviness that permeated the air around Tartarus. He and Dante had traveled far out past the Asphodel fields of hell, past the Styx and the Lethe, into a territory old and decrepit. There was no life out here, no demonic plant or creature, nothing but the dust of the ground and that overwhelming pressure.

He and Dante landed, and he pointed off into the distance. “That,” he told Dante, “is where we are headed.”

Dante squinted. “That big black lake?” He asked.

“It is no lake,” Sparda replied, “it is a hole.”

Dante raised his eyebrows.

“A hole that falls all the way down to Tartarus. The second we are caught in its pull, we will not be able to escape. Are you ready?”

Dante nodded. Sparda held out his hand. Dante looked down at it questioningly. 

“Hold my hand so that when we fall we will not be separated.”

“Are you serious?”

Sparda turned his best no-nonsense face to his son. Dante held up his hands in surrender.

“Okay,” he said, “okay, fine, let’s hold hands while we leap into a big ass pit.”

Chapter Text

DANTE

They didn’t so much leap into Tartarus as they were dragged by gravity itself. It made Dante think of old movies where a character was sucked into a black hole, their body spaghettified. He certainly felt like he was being stretched as he was plunged into a darkness that even his demonic senses couldn’t penetrate.

If not for Sparda clutching his hand in a death grip, Dante would have already been panicking.

They fell for what felt like hours. He tried calling out to Sparda at one point, but it was clear no noise penetrated the pressure as they fell through the dense air.

Eventually, they were in a cavern of blueish mist and black earth-like flesh. Dante’s ears popped as the pull of that dark cavern above finally let them go. Sparda used his wings to lower them to the ground, Dante still in his human form.

As they landed, Sparda reverted. Dante wanted to ask why he did that, if he preferred his human face, but it wasn’t the time for such questions. They needed to find Vergil.

As his thoughts turned to Vergil, Dante felt a vice grip his heart. 

I left him.

I killed him.  

“Dante!” Sparda grasped his shoulders. “Try to keep your emotions under control.”

“Got any tips?” Dante asked, already feeling the draining effect of having sorrow leeched from his soul.

“Focus on what we are here to do. Focus on following me, on finding your brother. Focus on your feet. Let the emotions flow off you, do not chase after them.”

Dante nodded. 

It was easier said than done, it turned out. With every step Dante felt more and more hollow. He had bad days, sometimes. Days where he lacked the energy to do anything more than sleep. He knew what that emptiness felt like, when just dredging up the energy to care was more than he could muster. 

He felt it now like a fog over his thoughts. It was all he could do to keep following Sparda. If Dante fell behind here, Sparda would still succeed, right? He was Sparda after all. He would save Vergil, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes Dante had over and over again.

It would be easier to leave it all to him.

SPARDA

He could feel Dante’s spark fading. He fared little better, but knowing his children were here facing the same cruel fate pushed him on.

“Dante,” he spoke, looking over his shoulder. “Tell me something.”

Dante looked confused. “Like what?” 

Sparda thought back. Dante rarely seemed to like to talk about himself, his past. The only thing Sparda had gotten him to truly open up over was…

“Your pistols. Where did you get them? They are fine craftmanship.”

“Oh, well,” Dante whipped out Ebony and Ivory. “Nell Goldstein made them custom for me. I kept breaking all the guns I tried, so she,” his voice trailed off.

His aura darkened more. Wrong topic, then. “What about Nero? How did you meet him?”

Dante took the switch of conversation in stride, “I was working a job, shot a vicar in the head, which pissed Nero off and earned me a dropkick to the face.”

Sparda chose to believe his son had both motive and tact in his killing of a clergyman.

“Figured he was Vergil’s when he shoved Rebellion through my chest,” he chuckled darkly.

While not what he expected, this seemed a step in the right direction. Sparda’s heart ached as he searched for a positive topic to try and distract his son. It was proving more difficult than he had hoped it would be.

“You and Vergil have been living together for a little while now, yes?”

“Yeah.”

There it was, a subtle bloom of positivity. Dante’s aura lit up ever so faintly. Sparda had long since learned that holding fast to your best memories was a useful trick here. He hated to see that his son seemed to have so few.

He listened as Dante told him about his and Vergil’s first real job together. The whole affair sounded awful, but Dante clearly thought of it fondly. 

The duo continued on, clinging to what little happiness they could find as time stretched eternally around them.

Eventually, Sparda stopped. “Here,” he said. 

“Why here?” 

Sparda scanned their surroundings. There was little but the putrid flesh of Tartarus as far as the eye could see, rising up like earth beneath them. Sparda summoned Titan. It was rumbling, a buzz that made the blade feel like a warhammer.

Dante eyed the weapon and stepped aside, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Sparda raised Titan as he had before and he swung, cutting into the fleshy earth beneath his feet. The weight of Titan made the slicing slow, and each new cut splattered him in the black ichor. He kept swinging, slicing, hammering away. He would not rest until his sons were free.

NERO

Nero was angry with himself. He let Dante run off again. So much for carrying his own weight this time around. When he got back to the office he called Kyrie and let her know what was going on. He was lucky to have her. When he said he didn’t know how long it would take, she told him to be careful and call when he could.

He didn’t deserve her kindness. Most women would have grown fed up with his bullshit long ago, he was sure.

He hadn’t been wandering around Devil May Cry long before the phone rang and Lady was shouting in his ear before he could get a word in, “Dante, I swear if you’ve taken off already I am going to shoot you in the head!”

Nero grimaced. “Yeah, he’s gone.”

“Dammit!” 

“How did you even know?”

“I’m with Trish, she just got a message. Said Sparda is alive? And your dad got trapped in a prison dimension?”

Nero sighed, “Yeah, that’s the gist of it. Sparda and Dante took off a few hours ago into hell.”

“And he left you behind?”

Nero bit his cheek. “Strategically,” he grumbled.

“Uh-huh,” she didn’t sound convinced. Nero rolled his eyes and relayed the plan.

“Need some help keeping an eye out for this ‘weird rift?’” She asked.

“How much is it going to cost me?”

“You? Nothing. This is Dante’s city, he’ll foot the bill.”

Nero could hear the smirk in her voice. “Alright, yeah, it would be helpful so I don’t miss it. Once they’re here, I have no idea what will happen.”

“Ain’t that always the case,” she sighed.

They chatted idly for a few more minutes, walking through a plan they could sustain for the foreseeable future. Then, Nero hung up. 

He sat in Dante’s desk chair and took the place in. Since Vergil moved in, things had been cleaner. Nero assumed that was from Vergil threatening Dante to pick up after himself more than Vergil acting as a maid, though. Nonetheless, picturing Vergil scrubbing toilets was fucking funny.

As he looked out at this empty shop from Dante’s chair, however, he felt incredibly lonely. Vergil had been here less than a year. Dante had lived here alone for…how many years, exactly?

He stood and made his way upstairs. If he was going to be staying here for an unforeseen amount of time, he was doing some light snooping. 

Dante’s loft was converted more or less into his bedroom. It was a mess, but Nero had seen it a few times already, usually when someone was injured.

To the right was a small hallway that led to a bedroom barely big enough for a bed and a small shelf. 

The neatness of this room gave away who laid their head here. Vergil’s scant wardrobe hung on hooks in the open single door closet. A small collection of books, including V’s old volume of William Blake, lay on the top shelf of his little bookcase. He couldn’t keep the melancholy smile off his face. This was his dad, trying to build a life for himself that he never had the chance to do in the past. He had come so far since returning from hell. Nero couldn’t imagine his life without him at this point.

Nero backed out and shut the door reverently. Curiosity sated, he headed back downstairs to wait.

He busied himself by patrolling and killing any demons he came across. After the first week, it was beginning to make him feel an all too familiar sense of panic. Last time, Vergil and Dante were gone for nine months. Nero didn’t want to be here alone for that much time again. He was already sick of waiting.

Two weeks slowly passed. Nero was sitting on a busted up ridge overlooking ground zero for the Qliphoth. Everything was quiet, the sky turning a bright orange as the sun began to set. He tossed a rock irritably, watching it cascade down the gulch before him. Maybe it was time to head back.

The ground began to shake.

Nero leapt to his feet, bracing himself. The shaking stopped. He had felt that once, right before Sparda tore the rift open. 

His eyes scanned the scenery around him, looking for some sign.

There.

Nero dashed toward his target, taking a running leap to clear some debris before skidding to a halt in front of a jagged line of luminous black.

“C’mon,” he muttered, looking for anything familiar. This had to be it.

He waited long enough he was afraid nothing would happen again. Then, the earth shook once again and the black seam peeled back a little more. He could see that glassy texture, same as last time, although he could not yet make anything out on the other side.

This was it.

Chapter Text

VERGIL

There were times when his hope faded, but he refused to curse Dante’s name. He knew, logically, there was no time here. He knew what felt like infinity to him, could be only hours for them.

If there was one thing he owed Dante after all this time, it was trust. 

“Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,” he cupped his hand and held it outstretched, ”and eternity in an hour.” He drew his hand into a fist and pulled it to his chest, closing his eyes. I will see them again.

It was all he could do to keep reassuring himself. 

Vergil had long since grown used to the oppressive air here, which made it shocking when that pressure intensified like a vacuum. 

Something was happening — but nothing happened here. Vergil stood up, summoning Yamato. She sang to him, then, rattling in her sheath. She wanted him to follow the vacuum, so he did.

Vergil didn’t let himself run. Running would indicate desperation or hope. No, it was much easier to focus on putting one foot before the other, keeping himself as neutral as he could. 

Before long, he heard a thunderous rumble, a cacophony of gigantic footsteps that shook the earth around him. He gazed to his right, then to his left. There, a ways off behind him, walked an enormous being. Vergil had never before seen a creature or demon so massive. 

Its body was layered in black, from its clawed talons to its curling horns. Its expression was blank. It lumbered forward, torso hunched, a glaive trailing behind splitting the surface of Tartarus.  Vergil felt a chill he hadn’t had in a long time. Danger.

Was it headed to the anomaly? Of course it was, what creature stuck in this accursed place wouldn’t seek change, even if potentially fatal?

Vergil sped up his pace, but his small stature could never hope to compete with a beast so large. Eventually, the titanous devil was above him. 

“Human,” the voice of the titan shook Vergil’s bones. He summoned Yamato and leapt away. 

“Give your blood to replenish my strength,” his voice sounded like a withered husk. Vergil wanted to ignore him, but the beast’s attention was fixed on him now. 

Vergil triggered, flying headfirst at the titan. He was swatted out of the air with unexpected speed by the glaive and crashed into the soft ground, black blood spurting around him. 

With that same unnatural speed, the giant leapt to him and stabbed the glaive down into his chest.

It pierced through his armor — it was agony. Perhaps he was wrong after all.

Dante wasn’t coming.  

Vergil knew he didn’t belong in the human world, anyway. Leading that sort of life was all too difficult, too draining — even more so than Tartarus. Nero’s life would be better without his influence. 

If this titan ended it all here, maybe he could finally rest. Vergil dropped his already broken trigger. He had never given up before, but there was a first time for everything. The titan raised the glaive over his head.

Vergil exhaled in relief and shut his eyes as a weight dropped from his shoulders. He awaited that final blow.

The blow never came. Vergil’s eyes fluttered open as the monster before him roared in pain. 

There, flying at eye level with the titan, was a fully triggered Dante carving into the creature’s face with his sword.

Sparda soon joined his son and attacked the hand holding the glaive, shattering bone with his massive sword.

Vergil had to double take as he watched Nero sprint to the titan’s ankles and fire his rocket arm at an achilles tendon, then rapidly burst across the distance to repeat the action to the other.

Vergil had to be dreaming. Perhaps the titan had run him through after all? The three of them couldn’t be here. 

“D-Dante,” he sputtered, his voice faint. No, this was a trick of Tartarus meant to cause him pain. It must be.

Dante was at his side in a moment. He dropped his trigger and leaned over Vergil.

“Vergil,” he tapped his cheek, “hey, stop playing around, you’re okay,”

Vergil met Dante’s eyes. “Are you real?” 

Dante hoisted Vergil up to a sitting position, gently pulling him close. He rested their foreheads together, heedless of the black viscera covering Vergil, one arm on his neck the other on his arm.

“I’m real, we all came to get you. We’re gonna get you out of this place.”

Vergil’s heart ached. The last year had been a reintroduction to his brother, to say the least, but also a reintroduction to humanity itself. Vergil had seen and grown to appreciate his brother’s brand of strength during that time, even if he wouldn’t admit it. He was ashamed to have forgotten it now.

“Come on, Verge,” Dante threw Vergil’s arm over his shoulders and hoisted him up. “We’re not too far from the gate. You just had to bring a friend, didn’t you?”

Vergil laughed faintly in his throat, “I know how you like a party,”

“Oh, spend a little time in prison and suddenly you have a sense of humor?”

Vergil smiled softly, “Perhaps your influence has finally rubbed off on me.”

Dante looked at him, surprise written on his face. Vergil avoided his gaze. Dante moved on quickly, attempting to cover the strangely vulnerable moment, “I don’t think I like the sound of that, I can think of, like, seven people that would say I am a terrible influence.”

Vergil glanced behind them. Sparda and Nero were still fighting. “We should help them,” Vergil said.

“No, we should get you the fuck out of here. You’ve been here long enough. They’ll be fine.”

“Nero can’t stay here,” Vergil insisted. He felt like his brain was struggling to keep up with his thoughts. Everything was fuzzy and disoriented.

“You’re in no condition to fight anyone,” Dante hissed. “It defeats the purpose of bringing everyone here to save you if you don’t let us do it.”

Vergil planted his feet, forcing Dante to stop. Dante turned to him in exasperation. “Vergil,” he growled.

“We can’t leave them,” he turned around and, mustering every ounce of strength he could, took off in the direction of the fight.

SPARDA

Sparda felt like he was a fly to this behemoth. Certainly, he was doing damage, but the damage didn’t seem to matter to a creature so desperate for survival. Untold centuries of suffering had hardened this titan into something that just didn’t care. He would either live, or die here. 

Nero had destroyed the titan’s ankles, and he fell to his knees. Even so, his arms flailed around him swatting and battering Sparda and his grandson around until he successfully snatched Nero from the air. 

Nero couldn’t hold his trigger as long as Dante or Vergil, and he hadn’t taken any time to adjust to the feel of Tartarus before racing off to join the fight. Sparda could see exhaustion in his movements. 

As he was caught in a hand larger than he was tall, his trigger dissipated and he cried out as the ancient devil began to crush him.

Sparda dove for the hand, but a blue blur beat him there. Vergil rained a hailstorm of judgement cuts down on the titan’s hand, obliterating it to shreds, his precision perfect enough each tendon was severed without laying a scratch on his son.

Dante flew forward, catching Nero as he fell. Vergil wasted no time as he flew past Sparda, straight at the titan’s throat. 

Despite heavy damage being done to his armor, Vergil still maintained his trigger. Sparda wouldn’t let him do this alone. 

He dashed to his son in a split second, catching his eye with a nod. He swung his blade around in a circle with all the force in his body and bashed it into the face of the titan, shattering its jaw, as Vergil dangled from Yamato’s hilt and sliced from sternum to stomach, gutting the towering demon.

A series of explosive shots rang out and a round from Kalina Ann II barreled through the creature’s open chest. It toppled over, his corpse retaining shape as it flopped into ichor.

From the corner of his eye, Sparda saw Vergil’s trigger dissipate while he was still in the air. He dove, catching Vergil just before he hit the ground. “You foolish child,” Sparda said tenderly. “Dante?” He called.

Dante, Nero secured on his back, shouted back, “Let’s get these idiots out of here before something else shows up.”

Chapter Text

VERGIL

When he came to, he found himself in Dante’s bed. He felt oddly groggy, like his emotions hadn’t caught back up with him, but he was home.

Home? Yes, he supposed, this was his home. Now more than ever. He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on Nero who slept with his head in his arms on the bed beside him.

Vergil had the urge to run his fingers through his hair, but he didn’t want to wake him. On his other side, perched in an old chair, was Dante. He too was out like a light.

It wasn’t a dream or an illusion, then. They really came for him. The stairs creaked faintly and Sparda appeared in the loft. His eyes softened when he saw Vergil awake.

He stepped lightly toward him and sat on the edge of the bed. Keeping his voice soft so as not to wake Dante and Nero, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

Vergil clenched a blanket in his fist, “Empty,” he admitted truthfully.

Sparda nodded slightly, his gaze searching. “It may take time before you feel,” he paused, “normal.”

“Ah, yes, because this shouldn’t be how I regularly feel.”

Sparda hesitated, “Is this how you normally feel?”

Vergil glanced at Dante to make sure he was still asleep. He either was actually asleep, or was an incredibly convincing pretender. “Sometimes it’s easier,” Vergil muttered.

“I can’t argue with you there.”

“How did you do it?” 

Sparda’s eyebrows pinched, “Do what?” He asked.

“How did you adjust to living as a human? To feel what they feel?” Vergil kept his eyes trained on his lap.

Sparda thought for a moment. “It was difficult,” he admitted, “and I doubt I could have done it without years of effort.” His gaze softened. “Having you boys and your mother, though, helped a lot. It’s hard to remember the good in your life when you’re alone.”

”I’m afraid little good has come from my life.”

Sparda’s face fell. Vergil glanced somberly at Nero. There is, at least, one good thing, he wanted to say. 

“Dante told me about the Qliphoth,” Sparda said.

Vergil expected to feel rage at Dante for sharing what was not his to tell, but it didn’t come. “I see,” he said. He squared his shoulders and looked Sparda in the eyes. “Then you know I have gone against your legacy twice, that I killed thousands to create the Qliphoth fruit. I’ll accept whatever judgement you give.”

Sparda tilted his head. “Judgement?” He asked. “Vergil, I am not here to judge you.”

“But you must—,” as his volume rose, Nero stirred in his sleep. Vergil lowered his voice again, “You’re the protector of the human world. You should view me as an enemy.”

“Should I?”

In the past, Vergil had learned to hold back his emotions. They brought nothing but pain, memory, and loss. In Tartarus, that instinct returned tenfold. Better not to feel, then live in pain.

That dam was cracking. Vergil fought to keep his composure. 

“Vergil,” Sparda began without waiting for his response, “do you believe someone cannot change who they are?”

“I—,” Did he believe that?  

"Humans live such short lives, but they never stop changing. An old man could see the error of his ways on his deathbed and feel regret. A child raised to see a certain way can make their own path in adulthood.” 

Sparda smiled. It was the soft smile Vergil never thought he would see again, the one his father used to have when he read poetry to him in the library. 

“Demons change infinitely slower, if at all. My life with you boys and your mother has been a blink in the span of my life. And, while they were and continue to be the best years of my existence, I am nothing today like I once was.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Vergil clenched his teeth.

“Perhaps not,”

His eyes prickled. Tears? When was the last time he cried? To do it now would be shameful.

“But,” Sparda laid his hand on Vergil’s knee, “neither do you deserve my retribution.”

A ragged breath escaped Vergil’s lips, but he refused to look up.

“All I can hope to do is try and be there for you as your mother was for me. You can change, my son, if you want to.”

Vergil finally looked at his father. All this time he had feared what he would say. Rather than the disgust and disdain he had once imagined, Sparda looked at him mournfully, but with a spark of hope. He mourned for what Vergil had done, for what he had been turned into,  but what was stopping Vergil from being better now?

“You make it sound so simple,”

Sparda huffed, “Hardly. Changing the way you see the world is no laughing matter. It’s the most difficult thing in the world, in fact. But, even if I was not here, you’ve got some good guidance.” He glanced at Nero. “Our children give us the chance to see our lives differently. To better ourselves, to be someone they can emulate.”

“I,” Vergil hesitated, “I want to become someone he can be proud of,”

Sparda’s smile grew wider. “Oh, my boy, I think you already are.”

Chapter Text

DANTE

Dante woke up to the sound of Sparda and Vergil talking. Rather than interrupt, he tried to keep his breathing deep and even. His heart felt full to bursting by the end. How could it not? Was he supposed to pretend he hadn’t heard any of that? 

Vergil would surely run him through if he knew. Dante smiled for the briefest of moments before quickly catching himself.

“Well,” Sparda said, “I think I will…go for a walk.”

So much for pretending to be asleep.

He kept up the act until Sparda exited the shop. 

“I know you’re awake, Dante.” 

Dante kept his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling as he opened his eyes. He grinned.

“How much of that did you hear?” Vergil hissed at a whisper. 

“How much of what?” He asked.

Vergil was no fool. He would know Dante was lying, but it didn’t matter. Dante resumed his position and shut his eyes again, but the smile stayed where it was.

“Wipe the grin off your face,”

“Nope,” He glanced at Vergil, truly taking in his appearance. He still looked run down, but there was the faintest teasing quirk to his expression. For the last year, Vergil had been haunted by his past, but he rarely spoke of it. 

He never brought his problems to Dante. It had been incredibly painful, knowing there was little to nothing he could do. They both had their wounds, but somehow life had brought them back together — had given them back their father.

It hit Dante then. 

Up until now, he hadn’t been able to fully purge his fear of losing Vergil to his demon side or hell again. The wound had lingered, even as he watched his brother try to live a normal life. 

Vergil.

Nero.

Sparda. 

His living family, all returned to him, all currently residing under his roof in his home. 

Dante leaned forward on his knees, letting hair fall over his eyes. He put his hands on his forehead. 

Vergil’s voice was low and hopelessly tender as he said, “Devil may cry, indeed.”

Dante’s silent tears turned to laughter. It started low, quiet in his attempt to let Nero sleep. Slowly it built until his shoulders shook and he couldn’t contain himself.

The smile on Vergil’s face and slight shake of his head was worth it. 

NERO

“Will you two shut the fuck up? Some of us are sleeping,” Nero groaned as he awakened to a truly odd sight. 

Dante was laughing. Not his standard trying to be cool laugh, but a real laugh. On top of that oddity, Vergil was casually smiling. 

“Don’t tell me when we left Tartarus we ended up in the Twilight Zone or some shit,”

Dante snorted. “Don’t mind us, kid, just a couple of old fools.”

“Yeah, you didn’t need to tell me that.” Nero stretched, popping his neck. 

He turned to Vergil, “How are you, uh…feeling?”

“I’m fine, Nero,”

“Good,” Nero chewed on his lip.

Dante slapped his knees and stood. “I’m gonna find Dad, make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Father is not a trouble magnet like someone ,” Vergil teased. 

Dante held a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Me? Cause trouble? Perish the thought.” 

Nero rolled his eyes and shooed Dante away. “Just get out of here,” he grumbled.

With a final grin Dante climbed down the stairs and exited the shop after Sparda.

Nero’s ears turned faintly pink. “I’m glad you're alright. Don’t ever do something like that again.”

“Were you worried?”

At first, Nero thought Vergil was teasing him. But as he met his fathers eyes, he realized he wasn’t at all. He was asking, timidly, as if seeking reassurance. 

“Of course I was!” He blurted. “I don’t know, I’ve gotten used to having you around, I guess.” Nero’s face felt warm, but he pressed on. “I always used to wish I knew my parents and…” He sighed. “A lot of things in my life haven’t ended up the way I thought they would. But, I don’t regret stopping you and Dante.”

He met Vergil’s gaze. “I’m happy where we’re at, Dad. I don’t want to lose you. Not after the effort we’ve both put into this to make it work.”

Vergil’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Nero.”

“What for?”

Vergil gently shook his head. “Sparda once told me that our family was possible because he had the power to keep us safe. I took that to heart as a child, especially after what happened.”

Nero watched Vergil closely, patiently waiting for him to continue his thought.

“When I first tried to gain the power of Sparda back then, it was out of fear. I was so sick of running. I wanted that power so that I could feel safe — so that I could make those I cared about safe. I like to think that, had I succeeded, I would have returned to your mother.”

“But, you said you didn’t know about me,”

“I didn’t,”

Nero felt exposed. Has Vergil ever been so open with him? Perhaps once or twice, but to freely admit he even considered settling down with Nero’s mother—Nero could only gape. “You’re serious?”

Vergil hummed. “I don’t know how the me of the past would have reacted to having a child, but,” he paused, "Yes, I think I would have gone to see her again, once it was safe to do so.”

Nero let that information sit. To think, in another life he might have known Vergil. How would that have changed him? There was little doubt they would not be where they were now. 

“Can I ask you something?” Nero ventured.

Vergil dipped his chin, “You just did, but ask away.”

“Why did you hate Dante so much? All that time, why didn’t the two of you just, I don’t know, talk?”

The corner of Vergil’s mouth raised slightly. “Perhaps you have noticed that talking does not come naturally to us.”

Nero folded his arms. He wasn’t about to accept that answer.

Vergil sighed through his nose, resigned. “I never hated Dante,”

Nero raised an eyebrow.

“Not in the way I have hated others. If I truly hated him, I would not be here. I was,” he searched for the words, “angry at him. I thought he abandoned me. I thought I had been the one to suffer, while he got away from it all. And, he was just so insufferable back then,”

Nero smirked, he could only imagine.

“I thought he didn’t want anything to do with me. And then he acted like he hated me, like he was prepared to kill me.”

“Didn’t you stab him first?”

“Yes, but I did not kill him.”

Nero shook his head. “Whatever, I think I understand. This whole family is complicated. But, you know?” He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I think I’m happy to be a part of it.”

“I’m glad. Our lives would be very different without you, Nero.”

Nero rubbed his neck and ducked his head to hide his blush.

Chapter Text

SPARDA

“Really? That’s all you got?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, old man!” Nero leapt at Dante furiously, Red Queen drawn.

Dante absorbed his blows with Royal Guard, as he had been for the last ten minutes.

“Still such a child,” Vergil huffed, eyes on his twin. 

Sparda spared him a glance. “It is a rather impressive ability.”

Vergil scoffed. “If by impressive you mean it is an easy way out of a fight, then I agree. It certainly affords him the time to be lazy in battle.”

Sparda folded his arms, “I take it you do not have a similar ability, then?”

Vergil glared dangerously at him. Had it been anyone other than his kin, it might have sparked Sparda’s instincts to fight.

“I have no need for such an ability, my swordsmanship and speed are plenty refined.”

Sparda held in a smirk. Still so easy to rile him up.

Vergil turned to the mock battle before them. “Nero,” he shouted, “I’m taking over,”

Nero went flying as his momentary distraction led to an opening for Dante to unleash the pent up energy from his guard. From amongst a pile of rubble he whined, “No, we said thirty minutes! It’s barely been fifteen! I haven’t even hit the fucker yet!”

“You’ll just have to try again next time,”

Dante laughed. “Sorry, kid, I don’t think Vergil will let up on this—,”

Nero attacked Vergil from behind. Before anyone could bat an eyelash, a portal from Yamato dumped Nero off at Sparda’s left. The speed with which Vergil could wield the Yamato was a sight to behold. Sparda had always hoped it would be so, but to see it himself made his heart swell.

Both of his boys, the pride of his life, the legacy left of his beloved. He turned to Nero, who continued to lay where he was dumped on his back. He felt he had much to owe to this boy. From what he knew now, Dante and Vergil might have killed one another without him.

His sons began their spar, and Sparda saw the shadow of the children they once were in their movements. Where once he was their coach, their teacher, now he could do nothing but watch and stand in awe of how far they had come.

From beside him, still pouting from his place upon the ground, Nero grumbled, “Your sons are both assholes,”

Sparda chuckled, sitting himself down beside Nero. “They get that from their father’s side.”

Nero stared at him until Sparda eventually gave him a questioning glance.

“Sorry,” Nero’s ears blushed and he sat up properly, focusing back on the fight. “I’m just not used to having you…here yet.”

“I understand,” Sparda nodded, “I’m sure you never thought you would meet your grandfather,”

“Well, it’s more than that,”

Sparda raised an eyebrow.

Nero absently fiddled with his devil breaker. “I told you I was raised on Fortuna,”

“You did,”

“Guessing you hadn’t checked in on that place in a while before you went MIA?” Nero asked.

Sparda thought back. Truly he had not gone there in a long time, since years before he met Eva. With the protection of the Order, he thought it was one of the few places he didn't need to keep under close watch.

“Did something happen?”

Nero scoffed. “Only the worshiping of one Savior,” he pointed a finger at Sparda.

“Worship?” 

“Oh, yeah, like full on culty shit. Before I even met Dante I knew all about you,”

It wasn’t unheard of, especially not over the years of Sparda’s existence, but the modernness of it felt strange to Sparda. To think people were worshiping him — that his grandson was worshiping him — during the lifetime of his children was difficult to grasp.

“Was your mother in this cult as well?”

Nero’s eyes hardened and he looked back to his devil breaker. “From what Vergil has said, I think so, but there’s only so much he could tell me.”

It seemed personal, and a sore topic, so Sparda let it drop. He need not know the answer to everything right away. 

“I am sorry, both for your mother, and that you were raised so,”

Nero smirked, “Wasn’t so bad, most of the time. Looking back, I may have been a freak, but I at least had skills they could use. Kinda doubt I’d fit in better anywhere else now.”

“It is not easy for a hybrid to survive alone,” Sparda said wistfully. Dante and Vergil battled before them, clearly taking it easy on one another in their own way. Limited only to blades and no other tricks, they sliced and parried away endlessly, neither gaining leverage on the other. 

A long dormant part of himself itched to join the fight, but another more dominant piece was content to simply watch his boys.

“Yeah,” Nero said, “I get that now. I thought both of them were just,” he sighed, “well, they are assholes, like I said, “but I think I understand them better now.“

“We all owe so much to you, Nero.” 

Nero laughed, “Nah, I haven’t really done anything.”

Sparda faced his grandson. “That is not true,” he pressed, “I do not believe Vergil and Dante would have put aside their squabbling if not for you. I wasn’t there when Eva died, but I know now those boys hung on her every word. They lived for her, and she reminded them of their better nature. Without her, they were surely lost.”

Nero shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but he said nothing.

Sparda continued, “Having twins was both a blessing and a curse. They had someone to relate to in a world where they would always be different. But, they also had a rival. And, as I’m sure you noticed, devils — especially young devils —don’t appreciate rivals.”

“No kidding,”

“You have the power of a demon, but your soul is human. And those two?” He gestured at where Vergil and Dante continued to slash at one another with vicious speed, “You’ve given both of them the very thing that helped me find purpose in my life, the very thing Eva gave them.”

Nero’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s that?”

“Family.” Sparda smiled. “Someone to improve for, someone to care for, to train — to love. Even though both of them are horrible at expressing it.”

Nero’s already pink face was deepening a shade of red. “God,” he whined, “you’re so sappy! You’ve completely ruined the image of the Savior, now,” 

Sparda chuckled, “I suppose that is true.”

Nero hopped to his feet. “I am, um,” he scratched the back of his neck, “glad you’re around though.” Then, he sprang forward toward the fight. “Hey! Deadbeat uncle! I’m tagging in!” He shouted at Dante.

“Vergil and I just started, kid, you gotta wait your turn.”

“No, you still owe me for looking after your shop again. We’re swapping now, my turn.”

“Perhaps, Nero, we should test the limits of Dante’s Royal Guard.” Vergil sneered, holding Yamato aloft menacingly.

“Ah,” Nero hefted his blade and went to stand by Vergil. “I get you. Teach him a lesson, then?”

“Hey,” Dante held up a finger, “I can take both of you any day, but…If we’re being fair maybe we should do two vs two? Dad?” He glanced at Sparda.

Still sitting upon the ground as he was, Sparda felt no inclination to move. “No thanks, son, I’ll be challenging the winner. Or, I suppose, winners.”

Dante held his hand over his heart. “Dammit, you wound me, pops. Okay, fine, I can kick both your asses and make it home in time to order pizza before rush hour.” He summoned Devil Sword Dante and gave it a swing.

“And when we win,” Nero laughed, “we get to pick the food. And it will not be pizza.”

The battle started, and Sparda watched the three of them with a smile on his face.