Archive of Our Own

Nero stared out the window in awe. Tiny white flecks were drifting down from the sky! At first, he thought it was ash, the way it sometimes drifted after bonfires in the square. But this was different. Softer and brighter.

He climbed onto the edge of his bed, blanket slipping off his shoulders, and pressed his nose close to the glass. The world outside his room was changing right in front of him. The tree branches surrounding the house were slowly vanishing beneath a soft white veil, each stone and crack smoothed over as if the world itself were being tucked in. It gathered on the branches, bowing them slightly under its weight, and the sky hung low and pale, like it was holding its breath.

Nero pressed his forehead to the glass.

Snow.

It really was snow.

His chest felt tight in a way he didn't quite understand. Something like excitement mixed with wonder. He watched the flakes spiral and drift, some clinging briefly to the window before melting away. They moved differently from rain. Slower. Like they were choosing where to land!

He dragged his sleeve across the glass to clear a foggy patch and leaned closer, eyes wide.

"So that's what it looks like…" Nero whispered.

In the quiet of the early morning, the house felt enormous. From down the hall came the low, steady rhythm of his father's breathing, deep and even. Dad was asleep. Properly asleep.

Nero's fingers curled into the blanket at his side.

He wasn't supposed to go outside alone. He knew that. His father had told him more than once that mornings were dangerous, that quiet ones didn't mean safe ones.

But… it was snow.

His first snow.

And it might stop soon.

Just a little look, he told himself. Just a little!

Moving as quietly as his small body allowed, Nero crept from his room and down the stairs, each step taken carefully, as the floor itself might tattle on him. In the entryway, he fumbled into his coat, arms tangling awkwardly in the sleeves.

"Stupid gloves," he whispered fiercely as he wrestled them on. Hat. Scarf, too long, nearly tripping him. Boots were on last. He sat on the floor to pull them on, tongue sticking out in concentration. "There!"

Nero stood in front of the door and turned the handle. As soon as the door cracked open, cold air rushed in immediately, sharp and biting. Nero gasped, stumbling back as the chill hit his face.

"Oh-!" He sucked in a breath, eyes watering.

But instead of retreating, he smiled.

He slipped outside and carefully closed the door behind him. The snow crunched under his boots. The sound startled him, but it was… nice. He took another step. And another.

Then he laughed. It bubbled out of him. He ran forward, arms stretched wide, spinning as snowflakes landed in his hair and clung to his coat.

"It's real!" Nero giggled, jumping in place. "It's really, really real!"

He held out his hands, watching the flakes melt against his gloves. He stomped his boots into the snow, leaving deep footprints behind, then hopped between them like stepping stones.

"This is so cool! Credo would love this," he said to himself, breath puffing in white clouds. "An' Kyrie too… we could make a-!" Nero blinked and excitedly declared, "A snowman! Yeah. Yeah! I can do that!"

Nero crouched down and scooped up snow, packing it between his gloves. It was harder than it looked. "C'mon… stick," he muttered, tongue poking out again. The snowball wobbled but held. "Okay! That's one!" He pushed it along the ground, grunting as it grew bigger. Then another, smaller one. "Hah! Look at you!" Nero said proudly and patted it. "You're gonna be the tummy."

He struggled with the third, smallest ball, lifting it with both arms.

"I'm strong enough," he insisted, voice shaking. "Dad says I gotta be."

With a final shove, it landed on top.

Nero cheered. "Yes!"

He scampered to the side of the yard, snapping off two sticks.

"Arms!" He announced, jamming them into the snowman's sides. "So you can wave."

He stepped back, chest swelling with pride. Snow clung to his eyelashes as his cheeks burned with the cold.

"I'm gonna show Credo," he said happily. "He's gonna say it's awesome!"

"Nero."

Beaming, Nero turned around to face his father. "Daddy-!"

His stomach dropped so suddenly that it felt like he might tip forward with it.

Vergil stood a few steps away from the porch, framed by the falling snow like a dark, unmoving shadow against all the white. His blue pyjamas that matched Nero's own were a little wrinkled, and his hair was unslicked, not in the style it usually was. His father looked like he'd been dragged out of sleep rather than calmly risen from it.

That alone made Nero's chest tighten.

But it was his face that really did it.

Vergil's expression wasn't just stern. It was furious. Tight and controlled, eyes burning with something sharp and dangerous that Nero had only seen a handful of times before. Not often and not directed at him.

Nero's fingers curled inside his gloves, suddenly numb for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.

"D…Daddy?" He tried again, his voice much smaller this time.

His father's gaze only swept over him, his lips tightening at the display. It made Nero look down at the older man's side, and he saw Yamato pulsing along the sheath like a restless heartbeat.

Oh. Yamato had been worried too.

Vergil's eyes locked onto him. "Inside," he said, his tone low and cutting through the cold. "Now."

Nero flinched. His shoulders hunched instinctively, and the excitement that had been buzzing through him only moments ago collapsed in on itself, leaving something cold and heavy behind.

"…Okay," he mumbled.

He trudged through the snow, boots heavier than before with each step feeling slower. As he passed his father, he kept his eyes glued to the ground, unable to look up. He went back inside, and Vergil followed close behind before the door shut with a final solid thud.

The warmth of the house hit Nero all at once, making his cheeks sting and his nose burn. He sniffed, wiping at it with his sleeve, but he didn't look up. He didn't want to see his father's angry face again.

"How many times," Vergil began, "Have I told you not to go outside alone in the snow?"

Nero stared at his boots. Melted snow pooled beneath them, darkening the wooden floor.

"I… I dunno," he muttered.

Vergil's jaw clenched. "You know exactly how many times."

The boy shifted his weight, fingers twisting together. "But… but it's snow," he said, like that explained everything. "I never seen it before. Not really. I just wanted to play."

"That is irrelevant, Nero," Vergil snapped.

Nero flinched again.

"Demon activity increases during heavy snowfall," Vergil continued, pacing once across the entryway before stopping in front of him. "Visibility drops. Sound carries poorly. Humans stand out against the terrain like beacons. You could have been seen or followed."

"But nothing happened!" Nero burst out, finally looking up. "I was right there! I didn't even go far!"

"You standing here unharmed does not make the decision acceptable," Vergil said sharply. "It makes it reckless."

Nero's chest felt tight again, tighter than before. His hands balled into fists.

"I wasn't reckless," he said, and started to feel his skin prickle. "I was careful! I had my coat and my gloves and-!"

"You are eight," Vergil cut in. "That alone disqualifies you from deciding what is careful!"

That hurt. Nero's face crumpled, emotions tumbling over each other faster than he could catch them. Fear, frustration, embarrassment… all of it boiled up and spilt over.

"You're being mean, daddy," he blurted out, tears stinging his eyes. "You're being really mean!"

His dad was never this mean! He had seen his dad get angry and annoyed at other people, especially Uncle Dante, but never at him. Maybe sometimes he would get a scolding for being a little naughty, but even then, all Nero wanted to do was play and play with his daddy too!

Vergil's eyes had only narrowed. "I am protecting you-"

"I don't care!" Nero cried, tears finally spilling over and streaking down his cold-reddened cheeks. "Uncle Dante would've let me play in the snow! He wouldn't have yelled at me like you are right now!"

Suddenly, Nero felt the temperature in the room drop. The air itself seemed to stiffen, like it had been pulled too tight. Nero's breath puffed faintly in front of him again, even though they were inside, and a shiver crawled up his spine that had nothing to do with snow.

The house became eerily silent. No crackle from the hearth. No distant wind against the windows.

And Vergil's face darkened.

It wasn't anger the way Nero understood it. Not the sharp scolding kind, or the stern look that came when he accidentally tracked mud across the floor. This was something else entirely. His father's expression closed in on itself, shadows cutting deeper beneath his eyes, his jaw tightening so hard it looked like it might crack. Power pressed outward from him, heavy and suffocating, making the room feel suddenly far too small.

Nero had never seen his father look like that before.

Fear bloomed fast and wild in his chest.

"Do not compare me to-!" Vergil's voice rose an octave, echoing off the walls with a force that made Nero flinch violently.

His eyes dropped to his son, and whatever fury had surged up so instinctively faltered as reality caught up to him. He saw Nero the way he actually was. Small, trembling, eyes blown wide with terror. Nero's hands flew up to clamp over his ears as if he could block the sound, his breathing breaking into quick, uneven gasps that barely seemed to get enough air into his lungs.

Tears spilt freely now, sliding down his cheeks and dripping from his chin, his shoulders curling inward as if he could make himself disappear. His knees bent, body recoiling on instinct, backing away step by frightened step.

His daddy's face changed instantly, and the initial anger drained from it. His eyes widened a fraction, his mouth parting as the weight of what he'd done hit him all at once.

"…Nero, I-" Vergil began.

But Nero shook his head as his little body shook with sobs.

"N-No!" He whimpered, wiping furiously at his eyes with his sleeve. "Don't… Don't talk to me! You scared me…!"

His chest heaved as he gasped for air, words tumbling out in a broken rush.

"I hate you! Daddy, I hate you!"

Before Vergil could move and say anything to soothe him, Nero turned and bolted for the stairs.

His small feet pounded against the steps in rapid, uneven thuds. At the top, he sprinted down the hall, burst into his room, and slammed the door shut with a sharp bang that echoed through the house.

"Nero?" Kyrie's soft voice cut through his daydreaming. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Nero looked at Kyrie beside him before he swallowed nervously, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Y-Yeah… m'okay, Kyrie…"

He really wasn't.

After what happened with his dad yesterday, Nero barely came out of his room. When he did, it was to wash up or use the toilet. But other than that, he stayed in his bed with the covers over his head. He occasionally peeked outside the window to see the continuing snowfall, but not for too long. Otherwise, he'd get even sadder about the fact that he couldn't play in it.

His father came into his room to give him his meals, even trying to coax him to eat or say something, but Nero never answered. When he was left alone again, his stomach eventually didn't agree with running on empty and ate the food he was left with on his desk.

This morning had been quiet too. Nero got ready for school and nervously went down the steps, avoiding his father's gaze as Yamato had been brought out. Usually, they walked. Dad always walked him to school, even when it was cold. Nero liked that part. He liked crunching leaves or pebbles under his boots. But this time, Yamato slid free with a soft hum, space tearing open in front of them in a flash of blue light.

The school gates were right there, devoid of the snow because most of it already melted, and Nero could feel his chest sinking all over again.

Now, he sat at a long table inside the school building, knees swinging under the bench. Everyone had been kept indoors because the snow in the playground had turned slick and icy outside. The teachers said it was too dangerous to play. Nero picked at his ham and cheese sandwich that his dad made for him, not really hungry anymore.

Kyrie studied him with that quiet, perceptive look she always had. She knew whenever Nero wasn't feeling himself, and today was no exception. "You don't look okay," she said gently.

Nero swallowed again and looked around before hunching his shoulders. "…I got in big trouble," he admitted finally to Kyrie. "My daddy got really mad."

Understanding filled the girl's eyes. "About the snow?"

He nodded. "I-I snuck out of the house to play in it when I wasn't supposed to." Nero's fingers picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "He yelled."

He didn't say the rest; that his father's face had changed, that the room had gone cold, that for a moment his dad hadn't looked like his dad at all. The memory made his stomach twist.

Nero also didn't mention what he told him after. He couldn't forget how his dad's eyes flashed with shock and hurt when he shouted that he hated him, but Nero was too clouded with his emotions to even really dwell on it.

He felt bad. Really, really, bad…

Kyrie was quiet for a few seconds, then leaned her shoulder against his. "My mom says grown-ups get scared too," she said. "They just don't always say it right."

Nero frowned, glancing at her. "Dad doesn't get scared."

A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. "Everyone does."

…Maybe that made sense. His father didn't want him playing in the snow because of the demons. He was worried that Nero was going to get hurt because of them.

Kyrie hesitated for a moment, then took a small bite of her sandwich before speaking again, like she was choosing her words carefully.

"Credo got in trouble once."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh. Really big trouble." Her fingers curled around the crust of her bread. "He wasn't supposed to leave the house after dark, but he did anyway. He wanted to practise with his sword. He said if he trained more, he'd be stronger and wouldn't mess up."

Huh. That sounded… a lot like Credo.

"He thought Mom and Dad wouldn't notice," Kyrie continued. "But they did. They were so worried they couldn't even sleep. When he came back, Dad yelled. Really loud." She winced a little at the memory. "And Mom cried."

Nero's stomach twisted. "Did… Did Credo get scared?"

"Yup. He even started crying, too, but not right away. He tried to explain why he did it, but it all came out wrong. He said he was sorry, and then he said he just wanted them to stop looking at him like that." Her voice grew softer. "He thought they hated him."

"What happened?"

Kyrie shrugged. "Mommy hugged him, even though he was still talking. And daddy said he wasn't angry because Credo trained. He was angry because Credo could've gotten hurt. Or worse." She glanced down at the table. "They said they loved him. A lot. They just didn't know how to say it without yelling first."

Nero stared at the tabletop, the words sinking in. His chest felt strange again, heavy but warm in a way he didn't expect.

"So… they weren't mad-mad?" He asked.

"No," Kyrie shook her head. "They were scared-mad."

"…Credo didn't say he hated them?"

Kyrie smiled. "He did, but he didn't mean it. And mommy and daddy knew that."

Nero stared down at his sandwich for a long moment before finally taking a bite. "I think," he said slowly, realisation dawning on him. "My dad was just scared too."

Kyrie leaned her head against his shoulder again. "I think so as well."

He smiled. Kyrie was the best. She always knew the right things to say.

"What's up, kid?"

"Hm?" Nero looked up from the coloured blocks that were scattered between him and his uncle on the floor. When he realised the question, he blushed. "O-Oh, it's nothing…"

It was the weekend, and Nero was staying with his uncle at his office for the day. His dad had business back home that apparently needed his attention. Other than the fact that things were tense between them, Nero didn't mind. He loved hanging out with his Uncle Dante! That meant he could eat really good pizza and really nice strawberry sundaes!

"Hmm…" Dante crossed his arms and rubbed the bottom of his chin with his hand. "Ya know, I can always tell when my sweet nephew is thinkin' too hard about something."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really!" His uncle smiled at him and pointed at the barely half-eaten slice of pizza that sat lonely on the coffee table. "Usually, you'd be begging me to get a lotta pepperoni on that, and you've barely given it a dent!" Dante exclaimed, starting to look hurt and offended. "Don't tell me your old man's healthy eating habits have finally infected you!"

Nero couldn't help but stifle a giggle. "But Uncle Dante, eating healthy is good for you! Daddy says it makes you really strong! You should try it!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Can't believe you're uh-huh'ing my nuh-uh'ing!" Dante pouted and reached over to ruffle his hair. "My little protege is betraying me!"

Nero laughed outright this time, ducking his head as Dante's hand messed up his hair. He swatted weakly at his uncle's arm, though he didn't really try to stop him. "Hey! Stop-!" He squeaked before dissolving into giggles again.

Dante finally relented, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "There. That's the Nero I know. Thought you got replaced with some spinach-eating robot for a second."

Nero snorted, smoothing down his hair as best he could. "I still like pizza!"

"Good. Because if you didn't, I'd have to revoke your Devil May Cry Jr. membership," Dante said.

"…There's a membership?"

"Absolutely. Exclusive. Very elite. Comes with unlimited pizza privileges and a personal mentor with amazing hair!"

"Your hair's always messy, Uncle Dante."

"But it's legendary," Dante added instantly.

Nero stared at him for a moment… then cracked another small smile and went back to stacking his blocks.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the soft sounds of wood fitting together.

He felt his uncle watch him, his teasing expression lessening. "…You're still barely touching that pizza, by the way."

Nero's fingers stilled on the block he was holding as he still didn't look up.

"C'mon, kid. You know you can talk to me, right? I've dealt with way worse than moody eight-year-olds."

"I'm not moody," he huffed.

"Mm-hm."

Nero hesitated before setting the block down. His gaze drifted to the slice of pizza again, and his small shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. "…I don't feel hungry," he murmured.

"Yeah," Dante said. "That usually means somethin's eating at you instead."

When Nero still didn't say anything, Dante sighed. "Sometimes when I was a kid, I'd get so tangled up in my own head I'd forget to eat too."

Nero glanced at him, surprised. His uncle always had a big appetite for pizza. "You did?"

"Totally," Dante nodded. "Your grandma would freak out. Said I was gonna 'wither away'." He snorted. "Spoiler alert: I did not."

That earned a tiny huff of a laugh from Nero.

Dante grinned at him. "So. Wanna tell me what's got your brain doin' laps?"

Nero's hands twisted together in his lap. He stared at the faint red marks from fisting his hands too tightly moments ago. "…Me and daddy fought," he said quietly.

His uncle hummed. "Yeah, I figured."


"It was about the snow."

"The snow," Dante echoed.

"I wanted to play so I snuck outside. I wasn't s'posed to. He got really mad." His voice wavered. "Like… really mad."

Dante's jaw tightened just a fraction. "He scare you?"

Hesitating and contemplating whether or not he should say it, Nero figured nothing could get past his uncle's eyes, so he nodded.

"...Yeah."

Dante closed his eyes for a brief second, then exhaled. "I'm sorry, kid. That shouldn't've happened."

"You're not the one who did it."

"Still. Doesn't make it feel any less scary."

Nero felt his shoulders slump. "I-I told him you would've let me play in the snow, Uncle Dante. He got really mad at that too."

A snort came out from his uncle. "Yeah. That wouldn't go down well for your old man, huh?"

Shaking his head, Nero said nothing.

But Dante just smiled at him again, reaching over carefully to sweep his hand over Nero's hair. "Ever since we were kids, your dad was always possessive over his stuff."

He perked up at that. "He was?"

"Still is!" Dante rolled his eyes playfully. "With Yamato, with his friggin' books and now with you! God knows how possessive he was over your Mama!"

Nero's heart bloomed at the mention of his late mother. "Mommy was really beautiful!"

"'Course she was! Never in my life did I think my stuck-up brother would be able pull someone like her. She musta had him feeling whipped!"

"Ya mean the same way you feel about Lady?"

His uncle choked. "Hey!" Dante suddenly sat upright, his face turning red like his coat. "How'd you come up with that, kid?!"

"Daddy sometimes talks about how silly you are because you haven't said anything to her yet."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "Why I oughta-!" He suddenly calmed down and cleared his throat into his fist, quickly flailing his hands to crush away that subject. "Anyways, point is that under all that cold bravado he's got going on, he's greedy and smitten. Especially with you."

Even though Nero understood where his uncle was coming from, it still didn't wipe off the sadness and ache he felt in his chest. He decided to be honest with Dante. "E-Even if…" He gulped, trying his best to stop his lips from trembling. "Even if I said I hated him…?"

His uncle's eyes seemed to relax, happy that the root of his issue came to light. "That sounds like somethin' you'd say when you're hurt."

Nero's eyes stung as he looked down. "I didn't mean it. I just-"

Before his mind could spiral into another flood of tears, he felt Dante's hand lift his chin to look at him again. "Kid," he said, "You're allowed to say things you don't mean when you're scared. You're allowed to be angry. That doesn't make you bad. And it sure as hell doesn't mean your dad stopped loving you."

"But-"

"You didn't ruin anything," Dante said firmly. "And you didn't lose your dad because of that."

"R-Really?"

"Really. Your dad loves you. Stupidly and frickin' ridiculously. In a 'would fight God, demons, and probably me all at the same time' kinda way."

Nero sniffed, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. "M-Mhm..."

"Aw, c'mere, Nero…" Dante gestured to him to come over, but he was already wrapping his arms around Nero and bringing him to his lap. "Lemme tell you something, he ain't perfect. He screws up, a lot. More than he'd ever admit. But you?" Dante rested his chin lightly on the top of Nero's head. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to him."

He curled his fingers into the fabric of Dante's red coat. He listened to the steady thump of his uncle's heartbeat.

After a beat of silence, Dante spoke again. "And for what it's worth… I probably would've let you play in the snow."

"You would?"

Dante grinned down at him. "Hell yeah! I'd've made snow angels with you, built a whole snowman like you did, maybe even have a snowball fight." He shrugged. "But your dad?" His look softened into something more understanding. "He's wired different. He doesn't see 'fun' first. He sees danger. Given our family history 'n all, I get it."

"…Kyrie said somethin' like that."

"Yeah? Huh." His uncle's lips curled into a lopsided smirk. "Smart one, she is. You should listen to her more often."

Nero let out a tiny, wet snort of a laugh despite himself. "I always do."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Dante absently rubbed slow circles between Nero's shoulder blades, letting him breathe. It felt nice.

"…So," Dante said eventually. "What d'you think you should do?"

The boy stared down at his own shoes, thinking hard. "…I think… I should say sorry to my daddy," he admitted.

Dante nodded. "Yeah. I think that'd be a good start."

He nodded too, but then his brows furrowed, as another thought had just occurred to him. He twisted slightly in Dante's lap. "I-I also wanna give him something."

"Give him something, huh?" Dante blinked and tilted his head. "Okay, what were you thinking, kiddo?"

Nero fell quiet. His brows knitted together as he thought really hard, legs swinging from where he sat on his uncle's lap.

"… I wanna write him a poem."

Dante stared at him.

Then his uncle barked out a surprised laugh before he could stop himself. "A poem? Sheesh, you really are Vergil's kid!" He poked at Nero's head. "Next thing I know, you'll be broodier than him too!"

Nero giggled despite himself. "Daddy likes words," he said shyly. "And books! He said he liked it when he and mommy used to read to each other."

Dante eased immediately. "Yeah," he murmured. "He really did." He nodded at Nero. "That's a good idea. A real good one."

Nero straightened a bit more, determination settling in his eyes. "…I could ask Kyrie to help me," he said. "She's really good at using the best words."

His uncle let out a snort. "Yeah, don't ask me for help in that department. I'd rhyme 'dad' with 'bad' and call it a day. Then maybe somethin' to do with pizza and the fact I still owe your Aunt Lady a new motorbike!'

"That's silly!"

"Hey, poetry's hard!" Dante protested. "Gimme a demon horde any day."

Laughing, Nero leaned back against him again. He was calmer now, his breathing much steadier. "Thanks, Uncle Dante."

Dante ruffled his hair. "Anytime, Nero." He chuckled. "But hey, if you ever need me to kick your dad's ass, you just holler, okay?"

Nero's eyes widened for a second… then he broke into a grin. "Wo'kay!"

"Atta boy."

Dante shifted, sliding one arm under Nero's legs and effortlessly lifting him up. With his free hand, he grabbed Nero's barely-touched slice of pizza on the coffee table. "C'mon," he said, bouncing Nero on his hip. "We're reheatin' this so you can actually finish it."

"But it's gonna be soggy!"

"It's still pizza, little man!" Dante said wisely. "And while we're at it, we gotta get you cleaned up. You're covered in sauce, and if your dad sees you like this, he's gonna kill me!"

Nero laughed into his uncle's shoulder as Dante pushed open the microwave with his elbow, already reaching for a damp cloth with his other hand.

The next few days, Nero worked on the poem in secret.

At school, during lunch and quiet reading time, he and Kyrie bent their heads together over a sheet of lined paper that Nero had carefully folded and unfolded so many times it was beginning to soften at the creases. Kyrie's neat handwriting curved across the page while Nero hovered beside her.

"Okay," Kyrie murmured, tapping her pencil against her lip. "What do you wanna say first?"

Nero frowned, staring at the blank space above her writing. "…I wanna say that… I'm sorry."

She nodded. "We can say it this way! Like… 'I'm sorry for the things I said.'"

His eyes brightened. "Yeah! That sounds good."

That evening, after an almost soundless dinner, Nero slipped quietly up the stairs to his room with the folded sheet tucked protectively against his chest.

Nero sat at his desk, smoothing the paper flat with his small hands. He reread what he wrote with Kyrie's help, lips moving silently as he followed along. But now, alone, he felt a sudden rush of nerves. What if it didn't sound good enough? What if his dad didn't like it?

But that doesn't sound right. Daddy always loves what I give him.

His gaze drifted to the tall bookshelf on the opposite wall.

His father kept some of his books in Nero's room if he ever wanted to give them a read. Some of them were really nice with pictures, and others had more words, so he could learn new ones. With some newfound motivation, Nero went to get some of the books.


He pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward him, setting the old, crumpled one carefully to the side. He then smoothed the new page flat with both hands, pressing down along the edges until it lay perfectly straight. Then, very neatly like he was taught, he began rewriting his poem in big, careful letters, tongue poking out slightly as he worked.

Every now and then, he would take a look at one of the books. He didn't really understand most of the words in it, but he liked how some of them sounded. He tried to pick simpler versions that still felt special!

When he finished, he leaned back in his chair as his eyes moved over the page.

Then his face lit up with a soft, happy smile. "It's done!" He leaned forward again, reading the whole thing once more, lips moving silently. His chest felt warm, lighter than it had in days. He folded the paper carefully, crisp and neat this time, and glanced out the window. It was still bright out, so he still had time!

Okay. He could do this!

He slid off his chair and padded downstairs. On the way to the kitchen, he saw Yamato propped up against the wall near the living room. When he got closer to her, she began glowing. Nero giggled and pressed his finger against his lips, as if to say "shh!". Yamato glowed again, reassuring him softly, before she stopped.

When Nero reached the kitchen, he slowed, peeking around the corner.

His dad was there, standing at the sink and washing the dishes. He looked to be thinking really hard about something. Nero watched him for a second longer than he meant to, nerves fluttering in his tummy.

Then he took a breath and walked over as he tugged gently on the hem of his father's shirt. "Daddy?"

His father stilled and then turned his head. "Nero?" He sounded unsure and careful, like he didn't know how to fix the space between them.

Nero felt that same nervousness reflected at him, and it made his stomach twist after seeing how tired his dad looked. Was he not sleeping because of what happened? Suddenly, he felt extra guilty. "C-Can we… go outside, please?"

Vergil looked at him, then toward the garden beyond the window. After a beat, he offered him a small smile. "…Alright."

Seeing his dad smile at him after so many days made Nero's shoulders relax.

Vergil finished rinsing the last plate, dried his hands, and let Nero take one of them. Nero clutched the folded paper in his other hand, noticing how his father's eyes flicked to it with mild curiosity but said nothing.

Together, they stepped into the garden. The grass was crunchy beneath their slippers. Nero hurried ahead to spread a blanket across the lawn, smoothing out every wrinkle with careful hands until it lay flat. "Sit, daddy."

Amused, Vergil obliged, lowering himself onto the blanket so he was level with Nero. He rested his forearms on his knees, eyes attentive and completely focused on his son.

Nero pressed his lips together, heart thudding. He held the paper with both hands, fingers trembling. "U-Um…" He met his father's gaze, feeling the tips of his ears go warm and red before he hid half of his face behind the paper. "I-I wrote something for you."

Vergil smiled at him again. "Did you?"

"Y-Yeah…" Nero stammered and looked at his father with shy eyes. "I wanna read it to you."

His daddy's look only softened as he inclined his head to show he was listening.

Clearing his throat, Nero took a few deep breaths before he began reading. "I-I'm sorry for the things I said when I was scared and mad, and when my feelings came out really loud and bad."

Nero swallowed and kept going, eyes glued to the page even though his hands were shaking.

"Sometimes my words come out all wrong," he read. "Like when my brain is too fast, 'n my mouth is too strong."

He began sniffing, but he pushed through it.

"I know you were worried, I know you were scared. You were trying to keep me safe 'cause you really, really cared."

He paused, squinting at the next line. His brows knitted together. "…Y-You're… you're my… pro–" He frowned harder. "Pro… pro-tek…?"

His daddy leaned in a little. "Pro-tec-tor," he said quietly. "Pro. Tec. Tor."

Nero echoed it, lips moving carefully. "…Pro-tec-tor." His eyes lit up instantly. "Protector!" He beamed, pride washing over his face, and then said it again, louder and happier. "Protector!"

There was a proud smile that washed over his father's face as he nodded for him to continue.

He straightened a bit and went on. "You're my protector, my daddy, my hero too, even when you're grumpy, I still look up to you."

A tiny, breathy laugh escaped from both of them at that, but it quickly faded as he reached the last few lines.

"I don't hate you…" Nero read, the words catching in his throat. "I-I never do…" His lower lip trembled. Tears welled up, blurring the letters on the page. "I… I love you, daddy…" His voice broke completely. "I j-just… I just wanted you to know that too…"

The paper crumpled in his hands as he tried to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, sniffing hard. "S-Sorry," he whispered. He tried to keep reading and tried to force the words out, but they wouldn't come. "I… I don't-" He sucked in a shaky breath, his chin quivering. "I don't hate you… I-I love you-" Another set of tears slipped down his cheek. And then another, before a hiccup escaped him. "I-I love you, daddy, I-I-"

He couldn't finish. His shoulders began to shake as quiet sobs spilt out of him, the paper slipping from his grasp as he buried his face in his hands, trying and failing to stop the tears.

Before he could say another word, he felt his father's arms wrap around him.

Vergil pulled him in, one hand resting protectively against the back of his head as Nero sobbed into his father's shirt, his fingers clutching the fabric like a lifeline. Nero felt his father's other hand soothing his back, and he could hear the gentle purrs he always liked rumbling from him.

Then, very carefully, he shifted Nero so that the boy was leaning back against him, resting between his legs with his back to Vergil's chest. One arm stayed around him, steady and secure.

Vergil picked up the crumpled paper beside them, smoothing it lightly with his thumb.

In a low, soothing tone, he finished the poem for him.

"I heard every word you meant, even when your voice was spent."

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Nero's head before he read the last part.

"And I know your heart is true… because you have always loved me too."

Nero let out a tiny whimper at that, leaning further into him as Vergil wrapped both arms around him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Nero basked in the warmth of his father's hold, the steady rise and fall of Vergil's chest at his back grounding him as his tears gradually began to ease. His sobs softened into shaky breaths, then quiet sniffles, until only the occasional hiccup escaped him.

After a bit, Nero tilted his head as he gathered the courage again. "…Daddy?"

"Yes, Nero?"

Nero hesitated, fingers softly tugging at his father's sleeves. "…D-Did you… like it?" He asked. "The poem?"

There was a soft sound from above him. Not a full laugh, but a gentle chuckle that rumbled in his daddy's chest. Warm and fond. Almost surprised.

Vergil used his thumb and forefinger to tilt his son's chin up just enough so Nero could see his face.

"I did," Vergil said. "Very much." His thumb rested beneath Nero's chin as his eyes searched his son's face. "It was meaningful, and you sounded very brave. Thank you, Nero."

Nero sniffed, blinking hard. He wriggled so he could turn onto his side, leaning against his father's chest, one arm draped across his middle so he could look at him properly. "…I'm sorry again," he murmured. "For… For saying I hated you." He trembled. "I don't. I don't hate you, daddy."

Vergil's gaze warmed even more. He lifted his thumb and wiped away the last of the tears clinging to Nero's lashes, then brushed it over his cheek. "I know. I never believed that you did." He exhaled, slow and steady. "…And I am sorry too, Nero. I should not have yelled at you like that. It was wrong of me."

Nero's eyes went wide. "…It was?"

"Yes," Vergil answered without hesitation. "I was frightened, and I let that turn into anger. And in turn, I scared you. You did not deserve that."

"B-But I went outside in the snow when I wasn't supposed to…"

Vergil's arms tightened around Nero, pulling him closer. "You did." He closed his eyes before opening them. "But I cannot blame you. You're only a child, and your curiosity is part of growing up. It is my responsibility to guide you through it… not frighten you away from it."

Nero blinked at him, still slightly damp-eyed. "...You were really mad."

"I was," Vergil admitted. His gaze dropped momentarily, distant, before returning to his son. "Not at you. Never at you. But at the thought of anything happening to you." His thumb traced a slow, absentminded line along Nero's cheek again. "It is… difficult for me to separate those feelings sometimes."

He was quiet, processing that. He remembered what Kyrie and Uncle Dante said. His father was really afraid to lose him, and Nero didn't want him to feel like that ever again. "I understand," he said. "I'm sorry for making you worried. I don't like it, and I don't like seeing you sad."

His father smiled before brushing his hand through Nero's hair and leaving another kiss against his head. "It's fine, Nero. I'm sorry for making you feel the same way. I do not like it either."

Nero nodded, a genuine smile coming to his lips as he looked at him. "It's okay."

Vergil smiled at him again and held one of his hands, gently using his thumb to circle his palm. "Demons are relentless in the snow," he started to explain to him, and Nero listened carefully. "Snow is… deceptive. It looks soft and harmless, but it hides tracks, holes, and things that can hurt you. And demons…" His gaze flicked briefly toward the edge of the garden before returning to Nero. "They move faster in bad weather than you might expect. They use it to conceal themselves."

"Like… hide-and-seek?"

"Something like that," Vergil replied, a faint, almost wry curl to his lips. "Except they do not play fairly."

Nodding again, Nero let the words sink in for a moment as he watched his father think and say the next thing.

"But…" Vergil laughed quietly. "I'm unable to deny that I was just like you when I was a child."

At that, Nero couldn't help but beam. "You were? You liked the snow?!"

His father hummed. "I did. When I was very small… I found it fascinating. Your grandmother would let your uncle and I build our own snowman, though it quickly turned into a competition." Nero snickered, expecting that before Vergil continued. "I'd like to think I won."

"Yeah?"

"There was a snowball fight after. I definitely won that."

Nero giggled. "Poor Uncle Dante!"

There was an almost soundless snort from his father. He nuzzled his chin against Nero's head. "Regardless…" Vergil tightened his arms around him a little more. "I refuse to let you not experience the snow properly. I want you to experience it the way I did next time."

Nero's head snapped straight up, blue eyes wide and shining as if someone had just lit a spark inside him. "The way you did…?" He echoed, hope creeping into his voice. "…Like… Like the next time it snows?"

"Yes."

His breath hitched. "D-Does that mean… I can play?" He leaned forward, barely able to keep still. "Outside?"

"Yes," Vergil said again, without hesitation, his own eyes lit with amusement as he watched his reaction. "You can play."

That was all it took. Nero let out a delighted gasp and practically vibrated where he sat. His arms flailed as he gestured wildly, nearly smacking himself in the face in his excitement. "Really?! With you? With you, daddy?!" He scrambled to his knees, turning half around to face him properly. "We can make a snowman! A biiiig one!" He paused, eyes lighting up even more, "And we can do snow angels too! Like this!" He flopped backwards dramatically onto the blanket, arms and legs spreading out as if the grass beneath him were already snow-covered. "Woooosh!"

He heard the older man laugh again before he felt his father's arms wrap around him to steady him up so Nero wouldn't actually fall over his excitement. "Careful," Vergil murmured, his tone fond. "Yes. A snowman. And snow angels."

Nero stared at him as he'd just been given the best gift in the world! "You promise?"

"I promise."

But Nero pressed his lips and broughtout his pinky finger to him. "You pinky promise?"

Vergil also pressed his lips, though it seemed to be more strained as his ears started to look red. Then, with a soft exhale that almost sounded like a chuckle, he lifted his own hand. Slowly, he hooked his pinky around Nero's. "...I pinky promise," he said, steady and sincere. "On my honour."

Nero squeaked happily and buried his face into his father's shirt, arms wrapping tight around his middle. "Yay! Yay yay yay!" His feet kicked at the blanket in pure excitement. "We're gonna make the best snowman and snow angels ever! You'll see!"

"I have no doubt."

Resting against Vergil, Nero watched his father study the poem again, feeling warm and secure in his arms. He nestled into his chest and murmured, "I love you, daddy."

Vergil drew him in closer, his grip firm but gentle as his breath ghosted over Nero's hair.

"I love you too, Nero."

And just like that, everything felt right again.

Soon enough, Fortuna was blanketed once again by falling snow.

Nero waited patiently as Vergil zipped up his blue coat, barely able to contain his excitement. Once finished, he grinned from ear to ear. He watched his father wrap a light blue scarf snugly around him before doing the same for himself.

Vergil opened the door, and fresh snow drifted into the garden.

Nero's face lit up at the sight of it. It was even more snowy than before!

Extending his hand, Vergil smiled at him. "Come, Nero."

"Okay!" Nero beamed and took his daddy's hand as they stepped outside together.