Work Text:
The house itself is the same. Repairs had been needed thanks to damage from the fire, and they had repainted most of the rooms, but it's all virtually the same. In ten years his childhood home has barely changed, and yet Vergil feels like he'd never even set foot in it until a few months ago.
Maybe he's the one that's changed. That's probably it. He was just a boy the last time he lived here.
He's supposedly a grown man now, but he still finds himself entirely too immature for the tasks set before him. Living with a partner, raising a child, leading a normal human life. That kind of mundanity sounds unbelievably boring and frankly impossible after the life he's led.
And yet, Vergil had promised he would try. He'd done so on the boat when they left Fortuna. They could have simply left via one of the Yamato's portals, but Loretta had insisted on leaving the proper way, whatever that meant.
She'd held his hand so tightly when they departed, squeezing it for comfort as they had moved further and further away from the island. He had squeezed her hand back the whole time.
Vergil didn't blame her for being nervous. Loretta had wanted to leave that miserable place for so long, but it was still the only home she'd ever known.
The look she gave him when she finally managed to tear her eyes away from the port will forever be seared into his memory. Scared, hopeful, so full of love that he knows he still doesn't deserve.
“Promise me you won't try to leave again,” she had pleaded, desperately gripping him as if he might run away through one of his portals. “I know you're scared, I know you think you aren't strong enough to do this, but please. I need you here more than anywhere else.”
Vergil had agreed of course. How could he not? His conscience and his heart wouldn't allow him to betray her like that again. He loves her too much to even consider it.
Vergil has stayed glued to Loretta’s side ever since. He's rebuilt his childhood home for her, agreed to care for their son while she gets the education she's always wanted, and even started looking for a “human” job despite his slowly improving revulsion to society. He's given up on his endless pursuit of power for her too.
Well. More like he's put it on the backburner.
Vergil still wants it, that power. But he doesn't have time to go chasing legends of the past anymore. He's got people that need him in the present. He can hear one of them crying right now, no doubt throwing another hysterical fit in his cot.
Vergil stands with a weary sigh, casting a glance at the clock on the kitchen counter. It hasn't even been half an hour since he put Nero down for a nap and the chubby little monster has already woken up again. For the third time today no less.
He really doesn't want to sleep, does he?
It's a brief trip up to the nursery, and a familiar one too, pulled straight from his childhood. Out of the kitchen, into the entrance of the house and past the portrait of his parents on their wedding day, a painting Loretta decided would be a good replacement for the other one, the one that Vergil doesn't like.
A hop and a step upstairs and down the hall to his old bedroom turned nursery, Vergil finds the flailing, tearful little creature that is Nero. He shushes him softly, scooping his son out of his cot and into his arms, slowly bouncing him up and down.
“Quiet down before you shatter the windows,” Vergil chides, gently stroking his boy's impossibly soft hair. “We only replaced them last month.”
Almost immediately, Nero calms, his ear-splitting wails miraculously turning to strange wet gurgles and squeals.
Vergil presses a kiss to his little head, ignoring the drool and snot being smeared across his shoulder, thankful that he managed to calm him down quickly this time. Something about the boy’s cries always makes him feel as though the world is ending, throwing his demonic senses into total disarray.
He props Nero against his chest so they're face to face and looks him right in the eye, putting on his best stern expression and asking, “Are you finished?”
He instantly breaks into a helpless grin at the mindless babble he gets in response, even letting out a small laugh as Nero reaches up to curiously grab at his cheek. Utterly adorable.
“Why do I even bother, hmm?” Vergil sighs dreamily, bumping his nose against Nero's. “Why do I even try, when I know you won't give me a straight answer.”
It's a bad habit of his, trying to talk to the baby like he's an adult. It frustrated him in the first couple months, constantly having to figure out what was wrong with Nero without so much as a hint. He'd found himself feeling quite jealous of Loretta, who had seemed so quick to adapt to her new role. She'd told him to simply give it time, that he'd get it eventually.
She was right in the end. He thinks he's starting to get it now.
Vergil begins to waltz around the room, weaving between the litany of toys scattered across the floor, bouncing the baby in his arms to make him laugh. He chuckles fondly when a stream of sunny little giggles bubble out of Nero, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, prompting more happy flailing from the boy.
He still doesn't understand how he played a role in making something so beautiful. The tiny creature in his arms was born of what Vergil once thought of as his worst moments, and yet somehow, he has quickly become the single greatest achievement of Vergil's life.
Nero is weak and helpless and painfully human. And he is absolutely perfect.
Nero with his stumpy hands and snowy white hair and pretty sea green eyes that make Vergil feel like his heart is about to explode out of his chest because they're just like Loretta’s.
It all makes him wonder if he might have been mistaken about his human half.
If indulging in his human wants and needs could give him something like this, make him feel so at peace… Maybe it wasn't so unnecessary after all?
A particularly insistent hand batting against his cheek brings Vergil back to himself. He blinks owlishly at his son, a little dazed by the babbling oohs and aahs coming out of his beaming face.
Vergil tips his head to the side and frowns sadly. He wishes he knew what he was trying to say. It would make things so much easier.
“That's enough, Nero, that's enough,” he sighs, shushing him. “It's my turn.”
What he's about to say really does make him feel quite silly, especially when the baby won't remembed a word of it. Still, he wants to say it anyway, for himself.
Vergil clears his throat and begins slowly. “You,” he pokes Nero's chest, “are a descendant of Sparda, and one day it will be your responsibility to carry the burden of that legacy.”
And he'll help him carry it for as long as he can. No one understands its weight better than him.
“It will not be easy. You'll need to be strong, and very brave. Smart too, but I'm sure that won't be a problem. Just look at your mother.”
That's a scene he's imagined many times over the past few months—the love of his life sitting at the dining room table with their son, helping him with his homework. They're both laughing about something, but he doesn't know what. He's always just a little too far away to hear.
It's such a sickly sweet sight that he thinks it might give him cavities, but he can't wait to see it come to life.
Vergil clears his throat again and continues on, brushing a few wispy hairs from Nero’s forehead. “I have high expectations for you, young man, but until then I— Oh would you cease this incessant giggling! I'm trying to be serious…”
His frustration only seems to make Nero laugh harder, the boy kicking his pudgy little legs with glee. A lovely sound, but not one he wants to hear right now. “Nero. Nero please. Let me finish,” he pleads, helpless to stop another grin from stretching across his face.
This really won't do. He's not the kind of man that smiles this much.
The faint sound of the front door unlocking reaches his ears and he grimaces. He needs to wrap this up quickly before a certain someone catches him. He'll never live it down if she overhears.
Vergil casts a mildly panicked glance over his shoulder before turning back to Nero and gently cupping his cheek, taking a steadying breath. Being vulnerable like this always feels like pulling teeth.
“Mama will be here soon, so listen carefully,” Vergil says quietly, stroking his thumb across Nero's cheek. “You may be a descendant of Sparda, but you are my son above all else. If you remember anything, remember that I love you dearly, and that nothing will ever change that.”
Years spent struggling under the weight of his own expectations had made Vergil's life utterly miserable. No matter how badly he might want him to match his standards, he would never subject his son to that same misery. And if he learned anything during his time in Fortuna, it is that a parent should never prioritise their wants over that of their child.
Loretta would have his head if he even so much as thought about it.
“I might seem a little harsh at times. And I won't always make the right choices. But I will always try my best for you. I swear it.”
He'll be better for all their sakes. He has to be.
Vergil presses another soft kiss to Nero's forehead before shifting him back over to his shoulder, trying to rock him slowly, gently back to sleep. He would have put him down for another nap as soon as he got to the nursery, but had ended up distracted by his feelings, an annoyingly common occurrence these days.
Light footsteps in the hall have him turning to spot a familiar head of beautiful dark curls peeking into the room.
“Hello,” Vergil whispers, giving his lover a polite nod. “How was school?”
Loretta tiptoes over to him, weaving through the mess on the floor to plant a kiss on his cheek and pat their son's head. “Could've been better,” she replies quietly. “My professors won't stop calling on me. I think I did too well on that last paper.”
Vergil snorts. “Oh how terrible.” His lover likes to complain, but he knows how much she relishes the acknowledgement. She was starved for that kind of attention back in Fortuna. The boost in confidence she's had over the last few months is… breathtaking. He's never liked her better.
He lets her take Nero from him, leaning heavily against the nearby windowsill as he watches her cuddle him like a stuffed toy, the pure unadulterated joy on her face making him just a little weak in the knees.
Loretta pauses in her cooing to level him with a sudden hard stare, asking rather seriously, “Have you thought more about what we talked about last night? About contacting your brother?”
“...”
Well, that was one way to ruin the mood.
Stifling a groan, Vergil shakes his head. It's been close to two years since he last saw Dante, and he wants to keep it that way, at least for now. The two of them have so many grievances with each other, he can't possibly juggle dealing with them and Nero at the same time.
He's already dug up so many painful memories over the last year and a half. He doesn't think he has it in him just yet to pop this delicate bubble of happiness they've made, not even for his dear twin.
“It's not a good idea,” he says simply, shaking his head.
That earns him a scathing glare. This topic has always been one of many things they disagree on, but Loretta has been extra sensitive about it lately. It hits a little too close to home, Vergil supposes, what with her having to leave her own brothers back in Fortuna.
“Dante deserves to know about him,” she whispers furiously, gesturing to their son whom she's just put back down to bed. “He deserves to know that you're doing well too.”
“Lottie listen—”
“No you listen,” she snaps, putting her hands on her hips and staring him down. “I'm not going to let you avoid him forever. You're just delaying the inevitable.”
Vergil wrinkles his nose in defiance, choosing to glare out the window than meet her gaze. She's completely right as always, but he just can't admit defeat. Why does he have to be the one to break the silence? Why should he even bother trying, when Dante has made it perfectly clear that he despises him.
Loretta rakes a tired hand through her hair with a sigh, her frown shifting to something sadder. “I know you miss him, Vergil. I'm sure he misses you too.”
Of course he misses him, that's his little brother. Those ten years where Vergil thought he was dead had been nothing but torture, a constant gaping wound in his heart that had been haphazardly sewn up by that paltry excuse for a reunion.
Knowing them, their next encounter is likely to end even more poorly.
Loretta gently grasps his chin and tilts his face back towards hers, letting go to tenderly cup his cheek. “It would be for the best,” she murmurs, smiling faintly when he leans into her touch. “Just… Think about it. For us.”
For them. He would do anything for his family, he had promised he would.
Is Dante not still his family?
Vergil glances towards the cot where Nero is finally sleeping again and lets out an amused huff. She got him down so fast. Of course she did. She's always been so much better at this than him.
“Fine.”
Loretta tips her head to the side. “Hmm?”
“Fine,” Vergil repeats, rising from the windowsill. “You still have the number for his shop, yes? And that ridiculous password?”
“Mhm.”
“Excellent. We can… We can call him tomorrow. Together.”
Loretta beams at him, rocking up on her tiptoes to give him a slow kiss. “Good answer,” she purrs, patting his cheek. Her tone sends shivers down his spine that settle in his stomach like excited little butterflies. It's been a while since she spoke to him like that.
She steps away, hands sliding down his chest, fingers pressing in ever so slightly. With one final adoring look at their son, Loretta makes her way out to the hall, stopping outside the doorway to beckon him after her. “Why don't you come downstairs and help me with dinner?” she suggests sweetly. “Nero needs his beauty sleep.”
Vergil nods, a frustrated smile tugging at his lips as he watches her slip out of the nursery, her sly giggles echoing back up the hall. She always knows exactly what buttons to push, and it never fails to drive him up the walls.
He hums, somewhat unsteady, and moves to stand over Nero's cot, reaching down to brush a few errant strands of hair from the boy's face. He looks so peaceful sleeping like that, almost like an angel. His father’s perfect little angel.
Vergil never expected to have a family like this again. Or a home. Or anything at all really, now that he thinks about it. He had poured so much of his life into attaining power that he had failed to even consider what he would do after he had gained it. He foolishly spent his days wandering the world, looking for something he was beginning to suspect he'd had from the start.
“How lucky am I?” Vergil murmurs to no one in particular, bending down to plant the softest of kisses on his precious son's forehead. With a final whispered farewell, he leaves Nero to rest, padding down the hallway to the stairs, mentally preparing himself for the potential disaster he's about to face.
From the upper floor he can smell the beginnings of dinner, lasagna he suspects. Loretta has recently been looking through what was left of his mother’s cookbooks, and she's been quite interested in that particular recipe. Growing up with private chefs has made her a bit clueless in the kitchen, but her skills are slowly improving.
Vergil hopes they are at least. He's not sure how much longer he can take being a taste tester for her less-than-spectacular attempts at cooking.
“You coming down or not?” he hears her call, the first signs of impatience simmering in her tone. “I need your knife skills! Now!”
“On my way,” he answers, descending quickly to the front of the house. He stops just short of the kitchen, however, caught by the sight of his parents' wedding portrait.
They look so happy in this one, so excited to start their family.
It makes Vergil's heart ache knowing they'll never get to meet his family, his darling girl and his miracle of a son. It hurts even more to know just how disappointed they'd be in his so-called attempts to protect that family.
Sparda would be furious with him if he knew about Vergil's now defunct plans to raise the Temen-ni-gru, to stomp on his legacy while pompously claiming to uphold it.
He thinks his mother would be saddened by it, more than anything else. Sad to see that her eldest had fallen so far and that he had caused so much pain on her behalf. At least she would be vindicated in knowing she had chosen the right son to save.
Vergil stares long and hard at his parents' painting, almost wishing he could crawl inside the frame and fall at their feet to beg for forgiveness. A terribly childish wish really, one he can't help but shake his head at.
They're both long gone. They can't give him what he wants. They probably wouldn't want to either.
All he can do now is try. Try his best to be a good brother, a good partner, a good father. Maybe then he can begin to atone for what he almost did. Maybe then he can make his parents proud, wherever they may be now.