Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nero had just stepped out of the shower, had gone downstairs to change the laundry when a crackle of energy split open in his living room. The portal opened violently, the hell landscape appearing before him. In the darkness a man steps through, haggard and dripping blood.

Nero dived for his gun, he never went anywhere without a weapon these days. But in a second a hand caught his wrist, too strong, too precise. Not cruel, not rushed, but deliberate. Nero’s gun slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a heavy thunk.

What the hell?

His free arm swung back, his demonic ghostly blue arms sparking to life.

"Wait," came the voice. His eyes adjusted to the darkness to see his true face

The man standing in front of him was filthy. His coat hung in tatters, blood and soot soaked into the seams. Long silver hair clung damply to his face. He was breathing too hard for someone who just disarmed him like it was nothing.

But Nero knew him.

"…Vergil?"

Vergil’s eyes flared with alarm the moment the name passed Nero’s lips. He dropped Nero’s arm like it had burned him, stepping back fast—too fast. His tired eyes glazed over Nero, then over the room. "You…" Vergil’s voice cracked, hoarse and unfamiliar. "This is your residence?"

"Yeah? You’re in my living room. Were you planning on ambushing me with not even a hello? Jesus..” Nero raked his hand through his hair, panic subsided. “And where’s Dante?”

His question was answer quickly when a familiar man in a red coat stepped through the portal. He was also grimy, ash covering his once white hair. He shook off the smoke from his guns as the portal shut behind him.

He also took stock of the clean living room he was standing in.

Dante raised a brow. “How the hell- no pun intended- did you break into Nero’s house, Verge?.”

"I didn’t realize-

Nero finally sighed, bending down to pick up Blue Rose. His heartbeat was still too fast.

"Can someone explain what the hell’s going on? Why are you two back? Where the fuck have you been ?"

"We had enough of our little brotherly catch-up in hell and decided Fortuna was our favourite stomping ground.” He shook his hair out like a dog. “thought we could find a cheap hotel to clean up and figure out what to do next," Dante said, sauntering in like this was a totally normal reunion. "Didnt expect to pop in invited, sorry kid. “

Nero sighed, seeing how this night couldn’t get any worse, accepted the two sweaty, hell covered demon hunters were here now. “Great. Well, behave yourselves. Kyrie and the kids are upstairs. Sleeping.”

Dante only hummed in agreement before stealing an apple off the kitchen counter, and plopped himself down on the arm of Nero’s beat-up couch like he owned the place, still chewing, completely unfazed. “Nice digs, by the way. Kinda rustic. Oh sweet! You guys have a fancy shamncy CD player!

“You’re a menace,” Nero muttered, rubbing at his temple. He sat down next to Dante. He was secretly pretty happy to see Dante was fine, uninjured from his time in hell. 

He felt Dante’s boot nudge his shin. “Missed you too, brat.”

It was familiar—this easy ribbing, this rhythm. Six months gone, and yet it slipped right back into place like no time had passed at all.

Vergil stood silently, his eyes focus. Nero didn’t think he ever saw the man smile. 

“Well, I don’t have much space here. But you two are welcome to the couch here and downstairs. I’m making breakfast in the morning-“ Nero stopped mid sentence, glancing between Dante and Vergil. He leaned into Dante to ask “Does… he eat? Like, human food?”

Dante barked a laugh. “I think so! Don’t worry about it, we’ll be out of your hair soon. We’ll talk more in the morning. I’m beat.” He said, shuffling out of his jacket, and laying casually across the sofa. 

Vergil just hummed. Nero tried to look at him, to study him. Vergil held his gaze, he’s whole demeanour so different from Dante in every way. 

Not disapproving exactly. But distant . Nero had never seen someone look so… removed. Like he was physically present and still miles away, watching something he didn’t think he was allowed to touch.

The moment their eyes met, Vergil blinked once, slow and cool, and turned away.

Okay, that was weird.

Nero frowned.

"…So," he said, shifting on the couch to face him more fully. “You’re not gonna sit down, or…?”

Vergil didn’t answer at first. He just hovered by the counter, spine straight but a little too tight. His hand kept brushing the edge of his sword—over and over, a subtle fidget Nero wouldn’t have expected from someone so infamously composed.

“I’ll remain standing,” Vergil finally said. “We don’t intend to stay long.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to stay near your real family,” Nero shot back, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Vergil didn’t even acknowledge the comment, instead gazing down to his hands. The skin looked too pale beneath the grime, tinged grey-blue. His coat sleeves were shredded, and underneath, bruises marbled his arms like spreading ink. Cuts dribbled blood down his arm

“Hey,” Nero said, tone sharpening. “You listeninf? Is that still healing-

“It is of no matter. Hell provided all sorts of… activities. I appreciate your kindness for the residence for the night. However, I am not Dante, and while I am your father, we have no relation. I will keep our interactions short. Goodnight.” He hid his arm behind his back, and shuffled down the hallway towards the basement. 

Nero gaped like a fish, but didn’t feel like arguing with the man. While shocked, Nero couldn’t help but feel that Vergil, he just looked… tired.

“Well,” Dante said. “That could’ve gone worse.”

“Could it?” Nero muttered, then scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Because I’m not so sure.”

Dante sighed and pushed off the couch, meandering toward the tiny kitchen in search of something to drink. “He’s not a big talker. But he’s here. That’s progress.”

“That’s avoidance,” Nero shot back. “He looks like hell, Dante. And I mean worse than usual.”

Dante didn’t deny it.

Nero exhaled hard through his nose, then dropped onto the couch, the fabric sighing beneath him. He stared at a tear in the upholstery he kept meaning to patch. Anything to avoid Dante’s eyes.

“He’s my father. I still haven’t had a chance to think about it.”

Dante paused mid-swig from a half-flat soda. “Yeah.”

Nero stared down at his hands, flexed them once.

“I thought you could of been my father. But you’re my uncle… I guess.” Dante made no noise, but look surprised himself to be thinking about the fact.

“I thought finally knowing would change something. That it’d explain all the weird… pieces. The strength. The anger. The hair. I dunno. Something.”

Dante sat across from him, not interrupting.

“It didn’t. He’s still just… a guy.” He almost spat the word, then sighed. “But I don’t even know him. I know you but he’s just so… difficult. How am suppose to have Urizen as a dad? . ”

“Well, you don’t have to like him,” Dante said, voice even. “But he’s changed quite a bit. You liked V, a least a little bit, right? That’s still him.”

Nero didn’t answer right away. Then, a quieter voice: “I guess I see it, a little bit.”

Silence stretched between them.

Eventually, Dante leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Morrison’s still working on the deed. Might take another week, maybe two. In the meantime, I figure we stay put. Clean up some of these demon nests. Keep an eye on things.”

“And on Vergil,” Nero said without looking up.

Dante smiled faintly. “You said it. I didn’t.”

The basement was quiet.

A small couch and table, almost too short for his tall frame. It smelled faintly of oil, nothing like home, but better than hell.

Vergil sat on the edge of the couch, Yamato leaned within arm’s reach against the wall. The weight of his coat hung heavily on his shoulders, sweat-soaked from months fighting. 

With a sigh, he shrugged off the coat and laid it beside him,folding it mechanically. His eyes drifted to his forearms, knowing what looked back at him.

Faint, at first, dark lines trailing beneath his skin like splintered obsidian, pulsing softly in time with his heartbeat. They webbed across his forearms, sharp and metallic, as though forged under his skin. The edges shimmered when he moved. Almost like armor.

The beginning of his downfall. His original prison that had shackled him. Hollowed him. Turned him into a weapon.

His throat closed. Not in fear, mostly in disgust. His time as Nelo Angelo had been so vivid, but he tried to suppress the memories anyway.

Vergil flexed his fingers. A faint ache flared in the joints. The veins didn’t hurt. Not yet. But they felt… wrong . Not like magic, but like rot. He opened the Yamato with a clink , checking his reflection in the surface. No cracks in his face. No visible signs in his eyes. He still looked like himself.

If Dante knew… No. It wasn’t worth debating. Surely his brother would kill him, and Vergil will welcome it. 

Perhaps he can delay it, his inevitable fate. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he slept like a human.

The wind off the Fortuna cliffs was sharp, slicing clean across the open field just outside the city. Vergil stood at its center, coat flaring in the wind, Yamato sheathed at his side. 

The sun sat low behind drifting cloud cover, casting long shadows across the ruins of an old chapel wall. No one came this far out anymore. That was precisely why he had chosen it.

He exhaled slowly and drew Yamato.

The sound was satisfying—steel hissing from the scabbard, the quiet hum of energy curling around the blade. He took a stance, focused. The movements were meditative at first. Familiar. Clean.

Draw. Step. Slash. Sheathe. Again.

He felt so wrong.. being in the human world again. Hell had been more comfortable. That was until Dante noticed him not healing as quickly, and had forced him to consider returning. 

Dante wasn’t fully aware of what his adulthood in hell consisted of. Vergil himself didn’t truly remember the whole timeframe, reality warped. But as soon as he started feeling th presence of him again, deep in his core. He was eager to leave hell as well.

He slashed at the stone wall.

Over and over.

But his concentration faltered with every breath. There was a pulse beneath his skin. Not like a heartbeat. Something... slower. Heavier. It dragged at his limbs like mud, made the edge of his sword feel heavier than it had in decades.

He gritted his teeth and continued.

Draw. Step. Slash.

Pain bloomed behind his eyes like cracked glass. His vision twitched—just for a second—and he saw the field not as it was, but as something else. Dark. Warped. The grass burnt to ash.

He blinked. It vanished.

He adjusted his grip.

The pulse came again—low, awful, crawling up his spine.

He refused to stop.

____

Nero hovered nearby, perched on the edge of a tall outcropping, arms crossed over his chest as he watched. He hadn’t said anything yet, not wanting to interrupt.

Vergil was meticulous when he trained, razor-focused and borderline obsessive. But today, something was off.

His strikes weren’t as sharp. His pauses lingered too long. And his breathing... Nero wasn’t sure, but it looked too shallow. Too forced.

Vergil moved again. A practiced swing.

Then he stumbled.

It was so brief that Nero almost missed it. Yamato caught the fall, blade digging into the earth. Vergil stayed hunched, a hand pressed to the side of his head, shoulders shaking.

Nero stood. “Hey, Vergil?”

No response.

And then, a yell tore out of Vergil, wild and raw, like an animal in a trap.

The sky seemed to shiver.

Yamato ignited in his hand as energy surged outwards, the impact blowing the tall grass flat for meters. Nero was forced to raise his Devil Bringer arm to shield himself from the blast of heat that followed.

Dark, curling energy slithered up his arms, licking across his shoulders. His coat flapped violently in the updraft. And his face-

His face was blank. Unseeing. Skin tight and grey.

His body jerked like something had pulled his strings too tight.

Nero flew down fast, boots skidding across the scorched field. “Vergil! Hey! Snap out of it!”

His body went limp. He hit the ground hard, knees first, then collapsed sideways into the grass.

Nero caught him before he faceplanted, grabbing him by the back of the coat.

“Shit, Vergil, hey, stay with me.”

No response.

His breathing was ragged, sweat pouring off him despite the wind. For a terrifying moment, Nero thought he wasn’t breathing at all. Then Vergil choked once, violently, and curled in on himself with a shudder.

Nero laid him on his side, gently but firm. There were no wounds. No blood. But the skin around his temples and neck shimmered faintly, like heat over pavement. Beneath his coat, thin black lines curled up his jaw like cracks in old porcelain.

Not fatigue. Not just fatigue.

Vergil’s eyes snapped open, but he didn’t see Nero.

“No. No, not again. Don’t... stop... I said I won’t kneel!”

Nero froze.

Vergil was trembling. He pleaded with something broken and hollow.

“Let me out. Let me out let me ouT!”

Nero reached out slowly. “Vergil… it’s Nero. You’re not—no one’s hurting you, okay? It’s over. You’re safe.”

Vergil jerked like he’d been burned, eyes wide with memory. His hand came up as if to hit Nero, but the motion died halfway. His arm fell limp into the grass.

His breathing slowed. The tension bled out of him.

Then, silence.

Vergil blinked against the sun as awareness returned. His body felt like iron, like he’d fought through stone and fire and hadn’t quite come out whole.

Nero was kneeling beside him, mouth set in a thin line.

“How much did you see?” Vergil asked hoarsely, not looking at him.

Nero hesitated. “Enough to know that wasn’t normal.”

Vergil pushed himself upright slowly. He didn’t answer.

“What the hell was that?” Nero asked, less accusatory now. “That wasn’t just a flashback, or whatever.”

Vergil stood. “It was nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

He turned to retrieve Yamato, now embedded halfway across the field. Nero followed him but kept a respectful distance.

Vergil yanked the blade free and sheathed it with a practiced motion. “It’s not your concern.”

“I think it is,” Nero said. “If you’re out here blacking out and blowing holes in the landscape, someone’s gotta know why. Is this some… aftereffect of the underworld?”

Vergil flinched again, barely perceptible, but Nero caught it.

“Vergil?”

Silence. Then, coldly: “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

Nero folded his arms. “No, but maybe you need something. I can get Dante.”

“He’s not my babysitter,” Vergil’s jaw tightened. “This is temporary. It will pass.”

“Yeah?” Nero didn’t hide the sarcasm. “Didn’t look like it.”

Vergil turned away, but not before Nero caught the flicker of something in his eyes. Fear? Shame? He couldn’t tell. But it rattled him more than he wanted to admit.

He didn’t press.

Instead, he said quietly, “Dante and I are heading into the Redgrave tomorrow. We’ve got a few nests to clean out. You coming, or should I be worried you’re gonna start growing hell trees again?”

Vergil didn’t answer right away.

Eventually, he gave a curt nod. Nero could still see black lines on his neck. Vergil triggered and darted into the sky.

Chapter Text

Dante was trying to be on his best behaviour. The table was too small for four. It wobbled when Nero leaned on it, and one of the chairs creaked every time he shifted his weight. Now Dante had fought demons as tall as buildings, rabid dogs, bugs, lizards, you name it. But he had never encountered such a terrifying situation as having dinner with Nero and Kyrie.

His nephew, Nero.

Still, there was something disarming about the whole affair. Candlelight. Mismatched plates. Dante hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal since… better not think about it.

Kyrie appeared first, smiling as she carried in a steaming dish. “I hope pasta’s alright. It’s been a while since I cooked for guests.”

“It’s perfect,” Nero said, brushing flour off his shirt as he followed with a second tray. “Dante eats like a vacuum, and I figured we should feed him before he breaks anything.”

Dante grinned, already halfway into pulling his chair back. “Aww, look at you, hosting dinner like a real adult. I’m touched.”

Nero flipped him off with a smile.

And Vergil?

Vergil was seated so stiffly in his chair he might as well have been nailed to it. Back straight, eyes forward, shoulders tense. 

“Soo…” Nero said between mouthfuls. “There was an incident, this morning, Dante”.

Vergil shot daggers at Nero with his eyes. Knowing that Vergil could summon daggers out of thin air, that might come true any second. 

Dante simply hummed, not looking up from his food. 

“Vergil was acting strange, it was… bad. I don’t mean pry about hell or anything now you two are back, but since we’re actually related-”

Dante raised his eyebrows. “Verge? What did you do?”

Vergil snapped at his brother. “Nothing of the sort. Nero is making up stories, I was training this morning and he observed.” 

“Look, I’m just worried about you, it wasn’t normal-“

Nero opened his mouth to protest, before Kyrie put a firm hand on his shoulder.

He clenched his jaw.

“Vergil?” Kyrie’s voice broke through gently. “Would you like some wine?”

“…Yes. Thank you.”

She poured him a glass with a smile. He forced a polite nod and lifted the glass, hoping no one saw the way his fingers trembled just slightly as he drank.

Nero talked about the last mission, some lesser demon breaking into a supermarket, nothing major. Kyrie laughed at one of Dante’s exaggerated stories.

“So,” Nero said, trying to fill the awkward tension with Vergil, but still a little bit on edge, “how’s it feel, being back in Fortuna and not, y’know, actively trying to take over the human world?”

Vergil blinked. Slowly. “I’ve no particular feelings about the city.”

“You have obviously been here before. Since I’m here” he coughed awkwardly. “But then you tried to open a portal to hell”

“Precisely. A failed endeavor. I’ve moved on.”

Dante barely held in a snort. “Yeah, Nero, get with the program. He’s reformed. Enlightened. Probably thinking about opening a yoga studio.”

Nero laughed loudly. “That would be a sight! Demon yoga. Say, father , are you to joining the family business?”

Vergil cleared his throat. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather be stabbed.” And beneath his sleeves, the spreading in arms pulses. He bit down a grunt as it throbbed

Dante put down his fork, amusement clearly in his eyes. “Nero, you think I would share with my brother? Not in a million years, he can go get a job himself!”

“But you said it was a family business, old man. So, Vergil, what do you have to lose?” Nero teased.

“My patience,” Vergil mumbled.

Dante smiled, but he noticed the way Vergil’s left hand stayed clenched under the table. How his jaw only moved to chew when he thought no one was watching. How a sheen of sweat had begun to form just under his hairline, even though the room was barely warm.

He leaned back, letting the wooden chair creak, and casually stretched a leg under the table, just enough to bump Vergil’s foot.

The flinch was instant. Barely visible to anyone else, but Dante caught it. Shit.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “Nero, you got painkillers?”

Nero blinked. “Since when do you ask for those?”

“Since I pulled something earlier in a fight. Or maybe it was from listening to your whining all day. Not sure.”

Nero huffed but stood up anyway. “Top drawer in the bathroom. Help yourself.”

Dante got up, but not before walking behind Vergil’s chair and giving his shoulder a quiet squeeze. Not hard. Not obvious.

Kyrie had gone back to the kitchen, humming softly. The awkward quiet returned.

Until Nero broke it.

“You know, I probably won’t call you dad or anything” Nero muttered, just loud enough for someone to take it personally. “It’s not like I really grew up with you.”

Vergil didn’t answer, but his fork paused mid-bite.

“And I don’t need a father.” Nero pushed, clearly upset but poorly trying to conceal the tremble of anger in his voice “Because I don’t give a damn. But Dante seems to care about you.”

Vergil’s hand tightened around the utensil. His jaw locked.

Nero just slumped at the lack of response, disappointment evident. He scowled. “Do you even care?”

Vergil didn’t really seem to be listening, he kept rubbing the sleeves on his arms up and down. Dante returned just in time to see Vergil standing abruptly, the chair legs scraping back on the floor with a sharp squeal.

“I have no interest in participating in whatever performance of family this is,” he said, voice ice-smooth. “I did not ask to be brought into this house, and I certainly did not ask for your judgment.”

Nero stood too, the chair wobbling behind him. “I’m not judging you, I’m trying to talk to you!”

Vergil’s hand twitched, his right arm shuddering slightly beneath the fabric of his coat. He winced, barely perceptible, but Dante caught it.

Then, suddenly, Vergil’s fingers spasmed. His whole shoulder shook. 

Vergil drew his arms behind his back, stiffening.

“I can’t pretend to be a human father, because I’m not one. You want answers? I have none.” His eyes cut to Nero, and for once, softened. “You’re owed better than I can give.”

Nero stepped forward, “Vergil-”.

But Vergil was already gone.

In a flicker of blue energy, he disappeared—left behind nothing but the swirl of air and the sharp tang of ozone.

“Nice going,” Nero muttered, kicking his chair leg. More under his breath to himself than anything.

“Hey.” Dante crossed the room and nudged him with a knuckle to the shoulder. “Not about you. I’ll get him” and marched outside.

The ruins behind Fortuna’s cathedral weren’t much to look at—just half a collapsed tower, some twisted old fencing, and wild ivy claiming what was left. But it was quiet. Remote. The kind of place you came to think , if you were the prideful, brooding  type.

So, naturally, Dante knew exactly where to find his brother.

He walked without urgency, boots crunching against gravel, sword slung across his back. A smoke hung in the air, faint and acrid. Not cigarette smoke. Not wood.

Metal. Charred metal. And flesh.

He rounded the remains of a broken wall, and stopped dead.

Vergil knelt in the overgrown grass, coat slung over a rock, bare arms exposed to the cold. His sleeves were shredded again, scorched from the elbow down. But that wasn’t what made Dante freeze.

It was what Vergil was doing .

With one hand, he was holding his forearm steady. With the other, a summoned sword glowing brightly with energy- he was burning something from his skin. Not slicing, not peeling. Burning . 

Blackened, metallic fragments hissed and cracked as they broke loose and fell into a growing pile at his knees. Vergil hissed in pain at each strike he drove into his forearm. 

The skin beneath wasn't even skin, but exposed charred muscle. The blood streaming down his hands into the ground threatened to make Dante gag. Pieces of metal grew out of the rest of his arms, pulsing dark.

Dante took a step forward. Gravel shifted beneath his foot.

Vergil stiffened.

The sword vanished instantly, snuffed with a flick of his wrist. He rose without turning, yanking his coat roughly back over his arms. The air still stank of oxidized metal.

“I thought you were in town,” Vergil said, voice carefully level.

Dante’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. This looked bad.

“I was,” Dante replied, casually leaning on his sword. “and I didn’t want to do dishes. Figured I’d come back and pester you instead.”

Vergil didn’t look at him.

Dante gave him a long once-over. “Y’know, that really doesn’t like like a migraine to me”. He voice shook a little bit.

Vergil said nothing. His knuckles were white against the sleeves of his coat.

“You gonna tell me what that was?” Dante added after a beat.

“It’s nothing.”

“You always say that when it’s definitely something.”

Vergil finally turned. His face was calm, unreadable. But a faint tremble betrayed him in his jaw. “My body is adapting. Rebalancing itself. That’s all.”

Dante raised a brow. “Since when does adapting involve burning pieces of yourself off ?”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re damn right I don’t.” Dante’s tone edged sharper. “What the hell are you scraping out of your arms, Vergil?”

Silence stretched between them like a blade.

Finally, Vergil glanced away, voice quieter now. “Residue.”

“Residue?”

“Pieces of Nelo Angelo. Traces. Leftovers. The armor… it was originally part of my demon half, which I accepted again by merging with myself. I’m handling it.”

Dante’s stomach turned.

“What do you need? I know we don’t usually” he paused “talk. But we’re brothers, you know”

“I know.”

Dante took a slow step closer, not letting his voice rise. “Then stop lying to me.”

Vergil flinched again, just subtly, but it was enough. He could always tell when Vergil was him pain by his watery eyes.

Dante exhaled, the fight going out of his stance. He rubbed the back of his neck, tone softening. “Look… I get why you’re hiding it. I do. I was there. But this?” He gestured toward the ground, where the pile of scorched fragments still lay steaming. “This is bad. I’m worried-”

“You will have to kill me.” Vergil snapped.

His voice echoed too loudly against the crumbled stone.

He looked away again, jaw tight. His eyes had lost that hard gleam. For just a second, they looked tired . Haunted.

“No!” Dante looked distraught, the word coming out louder than he meant. “No. Not happening”

“No? Then you are a fool, brother.” Vergil’s expression turned angry, he stepped forward and sneered in Dante’s face. “This will consume me, and I cannot stop it. Eventually, I will no longer be of my own mind, that will be the end. A soldier with no meaning or purpose but to destroy”. 

Vergil grabbed Dante’s collar, he need him to see. Breathing hard, his first clenched until it was white. His arm was still smoking. Dante didn’t back down, but kept his gaze straight.

Vergil grit his teeth. “You have never had a problem fighting to the death with me before, dearest brother . Should you not relish the opportunity when I am at my weakest?”

“You son of a bitch, Vergil. You think I’m just your stupid baby brother that will do whatever you want? Bullshit.” He slapped Vergils hand away. “I’ll do what I want. We’ll get that stuff off you.”

They stared each other down, neither backing down, until Vergil blinked. He stepped backwards, and gave Dante a look that wordlessly communicated that he didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t worth it right now.

Dante didn’t push further. He crossed the space slowly and sat down on the rock where Vergil’s coat had been, brushing some of the ash off with a gloved hand.

“Well,” he said after a moment, casually. “For what it’s worth… you look like shit.”

Vergil let out a dry laugh despite himself. “So do you.”

Dante smirked. “Glad we’re honest now.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the wind pushing long grass flat around them. The smell of burnt flesh began to dissipate.

Eventually, Dante stood.

“Maybe the first thing you should do is apologize to Nero.” Dante handed him his coat. “Don’t run off and start mutilating yourself, Verge.”

Vergil scoffed. “I have been through much worse, Dante”. 

“Don’t remind me” Dante muttered, and started to leave the clearing, gesturing for Vergil to follow.

Chapter Text

Vergil didn’t sleep that night. He spent most of the night staring at the back of Nero’s old basement couch, until he heard Dante’s step creaking into the basement.

“Wakey wakey!” was completely unbecoming for a 40-something year old man to say.

His mood continued to decrease after being dragged on Nero’s job in Redgrave. The van smelled of cigarette smoke. The only thing that generally recovered his mood was that Kyrie, the kindest woman he had ever met, packed everyone sandwiches. And that Dante kept reminding him on the side that Nero was inviting them both on his hunt, meaning he was probably warming up to Vergil. Vergil ignored how his heart jumped a bit at being included.

They screeched to a halt at a dark, grimy cemetery far outside town. Nero scrunched up his sandwich wrapper and threw it back into the van. “Man those were good. Now we can really get going!”. Nico stepped out of the van as well, after convincing Nero, she had decided to follow behind the group to ‘search for them demon parts you hunters always leave behind’.

The smile on his son’s face was odd to Vergil. Even odder was when Nero turned to him and asked him. “I think you have similar tastes to Dante after all, Vergil. You guys even eat the same way!”.

Vergil scowled and marched forward, arms tense by his side. “I do not.” He spoke out the corner of his mouth.

Nero jogged to catch up to him. “Wait, do you have like, a preference for food? Like a favourite?”

Vergil look down the corner of his eye at his son. “Why?” he drawled.

“Don’t tell me it’s pizza”.

“No.” Vergil assured. He clasped the Yamato to his side. Surveying the cemetery before him, he could sense absolutely zero demonic presences. They should hasten to finish the job, so he answered Nero without much thought. “I suppose… I’ve enjoyed a hamburger previously”.

Nero’s eyes widened, as a shit eating grin split his face.

Nico laughed as well, chiming in with  “Since when have you eaten a burger! Was it a demon blood burger?”

“It was not.” Walking onwards, he heard Dante shout a confirmation from farther ahead. The path they walked was deteriorating into cracked stone, and the mist became thicker.

The coat clung to his shoulders like damp cloth. Every step pulled the fabric across raw skin, snagging on pieces he hadn’t had a chance to remove this morning. He didn’t dare shift it too much. He hoped his face did not betray the state of his existence.

The pain hadn’t faded since yesterday. It hadn’t even dulled. It was growing.

Nero’s voice cut into the stillness. “So the reports say there were flashes of lightning a few nights ago. Power outages, people getting nosebleeds just walking near the place. Real occult shit.”

Vergil didn’t answer.

Not because he wasn’t listening. He was. He just couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound hollow. His eyes twitched.

He wished he had slept last night. Pacing hadn’t helped. Sitting made it worse. The only way to keep himself from waking Dante had been to press Yamato’s hilt against his forearm until the sharpness of the pain leveled him out.

His legs carried him forward, but his mind had started slipping sideways.

He could hear something. A voice.

You will welcome the chains, son of Sparda.

Vergil spun to look behind him, his coat itching against his skin.

“You doing okay, brother?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice not to shake. His keen senses picked something up, but Vergil wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him or not. It began as a low hum, then a sharp crack split the sky. 

Lightning forked across the clouds and struck the ground. Grave markers shattered. The dirt split open beneath them, a spiral of debris and mud and scorched wind rising in a storm. A large, open cavern split beneath their feet, dirt rained downwards.

Vergil caught himself before falling, Nero jumped backwards, but Nico didn’t. She shrieked and hit the earth hard, crumpling near a broken headstone.

“Shit!” Nero spun. “Nico—!”

But before he could reach her, the creature landed.

Tall. Armored. Cloaked in black steel and sick violet glow. A Proto Angelo. Wings unfurled behind it as hell bats poured from the surrounding trees, their shrieks piercing. The static hum of the demon’s power was uncomfortably familiar to Vergil. The glaze of his armour was strikingly similar to the sickness flowing in his own veins.

Dante was already moving. “Nero, take the swarm! I got the big guy!”. Vergil transported the other way, landing beside Nico.

She was trying to stand, but one ankle twisted beneath her weight. She winced and collapsed again, grabbing a nearby grave to steady herself.

“Don’t worry about me,” she grunted. “Just kill the goddamn thing!”

Vergil didn’t hesitate. He moved toward her and knelt, helping her sit back against a low wall. She was shivering from the cold wind tearing through the wrecked graveyard.

Little pawn, your body is worthless and weak. Give it to me, and I will mold you into a soldier

His body wanted to flinch and search for the source of the voice, but instead he narrowed his eyes. The images that came with the voice were unpleasant. His blood surrounded his feet. It would be easier to give in. Mundus’s voice was a sound he was ready to forget.

Nico was still in front of him. Without thinking, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She accepted it, a small thanks. A human woman shouldn’t of been involved in the first place. He gripped the Yamato, the sting of the cold air focused him.

Only after her eyes widened did he realize what he’d done. His arm were bare, the coverage of his vest only stopped at the peak of his shoulders. Black metal not only protruded from his forearms any more, but had formed into jagged metal plates lining his skin to his collarbone. 

He didn’t look at her face. Didn’t want to. But Nero’s voice cracked the wind.

“What the fuck is that?”

Vergil stood but he didn’t answer. Just pulled Yamato from his side and stalked into the fray. Panic filled his chest, every breath hurt now. He avoided looking towards Nero and Dante.

Behind him, Nero shouted again. Maybe it was his name. Maybe not. He didn’t turn around to find out. He wanted to fight the demon while he was still useful to them.

The Proto Angelo snarled something guttural as Vergil approached.

He met it blade to blade, the force of their clash sending tremors up through his arms. Yamato slid across the spear’s shaft with a spray of sparks. They circled, metal shrieking against metal, and for a moment, it felt almost manageable.

Dante skidded to a halt beside him. “God Vergil, is that the stuff that came out of your arms? Why didn’t you tell me it’s gotten worse?”

“Leave me be brother”. He snarled, shoving Dante's chest away.

“Vergil, I’ll beat your ass. You have to step down if that Mundus crap is spread-”

“I said leave me, Dante!” Vergil shouted. The wind was picking up as the Proto Angelo charged his sword, debris nicked at Vergil’s cheek as he narrowed his focus on the demon. Focus on the hunt, not the shoots of pain he felt deep in his chest.

He cut forward, a precise slash. Normally, this attack would have decimated buildings. Instead, the Angelo blocked with ease.

“My, my. Has the master’s pet grown teeth?”

Vergil’s body faltered. Just a fraction of a second. Just enough for the Proto Angelo’s voice to drive deeper.

“Still wearing the armor beneath your skin. Still his creature. Do you ache where the chains touched you, Nelo Angelo?”

Yamato vibrated in his grip.

The ground was no longer beneath his boots. It wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real.

But the sky bled red and black. He was kneeling again, choking on smoke. The stone throne loomed ahead. Every nerve screamed, but he couldn’t move. Hands reached down, clawed and cruel, forcing his head down. Don’t touch me! He gasped, over and over. Pain stitched itself across his shoulders. Fire inside his chest. Molten chains snaking through his spine. Pieces of his skin ripped over and over, healing only provided more material for Mundus to take.

“Obey,” the voice hissed. “Obey.” He blinked, because maybe it would be easier to not fight anymore. Dante had beaten him, because he was the weaker son. And Dante wouldn’t bother to free him.

His hand clenched around Yamato, but with shaking hands. He no longer recognized the weight of the blade, where was his electric sword? Master had gifted it to him. Someone was shouting.

His vision was blurry with pain. He felt like his ribcage was being crunched under pressure, but there was nothing to remove. Shapes moved in front of him.

He turned and saw a figure in red.

Another in blue. They looked at him with faces twisted in concern, or maybe deep pain.

He saw mouths move. He saw hands held up. They were saying a name, but he hated that name. The one called that name was weak.

There was only on thing he could do to make the pain in his body stop. His skin felt like it was being melted off. He gasped and whimpered, clutching his head to the ground. No no no no-

“I’m sorry!” He shouted into the ground. Something touched his back, a hand. He was going to be taken- His mind spiralled and spiralled-

He lunged to his feet, he had only one thought left. Kill.

He lunged. Dante barely dodged the first swing.

"Shit, Vergil, stop!" Dante’s boots skidded across the stone, his sword rising only to parry. “It’s us!”

Vergil didn’t hear. Didn’t care.

He turned on Nero next. The boy shouted something. His voice cracked. “Vergil! what the hell are you doing?!”

A punch drove Nero back through a tombstone, splintering the old stone. Blood smeared his chin as he staggered up, teeth bared in disbelief.

"Come on," Nero panted. "Stop-!" Nero desperatly crawled backwards as he stalked forward, the intent to kill was clear.

Yamato’s edge stopped an inch from his neck. "Mundus's orders-".

Vergil stared down at him, breath ragged. Something inside his chest burned white-hot. But his grip wouldn’t release. 

Between clenched teeth, 

“Mundus is dead!” Dante roared, appearing from the sky as he sliced downward with rebellion. Vergil stepped sideway, parrying the blade. Their faces pressed close, Dante breathing hard.

“I killed him myself Verge, you don’t have to listen to it.” he panted, struggling against the Yamato.

“Come on, don’t embarrass yourself in front of your son.” Dante smirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Worry glistened in his eyes.

Your son.

Nelo Angelo was long dead. He had to bury it for the sake of-

The words cracked something in him. His own body. As if returning from miles beneath the ocean. His mind tore through layers of fog as the pain surged all at once.

He gasped. Yamato dropped from his hand, and with it, he collapsed.

His knees hit the stone. The world was colorless. Pain and noise and breath. He curled forward, hands shaking against the dirt, dark liquid trailing down his forearms from where the corruption had begun to shrink into his arms.

“Oh-kay, Vergil, that’s it-”. From the corner of his vision, a red coat covered the ground. He reached for it.

Vergil’s cheek pressed to the gravel as he coughed, substance escaping his lungs he didn’t know was there. Dante patted his back.

“Fuck Dante, do I need to-” Nero worried voice sounded close.

“Looks like he broke out of it.” he let out a breathy chuckle. “Can you help me carry his to-”

His whole spine lit on fire, and Vergil’s world went black.

Chapter Text

Vergil’s body was heavier than Nero expected.

Dead weight, all sharp edges and cold limbs. Blood matted the back of his neck where it had run from his nose and ears. His arms hung limp

They moved slowly, feet crunching through broken stone and scorched earth as they made their way back toward the clearing. The van was parked just beyond the gate, engine still running. Nico had managed to drive it closer to them, despite her hurt ankle.

“He looks bad,” Nero muttered, glancing down at the slack face of the man he was only starting to understand. “Like really bad.”

“This brings up a lot of bad memories, back before I even met you” Dante said finally.

Nero’s grip tightened. “When?”

Dante shifted Vergil’s weight slightly, careful not to jostle him too much. Dante could be gentle when he wanted to be.  “Long time ago. We had our differences when we were younger, I thought he stayed in hell and I was never going to see him again. But then… I ran into him. But he had changed, black armor covered him. No voice. Just this massive sword, courtesy of Mundus. We fought, but I didn’t even recognize him, and I don’t think he recognized me right away either.”

Nero frowned. “That was him?”

“Yeah,” Dante said quietly. “Took me a while to realize it. But that thing… that was Vergil. Or what was left of him. He wasn’t much of a person at that point.”

Nero noted how Dante tended to hide behind his long hair when he was admitting things about his past. He had shed his carefree persona momentarily.

“I figured it out by the end. Saw how he moved. Saw how he hesitated, just once. That was enough.” Dante looked down at Vergil’s face. “I lost him. I had to kill him.”

Nero didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, his heart pounding too fast in his chest.

They reached the van. Nico stepped back to give them room. She didn’t say anything, just helped open the back doors.

Together, they eased Vergil inside, laying him across the padded bench seat. His breath was shallow. His hands curled slightly, even in sleep, twitching.

Nero stared down at him, still catching his breath.

“How long was he like that?” he asked.

Dante stood beside him, arms crossed, eyes on the floor of the van. “Years. Maybe more. We don’t really know.”

“After you killed him, what then? How did he heal himself?”

Dante flinched. “I don’t know, kid. I don’t ask, I don’t like upsetting him”.

Nero understood Dante’s hesitation. He had barely worked up the courage to ask Vergil questions about himself either. There was never a good time.

He reached in and grabbed one of the blankets stashed near the back. Laid it gently across Vergil’s chest, trying not to touch the cracked skin where metal still threatened to form.

Nero sighed took a seat beside Dante. The man was fiddling with the cuff of his red coat, staring intently at Vergil’s still form.

He would probably be made fun for it later, but he put a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “Dante, you’re a pretty good guy. The past is over. We can find cure for him no problem between you and me, we're good at this demo crap.”

Dante looked surprise at his touch, and his words. But he stilled cracked a corner of his lip upwards. “Damn right. You got uncle Dante on the case.”

Nero snorted.

The hum of the engine was distant at first. Vergil’s chest felt like it had caved in and reformed wrong. His lungs dragged in air like they were cracked porcelain, and something sharp sat in his throat. 

He opened his eyes.

The van’s ceiling swam above him in a haze of metal and dim lights. The world tilted. His cheek was pressed against the floor. His coat was gone.

His hands shook as he pulled them in close to his chest. Fingers curled slowly. Too slowly. The tendons in his joints felt welded together.

He didn’t want to look lower. But he did.

His chest, bare above the waist of his pants, pulsed with thick, dark lines that spread across the ribs like veins. Metal plates were forming across his shoulders and torso, the skin ripped and frayed at the edges.

“Vergil? Hey… hey, don’t sit up too fast.”

Dante.

He turned his head and saw him crouched close. His expression was gentler than it had any right to be. Concerned. Vergil would rather Dante looked at him with anger.

Nero stood behind him, arms folded across his chest, but not hiding the way his jaw was clenched. He didn’t look angry. He looked scared.

Vergil sat up anyway. Ignored the stab in his spine, the dizzy pulse in his skull.

“What happened,” he rasped.

“You passed out,” Dante said. “Right after you tried to kill us, but that’s not too abnormal.”

Vergil adjusted his stiff body into a sitting position, glancing around. Nico sat at the drivers seat, and he noticed she was driving with her opposite foot.The van was quiet otherwise. Just the three of them in the dim light, the world rattling past through smudged windows.

“Dante-” the words choked in his throat “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to-“ He spoke quietly to Dante, looking at the floor. His voice cracked. He clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t in control.”

Dante nodded. “We figured.”

“You weren’t yourself,” Nero added, though the words were careful. He hovered, like he was still unsure about Vergil’s next move.

Vergil brought a hand up to his face, aiming to rub his temples. When instead, he felt a dark crack split from the corner of his eye toward his temple. More cracked formed near his jaw.

Dante reached out to touch him, but hesitated. “Looks like that armour crap has kept spreading. I had to take off your vest because it was shredded. Sorry.” He shifted, then moved to crouch in front of Vergil. “I’m not going to lie, you’re dangerous right now. So until we can purge this-” He gestured to the metal plates on his skin, “You’ll need to sit tight with us. No more demon hunts for you-”

“I need to leave.”

“Like hell you do,” Dante scoffed. “You can barely sit up.”

Vergil pressed his palms to the floor and pushed to his feet. He stood, his balance wavered. He didn’t care. “If this continues, if I lose myself again… in that state, I did not recognize either of you. There were only his voice” He stared at Dante, hoping that his brother recognized his pleading.

Nero stepped forward, hesitant.

“Don’t you dare give up like that” he faltered, then pushed on, “I’ve barely gotten to know you. Somehow Dante and I can fix this”.

Vergil observed his son’s face. Nero's nose had been bleeding, he could see the dried blood staining his lips. He had done that, and had just seen Nero as a human to be destroyed. He had fought for so long to be whole again, to be free of the thoughts that Mundus had trained him into accepting. Only to revert to the same mindless soldier.

If only he could be rid of this infernal armour-

Come here, pet.

A pulse behind the sternum. A subtle throb like heartbeats in reverse. He exhaled slowly, eyes shut, willing it away. He couldn’t afford this now. Not when Dante and Nero were sitting just feet from him. Not when his control was already thin as paper. All he could see was how Mundus had first fused the armour to his very soul, as armor fused to bone and rot weaved its way into his blood stream.

He leaned forward, arms around his middle, fingers digging into his sides. Breathing was harder now. His voice, when it came, was barely there. The armour shifted, stretched and warped like it was alive. Vergil curled into himself.

“Get out,” he rasped.

Dante looked down, startled. “Vergil, what’s going on-”.

“Don’t touch me!” The shout split the air. 

His muscles locked as the pain hit, one shoulder slamming into the wall of the van, muscles locking in seizure-like tremors. Cracks widened across his chest and up his throat. The familiar weight of the armor’s helm was forming behind his eyes. He could feel it creeping, layer by layer, into his skull. His back slid down the wall, as he cowardly fell on the floor of the carpeted van.

Dante grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold him steady.

“Vergil!” Dante’s voice cracked as he held his brother upright, his arms firm around Vergil’s trembling frame. Worry flooded his expression.

Nero hovered nearby, his eyes wide with panic. “What’s going on with him, Dante?”

Vergil couldn’t answer. His fingers clutched at his head, nails digging into his scalp as the edges of his vision went dark. Pain roared beneath his skin. The van, the voices, the world, all blurred, until only Dante’s face remained in front of him, strained and pale.

“I- I don’t know, kid,” Dante stammered. “Vergil, just... stay still. We’ll figure something out.”

Dante’s voice was wrong. 

Vergil gasped. A sharp jolt lanced through his side as something forced itself upward, metal, slick and black, burst through the flesh of his left shoulder, threading cruelly beneath the collarbone. The skin there rippled and split. His forearms were already coated in glistening, jagged armor. Soon, there would be no flesh left untouched.

This was his fate.

In the underworld, Mundus hadn’t just given him the armor. He had carved it into him. Every shard had been hammered through his body and branded into his soul. The memory of it was seared into his mind, of his body pinned, helpless, flayed open. Of how Mundus whispered promises as each demonic plate melded into bone. Vergil had screamed until his throat bled. In the beginning, even Dante’s name had escaped his lips.

He was a child again. A broken, pathetic child who just wanted it to end.

His nails raked down the sides of his skull as the memories bled into the present.

“Dante…” he croaked.

Somewhere in the haze, he heard Nero’s voice. Distant, but distinct.

“Screw this. Dante, let me-”

“Don’t touch him!” Dante snapped, his hands pulling away. The warmth left with them. Vergil shuddered at its loss.

“I’m not a kid!” Nero’s voice was thick with emotion. “He’s my father, for god’s sake!”

Anger surged in Vergil’s chest. Couldn’t they see? Couldn’t they feel it? The rot was spreading. Mundus’s voice echoed in his skull, as clear as if he stood in the van beside them.

He was losing control. He would hurt them. It was inevitable.

His voice broke as he whispered, “Please… let me go…”

The words slipped out before he realized he was speaking.

“Mundus please, just don’t hurt my brother-”

His voice trembled, cracking under the weight of everything he could no longer contain.

Dante and Nero froze, eyes fixed on his crumpled form. Horror bloomed across their faces as the truth began to set in.

Dante moved first, kneeling again. His hand rose and cupped Vergil’s cheek, callused thumb brushing over skin split with forming cracks.

“Verge-” he murmured.

“We’re getting this shit off him,” Nero growled. “Now.”

Dante didn’t argue. He barely had time to move aside before Nero dropped to his knees in front of Vergil, breath shaking.

Blue light erupted from Nero’s form, scorching the air. Horns curled from his head, wings of glowing energy snapped open, and his Devil Trigger filled the van with searing pressure.

He reached out.

Vergil barely flinched as his son’s glowing hands grasped the twisted metal embedded in his right shoulder.

Nero didn’t hesitate.

With a cry of effort, he pulled .

The van rang with the shriek of tearing steel and flesh. Ash and blood scattered into the air as armor tore away, leaving strips of ruined flesh beneath. The pain was blinding, but Vergil didn’t scream. He bit down, teeth clenched so hard his jaw trembled.

And then, suddenly, the pressure in his shoulder eased.

The plate came free with a final, wet crack. It disintegrated in Nero’s hands, flaking into glowing dust.

Vergil collapsed forward, gasping. Blood dripped from his nose, and his vision swam, but he could feel the pressure vanish behind his eyes. The exposed patch of raw skin on his shoulder was bare. Red and torn, but no longer armored. The corruption pulsed across his skin and… recoiled. Receded. 

Nero let his Devil Trigger fade and slumped back, panting.

“Did… did that help?” he asked, glancing between Dante and Vergil. His voice was hoarse, afraid of the answer.

Vergil opened his eyes slowly. His gaze, though unfocused, locked onto Nero.

He furrowed his brow, breath still uneven. “Do the others,” he said, voice rasping through clenched teeth.

Nero hesitated. “Maybe we wait-”

“Nero!” Vergil barked, more desperate than stern. “You must.”

His hand fumbled across his chest until he grabbed his other arm and held it out towards Dante. “It will heal. Brother… please.”

Dante swallowed

“Alright,” Dante murmured, voice rough as he sank to one knee beside him. “I’ll do one more. Then we can look at your condition back at the kid’s place. Looks like Nero bought you some time.”

Vergil let out a weak breath. Maybe it was an agreement. Maybe it was all he could manage.

Dante moved carefully, pressing his hand over the next patch of metal beginning to pierce the skin just beneath Vergil’s elbow.

“This is gonna hurt,” Dante warned, his voice low.

Vergil said nothing.

So Dante ripped.

The metal came loose with a wet snap, clattering into his palm before turning to ash. Vergil’s whole body arched in a silent spasm of pain, a gasp catching in his throat, but he didn’t cry out. Didn’t flinch away. 

Dante had a hand on his neck, which helped steady him. His arm felt lighter instantly. Both twins breathed together.

Nico’s voice called from outside the alley. “Hey! We good to roll? I got a first aid kit and one hell of a strong sedative if anyone’s bleeding to death!”

Nero glanced toward the exit. “We’re good!” he called back, then looked down at Vergil again. “Kinda.” He had some colour back in his face.

Dante helped guide Vergil upright, one hand steady on his back. They sat down on the couch, together.

Dante sighed and slumped beside his older brother. He could watch his brother for a while as they started to drive to Fortuna. “Let’s just go relax a bit, okay?”

Nero shuffled. “Agreed”.

Chapter Text

They made it to Nero’s place with no extra issues. Nico dropped them off with little ceremony, van doors clanging shut behind her. She didn’t ask questions. Just muttered something about calling if they found more demon bits to yank out and drove off into the night.

Inside, it was quiet.

Vergil didn’t say anything as Dante helped him through the front door. His steps were slow and uneven, but he walked under his own power. Mostly. They steered him to the couch, and he sank into it with a groan, hand instinctively drifting to his ribs.

Dante hovered for a second, unsure. “You alright here?”

Vergil nodded faintly. “I want to wash this.”

“Wash?”

“The blood.” Vergil lifted one arm, staring at the dried, cracked stains that trailed down from his elbow to his wrist. “All of it.”

Nero watched him for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. “Down the hall, second door on the left.”

Vergil rose, a little steadier this time. He didn’t look back as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Nero sat on the arm of a chair nearby, arms crossed, his foot tapping lightly on the floor. “Dante, what now? You obviously have more experience with him, and I don’t know much of your past with him.”

Dante ran a hand through his white hair. “Not eager to keep seeing Verge’s weird skin condition?”

Nero made a face and started to pace the floor. He shrugged his blue leather jacket onto the table. “It’s disturbing Dante. You two never tell me goddamn anything about yourself unless it’s related to a job.”

“Because nothing related to Mundus is very kid-friendly.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’ve been demon hunting long since before I met you. I was 9 when I killed a scavenger with a swiss army knife”.

Dante sighed and leaned back on the couch, letting his head hit the top cushion. “I know I know. I just wish you could spend some father-son bonding time with Vergil without knowing about his mistakes. Or mine”.

Nero frowned. “So?”

“Knowing my brother, he is realizing some of the fights he picked in the past were immature, and petty. Hell, I picked my fair share of stupid fights as well. After we had a particularly… nasty fight against each other as teenagers, he decided to throw himself into hell to challenge Mundus.”

Dante made a hum sound. “While we were cleaning up down there a week ago, he told me a bit about his defeat. And torture.. The armour of Nelo Angelo, I can guess is dark magic based, and it was fused with his soul.”

Nero shifted uncomfortably. It was bad news, and left them with no hints. Dante clasped and unclasped his hands nervously and he sat up.

“Now that we’re pushing 40, I think Verge isn’t too keen on how he acted in the past. So don’t bring it up to him too much. We’re trying to… turn a new leaf.”

Nero took in Dante’s words. He had never seen Dante act so… straightforward. Serious. The look didn’t suit him.

Nero rolled up the sleeves of his red sweater. “You remember how my arm used to be full demon? That part of me that was demonic, I used to hate it.” Nero raised his arm, now fully human, pale flesh greeted him as he flexed his fingers.

“I kept wishing it would go away. That I could be normal.” He laughed under his breath, bitter. “But the more I hated it, the worse it got. I’d lose control more often. Couldn’t even look at it for a while. The adults told me not to show it to people-“

The bathroom door creaked open then, and they both turned to look.

Vergil stepped out, hair damp, wearing one of Nero’s dark T-shirts. It was a bit snug across his shoulders, but he looked cleaner. His arms were bare, red marks still trailing across his skin.
He paused when he saw them both staring.

“I will borrow this, and return it cleaned.” He stated seriously. “What?”

Nero stood and scratched the back of his neck. “Nothing. You just look… less awful. Did you guys shower in Hell?”

“I did. Dante did not.” Vergil said, voice dry. “What were you talking about, Nero?”

A look of surprise cross Nero face. “Oh, well- I guess you weren’t there. When I met Dante, I didn’t know what a devil trigger was or that I had a demon form. Some of my demon power manifested onto my arm, almost permanently. I was sort of a freak in The Order, but I used it to fight so I eventually got used to it.”

Vergil’s brow shot up. “I am confused… you could not switch between human and demon form from youth?”

Nero scoffed. “No? How the hell would I know I could trigger. Dante eventually told me I was part of the Sparda bloodline. He took his sweet time explaining.” He shot the older hunter a look, and Dante looked away sheepishly.

“I should have been there,” Vergil said, voice barely audible.

Nero looked over, blinking as if he hadn’t realized he’d been overheard. “Huh?-”

“I wasn’t there,” he repeated, stepping into the room slowly. “You were just a child. I should have been the one to teach you those things. Not leave you to wonder like a foolish human without guidance.”

Dante looked away, jaw tight. “Yeah, you should have been. But we were stupid back then.”

Nero huffed and sagged down onto the couch beside Dante. “Yeah, it would've been nice to know you existed. But I guess you were busy hunting or something.”

Vergil’s face hardened, and sadness grew in his eyes. “It was not that. I was trapped as prisoner of Mundus for almost a decade, and then I drifted through the underworld as a soul with no memories for another ten years.”

Even Dante’s eyes widened. Nero managed to mutter an “Oh-”.

Vergil’s head lowered. “I tried to resist. I failed. For years, I failed. And while I was gone… you were growing up. Alone.”

Nero was still catching his breath. “It’s... it’s not a big deal.” He leaned forward on his knees. “You escapedl eventually. Um… How did you get rid of the armor the first time? Was there something in Hell we can use? There’s a lot missing from your story.”

“No,” Vergil answered flatly. “We will speak of it no further.”

He turned, heading for the kitchen, but Dante stepped in front of him, hand pressing against Vergil’s chest to stop him.

“There must’ve been something, Verge. You need to tell us,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Vergil’s eyes flicked between Dante’s stare and his son sitting just behind him. He lowered his head toward Dante, knowing that pushing back now would only set him off more. But more than that, he didn’t want Nero to hear this. Not like this.

“You will not like the answer, Dante”.

“Tell me anyway.”

He muttered under his breath, barely audible, “I killed myself, like a coward.”

Dante’s voice snapped like a whip. “What?”

Nero stood up fast, alarmed. “What do you mean?”

Vergil’s shame settled heavy in his chest like stone. He couldn’t meet either of their eyes.

“After losing to Dante once again… and no longer able to bear Mundus' grip on my mind, I turned my blade on myself. It was the only way I saw to end it. Mundus discarded my body like trash. Let it burn to ash in Elysium.”

His voice dropped, low and bitter. “But I woke up. Not in flesh, not at first. As a soul, I reformed myself slowly in the fields. Piece by piece.”

Silence stretched. Dante and Nero stared at him, horror plain on their faces.

Vergil exhaled shakily, his voice softening with guilt. “When I had enough of a body to return to the human realm… I went in search of the Yamato.”

He glanced sideways at Nero, his expression pained. “And then…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

Dante rubbed his eyes, taking a step back, “God, Vergil-”

Nero’s added “That’s- “

“There will be no easy solution to this” Vergil attempted to recollect. “But I appreciate… the help- you two have provided to me.”

The air was silent between the three of them. The information weighed heavily on their minds.

“Well, we can watch him. And see if it gets worse by tomorrow”. Nero suggested, looking to Dante for approval. Dante just nodded.

“Guest room’s down the hall, last door on the right. You’re sleeping there.”

Vergil glanced at him, brow arching slightly. “I don’t require supervision.”

“Yeah, and yet,” Dante said, already walking past him, “I’m still sleeping on the damn floor next to you just in case you decide to punch through a wall in your sleep. Or, I dunno, lose your marbles”

Vergil looked like he wanted to argue, but the exhaustion in his bones had settled deep. He said nothing and followed.

As he passed Nero, he slowed, clearly uncomfortable.

“Nero,” he said stiffly, pausing near the door. “I… would like to assist. With your power. Over your Devil Trigger. I have many years of experience in being half devil.”
Nero looked up, surprised. “You mean, like, training?”

Vergil nodded once, jaw tight. “If you’ll allow it. I should have done so long ago.”

There was a long pause before Nero nodded. “Yeah. That would be cool.”

Vergil’s posture eased just slightly, but the awkwardness still lingered thick in the air. He opened his mouth like he might say more, then closed it again.

“…Goodnight,” he said, voice low and unsure.

Nero tried not to smile. “Night.”