Archive of Our Own

Nero woke up, breaking into a mild sweat as he almost bolted upright from the bed.

His eyes darted around the room in the dark, half-expecting something, someone, to be standing in the shadows. But there was nothing. Just the soft rustle of the curtains and the faint moonlight bleeding in through the window.

Kyrie stirred beside him, a sleepy but concerned murmur escaping her lips. She pushed herself up on one elbow, her hand instinctively reaching for him. "Nero?" She asked softly, voice filled with sleep. "What is it? Another one?"

"Yeah," Nero said and swung his legs over the bed, planting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. His breath was uneven, the pounding in his chest refusing to settle even though the nightmare was gone.

He could feel his girlfriend's eyes on him, and then her hands slid over to his shoulders, rubbing them gently at first, then firmer, trying to coax the tension out of his rigid frame. Her thumbs circled just below his neck, relaxing him instantly. She always knew how to calm him down.

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Kyrie didn't say anything until his breathing had slowed a little, until the weight in the air shifted just enough.

"…Was it about the same thing?" She asked quietly.

Nero gave a nod, not lifting his head.

Kyrie sighed through her nose, her fingers pausing for a moment on his back. "You should talk to your father."

He had been thinking that, but how was he supposed to start it? What the hell was he supposed to say when the dreams were about him specifically? Would his father understand? Or would it just push his father away from him?

That was what Nero was afraid of. He didn't want Vergil to misunderstand. There seemed to have been a lot of that within his family, and the last thing he needed was for it to cause another fight, and then Dante having to meddle and needle his way into it again so they'd make up. It was exhausting, and Nero found himself tired just thinking about it. The back-and-forth, the unspoken tension, the delicate threads holding their relationship together, it felt like standing on thin ice. One wrong word, one misstep, and it would all crack beneath him.

"I just…" He faltered. "I don't wanna screw it up. If I bring this up, it could all go to hell."

Kyrie leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her embrace was warm, steady and grounding. "Nero..."

Nero blinked a few times, eyes burning, though no tears fell. His voice came out like a rasp. "It's not just about me. He… he doesn't even know what these dreams are doing to me. He probably doesn't even know he's in them. And I don't know how to tell him without sounding like I'm blaming him for everything."

"Just be honest," Kyrie said. "You've gotten so far with each other. He'll listen to you." She paused, seemingly contemplating saying the next thing before she took a deep breath. "Maybe he's not sleeping well either."

The idea had never really occurred to him. Not fully, not in a way that felt real. Vergil was always so composed, so unreadable, like nothing rattled him. But the more Nero thought about it, the more it started to make uncomfortable sense. His father had been through hell, literally and figuratively. Decades of suffering, isolation, and corruption.

"…You think he has nightmares?" Nero asked as he turned his head just slightly, as if afraid of the answer.

"You're more alike than you want to admit."

That stung a little, because it was true.

He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers pressing hard into his temples. "Shit."

The thought gnawed at him. It was hard to imagine his father waking up in a cold sweat the way he did, flinching at shadows, reliving things that never quite healed. But his father was still human. Somewhere beneath all the power and stoicism and sharp-edged words, maybe that humanity still existed, scarred and fragile like his own.

And maybe… maybe that was the problem. They were both walking mirrors of each other's damage, too afraid to look too long for fear of what they'd see.

Just as he was beginning to settle back into his thoughts, Kyrie's voice came again.

"Shower and then go see him."

Nero blinked, looking at her over his shoulder. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night."

"I know." She gave him a look, one of those no-nonsense expressions that always managed to cut through his resistance. "But if you don't go now, you're going to put it off again. And again."

He swallowed thickly, her words striking a chord too deep for comfort.

Kyrie smiled, brushing a hand along the side of his jaw. "It's better to face it now, before it gets worse."

Nero exhaled through his nose, reluctant but recognising the truth in her tone. "Fine…"

"I'll wait up," she said.

He smiled at her. "You'll be asleep in five minutes."

"Maybe," she teased gently. "But I'll be here when you get back." Kyrie snorted just then. "That's if you do. I'm already expecting your father to tuck you into bed and bring you back in the morning."

Nero froze like someone had yanked the power cord out of his brain. "Wh-? Kyrie!"

She laughed as he turned red from the ears down.

"That was one time!" Nero blurted out, half-defensive, half-horrified. "I was exhausted! I didn't even mean to fall asleep! I just-his place was warm, and the couch was friggin' comfortable, and he wasn't talking much and-"

"And then you woke up in our bed because he carried you home," Kyrie added unhelpfully, eyes practically sparkling now.

"I know!" Nero groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I don't even remember him picking me up! He could've just, I dunno, shaken me awake or thrown a book at me or something!"

Kyrie grinned at him. "I think it's sweet."

"It's mortifying!" Nero hissed, turning away and fumbling into the bathroom. "I can never bring that up to him. Ever. Do you know how smug he'd be if he knew I remembered?"

"He probably already knows," Kyrie said into her pillow, clearly delighted with herself.

"Great. That's just great," Nero muttered, flustered to hell and back. He padded his way into the bathroom, quickly cleaning up and changing into a fresh set of clothes. Zipping up his blue hoodie, he made his way back to Kyrie.

"Heading out now?" She mumbled.

Nero leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Yeah, before I lose my damn nerve."

Kyrie cracked one eye open and gave him a small, sleepy smile back. "You'll be fine."

After seeing her drift off to sleep, Nero tucked her in properly, leaving one more kiss on her forehead before he made his way downstairs. Tying on his boots, he instinctively reached for Red Queen and Blue Rose, but stopped.

Did he really need to take them?

Nero contemplated for a second.

Nah.

He shook his head and went out the door.

When Nero got to his father's place ten minutes later, he realised he had forgotten the keys. He groaned and gave the front door a couple of knocks. He couldn't sense Vergil …anywhere. Not in the house, not nearby, not even in that faint, barely-there buzz he usually picked up when his father was in the area.

Nero tried again; another set of sharp knocks, louder this time, just in case, but the silence that greeted him was as still as the night around him. No footsteps. No flicker of demonic energy behind the walls. Nothing.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the kind of tired breath that came from more than just lack of sleep.

There was no way in hell he was walking all the way back now. He was too wired to sleep, too tired to walk, and too damn stubborn to give up.

Nero wandered over to the cemented railing at the front edge of the property, the one that overlooked the slope of the town below. A few stray streetlights flickered in the distance, casting thin golden lines through the darkness. He lowered himself down and sat against the cool concrete, stretching his legs out in front of him.

He fished his hands through his pockets and pulled out his phone.

For a minute, he just stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen. He opened his contacts and scrolled until he reached Dad.

Nero sighed and tapped the call icon.

He didn't expect it to go through, figuring it would ring out, maybe get sent to voicemail, or worse, be met with silence because his father didn't keep his phone on during hunts.

There was a sudden hiss of static before a familiar voice cut through, calm but unmistakably alert.

"Nero."

Nero blinked. "You picked up?"

There was a pause, followed by the low, unmistakable sound of demons screeching in the background. Then a wet shunk. The sound of Yamato tearing through flesh, and the screeching was abruptly silenced. All that remained was Vergil's breath, sharp and even, like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"I did," Vergil replied simply before there was another short, seemingly deliberate pause. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I mean, kinda. I just..." He stopped, frowning at the sounds he heard. "Are you in the middle of something?"

More silence. Then the gentle chink of Yamato being sheathed.

"It's handled," Vergil said coolly. "A minor disturbance. It won't take long."

"You sure?" Nero asked, eyebrows drawing together. "I can help if-"

"It's fine, Nero."

There was a beat on Nero's end. His grip on the phone loosened, and he stared down at the gravel by his boots. This felt stupid. This was stupid.

But he'd already called. He'd already started this.

His throat worked, and he opened his mouth and then closed it, the words bunching up awkwardly in his chest like traffic behind a red light. What was he supposed to say? 'Hey, I can't sleep because of you'? Yeah, that would go down just great.

"Nero?"

Nero swallowed. Fuck it. "I-I couldn't sleep," he admitted, his voice meek and sounding so damn small.

The silence was long enough that Nero frowned and pulled the phone away to check if the call had dropped, but it was still connected.

"Dad?"

"I'll be home in ten minutes."

"How'd you know I was at yours?"

"I can hear the water fountain."

Nero turned his head toward the stone fountain nestled just outside the walkway. The soft trickling of water echoed faintly, barely noticeable, unless, apparently, you were his dad.

"…Right," he mumbled, cheeks heating slightly as he looked away from it. "Guess I didn't think about that."

"I will be there shortly," Vergil said, and then the call ended with a soft click.

He stared at his phone for a moment longer before letting it drop into his lap with a sigh. He leaned back against the railing again, rubbing his hands over his face. The knot in his chest hadn't loosened yet. In fact, it was tightening with every passing second.

Nero took a deep breath, trying to settle the thrum of anxiety still coursing through his system.

He glanced down at his hands, holding them out in front of him.

They were shaking. Not violently, but enough to make his fingers tremble and twitch like strings pulled too tight.

Nero cursed under his breath and clenched his fist, forcing the tremble to still. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a shaky breath, dragging it deep into his lungs until the edges of his thoughts dulled.

Get it together… he told himself. Just breathe, dumbass. He's coming. You can talk to him. You're not a damn kid anymore. 

But even as he tried to push that thought forward, he started to feel tired. He blinked hard, his body rebelling, exhaustion clawing at his edges like a slow, dragging tide.

He didn't want to fall asleep. Not again.

Not when his mind could betray him so easily, painting pictures of blood, of his father's distant look, of being left behind or worse, consumed by something he didn't understand. Something that looked like him but wasn't him.

But sleep crept up anyway, stealing over his bones like fog.

He moved a little, trying to get comfortable. Just for a minute, he told himself. Just to rest his eyes. His limbs felt like lead, his thoughts slowing to a crawl.

"I'm not…" Nero muttered under his breath, half-conscious. "…gonna fall asleep…"

His chin dipped against his chest, and his breath evened out.

And just like that, the weight of the day pulled him under.

The air was heavy, thick with sulfur and smoke, burning every breath Nero tried to take. It stung his lungs, coiled in his chest like poison. The scent of scorched stone clung to everything, but underneath it was something worse, something metallic and sharp. Blood. Familiar. Too familiar.

Above him, the sky bled red, pulsing like a wound torn open in the heavens. Black clouds churned angrily, spitting embers and flame as if the world itself were rejecting what had become of it. The ground beneath his boots cracked with every step, like the earth wanted to shatter and swallow him whole.

Nero stood at the edge of a jagged cliff, heart pounding like war drums in his chest. Down below, an ocean of demons twisted and writhed across the obsidian plain. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, crawling over each other, their snarls rising into a shrieking crescendo that clawed at his ears and sanity.

But none of that mattered.

Because there, through the haze and smoke, a lone figure stood.

Vergil.

He was distant, barely more than a silhouette against the infernal glow. His back was to him, Yamato resting at his side, coat rippling in the furnace wind like the wings of something untouchable. He didn't flinch. Didn't turn. Didn't even breathe, it seemed. He looked so still, so grounded in a place that was tearing itself apart. Like he belonged to it.

Nero's throat clenched. His chest ached.

"Dad!" He shouted, the word raw and painful on his tongue, like it wasn't supposed to be said here.

Vergil didn't move.

Nero stumbled forward, feet like lead, every step harder than the last. The world resisted him, pulled at him, dragged at his limbs like the shadows themselves didn't want him to reach. His legs trembled. His breath came short.

"Dad! Wait! Please!"

Finally, Vergil shifted. Just slightly. He turned his head enough for Nero to see his profile, half-lit by the burning horizon. There was no malice in his expression. No coldness. Just silence.


Acceptance.

"This is where I belong," Vergil said, sounding calm. Too fucking calm.

The gentleness in it tore something open in Nero's chest.

"No," Nero gasped, shaking his head as tears stung at his eyes. "No, you don't have to do this again. You don't! You promised, remember? You said you wouldn't leave again!"

He was begging now, and he didn't care. His hands trembled at his sides. His voice cracked with every word, fractured by panic, grief, fear, so much fear.

Vergil looked at him again, eyes unreadable. That maddening, silent pause stretched between them like a blade pressing against Nero's throat.

"Don't follow me," Vergil said at last. His voice was distant.  Final.

He stepped closer to the edge.

"This time… don't wait for me, Nero."

"No!" Nero lunged forward, but it was too late.

The ledge broke. The rock crumbled like ash, and the inferno rose to meet it.

Vergil vanished into the flame.

"DAD!"

The scream ripped from Nero's chest with such force that it felt like it shattered something inside him. It echoed into the endless void, hollow and unanswered, until even the sound of it was swallowed by the dark.

He fell to his knees, breath hitching, eyes wide with disbelief. He clawed at the edge, as if he could somehow bring him back, but there was nothing. Just heat. And silence.

And the awful, suffocating emptiness of being left behind. Again .

"Dad…"

"DAD!"

Nero jolted awake, the cry tearing from his throat like it was dragged straight out of the dream.

He sat bolt upright, gasping for breath as if he'd just clawed his way out of suffocating flames. His heart thundered in his chest, a brutal, panicked rhythm that wouldn't slow down. His vision swam for a moment, blurry with sleep and fear, until it cleared-

And the first thing he saw was his father freeze.

Vergil was standing in front of the door with his back to him, his hand midway through turning the key in. The older man immediately turned to him, and blue met blue.

Nero's breath came fast and shallow. His arms trembled where he'd pushed himself upright, and his eyes, wild and unfocused just seconds ago, locked onto his father's with a raw, haunted look.

Away from the door now, Vergil stepped forward and knelt so that they were eye level. "Are you alright?" He asked.

He nodded stiffly, still panting. "Y-Yeah. I just… I-" Nero swallowed the lump in his throat, running a hand down his face, trying to come back to reality. "Sorry. I must've… I must've dozed off out here."

Nero felt himself tense when Vergil's gaze swept over him and then back onto his eyes, holding them there for a moment. It got too much to the point where Nero darted his eyes away and looked to the floor. He felt his arm throbbing a little and spotted Yamato, which was resting against his father's sheath, glowing. Could she feel his distress too?

"A-Anyway…" The young devil hunter cleared his throat. "Did you just come back?"

Nero could feel the weight of his father's stare like it was a hand pressing against his chest. It made his skin crawl, not because of fear, but because of how seen he suddenly felt. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to him like smoke, and standing in front of the very man he'd watched vanish in his sleep, again, left him raw and exposed.

"…Yes," Vergil finally answered, quiet but steady as always. "I was on my way back when you called."

Vergil stood then, straightening his back with fluid ease. Yamato glinted faintly at his side as he looked down at his son. "You were asleep," he said, and the way he said it made Nero blink, unsure what to make of the tone, almost careful. "I was going to bring you inside."

Nero's head shot up at that. "Wh-What?" He stammered, still half-tangled in dream remnants and now embarrassment too. "Like, carry me back inside?"

"It seemed the fastest and least disruptive solution."

His brain promptly short-circuited, and he remembered what Kyrie said before.

He gawked at his father, with his mouth open, and for a second, he looked like he had no idea how to process what he'd just heard. "I-I'm not- You don't have to-!" He sputtered, quickly scrambling to his feet in a flustered mess of limbs. "I'm not a baby, alright? I don't need to be carried!"

Vergil quirked a brow, unmoved by his outburst. "It would not be a judgment on your age."

"Oh my god," Nero groaned under his breath, already moving past his father before he could say anything else remotely humiliating. His steps thudded across the stone as he shoved open the front door and marched into the apartment like he lived there. He took off his boots, putting them to the side and padded his way further in.

He heard Vergil close the door behind him without comment, stepping inside after him with the same unhurried grace as always.

The apartment was dim, sparsely lit by a few low-glow lamps Vergil seemed to keep on for ambience rather than utility. It was neat. Tidy. Austere, even. Nero didn't know why that surprised him anymore; his father's place had always been so… Vergil. Quiet, cold edges and stillness and spaces that felt like they were never quite meant to be lived in. But there were small things, details, that Nero picked up on now that he never did before. Like the faint scent of tea that still lingered from earlier. Or the worn edge of the book on the table, a page dog-eared halfway through.

Nero rubbed his arms once, then immediately stopped, not wanting Vergil to think he was cold. He wasn't. He was fine. Totally fine.

Shaking his head, he made his way to the dining table and sat down on one of the chairs, facing the flower vase and a picture frame that had a photo of his mother in it. Nero smiled and reached for it, running his fingers down the photo, his thumb lingering over her beautiful face for a moment longer than necessary.

He heard the light switch flicker on, but it was on a dimmer setting than usual. He heard his father's footsteps come towards him, and without a word, Vergil placed Yamato against the edge of the table beside him.

"I won't be a moment," Vergil said. Then he turned and disappeared down the hall, his footsteps almost soundless as they faded into the distance.

Nero stared after him and then looked at Yamato again. The blade hummed softly, its presence familiar and reassuring. He let his fingers brush against the sheath. It was warm. Not hot, not pulsing with power like it did during battle. Just warm.

He leaned back in the chair with a soft sigh. "Seriously?" He said to the sword, shaking his head. "He left you here to babysit me, huh?"

But Yamato didn't answer, of course. Still, it stayed close, its faint glow casting a soft hue next to him.

He exhaled slowly, drifting back to the photo of his smiling mother in his hand. "…Mom, what the hell am I supposed to say to him?" He whispered. "How do I even start?"

Nero closed his eyes briefly, soaking in the silence of the apartment.

Honestly, he lost count of how many times he had been here. Whenever something was wrong on the hunt, his father's was the first place he'd go to. Whenever he needed a break from Nico's constant yapping about him breaking her toys, or Dante's whining about paying his bills, he somehow always ended up here. Not that he ever told Vergil that. He wasn't even sure his father knew.

Or maybe he did. His old man was a lot of things. Cold, blunt, impossible to read, but dumb wasn't one of them.

Kyrie told him it was sweet, but Nero just thought he was just being a needy child, and as much as he wanted to deny it, his demon said otherwise.

Nero sighed, waving off the fact that his ears were red as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. He rested his head against the table, gently placing his mother's photo in front of his face for comfort as Yamato continued to hum gently beside him.

A few minutes later, he heard one of the doors from the hallway open and shut. His father's footsteps returned, deliberate and soft on the wooden floor. They approached slowly, but Nero didn't bother lifting his head. His cheek was pressed to the tabletop now as the last threads of exhaustion tried to pull him back under.

"Can you make me tea, Dad…?" Nero suddenly murmured, voice gravelly from fatigue. He didn't even realise the words had slipped out until the silence that followed stretched just a little too long.

It was enough for Nero's half-asleep brain to jolt awake in slow, creeping horror. His eyes widened slightly as he pushed himself up and looked toward Vergil, blinking rapidly. "I mean, uh, please?" He added quickly, almost sheepishly, like an afterthought.

Vergil, who had paused a few steps from the kitchen entrance, stood in his usual home clothes, a dark blue turtleneck and black slacks. Nero blinked at the sight. Something about the deep navy shade mirrored the hoodie he was wearing. He didn't comment on it, though.

His father looked at him for a moment before nodding. "Would you like anything with it?"

"Huh?"

"With your tea. Honey or sugar."

"Oh. Uh… nah. Just plain's fine."

The kettle whirred softly in the background. He heard the pour of water, the steep of leaves, and the click of the kettle being set back into place. And then a minute later, Vergil appeared again, stepping around the corner with two cups. His father placed one cup in front of him and took a seat at the edge of the table, but still made sure he was close to him.

Steam curled up in soft wisps from Nero's cup. He reached for it with both hands, curling his fingers around the warmth, letting it seep into his skin.

"...Thanks," Nero said, and took a sip from the cup, holding back a clumsy wince from how hot it still was. Across the table, his father was eerily silent. Nero took another sip, slower this time, before noticing Vergil hadn't made a move to touch his tea yet.

He tensed instinctively and met his father's gaze for a second, and it felt like looking into a still pond. Calm on the surface, but deep. Annoyingly deep.

The young hunter pressed his lips together and quickly looked back down at his cup. He cleared his throat softly, eyes fixed on the steam.

"S-So…" Nero began gingerly. "Were you on a gig or something?"

"Yes."

Nero nodded faintly, taking another sip of his tea out of habit. "That 'minor disturbance' you mentioned?"

"Yes," Vergil said again. "A small breach east of the island. It was sealed quickly."

A beat.

"No casualties."

Nero blinked. That last part… wasn't necessary, but it was offered anyway. Hell, he wasn't even thinking of it either, but maybe it was because when he turned his head, he could see that Vergil's gaze only wavered just a tad before they resettled on him, as if making sure Nero had heard right.

He caught that, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to say something in response, but the tightness in his chest loosened a little. Just a little.

Nero just gave a slow nod. "…Good. That's good." A pause. "Anything else?"

Vergil looked at him for a long moment, which made Nero fidget a little. Okay, so his old man knew he was stalling the obvious subject like a bitch and that he was probably getting impatient, but he was surprised when his father just gave a faint incline of his head. "There were remnants near the breach. Stragglers. Low-level demons, likely drawn by the residual energy left behind from the previous seal. I eliminated them."

"You sealed the breach yourself?"

"I did," Vergil replied. "The barrier was unstable. Whoever placed it originally did so in haste. I reinforced the seal using Yamato and an incantation drawn from the demon script from The Order's archives."

"…Demon script?" Nero asked, glancing up again, a brow raised. "Like actual magic circles and chanting?"

Vergil gave the faintest flicker of amusement, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Not as theatrical as you're imagining. The script is more structural than incantatory. It's used to reinforce spatial integrity, not cast spells in the way most human mages interpret."

Nero huffed softly, squinting as he muttered, "Right, because that clears it up."

"It stabilises the boundaries between planes. Think of it as… suturing a wound. But with intention rather than thread."

"Okay, see, now that makes more sense, Dad."

Vergil gave a hum of agreement, lifting his own cup at last but still not drinking. "It will hold. At least until something stronger decides to test it."

"…Think something will?"

"Eventually," Vergil responded with a tilt of his head. "It's the nature of things. Doors open. Something always wants to pass through."

Nero was about to ask another question, maybe something about how long the seal would last, or whether his father planned to monitor it, but then his father continued speaking, his voice taking on a more clinical cadence.

"I have already informed the relevant people. They will keep the area under surveillance. If another fracture occurs, they are to contact me directly. The sigils I left behind should-"

"I had a bad dream," Nero blurted out.

Vergil stopped mid-sentence.

The words dropped like a stone into water. Abrupt and impossible to ignore.

Nero inwardly winced. Well, shit.

Vergil's mouth closed around the sentence he hadn't finished. His expression didn't change much. No widening of the eyes, no sharp inhale. But something about the air shifted. Like a breath caught in the wrong place. Slowly, he lowered the cup he still hadn't sipped from, setting it silently onto the table.

"…A bad dream," his father repeated.

"I mean," Nero started quickly, setting his cup down too fast and nearly sloshing it, "It was nothing, really. Just... a stupid dream. Doesn't matter."

What the fuck was he saying?

There was no way he came all the way here just to chicken out and leave, right? He called him. He sat outside like an idiot. He practically screamed for the man in his sleep, and now he was going to backpedal?

The silence stretched once more. Heavy and intentional. And that made Nero's skin crawl even more.

He rubbed his palms down his pants and exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to steady himself. But the breath came out shaky. His shoulders rose and fell too fast, like his lungs couldn't quite fill right. His fingers twitched around the lip of the cup. The warmth from the tea that had felt comforting just minutes ago now felt almost too hot against his skin.

Then, suddenly, his breathing hitched, sharp and involuntary. His hands started to shake, just slightly at first, but then more. Like his body had only just realised it was still in danger, even though the dream was over. His heartbeat pounded in his ears again, loud enough that it drowned out the sound of the world around him.

He clenched his fists tight to stop the trembling. It didn't help.

"I don't…" Nero tried, "I don't know why it messed me up so bad. I know it wasn't real. I know it. But when I woke up and saw you standing there, I-"

The words stopped, lodged in his throat like splinters. Nero hunched forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced together as they trembled against his forehead.

It wasn't until he felt his father's hand over his that he stopped shaking. Nero flinched at first and looked up at him as Vergil carefully lowered his hand back onto the table, but he didn't let go, intertwining their fingers.

As cold as his father was, sometimes he forgot how warm he could actually be.

Vergil's thumb brushed across Nero's knuckles. 

The motion was so gentle it nearly undid him.

It still surprised him that the first time they ever held hands was also the moment it was torn away from him, by the very man in front of him. And yet, somehow, they had come this far to even do this.

Nero sucked in a sharp breath, one that caught and staggered in his chest, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. He looked at their joined hands, watching the calloused pad of his father's thumb move in a slow, rhythmic stroke over his skin. Back and forth. Again. And again.

And just like that, his body started to calm down.

The tremble in his fingers faded, gradually, as though Vergil was willing the fear out of him with nothing but presence and touch. The heat that had burned in his chest began to ebb, giving way to something cooler, steadier, like still water spreading across scorched earth.

Nero felt his eyes shut for a moment, and he leaned forward, not wanting to let his father's hand go. Their joined hands rested on the tabletop, unmoving now, Vergil's thumb still running its quiet path along his skin.

"…I saw you fall," Nero said. His voice cracked, even though he tried to hold it steady. "I tried to stop you. I screamed. But you didn't hear me. You just… kept walking. Like I wasn't even there."

He felt Vergil's hand tighten around his.

"I know it was just a dream," he muttered, dragging his free hand through his hair. "I know. But it didn't feel like one. It felt real… because you looked at me. Said some shit like, 'Don't wait for me this time.' And you stepped off the cliff. Just—gone."

Another pause.

"And I guess… I-I guess part of me's still scared you'll go back to that. To being someone I can't reach… and that you'll leave me again."

Vergil said nothing for a long moment. His thumb stilled, resting on the curve of Nero's knuckle. The apartment had fallen silent again, save for the low tick of the kitchen clock and the faint hiss of cooling tea.

Then-

"…Dreams," Vergil began thoughtfully, "Are often less about the world we escape to… and more about the wounds we carry with us when we sleep."

He looked at Nero. "They are not always visions. Nor warnings. Sometimes, they're just echoes. Repetitions of what we fear will repeat… even if it already has."

Nero didn't move. He sat with his head bowed, looking at the seam of the table where their hands met. It took him a moment to speak.

"…You saying it's just trauma, then? That it's just my brain being a dick?"

Vergil gave a faint huff through his nose, almost a scoff, but softer. "Your mind is not cruel for trying to make sense of pain. It simply… lacks subtlety." He paused, then added quietly, "As does mine."

Nero glanced up at that. "You have dreams too?"

There was a flicker in Vergil's expression, so brief that if Nero had blinked, he would've missed it. A small shift, like a door creaking open before it slammed shut again.

"I have seen things I wish I could forget," Vergil said. "Some, I earned. Others… I inherited. Either way, they find their way back to me. In dreams. In silence." His gaze dropped to the hand still clasped in his own. "You are not alone in that."

Nero trailed his gaze up from their joined hands to his father's face, and it was then that he noticed it. A subtle shadowing under Vergil's eyes, half-concealed by the dim lighting but visible nonetheless.

Small, faint hollows that hadn't been there before, he thought.

He blinked, startled by how something so small could feel like such a blow.

"…You haven't been sleeping either," Nero murmured, his voice quieter than before, but sharper somehow. "Have you?"

Vergil didn't respond right away. He lingered on Nero's face for a moment, then he exhaled softly, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't dismissive, nor was it mocking. Just… tired. Really tired.  

"No," he admitted, shaking his head. "Not well."

"Why not?" Nero asked.

Vergil looked away, his eyes trailing toward the photo of his mother, still resting beside the untouched tea.

"There are things," he said finally, "That do not leave us. No matter how far we walk and how many times we try to sheath them."

It was about as much as he was going to get from the older man in words. But Nero didn't really mind. He already understood.

"…I don't want you to leave me, Dad."

There it was. Ugly and childlike. A stupid little sentence that made him want to crawl out of his own skin the second it escaped.

Goddamn it.

He grimaced, hating the way it sounded, like he was five years old again, clutching the edge of someone's coat and begging them not to disappear. He stared down at his lap, jaw clenched hard, but he didn't take the words back. 

"I mean…" He dragged a hand through his hair, agitated and embarrassed, his throat feeling tight. "I know I sound like a damn kid, alright? I know. But I just…" He shook his head. "I don't wanna wake up and find out it wasn't a dream."

He could feel Yamato sing at the edge of his senses. Soft, like the distant ringing of a bell after its chime had passed. The photo of his mother remained within reach. The tea had gone lukewarm, untouched, but neither seemed to notice. Or care.

"What is now proved was once only imagined."

The sudden soft-spoken line from his father floated between them like smoke. Familiar, weighty, and out of place in the quiet hum of the apartment.

Nero's breath caught before the words slipped out of him, instinctual and gentle, like a whisper he hadn't meant to say:

"And every night and every morn… some to misery are born…"

But as soon as he said it, he went still and wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in it.

"Shit," Nero cursed, ducking his head down fast, ears already burning red.

His voice was small, sheepish. Embarrassment curled around his shoulders like a second skin. He tugged his hand away slightly, but Vergil didn't stop him.

"You read it," Vergil said after a moment, gently. Not surprised but more like… knowing.

This asshole.

Nero fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, not quite looking up. "I, uh… not all of it. Just… some. I dunno. A few lines stuck, I guess."

"I recall you said it 'wasn't really your thing.'"

"I know what I said," Nero groaned. "I didn't mean it like that, I just... I was bored, alright? It was late, I couldn't sleep, and the book was just there, and I didn't think it'd be, y'know, interesting, but it was, kinda, and now I feel stupid."

Vergil hummed, a soft sound, almost amused but not unkind. "Hm."

Nero shot him a wary glance. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you in any particular way, Nero."

"You are. You're doing that smug, 'oh, I knew you'd like it' look. Just don't, Dad."

Vergil's lips twitched, just a bit, but his eyes never lost that warmth. If anything, he looked… pleased. But not in the way that made Nero feel teased. It was gentler than that. Much subtler.

"You remembered the lines well. Your cadence was careful."

"…Thanks," Nero mumbled. He stared down at his cup like it might swallow him whole. "Can we just- pretend I didn't say anything?"

"No," Vergil said, but his tone was light. "I rather appreciated it."

Nero let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, a shy grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, well… don't get used to it. I'm not a poetry nut like you, old man."

Vergil allowed the corner of his mouth to lift, a soft curve that wasn't quite a smirk, but close. He leaned back in his chair a little, hand still resting close to Nero's on the table.

"I will not leave you."

The words were clear and unwavering.

Nero looked up slowly. The air shifted again. It was calm, like a page turning.

"I know," Vergil continued, "That I have not always been someone you could rely on. And I know that presence does not erase absence. But I am here now. Not out of duty or guilt. But because I choose to be."

Nero stared at him, eyes a little wider, like he wasn't sure how to hold the weight of that.

Vergil tilted his head slightly, watching him. "And I will be here tomorrow," he said, more softly this time. "And the day after that. I may not always have the right words. But I will not vanish, Nero."

Nero just looked at him, searching his father's face for any flicker of falsehood, but there wasn't one. Just the firm conviction of a man who rarely said things he didn't mean.

"…You promise?" Nero asked. It slipped out before he could stop it. He grimaced again, annoyed with himself at how childish he sounded, but he didn't take it back.

He really is just a dumbass kid with abandonment issues.

Vergil held his gaze and reached for his hand. "I promise."

The words hung in the air between them, but Nero didn't try to fill the space. He just stared down at their joined hands, Vergil's thumb idly brushing the curve of his knuckle.

"…Okay," he murmured.

Nero's gaze stayed on their hands, his jaw working like he had more to say, but nothing came out. Maybe later. He let out a slow breath through his nose and shifted his fingers just enough to fit more snugly between his father's.

He rested his head on the table again, as the warmth from the tea, the quiet, and the soft weight of his father's touch dulled the last flickers of panic still hiding in his chest. His breath evened out. The heat behind his eyes faded. And slowly, his muscles began to give in, one by one.

Vergil glanced over at him. "Are you ready for bed?"

"…Yeah," Nero said, his mouth muffled against the table. "But don't- don't carry me or anything. I'm not a baby." He yawned mid-sentence and added groggily, "Just... put me on the couch or somethin'. I'll crash there."

His words slurred near the end. He didn't even finish the sentence before his eyes started to close. He couldn't even lift his head back up; it just dropped back to the table with a thud of surrender.

There was a brief silence. And then, the sound of his father's low, amused chuckle.

He felt it more than he heard it. His father's chest shifting near him, the sound escaping like a breath too amused to be held back. He would've groaned in protest if he had the energy. Instead, he just blinked one eye open and grumbled, "The hell are you laughing at…?"

The scrape of the chair answered him as Vergil stood. Their hands separated for only a second before Nero, half-asleep and fumbling, reached for him again.

Vergil caught it before he could whine about it, strong fingers curling gently around his.

The next moment, Nero felt his father's arms slip under him, one behind his shoulders, the other beneath his knees. He was lifted clean off the chair, his limbs dangling with no resistance. He made a small, sluggish sound as he blinked up with blue, bleary eyes.

"H-Hey, wait- what'd I just say…?" He muttered, his voice thick with fatigue and barely coherent.

"I heard you," Vergil stated. There was another faint trace of amusement in the way he said it, but it wasn't mocking.

"Still coulda walked…"

"And walk directly into the doorframe, most likely."

Smartass. Nero snorted, and his head lolled against Vergil's shoulder as his arms instinctively curled inward, his breath growing soft around his father's collar.

"You're warm, Dad."

"Mm."

As they passed the table, Nero stirred faintly. "Did you turn off the kettle?"

Vergil glanced down at him. "Yes."

"…Okay. Good." His head settled again. "Would've bugged the shit outta me all night…"

Nero was half-limp now, tucked against him with no more resistance in his body than a drowsy child who'd lost the will to argue. One hand was still caught loosely in the fabric of Vergil's sweater, knuckles resting just above his chest.

"Couch," Nero mumbled, his voice nearly swallowed by sleep. "Said… couch…"

"I know," Vergil said.

His father carried him past the couch, into the spare bedroom down the hall, the one that Nero always used when he stayed over. The bed was already made. Vergil had done it earlier, quietly, as if he'd known he would stay.

Carefully, he knelt and laid Nero down, adjusting the pillow beneath his head before pulling the blanket up over him. The younger man stirred slightly, lashes fluttering as he blinked blearily up at his father.

"…Thought I said-"

"You did," Vergil said again, smoothing the edge of the blanket with one hand. "And you were ignored again."

"Tch. What happened to consent…?"

"You are free to protest in the morning."

A soft grunt was the answer he gave. Then Nero reached out clumsily and found his father's sleeve.

"…Stay for a bit?" Nero pulled at it. "Don't… wanna wake up from a bad dream again…"

From the small slits of his eyes, he could see Vergil's gaze lingering on him and then a smile, barely fleeting and comfortingly real. The older man shifted silently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, one hand still resting close enough for Nero to hold onto if he wanted.

Nero did want to, and so he grabbed his father's hand and squeezed it. He slowly brought it up toward his face. Exhaustion pulled him closer to sleep. He pressed their joined hands softly against his cheek, the warmth grounding him more than any words could.

A drowsy, boyish smile tugged at Nero's lips. "G'night, Dad…"

He felt his father's fingers gently smoothing through his hair with his other hand, slow and soothing like a quiet tide washing over restless shores.

"Goodnight, Nero."

That was the last thing he heard before sleep folded around him completely.


And this time, it held no nightmares at all.