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Vergil knew that with children, comes mess. Destruction. And in hindsight, letting Nero spend such prolonged periods of time with Dante was a horrible idea. Because with Dante, those things also came. Tenfold.
His brother was nothing but a nuisance who hadn't grown out of childhood habits. It only made sense for Nero to have picked up on his behaviour– especially now that his little claws were growing and his baby teeth sharpening. And nestlings were incredibly impressionable! Vergil curses his unlucky stars for ever entertaining the thought that Nero wouldn’t mirror Dante.
Kneading was something they'd done as broodlings as their claws grew to soothe aching fingers. Marching forelimbs on blankets, the couch, Sparda's lap, Eva’s shawl. Anywhere they could prick and pull with tiny sharp nails. He vaguely recalls his mother buying scratching posts for both himself and Dante after she found her 4th clothing item shredded.
(Arms akimbo, Eva squinted in broiling disappointment at the remnants of what used to be her favourite red shawl. Claw marks, teeth marks. These little terrors were getting out of control.
“Sparda!”
A crash. Twin mewls of distress from the aforementioned pests. A responding, equally distressed grunt from a husband wrung thin.
“Yes? Love?” Came Spardas voice as he approached their bedroom, two wriggling toddlers thrown over his shoulder like sacks of potatoes. If sacks of potatoes had lanky limbs and were actively trying to fight each other over his back.
With a gaze that would’ve sucked the soul clean out of a mortal, Eva unfolded her arms and pointed at her ruined wrap. “Explain.”
After wrangling Dante under his arm (With effort that should never be needed when handling a three year old), Sparda drew slightly slitted pupils to the root of Eva’s frustration and the soft launch of his demise.
“..Ah. They are teething.” A pause. Tiny too-sharp claws digging into the side of his thigh where Dante was trying to make a bid for freedom. “And their claws are coming in.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
A long sigh. Vergil filled the silence with a loud bark and Dante responded with a hiss that was more a huff, than anything.
“I will see to it.” Sparda ground out, houfing Dante further up his hip and growling at him to stay put. “They need something durable to.. Scratch.”
Lips thinning, Eva stared at Dantes now lax body in Spardas arms. His claws gently pooked at the old demons unbefitting nightwear. She blinked once, twice, before drawing her gaze to meet her husbands. She could just faintly see Vergils little hands kneading at Spardas back.
“What about a scratching post?”)
It seems, Vergil thinks as he stares blankly at the mangled remains of what used to be his clothes, that Nero has reached this point in his short life. He may not remember the chaos he and Dante contributed to as sticky children, but Eva and Sparda surely did not forget.They’d been given marrow bones to gnaw on until they were six and began to rebel and chew the animal carcasses they found in the forest. Scratching posts up until the fire that tore their family asunder.
Vergil ran a hand down his face. The pudgy thing responsible for this mess was squealing at his uncle in the venue of the shop. Said uncle was squealing back about the grooves left behind on his desks legs courtesy of growing fangs. Vergil could swear up and down that Dante had only aged in body and not mind.
“Ridiculous.” he murmured in Abyssal, adopting his dual-toned accent. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
He stepped forward and picked up a sweater vest that’d seen better days. Turning it, tiny slits in the fabric become more noticeable, as does the obvious bite that’d been taken out of it. He lets it fall back onto his bed with an almost belligerent breath.
Why. Just why.
Manifesting a small amount of demonic energy, he materialised his tail. He used its sharp tip to scoop up his ruined clothes, curling the appendage slightly to make sure they don’t fall, and promptly pivoted on his heel to make his way down to his kin.
“No! Not Ahh! Look at the state of my desk, you little monster!”
Oh. Joy. Dante arguing with a 2 year old.
How intellectually challenged, his brother was. Vergil pitied him. Nero probably did too.
“Dante.” Vergil said, tone flat as ever, as he descended the stairs. As he was about to begin his tirade about not poisoning his son so early in his life with destructive habits, he looked up and had to pause at the sight he was greeted with.
Dante, holding his nestling by the collar of his vest like a scruffed kitten. Nero was wriggling and cooing and chirping up at his uncle, his own tiny tail (reminiscent of Vergil's own, despite being completely phantasmal in appearance) wagging softly where it hung. Dante lightly shook him and he honest to god purred at the motion.
“...Put him down.”
Dante slowly turned his gaze to Vergil, squinted, returned it to Nero, then back to Vergil. “He's ruinin’ my furniture. I paid good money for that!” He points to the desk.
He hadn't paid good money for it. He'd found it in decent condition in someone's front garden and nabbed it.
Vergil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dante.”
“Alright, alright.” Dante conceded, shifting so he now held Nero under his armpits, then sat the little bugger down. Nero hobbled for a second before lifting his head and making a small ‘Ah’ sound up at Dante. He then turned with too-wide steps and made a beeline for Vergil, big blue eyes bright and happy to see his father.
Vergil swished his tail to the left, mindful of the clothes he still had on it, and bent down to lift Nero. He purred his greeting, smoothed his tongue over Nero's unruly white hair, then turned his attention back to his little brother.
Almost all the warmth left his tone when he spoke again. Almost. He was well and truly peeved with Dante this time.
“My clothes.” He ground out. “You have taught my son to-”
“Eh? Taught?” Dante jumped in. “I didn't do anything.”
“Let me finish!” Vergil hissed, moving his tail so that he could show off the ruined items. “He is ripping them apart. You have taught him how to do this.”
Dante blinked once, twice, then lifted one measly finger to point at the sweatshirt. “No I didn't.”
“You did. I watched you.”
“Did not.”
“Yes you did.”
“No I didn't.”
“You did.”
“Did no-”
“Cease this!” Vergil interrupted, a barely-there growl backing his voice. He rubbed Nero’s back in soft circles, rumbling an apology to the toddler for spooking him. “You are a fool if you think I haven’t noticed. The state of the couch and my daywear is not Neros fault alone.”
Dante pursed his lips and looked to the couch in question and– yeah, that was definitely his fault. The armrest was more padding and wood than it was fabric. Yikes.
“Calm down, Verge. It’s not my fault that big wood plank you brought home hurts my claws more than it relieves them.”
A very sharp inhale. Vergil could feel his demon howling to come out and shred the moron he called a sibling. “That is not what I am talking about.”
Stupidly, “Then what are you talkin’ about?”
“Nero, you blasted dullard!” Big mean words from Vergil. Dante was wounded. Nero harped happily as his name was called. “He is imitating you. And as you can see, Brother, it is costing me my clothes.”
“So?” Dante shrugged. “I didn’t teach the squirt to eat polyester and cotton– and I wouldn’t! It doesn’t taste as nice as it looks.”
Vergil scrunched his nose. “What-”
“Vergey, the kids teething.” He sighed. “He’s gonna bite stuff. Look at the state of my desk, for Hells sake! You aren’t the only victim here. And it’s your fault for having softer clothes.”
Vergil's eye twitched. “And pray tell, brother, how it came to be that Nero found his way into my room? Into my wardrobe?”
“...Musta’ left the door open.”
“I never leave it open. You are a thieving wretch.”
“No I’m not. You just misplace your stuff.”
“I’m sure.”
Nero, eager not to be left out of the conversation, butts in with a loud squeal. His tail thumps against Vergil's hip happily.
“See? Even Nero said it.” Dante immediately pointed to the drooling brood. “His words, not mine.”
“He cannot speak, let alone agree with you.” Vergil almost seethed. “It would do you well to admit fault, lest you not want to see the sun set tonight.”
Lips quirking, Dante held his hands up by his head. “Woah, no need to get salty. All this over some thread?”
Vergil blinked once at his brother, entertained the thought of running him clean through with Yamato, then blinked again. Nero gurgled against his side and–
Claws. Digging into his front and back.
Kneading.
Vergil scrunched his nose and swore in Abyssal. Dante laughed.
Safe to say, they followed in Eva's footsteps.
Dante went out on weekly runs to the pet shops nearby to buy (or bump) various dog bones for Nero to chew on, alongside obtaining a… cat tree, for some reason.
Not that it was a bad thing. Despite Nero weighing three times what a cat does, he loved to climb it. He liked the vantage point it gave him when he reached the very top and he loved swatting at anyone who walked past him just as much.
Vergil's clothes, since this purchase, have been relatively safe.
From Nero.
Dante never really liked the scratching posts itchy feel on his palms, nor did he like the scrape of wood. But Vergil's attire? His coats and vests and hoodies?
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
He decides that the beating he receives from Vergil is worth it– up until he finds his sticky nephew marching over his favourite red coat, purring and trilling and clicking.
The little twerp in question has the sleeve of it in his mouth and his claws hooked into the leather, struggling to knead.
Dante’s eye twitched. This was not on.
“Vergiiiiil!”