Archive of Our Own

Perhaps his exhaustion had finally caught up with him. If this were a hallucination, Vergil might have assumed he was once again under the influence of Mundus; that this was some elaborate psychological torment meant to strip him of composure rather than flesh.

But the air did not feel fabricated. It was cool and salted, heavy with the distant scent of the sea. The wind carried a faint trace of old stone and extinguished incense that lingered in places devoted to rigid faith. Beneath his boots lay worn cobblestone, uneven and weathered by years of coastal storms. The sky above him was a muted grey-blue, with the light diffused as if the sun struggled to break through fully.

Vergil stood motionless in the centre of an empty street.

Fortuna. There was no mistaking it.

The gothic architecture rose around him in solemn, austere lines. Arched windows, narrow towers, sculpted reliefs of swords and winged figures carved into pale stone. In the distance, the cathedral loomed intact and undamaged, banners hanging undisturbed from its heights. No scorch marks. No collapse. No signs of rebellion or ruin.

This was not the Fortuna he remembered leaving behind. And this was also not the Fortuna that he knew at present.

A pair of knights passed through the far end of the street several moments later, their armour polished but unfamiliar. The design differed subtly from the ceremonial plating worn by The Order during the years leading to its collapse. The crests on their shoulders were older, less elaborate, and the blue cloth beneath the armour carried a different pattern entirely.

Vergil stepped back into the shadow cast by a narrow stone archway, his presence folding inward until even the faint pressure of his demonic aura receded. He had spent enough time moving unseen through enemy territory to know how to erase himself from notice when necessary.

The knights walked past without hesitation, their conversation quiet and unremarkable. They did not sense him.

Vergil's gaze followed them briefly before shifting toward the larger streets beyond. If The Order of the Sword was still functioning normally, then this point in time fell somewhere before the events that would eventually destroy it. That much was obvious. What unsettled him more was the implication that came with it.

At this point in Fortuna's history, Yamato should not exist at his side.

After his defeat years earlier, the blade had been shattered. The Order had taken the fragments and sealed them away as a sacred relic tied to the bloodline of Sparda. Vergil knew this because the consequences of that act had eventually reached him through Nero.

And yet Yamato rested intact at his hip, quietly singing her song with restrained power.

The contradiction played in the back of his mind, but something else drew his attention before he could dwell on it further.

Movement.

A flash of pale white darted through the far end of the street, crossing from one alley to another with frantic speed. For a moment, the wind caught strands of hair that gleamed sharply against the muted stone surroundings.

The figure disappeared almost immediately, but the brief glimpse had been enough.

Instinct guided Vergil to remain concealed rather than pursue immediately. If The Order was present in this period, then a lone child running through the streets with that unmistakable appearance would not go unnoticed for long. Fortuna had never been kind to anything that resembled demonic lineage, especially when rumours of Sparda's blood circulated constantly through its rigid hierarchy.

He waited. The silence stretched thin, broken only by the distant cry of seabirds and the dull murmur of waves striking the cliffs far beyond the city walls.

The sensation began as a faint ripple beneath his skin.

Vergil's eyes narrowed as the subtle disturbance rolled through him once more. His demonic half stirred without warning. The response was not aggressive. It was instinctive, almost reflexive, like a pulse answering another pulse somewhere far away.

Yamato reacted the same immediately.

The sheath vibrated faintly at his hip, and a thin seam of blue light bled along the edge where blade met scabbard. The glow deepened with every passing second, steady but increasingly intense.

Vergil's hand moved to the hilt.

Nero.

The energy reached him again, sharper this time, like a distant signal struggling to remain stabilised.

Then it faltered.

The glow along Yamato's sheath flickered violently.

Vergil felt the change, and the sensation that followed was far less controlled than anything he typically allowed himself to experience. A tight unease coiled beneath his ribs as the connection wavered.

Nero's presence was weakening.

His inner devil pushed forward instinctively, alert and restless, urging movement before conscious thought fully formed.

He moved quickly through the deserted streets, boots striking stone in controlled strides as he followed the fluctuating pull guiding him deeper into Fortuna. The resonance acted almost like a compass, faint but unmistakable, pushing him through twisting alleys and abandoned courtyards.

Each surge from Yamato corresponded with another drop in Nero's energy.

The boy had already been running when Vergil saw him earlier. Panic had driven him forward without restraint. For a child with unstable demonic power, that kind of strain could easily push his body past its limits.

Running from who, exactly?

But the answer came quickly, and the growl Vergil emitted from his throat failed to cease the growing rage inside his chest.

Near the base of a crumbling stairway that led toward a lower district of the city, a small figure lay collapsed across the cobblestones. One arm was tucked awkwardly beneath him while the other extended outward, fingers curled tightly as if grasping at nothing.

Vergil closed the remaining distance. Nero had fallen onto his side, his breathing shallow and uneven. Dirt streaked his clothing, and the earlier scrape on his cheek had reopened slightly, leaving a thin smear of blood against pale skin.

But the most striking sight was his Devil Bringer.

Spectral blue energy extended violently from the boy's right shoulder, forming the massive demonic limb that dwarfed the rest of his small frame. It pulsed relentlessly, light flashing in rapid waves that illuminated the surrounding stone walls in sharp bursts.

Arc after arc of energy snapped outward from the arm and struck the ground, leaving faint scorched marks across the cobblestones. Nero's body trembled with each surge, the demonic force inside him fighting a human body that was still far too young to manage it.

Vergil felt the imbalance immediately. The boy's energy was draining rapidly as the Devil Bringer continued to manifest beyond his control. If the surge continued unchecked, the strain alone could force his body into complete collapse.

Yamato hummed sharply at Vergil's side, its glow stabilising now that the source of the resonance lay directly in front of him.

Vergil lowered himself into a kneeling position beside the boy as he studied Nero's face.

Even at ten years old, the resemblance was unmistakable. His hair fell across his forehead, and the shape of his features carried echoes of Vergil's own younger self, though softened by youth and something far less guarded.

Another violent surge tore through the Devil Bringer.

The spectral hand lashed outward instinctively, claws forming as it reacted to the presence approaching it. The arm stopped just short of striking Vergil, suspended mid-motion as though uncertain.

Vergil reached forward without hesitation this time.

One hand settled firmly on Nero's shoulder, steadying the boy's small frame against the stone. With his other hand, he grasped the glowing forearm of the Devil Bringer itself.

The energy resisted him at first, crackling sharply in his grip.

Vergil's demonic aura rose in response, controlled but unmistakably dominant. The power within him answered Nero's chaotic surge with steady pressure meant to contain it.

The Devil Bringer flared once more before beginning to stabilise under his influence.

Nero's trembling eased, though his breathing remained uneven as his body recovered from the strain.

Vergil adjusted his hold and brought Nero into his arms. His child stirred his head, but didn't open his eyes and was lulled back to exhaustion. As if testing the waters, he lifted his hand and swept away the hair that stuck to the boy's cheek until he found himself gently cradling it.

"Nero," he prompted. No answer. Vergil tried again. "Nero."

However, it was fruitless. Nero only seemed to have lulled deeper into his sleep and even subconsciously leaned into him.

Vergil remained still as Nero's weight settled against him.

The presence beneath his skin shifted restlessly, responding to the closeness of shared blood in a way that was neither hostile nor territorial. It was recognition… primal and undeniable. The same instinct that had flared during their battle years later now surfaced again, though stripped of violence. Instead, it pressed forward with a quiet insistence, urging proximity rather than distance.

His devil sounded in his chest, and Vergil pressed his lips together tightly.

Nero had grown up within the rigid structure of Fortuna, surrounded by people who revered the legend of Sparda yet feared anything that resembled demonic power. A child manifesting something like the Devil Bringer would have been seen not as a descendant to be protected, but as a problem to be studied, controlled, or hidden.

Vergil didn't have time to process the rage that built inside of him when the silence was shattered by footsteps echoing from the far end of the street. The sound carried clearly through the narrow alleyways, several pairs of boots striking stone with deliberate pace.

Holy Knights.

"…Over here! Someone reported a disturbance…"

"…that boy escaped again…"

The words were muffled by distance but clear enough to interpret.

Vergil's expression hardened.

So they had been searching for Nero.

His gaze shifted down toward Nero's unconscious form. The boy's arm pulsed once more, reacting faintly to the renewed tension in the air.

The idea of these men hunting a child through the streets of Fortuna… his child…

In the present, Nero had only told him pieces of what he had to endure during his childhood. The young man obviously wasn't ready to share details with him, but the implication had been the same.

Instinct pulled his hand toward Yamato.

He could already picture the outcome. A single unsheathing of the blade would be enough. It would funnel the knights directly toward him, and the result would be swift.

Nero shifted faintly in his arms, the movement unconscious. His small hand curled weakly onto the fabric of Vergil's coat, gripping it with surprising persistence even in sleep.

Even if this moment in time had already fractured beyond recognition, unnecessary slaughter would ripple outward in ways he could not fully predict. And more importantly, it would keep Nero here… trapped in the middle of whatever conflict The Order would inevitably escalate.

Vergil exhaled through his nose. "Not today," he murmured under his breath whilst he stared down at his son.

He adjusted his hold on Nero once more, ensuring the boy was supported securely against his chest as he made a stand.

Yamato's power responded instantly to his will, the air folding inward with a low, resonant hum as space itself split along an invisible seam. The narrow alleyway blurred, the stone walls stretching and distorting for the briefest fraction of a second.

When Vergil found himself standing again, the air had changed.

The sharp salt of the sea had vanished. In its place lingered the cool scent of damp soil and moss. Trees surrounded him on every side, tall and dense enough that their branches wove together overhead, dulling the daylight that filtered through the leaves.

He had brought them into a forest. It was secluded. Far enough away that the knights would not find them easily.

Nero hadn't thankfully awoken. Even passing through Yamato's portal had failed to stir him. The child rested against Vergil's chest, breathing slowly and heavily with exhaustion. His hair brushed lightly on the dark fabric of Vergil's coat, and the earlier scrape along his cheek had begun to fade.

Vergil walked a short distance further until he reached a large tree whose roots pushed through the forest floor in thick ridges. He lowered himself carefully, leaning his back towards the trunk.

He kept one hand around Nero's back while supporting his head.

Vergil let his gaze drift through the forest, studying the landscape as if expecting something else to happen. Nothing did.

He had no plan. The thought would normally irritate him, but it barely registered now. He had not been thinking beyond the immediate need to remove Nero from the knights who had been closing in on them.

Even now, a part of him still suspected that none of this was real.

If this were some lingering illusion tied to Mundus, then it was an unusually convincing one. The weight of Nero against him felt far too tangible, and the rhythm of the boy's breathing grounded the moment in a way that dreams rarely managed.

Vergil leaned his head back.

If this were a dream, it would end eventually.

Until then, the forest remained quiet, and Nero continued sleeping undisturbed in his arms.

Vergil hadn't realised he had fallen asleep when he felt something pressing underneath his chin.

His eyes shot open, and he was met with a matching pair of blue ones staring right at him… with a scowl that mirrored his own. A sword was held in his hands, the blade obviously far too long for him, but he seemed to have no issue with its weight despite his size as he pointed it at him.

On instinct, Vergil reached for his left side, thinking Yamato wasn't there and that the child had taken it. But he was surprised to feel that his blade was resting at his side.

So that meant…

He looked at Nero again and then at the blade.

The realisation settled slowly. He squinted as he studied the weapon pointed unsteadily in his direction. The katana's shape was unmistakable. The dark sheath, the familiar curve of the blade partially drawn from it, the faint blue sheen of demonic power humming along its edge.

It was Yamato.

Not the one resting intact at his own side. This blade carried subtle differences. The faint wear along the guard, the tedium in the steel that suggested it had not been maintained with the same care.

This was the Yamato of this time.

The blade that should have been shattered and locked away by The Order of the Sword. 

How had Nero retrieved it already?

The thought lingered only briefly until the boy's voice interrupted it.

"Don't move."

Nero's grip tightened around the hilt as he spoke. His arms shook under the sword's weight, but the determination in his posture did not waver. The scowl on his young face deepened, blue eyes locked on Vergil with open suspicion.

He looked very awake now.

Vergil slowly lowered the hand that had instinctively moved toward the sword. His posture remained relaxed against the tree, though his attention was entirely focused on the boy standing a few steps away.

Nero's clothes were still dirtied from earlier, and the scrape along his cheek had healed. His Devil Bringer flickered faintly around his right arm, responding to the tension in his body, though it did not lash out the way it had prior.

The boy took a cautious step back, increasing the distance between them while keeping the blade pointed steadily forward.

"You're not from The Order," Nero said.

Vergil's gaze softened almost imperceptibly before returning to its usual calm. "No."

The response was simple, but it seemed to confirm something in Nero's mind.

The boy's eyes narrowed further. "Then who are you?" He demanded. The sword lifted as he adjusted his grip, the tip wavering only for a brief second.

"And how did you get here?" Nero added, distrust written plainly across his face. "Nobody comes out here."

Vergil looked at him in silence for a moment longer. His eyes flicked toward the Yamato in Nero's hands and then returned to the boy's face.

"You should lower the blade," he said finally, his tone almost conversational. It was foolish that he was even finding such a situation amusing. Perhaps it was the way Nero tried to look threatening, despite his small frame. He could feel the Yamato he was pointing at him resonate with the boy's energy perfectly.

Nero looked shocked at the audacity of the suggestion. "No!" He yelled, keeping the sword lifted despite the growing strain in his arms. "Not until you tell me who you are!"

It was Vergil's fault, really, for even saying that. Regardless of age, the stubbornness was unmistakable. That was also his fault, so he decided to counter with a question. "What is your name?"

"I asked you first," Nero shot back, narrowing his gaze at him.

Vergil pressed his lips together. He could have answered truthfully. The thought passed through his mind with surprising clarity. The boy standing in front of him deserved the truth more than anyone. Years from now, Nero would learn it anyway… under far less controlled circumstances.

He shook his head. The time for that conversation had not yet come.

Instead, he said quietly, "Someone who prevented the knights from finding you."

Nero hesitated. The answer was vague enough to frustrate him, yet it was not entirely dismissive. "I didn't ask for help."

Vergil's expression remained unchanged. "You collapsed."

His child's cheeks flushed an endearing amount. "I was fine," he said, though the lie sounded weaker this time.

"If I had left you there, they would've taken you."

The defiance in the boy's face wavered, replaced by uncertainty. The memory of being chased through Fortuna's streets had clearly not faded yet. But it seemed to have forced the edge off the rest of his body, most notably his shoulders. Nero lowered the blade, the tip touching the ground.

"Oh."

Even though Vergil saw that he was somehow unconvinced, the boy still put Yamato into its scabbard, the blade locking back in with a familiar shink.

There was pride that started to build up inside of Vergil's chest at the sight of it. Nero, at this age, was far too young to realise how powerful (and dangerous) the blade actually was. Yet the boy clearly had no concept of that. To Nero, it was not a legendary artefact or a symbol of lineage.

It was clumsy, certainly, the way he handled Yamato. But it was not careless.

Vergil lingered on the sword longer than he intended, studying the faint resonance that serenaded softly around it.

Nero followed Vergil's line of sight, dropping toward the sheathed katana in his own hands. Confusion flickered across his face, as if he were trying to determine exactly what the older man found so interesting about it.

He pulled the sword closer, holding it with both arms now rather than simply gripping the hilt. The sheath was pressed awkwardly onto him while he hugged it protectively.

"You're not thinking of taking it… are you?"

Vergil lifted his gaze from the sword back to Nero's face. "What do you mean?"

The question was calm and evenly spoken, but Nero clearly did not find the neutrality of the response reassuring.

The sword was practically pinned against his chest now, the sheath angled to the side as he wrapped his arm around it. The way he held it was no longer defensive in the sense of preparing for a fight. Instead, the gesture looked almost possessive, like the blade was something deeply personal rather than a tool.

Nero glared up at him with stubborn determination. "She's mine!"

The declaration came out with surprising force. His face flushed the moment the words left his mouth, partly from embarrassment at the small stammer and partly from the intensity behind the statement itself.

"...She?"

Nero nodded immediately, tightening his hold around the sword. "Yes! She's mine!" He insisted stubbornly. "I found her first!"

The boy shifted his weight when he spoke, clearly preparing himself to argue the point further, whether Vergil challenged him or not.

"She was broken when I found her," Nero explained, speaking faster. "Like, really broken! Into pieces! I found them, and when I touched them, she just…" He hesitated, searching for the right word. "Fixed herself."

The explanation came out with the absolute certainty of a child recounting something that had seemed miraculous to him.

Nero seemed to notice the lack of reaction and quickly added, "I didn't do anything weird. I just picked her up, and then she wasn't broken anymore."

Vergil's look drifted over the weapon. "I see."

His child continued speaking when the silence stretched too long for his comfort. His voice was lowered this time. "She protects me," he said, glancing down while his fingers tightened around the sword. "...Wh-When my arm gets weird too," he added meekly.

His expression grew more serious as he explained it, clearly speaking about something that happened often enough to bother him. "Sometimes it hurts. A lot. But when I hold her, it stops sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes."

His hand moved along it, almost unconsciously. "She helps me calm down," Nero finished.

Then he looked back up at Vergil with the same stubborn glare he had started with and tightened his arms around the sword again. "So I'm not giving her to you!"

The scene and gesture stirred a memory Vergil had not thought about in years.

There had been a time when he had held the same blade in that exact way. Not because he understood its power quite yet, but because it had been the one thing that felt constant when everything else had disappeared.

The resemblance between them in that moment was difficult to ignore.

It felt less like he was looking at his son and more like he was looking at a younger version of himself.

Nero shifted under the prolonged silence and frowned. "What?"

Vergil finally spoke, swallowing down the urge to smile. "I am not taking it."

The calm certainty in the statement made Nero blink in surprise.

"You're not?" He asked, clearly expecting a different answer.

"No."

Nero hesitated, still watching him carefully. His arms loosened around the sword, though he did not stop holding it close.

"You promise?"

"Yes."

The child studied his face for several seconds, clearly trying to determine whether he believed him. Eventually, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little. "Good," he muttered under his breath.

Nero held up Yamato more steadily now, and Vergil watched as the katana fused into his Devil Bringer. There was a smile on Nero's face as it happened, the particles of blue flowing around him before they soon disappeared. He rubbed his arm with his other hand.

Vergil had to resist the urge to look away. Even though Nero had forgiven him (which he most certainly did not deserve, but his son's kindness was tenfold), the guilt remained. Years from now, that same arm would be taken from him, torn away as if it were nothing more than a tool to be claimed.

He briefly closed his eyes. No… no, perhaps things would be different when Nero got older here. Perhaps Vergil wouldn't be so pathetically weak when he came back, and that he would recognise his own flesh and blood from a distance and act another way. For all he tried to do to strip away his humanity while in the Underworld, he would not want to harm his child ever again.

"You have hair just like mine!"

When Vergil opened his eyes, he almost jolted when Nero's face was suddenly inches away from his. The boy had leaned forward without any sense of hesitation or awareness of personal space. Nero tilted his head, clearly inspecting him with the kind of open fascination children rarely bothered to hide.

"That colour's rare," Nero continued, squinting. "Nobody in Fortuna has hair like this. Not even the knights!" His gaze flicked between Vergil's hair and his own. "That's weird."

Vergil studied him before giving him a small nod. "It would appear so."

After a moment of quiet, Nero looked back at him. "So, what's your name?"

He considered simply refusing the question. It would have been easier. But Nero continued staring at him with patient expectation, clearly waiting for an answer. Giving the child nothing would only prolong the conversation in ways that might invite more suspicion.

His mind settled on the simplest solution available.

"V," he said.

Nero blinked. The response had clearly not been what he expected. "V?" He repeated, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "You mean just the letter V?"

"Yes."

The boy stared at him for another second, his face twisting into a puzzled expression. "Isn't that kinda odd?" He asked bluntly. "That's not really a name."

Vergil felt the faintest hint of amusement at the comment, though his expression remained composed. "You may call it unconventional."

Nero still looked unconvinced, though he eventually shrugged, deciding the matter was not important enough to argue about. "Okay… V," he said, testing the name aloud. Then he straightened and added, with a small amount of pride, "My name's Nero!"

A small smile that couldn't be helped went upon his lips. "Nero," he repeated.

Nero seemed pleased with the exchange. His earlier wariness had faded almost completely now, replaced by the easy curiosity that seemed to define most of his behaviour. There was a bright smile on his face that seeped deep into Vergil's heart. It seemed that, even when the world was against him, Nero's innocence hadn't faded.

A violent contrast to when he was the same age. Vergil's innocence faded as soon as he was left alone.

Nero shifted his weight, glancing around the forest as if only now remembering where he was. The brief moment of calm seemed to settle into something more restless, his attention drifting from Vergil to the trees, the ground, and the uneven roots pushing through the soil beneath his feet.

Then, without much warning, Nero turned and began to walk away.

It was not hurried, nor particularly cautious. He simply moved like he had already decided where he was going, even if that decision had been made only seconds earlier. His boots dug into the damp earth as he stepped over the roots, one hand idly brushing the bark of a nearby tree.

Vergil watched him before pushing himself up from where he had been seated. He did not allow much distance to form. "Where are you going?"

Nero shrugged. "Away," he said, nudging a small stone forward with the toe of his boot.

After a few more steps, Nero bent to the side and picked up a fallen branch from the forest floor. It was nothing more than a rough stick, uneven and slightly curved, but he held it loosely in his hand as he straightened, testing its weight with a small swing.

"Can't stay in one place too long," he added, glancing over his shoulder at Vergil. "They'll find me again if I do."

Nero turned his attention forward and continued walking, using the stick to brush aside low branches.

Vergil studied the boy's movements carefully, noting the way Nero navigated the terrain with a familiarity that suggested this was not the first time he had taken refuge somewhere like this. He avoided uneven ground without needing to look down for long, stepped over roots without hesitation, and kept a steady pace despite the earlier exhaustion that had nearly caused him to collapse.

"You do this often," Vergil said after a short while, his voice carrying easily through the silence.

Nero didn't stop walking. "Sometimes," he replied. "Depends how annoying they get."

Vergil didn't like the way it was so casually phrased. He hated how Nero didn't seem phased.

"There's a couple of places they don't check as much," Nero continued. "This is one of them." He gestured vaguely with the stick toward the trees around them. "Too far out. They don't like leaving the city unless they have to."

Presumably, because of the cluster of demons.

The Order's control was strongest within Fortuna itself. Beyond its walls, their reach weakened, and whatever authority they held became less absolute.

Vergil couldn't help but feel the spike of anger that broke into his skin. Were they so careless as to leave a boy wondering where demons would relentlessly attack him? Were the citizens so pathetically weak and foolish that they couldn't see Nero was a child first before whatever names they spat at him?

It made his blood boil, the itch to go back and cut their limbs sinking into his body.

Though one thing made him pause.

Had Nero not been with Kyrie's family…?

"I ran because I don't want them to worry about me."

Vergil blinked, staring at Nero before he realised he had spoken the question out loud.

But Nero continued, seemingly unbothered and not suspicious that he knew of the knowledge. "They kept pounding at the door, looking for me. Kyrie and Credo's parents had to keep me hidden and stuff, and Credo sometimes had to stand in front of the door like he was guarding it, even when they weren't there," Nero said, his tone drifting into something more thoughtful as he walked. "They kept asking questions." He frowned, nudging a loose branch out of his way with his foot. "I didn't like it."

Vergil's gaze lingered on him, his chest tightening.

"Kyrie gets worried too easily," Nero muttered, glancing down at the ground. "And Credo… he acts like it's his job to fix everything." The stick in his hand scraped lightly against a rock. "So I just left."

"You are ten years old," Vergil said after a moment, his tone even but carrying a subtle edge beneath it. "And you believe it is your responsibility to remove yourself so that others are not inconvenienced?"

His son glanced back at him, clearly not expecting that response. "It's not like that," he said quickly, though the lack of conviction in his voice suggested otherwise. "I just… didn't want them getting into trouble because of me."

Vergil frowned. "They chose to protect you."

Nero matched his frown, turning his attention forward again. "Yeah, well, they shouldn't have to," he said, swinging the stick a little harder this time as it struck a low branch and snapped it aside. "It's not their problem."

Because it was his problem.

Vergil was supposed to be there when these fools were after his child, but he was already dead by that point. Pathetically rotting away, unable to protect Nero's mother when she was scrutinised and belittled, and then Nero, who was relentlessly targeted because of his heritage.

He slowed his walking, studying the back of the boy's head and the way his shoulders had tensed almost imperceptibly. There was something deeply familiar in that line of thinking, something that echoed far too closely with thoughts Vergil himself had carried long ago.

Strength meant self-reliance. Dependence was weakness. Attachment was a liability.

He had believed those things without question.

And now, hearing them reflected so plainly from his own son, they sounded so… wrong.

"...You are mistaken," Vergil said quietly.

"Huh?"

Vergil met his gaze. "It is their concern," he said. "You are not a burden simply because others choose to care."

Nero stared at him, clearly caught off guard by the statement. The stick in his hand lowered, the tip resting against the ground as he processed it.

"That doesn't make sense," he said, his voice quieter now. "If they get in trouble because of me, then it is my fault."

"Responsibility does not function so simply," Vergil replied. "If they act of their own will, then the consequences of those actions are theirs to bear. Not yours."

After a few seconds, Nero huffed as if deciding not to think about it too much. "You really do talk like those old guys," he muttered, though there was less bite to it this time.

Vergil allowed the comment to pass without response, but a light chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. "Perhaps."

Nero shifted his grip on the stick and resumed walking, though his pace was a little slower now.

The forest thickened further as they moved, the light filtering through the canopy in uneven patches across the ground. The air grew cooler, the scent of damp earth and moss more prominent with each step. Somewhere in the distance, there was a faint sound of movement. It was subtle and unnatural, and had been brushed against the edges of Vergil's awareness.

He was already in front of Nero, shielding him, when the first attack happened.

They emerged in numbers, slipping between the trees like fractures in reality, their forms jagged and restless as if the very space around them rejected their presence.

The first creature rushed forward with a shriek, claws outstretched toward the boy behind him. Vergil's hand moved in a single, fluid motion, drawing Yamato with a sharp, familiar sound that cut cleanly through the tension. The blade flashed, precise and merciless, and the demon split apart before it could even reach him, its form dissolving into fragments that scattered across the forest floor.

Even as Vergil cut them down one by one, their focus never wavered. They twisted around him when they could, lunging past his reach, forcing him to reposition again to keep himself between them and Nero.

A sharp, controlled breath left him as his grip on Yamato tightened.

"Persistent," he grumbled under his breath, though the calm in his tone had begun to fracture.

Every movement they made bent toward Nero with a singular, obsessive intent that quickly grew Vergil's irritation. One slipped low between the roots, another dropped from above, and a third attempted to circle behind him, all converging toward the same target.

Even as he cut them apart, even as their numbers fell, their focus remained fixed. Unnaturally and unwaveringly on Nero. They threw themselves past the blade, through the openings they hoped would exist, uncaring of their own destruction so long as one might slip through.

Still, one broke through.

It slipped past the edge of his perception in the briefest instant, lunging from above with jagged limbs aimed directly at him-

Vergil turned, Yamato already mid-motion to intercept…

But it never reached him as a sharp, familiar shink cut through the air.

The demon froze. For a fraction of a second, its body hung suspended before splitting cleanly down the centre.

And behind it stood Nero.

The boy had moved, his smaller form braced forward as the spectral outline of Yamato extended from his Devil Bringer, the blade embedded where the demon had been. His expression was fierce, with his teeth clenched, his bright blue eyes burning with stubborn defiance.

"Got it before you," Nero snapped, yanking the blade free.

The weapon dissolved back into blue particles almost immediately, flowing back into his arm as if it had never been separate at all. In the same motion, Nero's Devil Bringer surged outward, grabbing what remained of the demon's form and slamming it violently into the ground with a force far beyond what his size should have allowed.

The impact echoed through the forest floor.

Silence followed, broken only by Nero's sharp breathing.

He straightened, rolling his shoulders before turning his glare directly onto Vergil. His expression twisted into something openly irritated, a clear, childish frustration that had been building beneath the surface, finally breaking through.

"I've got it, alright?!" He snapped again, his voice raised now. "I don't need you protecting me!"

He stared at him, incredulous. "You are a child."

Nero's glare sharpened. "So what?!" He shot back, stepping forward now, clearly too worked up to stay still. "I'm not a baby! I've done this a million times already!"

Vergil's jaw tightened. "That does not make it acceptable."

"It makes it fine!" Nero threw his arms out in frustration. "I don't need someone jumping in front of me every two seconds like I'm gonna fall over or something!"

"You collapsed earlier," he countered.

"I was fine!"

"You were not."

Nero let out a loud, frustrated sound, dragging a hand through his hair and pointed accusingly at him. "You don't even know me! You just showed up and started acting like you get to decide stuff for me!"

Vergil's gaze hardened. "I am preventing you from being killed."

"I can do that myself!"

"You should not have to."

Nero faltered for half a second, just long enough for something uncertain to flicker across his face, before it was immediately replaced with stubborn anger again. "Well, I do!" He yelled. "And I've been doing it just fine without you."

Vergil took a step closer, his expression controlled but unyielding. "That does not mean I will allow it to continue, Nero."

That seemed to have done it.

Nero's entire posture stiffened, frustration boiling over completely now. "Yeah? Well, you don't get a say in that!" He bit at him. "You're not my dad!"

Vergil didn't like it, but there was a moment where the air had been stolen from his lungs as his grip on Yamato loosened once the statement settled in.

The boy didn't seem to notice his dilemma. Or if he did, he didn't care. Nero huffed, turning away with a frustrated stomp, kicking a loose branch out of his path as he started walking again, faster this time, each step heavy with irritation. "I'm going. You can stay here if you want."

Vergil remained where he was for a second longer as he exhaled through his nose, forcing the compression in his chest back down into something manageable.

He forgot that he didn't like to see rejection in his own son's eyes. He loathed to see it when he got back from the Underworld with his brother. Those first few weeks were gnawing. To see Nero refusing him (and rightfully so) and not wanting to be near him because of his actions brought pain to Vergil that he hadn't felt in decades.

…How foolish to be feeling this way yet again.

Quickly, his expression had settled back into its usual composure. He sheathed Yamato and followed Nero.

As expected, Nero didn't make it easy. He kept walking with the stiff, furious stride of a child determined to prove a point by sheer momentum alone, boots kicking up damp leaves as he shoved branches out of his way a little too hard. Vergil followed a few paces behind, allowing the boy his indignation while keeping him within reach. Every time Nero looked back, he'd huff and pout at him, annoyed that he was following him.

It amused Vergil more than it should have. Nero did not know him, did not trust him, and had just declared in no uncertain terms that Vergil was not his father, yet he kept making certain he was there. That contradiction sat strangely warm in Vergil's chest.

After several minutes of this, Nero finally whipped around on his heel so abruptly that leaves were scattered under his boots. "Are you seriously gonna keep doing that?" He demanded, glaring up at him. There was still heat in the boy's face from their earlier argument, a pink flush across his cheeks that made the severity of his expression somewhat less effective. "Following me around like some creepy old guy?"

Vergil lifted an eyebrow. "You have already established that I am old."

Nero blinked, clearly not expecting that answer, then scowled harder when he realised he had no immediate comeback. "That's not-!" He cut himself off with an aggravated noise and threw one hand up in the air. "You know what I mean!

"I do."

"Then stop doing it!"

"No."

Nero stared at him for a second, almost offended by how easily the answer came. Then his shoulders tensed, and he marched with even more force than previously, muttering something under his breath. Vergil caught only fragments of it this time, something about annoying weirdos and stupid hair and people not minding their own business. He let the complaints pass without comment.

The forest path, if it could be called that, narrowed as they moved through it, roots pressing up through the earth in tangled coils. Nero ducked beneath a low branch and kept going, though the earlier burst of anger had started to wear thin around the edges.

Vergil noticed the instant his steps lost a fraction of their sharp certainty. The boy compensated quickly, straightening and walking on as if nothing had happened, but the effort in it did not escape him.

"Are you tired?" Vergil asked.

"No," Nero quickly said.

Vergil regarded him for a moment, saying nothing. Nero, perhaps taking the silence as disbelief, scowled and lifted his chin with all the offended dignity a ten-year-old could manage. "I'm not," he repeated, more stubbornly this time, as if saying it twice would make it more true.

Then, less than a minute later, he veered out from between the trees into a small open patch where the forest thinned into a circle of grass lit by the late afternoon sun. Wildflowers grew in uneven clusters near the edges, and the ground there was flatter, less choked by roots. Nero walked straight into the middle of it and dropped down cross-legged without a word. He planted the end of his stick into the grass and began dragging it through the blades in careless little lines, carving shapes into the earth beneath with fierce concentration.

Vergil followed more slowly. He stepped into the clearing, took in how open it was, the lack of immediate danger, and then eventually lowered himself to the ground opposite Nero.

He expected some irritated protest, but Nero said nothing.

The silence stretched, but it was not uncomfortable in the way their earlier silences had been. The anger had burned low enough now that what remained was quieter. Nero seemed to feel it too. His earlier irritation had not vanished, but it no longer crackled off him with every breath. It had settled into the sort of guarded serenity children fell into when they wanted to speak and had not yet decided whether they should.

Eventually, Nero broke first.

"I wanna leave Fortuna."

He did not look up as he said them. Instead, he pressed the stick harder into the grass, dragging it through the flattened green in one long, uneven line.

Vergil did not interrupt.

Nero's mouth twisted. "Like… all of it. Not just the city. I mean the island. I mean everything." He finally glanced up then, but only for a second until his eyes dropped. "I wanna see what's out there."

Vergil watched him carefully. "Why?"

His son shrugged. "Because this place sucks," he said, his tone blunt. "Everybody stares. Or they whisper. Or they think they're being reaaaal subtle when they're not." He jabbed the stick into the grass again. "And if they're not doing that, then they're acting like I'm about to turn into some monster because of my hair or my arm or whatever stupid thing they've decided about me that day."

His voice had grown tighter as he spoke, frustration creeping back in.

"I hate it," Nero admitted. "I hate knowin' people are looking at me like that. I hate that they always notice that before I even say anything." He dragged the stick sideways, flattening another patch of grass. "Sometimes I think maybe if I went somewhere else, nobody'd care. Or maybe they wouldn't know what I'm supposed to look like, so they'd just…" He hesitated, then huffed softly through his nose. "They'd just look at me normal, ya know?"

Vergil's expression did not change, but something in his chest pulled taut.

Nero went on before he could respond, as if afraid that stopping would make the words harder to say. "Kyrie says the world's bigger. She says there are all kinds of places, and cities, and people, and probably food that doesn't taste like church leftovers." That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though it vanished quickly. "And Credo says I should stop talking like I'm gonna run off and disappear one day, but that's only because he thinks everywhere outside Fortuna is worse."

The boy poked at the ground again, sighing. "Maybe it is. I dunno. But it can't be just this." He gestured and waved his hand around them. "There's gotta be somewhere better."

Nero's grip tightened around the stick, and for a while, he only dragged it through the grass in slow, uneven lines, flattening patch after patch without really seeming to notice what he was making. The earlier spark in his expression had dimmed once more. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, stripped of most of its usual bite.

"Do you think…" He started, then stopped, his mouth twisting. He stared stubbornly at the ground for another few seconds before forcing the words out anyway. "Do you think anyone would want me? Like… really want me?"

Yes. Vergil wanted to blurt it out that very second. I want you, Nero.

His devil was threatening to consume him and take Nero away from this forsaken island. It was getting harder and harder to meet those eyes of his and not feel such pain lurching from his body.

"Like how my mommy wanted me," Nero continued. "I was a baby when she died, so I don't remember much of her, but I knew she always wanted me." He smiled a little. "I kinda remember her humming a really nice song to get me to sleep. Her voice always sounded nice."

Her voice did sound nice. Vergil could remember a time when her voice even lulled him to sleep.

"But she's gone, so that doesn't really help now," Nero huffed.

He had known this, had always known the facts of it, but hearing Nero say it in such a small, matter-of-fact voice made it feel like a fresh wound all the same.

"And everybody else has a dad," he said, the bitter tone creeping in now. "Credo and Kyrie have one. All the other kids in Fortuna got one. Even if they're annoying or strict or whatever, at least they're there." The stick snapped a blade of grass cleanly in two. "I don't."

Vergil's hand tightened faintly where it rested against his knee. There it was. The blow he'd been anticipating.

Nero's mouth twisted. "And don't say stuff like maybe he died or maybe he couldn't come back or some other dumb thing people say when they wanna make it sound less bad." His voice had grown flatter, but that only made the bitterness in it more obvious. "He left. That's what happened."

The words landed cleanly between them, and Vergil did not look away.

And Nero kept going, "That's what people say, anyway. Not to my face all the time, but I hear stuff." He jabbed the stick down. "They think I don't, but I do. They say he ran off. That he got my mom pregnant and then disappeared." His jaw clenched. "So that means he knew, right? He knew about me. Or at least about her. And he still left."

No, I did not, Nero. If I knew, things would've been different.

His son's voice wavered for the first time, only slightly, and he seemed annoyed at himself for it. "I don't even get why." He frowned down at the uneven lines he had carved into the grass. "Like, if he didn't want me, then fine. Whatever. But why her too? Why'd he leave her alone with all of it?"

The boy swallowed hard and immediately scowled, as if angry that the question had come out sounding too honest.

"She was nice," Nero said, almost defensively. "From what I remember, she was really nice. So I don't get it." He looked up at him suddenly. "What kind of idiot leaves someone like that?"

"A foolish one," Vergil answered immediately. Because yes, he was foolish and an idiot. 

Nero just snorted. "Yeah. I guess that's easy for someone like you to say since you didn't get left behind."

No, Vergil thought. Because he was the one who had done the leaving.

"I don't get why he would," Nero went on. "If my mom wanted me, then why didn't he?" After a pause, he added bitterly, "Unless he looked at me and decided I wasn't worth staying for."

Enough. Vergil's jaw tightened. "Do not say that again."

Nero blinked and looked up, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. "Why?"

Because it was too close to the truth Vergil feared Nero would one day believe of him. Because hearing his son speak of himself so cheaply stirred something vicious and protective and ashamed all at once.

Because Nero had been worth everything, and Vergil had not been there to prove it.

Instead, he said, "Because it is false."

Nero searched his face. "You can't know that."

Vergil did not waver. "I can know that any man who looked upon his own child and failed to remain would be a fool."

For several seconds, Nero only stared. The resentment in his face did not fully fade, but something in it shifted, caught between disbelief and the fragile urge to believe him anyway.

"You really say weird stuff," Nero mumbled at last, but there was no heat in it now.

Vergil allowed the smallest exhale through his nose. "So you have said."

Nero's mouth twitched. He lowered his gaze again and traced a crooked shape through the grass. "I still think he's a big jerk."

On that, Vergil could not disagree. "That," he said, very quietly, "May be a fair assessment."

His son laughed at that. It sounded more like a childish giggle than anything, but Vergil was delighted to finally hear it. The boy looked at him then. "If I ever see him," he said, eyes suddenly growing determined. "I'll kick his ass."

A faint smirk tugged at Vergil's lips. "I am sure you will."

Nero smiled at him this time, seeming pleased that he agreed and continued drawing on the grass.

It was like that for a while. Vergil idly watched his son as Nero's movements had softened, the harsh lines in the grass fading into slower and more coherent shapes. The tension in his shoulders had also eased, as was Vergil's.

Eventually, Nero shifted, pushing himself up with a small grunt. He didn't acknowledge the fact that he had needed the rest at all. Instead, he brushed his hands off and grabbed the stick, already turning away.

Vergil rose without comment and, of course, followed.

The forest began to thin as they walked, the trees spacing out, the ground less tangled beneath their feet. The air shifted too, carrying a faint, clean scent of salt that didn't belong among the trees. Nero seemed to notice it, his pace picking up as he pushed ahead.

He followed just behind, but his attention slipped, caught by something distant at the edge of his awareness.

When Vergil shook his head and looked forward, Nero was gone.

He stopped immediately, and his pulse quickened. "Nero?" Vergil called, already moving as he used his demonic senses to trace his nestling. He looked to the ground, finding the faint trail of disturbed grass and small footprints.

Vergil followed, steps faster now, controlled but edged with urgency. The trail led straight ahead, toward the thinning trees and the growing light beyond them.

The shoreline had opened in front of him, wide and bright, the ocean stretching out beneath the sky as waves rolled steadily against the sand. The sound filled the air, steady and endless.

And there was Nero.

He stood near the edge of the water, already pulling off his shoes in a hurry. One went flying to the side, then the other, followed by his socks, discarded without care. Before Vergil could speak, Nero ran forward.

His bare feet hit the sand, unsteady at first, then faster as he reached the water and splashed straight into it. The cold didn't seem to bother him at all. A laugh broke out of him, bright and unrestrained once the waves rushed around his legs.

He turned then, looking back toward the shore, and spotted Vergil. His face lit up, completely open in a way it hadn't been before.

"Hey!" Nero called, waving at him. "You're slow!" He bounced in place, water splashing around him. "C'mon, Mister V! It's not even that cold!"

"...Will you not get sick?" Vergil asked, pressing his lips as he walked over to the shoreline. The water was already soaking his boots.

Nero rolled his eyes. "Nuh-uh!" He said, dragging the word out with exaggerated annoyance and splashing the water with his foot. "It's just water, not poison!"

Vergil stopped at the edge of the shoreline, the tide brushing his boots. "That is not how illness works."

"Yeah, well," Nero shot back as another wave hit him. "I don't get sick that easily, ya know!" He lifted a hand and motioned toward the water. "Get in! You'll looooove it!"

Vergil remained where he was.

Nero waited, the bright expectation on his face holding for a second before it began to slip at his reluctance. "Oh," he muttered, trying and failing to sound like he did not care. He shrugged and turned away again, kicking weakly at a wave. "Fine. Just stand there then."

It was such a small thing, so absurdly simple, and yet the sight of that brief dimming in his expression dragged something old and ugly through Vergil's chest.

He was far too old for this. There was no dignity in wading into the sea at the invitation of his ten-year-old son.

And yet he had never been able to do anything like this with his Nero. Not when Nero had been small enough to laugh this freely. Not before everything between them had become too complicated, too broken, and too heavy with the consequences of his own choices.

Perhaps he could give this Nero what the other had been denied.

Before he could reconsider, Vergil took off his coat and stepped forward.

The water soaked into his boots at once, then climbed higher as he moved into the shallows beside the boy without bothering to remove them. The cold bit his skin, but he gave no sign of it.

His son turned at the sound and stared at him, surprise flashing openly across his face. "You really came in," he said with a bright, delighted grin. "You actually came in!"

"You insisted."

Nero laughed, a bright, childish sound that carried easily over the waves. "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd do it." His gaze dropped to Vergil's boots, and his grin widened further. "You didn't even take those off. That's silly!"

Vergil hoped he wasn't blushing, though he could feel the tips of his ears turn red. "...It was unnecessary."

"It was suuuuuuper necessary!" Nero corrected, already circling a little in the water like he had too much energy to keep still now that he had won. "You're gonna have soggy boots forever!"

The boy bent abruptly, scooped up a double handful of seawater, and flung it at him before Vergil could react. The water hit the front of his coat and splattered upward across his chest and face.

"Nero!" Vergil snapped. He could feel his hair become wet and then quickly lose its usual style.

However, Nero just laughed even harder and splashed him again. The second splash hit harder, soaking through what little dignity Vergil had left intact. He stood there for half a second, water dripping from his fringe, and simply stared at Nero as the boy doubled over laughing like he had just committed the greatest crime imaginable.

"So you seemed to have declared war," Vergil stated flatly.

Nero's grin only widened, all teeth and mischief as he took a step back through the water, already preparing to run. "You started it by comin' in dressed like that!"

"I most certainly did not-"

Nero cut him off by splashing him.

And so that was enough.

Vergil stared after him for a fraction of a second before running after him.

He could have closed the distance instantly and caught Nero before the boy had taken more than a single step, but instead he followed at a measured pace, letting the water drag at his movements, letting the uneven sand slow him just enough. Nero glanced back over his shoulder, saw him coming, and laughed again as he began picking up speed, splashing wildly as he tried to get away.

"You're not even trying!" Nero accused, though there was no real complaint in it, only contagious excitement as he stumbled forward and nearly lost his footing. 

"I am," Vergil replied evenly, though he adjusted his pace just enough to keep the distance believable.

Nero didn't notice. He kept running, weaving clumsily through the water, sending arcs of it up with every step. Every now and then, he'd turn abruptly and fling more water at Vergil and then dart away, like this was some grand contest he had already decided he was going to win.

He followed, close enough to keep the boy within reach, far enough to let him feel victorious. Each time Nero glanced back and saw he hadn't been caught yet, his grin grew wider, his laughter louder, until it became something entirely unguarded. It was something free of the bitterness and defensiveness that had clung to him earlier.

It finally brought a smile to Vergil's lips.

It was amazing how the littlest things could light up a child's face. His own was no different. Nero looked like he was having the time of his life.

They kept going like that for longer than he would have ever allowed under normal circumstances. But seeing and hearing Nero's pure joy made it all worth it, and for the rest of his clothes to be soaked, as uncomfortable as it felt.

He would blame it, later, on the distraction and the unfamiliar ease of the moment. Or of the sound of Nero laughing so freely that it dulled his instincts for just long enough to matter.

Something was coming behind Nero.

Vergil felt it before he saw it. His head turned sharply, and his hand followed, grabbing Nero by the back of his shirt and pulling him aside just as the water erupted.

A massive figure rose from the sea with a deep, guttural sound. Thick, scaled limbs dragged through the shallows, its body hunched and powerful, glowing from within like embers buried under ash.

A Berial spawn, smaller than the king itself but still far from anything ordinary. Heat rolled off it in waves, turning the cold sea into hissing steam around its feet.

Nero stumbled, catching himself as he stared. "What the hell is that?!"

Vergil stepped in front of him, Yamato already in hand. "Something you will not be fighting."

The demon's molten eyes locked onto Nero.

Then it moved. Fast.

It surged forward through the water with terrifying speed, one massive arm swinging straight for the boy. Vergil barely had time to react. He stepped in and intercepted the blow with Yamato, the impact sending a harsh vibration up his arm as steel met burning force.

The creature snarled, dragging its claws against the blade and then pulling back.

"No!" Nero snapped immediately, anger breaking through his evident fear. "You're hurt already!"

"That is irrelevant," Vergil replied, not looking back. "Move."

"I said no!"

The demon lunged, this time lower, aiming past Vergil.

He shifted his stance and cut across its path, but the attack was too close, too fast. The demon's claws clipped him as he blocked, tearing another shallow cut across his shoulder. He forced it back with a sharp strike, pushing it several steps away through the water.

"Nero!" Vergil snapped, turning just enough to catch the boy's eyes. "Go!"

"I'm not running away from you!" Nero shot back, but there was a crack in his voice.

"You will if you intend to survive," Vergil said, his tone turning colder. "Do not make me repeat myself."

The demon gave a low, rumbling laugh, as if amused by the exchange.

It vanished into the steam.

Vergil's eyes narrowed. "Stay behind me."

"I'm not staying anywhere!" Nero argued, taking a step forward despite himself. "We can both fight it!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

The demon burst from the side, going straight for Nero again. This time it was faster. Vergil barely made it in time, Yamato flashing up to block the strike inches from the boy. The force of it pushed him back a step, water surging around his legs.

"Enough!" Vergil barked, shoving the demon with a sharp, controlled slash. He didn't take his attention off it as he spoke again. "Move, Nero!"

Tears suddenly sprang from Nero's eyes. "But I don't wanna leave you!"

Vergil looked down at Nero in surprise, seeing the tears gathered in the boy's eyes and the way his small hands had clenched at his sides, trembling with fear and fury alike.

The demon did not allow the moment to last. It lunged again through the steam, its molten limbs cutting through the water with a hiss. Vergil moved at once, Yamato sparkling as he met the creature head-on. Steel rang against burning hide, the impact jarring his wounded shoulder, but he held firm and forced it aside before it could get close enough to touch Nero.

Damn it… Damn it…

Vergil drove Yamato forward in a clean thrust, forcing the Berial spawn back a step, but it only answered with a furious roar and came at them with more speed than before. Its strikes grew harsher, each blow heavier than the last. It seemed like the creature had decided it would tear through him if that was what it took to get to the child behind him.

Heat rolled off its body in punishing waves. The sea hissed and steamed around its legs, and every clash of Yamato against its burning limbs sent a painful shock through Vergil's already injured arm.

The Berial spawn vanished into the steam haze again. Vergil shifted his footing, placing himself more squarely in front of Nero just as the creature burst from the side with a sweeping claw meant to knock him aside. Vergil caught it on Yamato, but the force drove him backwards through the surf. Water sprayed around his legs. His shoulder screamed in protest, and before he could fully recover, the demon twisted with unnatural speed and brought its other arm down toward Nero.

Vergil intercepted that too. The second impact landed harder. He blocked the strike, but not cleanly enough. Burning force scraped past him and clipped his side, sending a sharp line of pain across his ribs. He inhaled once through his nose and refused to let it show.

"Stay back, Nero," he said, steady but unyielding.

Nero's voice came from behind him, angry and frightened. "You can't keep telling me that when it keeps hitting you!"

Vergil did not answer. He lunged forward instead, forcing the Berial spawn to give ground under a rapid sequence of cuts. Yamato flashed through the steam with deadly precision, each strike aimed to cripple, to break, to end the fight as quickly as possible. But the creature endured far more than it should have. It twisted around one slash, took another across its shoulder, and still kept coming. Its ember-bright eyes remained adamant on Nero.

That lit something cold and vicious inside of Vergil.

The spawn rushed them, abandoning finesse for brute force. Vergil met it head-on. Steel rang and heat surged. The demon slammed into him with enough strength to rattle his bones, and though he drove Yamato into its chest, the thing shoved forward anyway, heedless of the blade as it tried to reach around him. Vergil tore the sword free and pivoted, cutting its arm away from Nero's direction, but another strike followed immediately after.

The Berial's shoulder crashed into Vergil's torso and sent him stumbling sideways through the water. Before he could fully right himself, it followed with a savage backhand that caught him across the upper body and threw him harder. He hit the shallows on one knee, Yamato digging into the sand to keep him from going down entirely. Pain flared through his side and shoulder together, hot and immediate.

"Mister V!"

Vergil lifted his head just as the Berial spawn advanced, looming through the steam. He pushed himself upright, but the motion cost him a precious second, and the demon was already winding up for another blow. He raised Yamato in time, yet the force still drove through his guard and tore another wound somewhere along his arm. His grip tightened, knuckles whitening. He refused to yield even an inch of ground toward Nero.

A flash of blue and silver rushed in from the side. Small fingers glowing with demonic strength slammed against the Berial spawn's torso, and Nero's Devil Bringer erupted with force as the boy shoved the creature back with a furious cry. The demon staggered several steps through the steaming water, caught off guard more by the defiance than the strength behind it.

Nero rounded on Vergil immediately. "Are you okay?!" He demanded, sounding more angry than relieved. "I told you I wasn't just gonna stand there!"

Vergil simply looked at him. The child was soaked through, shaking with adrenaline, stubborn enough to charge a monster far larger than himself because Vergil had been hurt. There was no time to feel anything about that, because the Berial spawn had already recovered.

"Nero, move!" Vergil yelled.

The warning came a fraction too late. The demon lunged.

Vergil crossed the distance in a blur and drove Yamato straight into the Berial spawn's torso. The blade sank deep. Nero froze for half a heartbeat behind him. Vergil expected the demon to falter, expected at least the instinctive recoil of something impaled through the core.

It did not.

Instead, the Berial spawn let out a terrible, rising sound, somewhere between a roar and a laugh. Heat swelled violently around its body. The flesh along its back split and expanded, not with blood, but with fire and jagged black growth. Wings began to form, huge and molten and wrong, stretching outward through the steam.

Vergil felt his heart drop.

The demon moved with horrifying speed.

One burning arm shot past him, not toward the sword lodged in its body, not toward the threat before it, but toward Nero. Thick claws closed around the boy's waist and lifted him clean off the ground. 

Everything slowed.

Nero gave a startled gasp that turned into fear. Real fear. Not stubborn anger, not childish outrage, not the frightened defiance he had shown before. This was different. His eyes were wide as he twisted in the creature's grip, his small hand reaching helplessly toward Vergil.

Vergil reached for him, but the Berial spawn beat its new wings in a violent rush of heat and spray. Sand exploded upward. Water surged back from the force of it. Nero was hauled higher, one arm still stretched toward him, fingers spread in a desperate attempt to close a distance that widened too quickly.

For the first time since finding the boy, Vergil saw pure terror on his son's face.

"Nero!"

His own voice cracked through the shoreline with a force he did not recognise. He leapt, slashing upward, but the Berial spawn twisted out of range and shot into the air with Nero in hand. In seconds, it was beyond the steam, beyond the beach, a dark shape against the sky racing toward the deeper line of forest and cliffs.

"NERO!" Vergil shouted again, but the wind swallowed the sound.

Then they were gone.

For a second, the world seemed to stop around him.

Vergil stood motionless, staring at the empty space where the creature had been. His hand remained half outstretched. His breathing had gone unnaturally still as his blade glowed in distress at the danger.

He never wanted to see his son so afraid, adult or child. He shouldn't have to be afraid of anything because his father should be able to protect him. That was what fathers were supposed to do.

I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles…

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine.

Vergil's body moved before his mind would be able to catch up with him. His Sin Devil Trigger consumed him all at once, and he shot up into the air, powering through the dark clouds in surging blue torrents.

He found Berial on a cliff. And on the ground… There was a discarded, unmoving, bleeding small body.

When Vergil saw Berial with a demonic arm in his mouth, everything turned into a red blur.

There were sounds he couldn't remember making as he tore through the demon. Berial's confidence dimmed second by second when Vergil let out a blood-curdling scream. He cut the bastard limb from limb until it was no more. And even when it was dead and in pieces, he stabbed into those pieces as they disintegrated into pathetic ashes.

Vergil caught his breath and retook his human form. His breathing was ragged as the glow in his eyes disappeared and went back to normal. The rain began pouring once his gaze locked onto Nero, who was further away.

He dropped to his knees beside Nero's body and brought him into his arms. Nero was bleeding from where his arm was, and there was a gaping, bloodied hole near his abdomen.

"Nero!" Vergil felt his voice crack around the name. He gathered the boy against him, one hand braced unsteadily at Nero's back, the other pressing uselessly over the worst of the injury as though force alone could keep life from slipping further away. Rain soaked through both of them, turning Nero's hair dark against his forehead, washing thin streaks of red across Vergil's trembling fingers. "Nero. Stay awake." His voice came out rougher the second time, stripped of composure, of pride, of everything but fear. "Look at me. Nero!"

The child did not answer at first.

For one dreadful second, Vergil thought there would be nothing. No sound, no movement, no sign at all. Then Nero coughed, weak and wet, and blood touched his lips. It was horrible, and it was hope all at once, pitiful and desperate and worthless as it might have been. Vergil seized it anyway, because there was nothing else to seize.

Nero's eyelashes fluttered. His eyes opened slowly, and the sight of them almost killed him. They had been so bright, sharp with mischief and temper and childish defiance. Now they looked dulled by pain, their light fading by the second as they struggled to stay focused on him through the rain.

Vergil had faced devils, kings, hellgates, and death itself without bending. Yet this, a child looking at him with tired eyes from the shelter of his arms, left him utterly powerless.

Nero smiled at him.

It was small and weak and terribly gentle, and Vergil did not understand it. He could not understand how the boy could smile now, not when his breathing had gone shallow, not when his body had grown so frighteningly light in his grasp, not when everything had already begun to slip beyond recovery.

Why was he smiling?

He was dying.

Nero was dying, and Vergil could do nothing. No force in his body, no fury in his blood, no monstrous power he had spent his life chasing could alter what was happening here. He had found the creature. He had killed it. He had torn it apart with all the rage he possessed, and still, he had been too late.

It happened again.

He had failed to protect the one person he should have protected above all others. He had not been there when Nero needed a father the first time, and now, when fate had handed him a cruel second chance in another form, he had failed him here too. He had not been strong enough. Again.

Vergil bowed his head, leaning his forehead against Nero's brow. His child was far too precious, so innocent, so caring and loving. It was more than Vergil ever deserved and ever will deserve.

Nero's lips parted. It seemed to take effort just to form words now. "Mister V," he said, shocking him out of his reverie. He watched as Nero swallowed weakly. "Y-You… look really upset."

Something inside Vergil nearly came apart at that, at the childish attempt to notice him first even now. He tightened his jaw so hard it hurt. "Be silent," he said, but there was no anger in it, only strain. "Conserve your strength."

Nero's smile didn't leave. "No," he whispered, voice thin and fraying. "...Wanna say it."

Vergil stared at him. Rain beaded on Nero's lashes and clung to his pale face, and still that small smile remained, as if the boy had decided this moment belonged to him and no one else. "What?"

His son's gaze drifted for a second and then found his. "Thank you," he murmured.

"No," Vergil said quickly, because it sounded too much like a goodbye. "No, Nero."

But Nero kept going as he drew a shallow breath. "Today was… really fun." His words were weak and broken by effort, but he pushed through them anyway, stubborn to the last. "The water… and you chasin' me and stuff…" His smile trembled a little at the edges. "I liked talkin' to you too..."

The rain filled the silence between them, heavy and cold, striking stone and earth and the ruined cliffside. Somewhere below, the sea crashed against the rocks, distant now, like the world had pulled itself away from this one unbearable moment.

Vergil swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the fact that the lump in his throat felt like it was choking him. "You should have had more than one pleasant afternoon," he said at last, each word forced past the weight in his chest. "You should have had years of them. Countless. I should have…" His voice started to fail. "You were owed far more than this."

Nero blinked, struggling to stay focused. "Maybe." His hand twitched weakly where it rested near Vergil's sleeve. "But I liked this one."

Vergil caught that hand immediately and held it. It was small and cooling, and the feeling of it nearly undid him.

He kissed Nero's palm like it was something sacred, something he could anchor to, as if that small, fragile hand could be kept here through sheer will alone.

His lips lingered there longer than they should have. His breath was unsteady against the boy's skin. Then a tear slipped free despite everything he had tried to hold back, falling from his lashes and landing softly against Nero's cheek.

He almost jolted when he felt Nero's hand touching his own cheek. Even that seemed to take effort. "Don't cry."

Another tear fell as Vergil gritted his teeth. "I was late."

"S'not your fault."

A choked sob escaped Vergil's lips. How could his child be so gentle, even now, when Vergil himself felt split open by grief and helplessness alike? How could Nero be the one trying to comfort him while his own life slipped away in his father's arms?

Because that was just how Nero was, wasn't he? Nero was selfless, kind and forgiving. Nero was a saint. Nero was everything Vergil was not. Nero was the only person he knew who would protect everything he fought for and loved without a second thought.

He hated it. He loathed it. He despised how difficult it was for Nero to see his self-worth.

"M'tired…" Nero murmured.

Vergil's hand shook where it cupped Nero's cheek. "I know," he said, barely holding together. "I know. But stay awake, Nero. Just a little longer. Stay awake for me."

Nero's mouth curved in the smallest, weakest thing that could still be called a smile. "You keep sayin' that."

"Because I need you to listen," Vergil whispered, and another sob slipped into the words before he could stop it. "Please."

His son looked at him for a long moment, or maybe only a second. Time no longer seemed to move properly.

Rain pattered down his pale face, caught in his lashes, slid along the bridge of his nose. Vergil brushed it away with trembling fingers, though more replaced it, rain and tears together until he could no longer tell which was which.

Nero's hand started to slip from Vergil's face. But Vergil caught it immediately and pressed it against his lips again, desperate and reverent and breaking apart with every breath. "Don't leave," he whispered into the boy's palm. "Nero, don't go where I cannot follow."

The boy's gaze drifted, struggling to hold on to Vergil's face. "Mister V…"

"I am here. Look at me."

Nero tried. He truly tried.

Vergil saw it in the faint pull of his brow, in the way his eyes searched for him again.

"...'kay."

The word was so quiet that Vergil almost didn't hear it.

Then his body softened. It was slight at first, just a little less tension in his shoulders, a little more weight settling into Vergil's arms.

It happened all at once. The last fragile effort left him, and Nero finally grew limp against his chest.

"Nero?"

Vergil's breath stopped.

Then louder, his voice cracking apart around the name. "Nero."

His arms tightened around the child as if he could force warmth and life back into him through sheer desperation.

"Nero!"

The cry tore itself out of him, raw and broken, and still there was no answer.

There would never be an answer.

Vergil bowed over him once more, his forehead pressing hard against Nero's wet hair, his whole body shaking now with sobs he could no longer contain.

He fruitlessly called Nero's name again and again into the rain, each one more helpless than the last.

But the boy in his arms did not stir.

He would never stir.

Vergil closed his eyes, bringing Nero's body closer as he buried his face against Nero's hair, holding him with a desperate tenderness that made it seem impossible he had ever been capable of letting anything precious go.

Sweet dreams form a shade… O'er my lovely infants head.

"Sweet dreams of pleasant streams…" Vergil let out a jittery breath as he caressed Nero's face one last time. "By happy silent moony beams…"

.

.

.

.

.

"NERO!"

Vergil lurched awake as the name tore itself from his throat.

For one disoriented second, the dream clung to him so completely that the world around him refused to make sense. His chest heaved like he had truly been screaming into a storm, and his hands moved, grasping forward with frantic urgency for weight that was no longer there.

He found nothing.

Only damp air, rough bark biting at his back and leaf-littered ground beneath him.

Vergil pushed himself upright too fast, eyes scanning the forest with a severity that would have been unthinkable under any other circumstance. Trees loomed around him in dim green and grey. The air smelled of moss, wet wood, and the metallic taint of demon blood, not salt and steam.

Then things became clearer.

It had been a dream.

Vergil drew in a harsh breath and held it. Before he closed his eyes, he'd been alone in the forest finishing a contract. A cluster of demons had been prowling too close to Fortuna, preying on anything foolish enough to pass through after dark. He had cut them down without much effort and, once the work was done, allowed himself some solitude.

That had been all.

He had simply fallen asleep.

How foolish that his guard was down for so long. How ridiculously soft was he getting that he let a moment of clarity to gain his consciousness so much that he had to sleep?

His fingers curled against his palm as he recounted his dream.

That old, rotting certainty that anything precious placed in his care would eventually be lost through some weakness, some hesitation, some flaw in him too deeply rooted to escape.

He had dreamt of Nero as a child because that was when the failure had truly begun, was it not? Long before he had known the boy. Long before he had even seen his face. He had failed him first in absence, and the mind, treacherous thing that it was, had twisted that absence into something crueller. A second chance. A smaller, younger Nero placed in his arms only so fate could rip him away again.

He had faced many visions like this and remained standing. But this one was by far the worst. This one lingered because some part of him believed he deserved it. Perhaps that was the worst of it. Not the horror of the dream itself, but how easily his mind had accepted it as plausible. Of course the boy would die in his arms. Of course Nero would spend his last breaths comforting him instead of the reverse.

Of course Vergil would arrive just late enough for power to become meaningless.

Suddenly, a distant roar cut through the trees.

An engine. Vergil's brow furrowed. The noise was distant at first, then louder, growing into a familiar aggressive sound as it tore along the old forest road with absolutely no regard for caution, terrain, or common sense.

Nicoletta, he thought, irritation sparking automatically through the disquiet. No one else drove like the machine had personally insulted them.

He pushed himself to his feet, one hand resting against the trunk behind him as the last of the dream's mass dragged unpleasantly at his limbs. He turned just as the van came into view through the trees, swerving hard enough to scatter gravel and dead leaves in its wake before screeching to a stop several yards from him.

When his devil started to make clicking noises, he had no time to process his surprise when he saw Nero climbing out of the driver's side instead.

For a beat, Vergil simply stared. The transition was so abrupt that it almost struck him dumb. One moment, there had been a child dying in his arms. The next, here stood that very child in all the rough-edged force of adulthood. Alive and solid and very clearly furious.

"What the fuck, old man?!"

The force of Nero's voice hit him almost as hard as the relief of seeing him standing there. Nero slammed the door shut behind him and stalked forward.

"You asshole! I've been looking everywhere for you. Everywhere! You said you were taking the east side of the forest! So I checked the safehouse, checked the ravine, circled back twice, and then you're just out here passed the hell out against a goddamn tree?!"

Vergil said nothing.

His son's shouting barely registered. Nero cursed at him often enough when irritated, and he had heard worse from the boy on far less provocation. What stopped him from responding now was the sight in front of him. Nero, standing there in solid, unshakable life. Breath quick, brow furrowed, hair disordered, eyes bright with anger rather than dimmed by pain. So alive that the contrast with the dream almost made the air feel thin in Vergil's lungs.

Nero kept going, seemingly too wound up to stop now that he had found him. "Do you have any idea how annoying that was? I thought maybe more demons showed up, or maybe you got hurt and decided not to say anything because apparently that's your favourite hobby, or maybe you just wandered off because 'communication is beneath you' or some shit." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Seriously, what the hell? You can't just disappear like that!"

Then Nero dragged a hand through his hair. "And before you say it, no, I'm not overreacting. I've been driving around this stupid forest trying to find you for I don't even know how long, and if I found out sooner that you were just taking a fuckin' nap-"

Vergil crossed the distance between them and pulled the boy into his arms.

It was abrupt enough that Nero made a short, confused sound and went rigid. Vergil buried his face into his son's shoulder before he could think better of it. One arm gripped the back of Nero's coat, the other pressed hard between his shoulder blades.

Nero was warm. Solid. Alive.

He had to repeat it to himself several times.

Vergil could feel the confusion in Nero's body, in the tension that had locked every muscle to a halt. But he did not care. He could not bring himself to care. Not with the dream clawing at the inside of his ribs. Not with the certainty of Nero's living presence finally in his grasp.

A breath shuddered out of him that he was unable to stop. 

Then Nero said, much quieter, "...Dad?"

Vergil shut his eyes. Fresh tears burned at once, slipping free before he could master them, and he had to swallow hard against the sob rising in his throat. His grip tightened, betraying far more than he would ever willingly say aloud.

Nero stayed frozen for another second, maybe two, and Vergil could feel the exact moment his confusion began to give way to concern. The rigidity in his shoulders eased by degrees beneath Vergil's hold. When he spoke again, his voice had lost all its earlier ferocity. "Hey," he said carefully. "What's wrong?"

Vergil didn't answer. He was not certain he could. His throat felt too tight, his chest still caught in the aftermath of panic that had not yet realised it no longer had reason to exist. Another tear slipped free despite himself, warm against the side of his face and then disappearing into Nero's coat. It was humiliating. Unacceptable. And yet, he could no more stop it than he could stop the shaking that remained faintly in his breath.

Nero seemed to notice all of it anyway. Vergil felt him shift in his arms, then one of Nero's hands came up before settling between Vergil's shoulders. The touch was awkward only for an instant. Then it steadied, warm and real, and Nero's other arm slowly wrapped around him too. "Dad, you're kinda freaking me out here."

His fingers curled harder into the fabric at Nero's back. Vergil couldn't seem to make himself let go. The image of the dream sat behind his eyes with cruel clarity. Nero limp in his arms. Rain soaking through his hair. Even now, with his son standing here in front of him, alive enough to be annoyed and confused and worried all at once, some broken part of Vergil still expected it all to vanish if he loosened his hold.

Nero drew back just enough to try and look at him, though Vergil's face remained unmoving. "Did something happen?" He asked. When no answer came, he tried again. "Were there more demons?"

"No."

That only made Nero pause. Vergil could all but hear the thoughts turning over in his mind, each one discarded in turn. But, finally, Nero sighed and said, "...Bad dream?"

Again, Vergil stayed silent. He couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands in time so Nero could notice. 

When Nero spoke, it was with the careful attentiveness one might use with a wounded animal. "That bad, huh?"

Vergil kept his face buried in Nero's shoulder for another moment, drawing in a slow, uneven breath that carried the familiar scent of worn leather, engine oil, rain-damp fabric, and something distinctly Nero beneath it all. Warmth. Smoke. Home, in the strangest and most dangerous sense of the word. It grounded him far more effectively than any discipline of mind ever had.

The dream lingered at the edges of his mind, vicious and sharp, but Nero's warmth was real. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was real. The hand resting between Vergil's shoulders was real.

Eventually, Vergil forced himself to pull back, though not very far. His hands were reluctant to leave him. One of them slid down almost without thought until it found Nero's right hand. He took it and laced their fingers together, holding on with a careful pressure that bordered on possessive.

Nero glanced down at their joined hands, but he did not pull away. If anything, his fingers shifted just slightly, settling more comfortably against Vergil's own.

Vergil kept his eyes lowered, fixed on their hands as though the sight of them alone might keep the last remnants of that nightmare from returning. Nero's fingers were broad and calloused, comforting in a way that felt faintly miraculous. He could feel the boy watching him, waiting, but without the impatience that would normally have accompanied such scrutiny.

At length, Vergil lifted his gaze.

Nero met it at once.

Those eyes were so painfully alive that Vergil almost felt the breath catch in his throat again. There was worry in them, yes, and confusion still, but no trace of fear, no greying weakness, no distant, unfocused look from a child slipping beyond his reach. Only Nero, standing before him in all his stubborn, infuriating solidity.

Then the silence seemed to be too much for the younger man as Nero cleared his throat and, in a tone that was almost deliberately practical, said, "You need to eat."

Vergil blinked. The bluntness of it might have been almost jarring had it not been so unmistakably his son.

"I am fine," he said automatically, though the words came out lower and rougher than usual.

Nero's stare flattened. "You're not."

Vergil might have objected again, but Nero was already continuing.

"There's pasta in the van," he said. "Kyrie made too much. Again. Which she always does, because apparently feeding two demons means cooking enough for ten." His mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile yet. "She packed some up before I left to find you."

Vergil remained silent, but his gaze did not leave Nero's face now.

Nero noticed that too. He shifted his weight and gave their joined hands the smallest pull. "And before you try to pull the whole 'I do not require sustenance at this exact moment' thing, save it. You look like shit, you fell asleep in the forest after killing a buncha demons, and you're standing here like you just crawled out of hell."

A faint crease appeared between Vergil's brow. Under normal circumstances, he might have taken issue with the phrasing.

But Nero pressed on before he could. "So you are eating. There's good food that needs reheating, and I know you like Kyrie's pasta, so don't even start with me."

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around Nero's.

Nero's expression gentled when he felt it. "C'mon," he said, quieter now. "Just come sit in the van with me and eat something. Then…" He hesitated, just briefly, and Vergil saw the uncertainty in him again. "Then if you wanna talk about it, we can. Or not. Whatever."

"Yes," Vergil said at last.

Nero seemed surprised by how quickly the answer came, though he hid it well. "You wanna?"

"Yes," Vergil repeated, more steadily. "I will eat."

We will talk about it.

The tension in Nero's shoulders eased as he seemed to have understood his unspoken words. "Good."

For a second longer, they stood there, neither moving. Then Nero gave him another small tug by the hand, clearly expecting him to follow. This time, Vergil did.

But…

"Nero."

His son paused and looked back at him. "Yeah?"

Vergil kept hold of his hand. His grip was firm now, no longer desperate, but he still did not let go. His other hand lifted of its own accord, fingers coming to rest gently against the side of Nero's face, his thumb brushing just faintly along his cheek. He looked at Nero for a moment before saying,

"Thank you."

Nero just stared at him, the tips of his ears growing red as a meek blush scattered across his cheeks. He gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, a little awkwardly, he lifted his free hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger. It was such a familiar habit, but Vergil had always found it strangely endearing.

"Just don't scare me like that again, Dad."

That made something soften in Vergil at once as a smile finally touched his lips.

He let Nero lead him back to the van.