Work Text:
"Hey, Dad."
Nero walked into Devil May Cry and set his things down in the corner. He hung his coat up on the rack and placed his bag on the couch. "Where's Dante?" He asked when he realised his father was sitting at Dante's desk with multiple binders in front of him. "Did he finally run off without paying rent again or what?"
Vergil didn't look up straight away. One gloved hand held a page in place while the other turned another with slow, deliberate care, acting like the paperwork had personally offended him. "He left," he said at last, tone flat. "Apparently, there is a 'limited time offer' on strawberry sundaes."
Nero blinked. "…You're kidding."
"I am not." Vergil eventually lifted his gaze, eyes narrowing faintly. "He insisted it was urgent."
Nero let out a breath through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. "Unbelievable." He glanced at the desk. The neat stacks were very much not how Dante usually handled anything. "And you're… doing paperwork?"
"I'm attempting to determine how this establishment functions," Vergil replied, closing one binder and immediately opening another. "It appears to operate on chaos and questionable bookkeeping."
"Yeah, that sounds about right." Nero stepped closer, leaning over the desk a little to peek at what he was reading. "You're not actually gonna fix it, are you? 'Cause if you do, Dante's gonna cry."
"He already should," Vergil muttered. His eyes flicked over a line, then paused. "…What is 'misc. demon stuff' supposed to entail?"
Nero huffed a quiet laugh. "That's Dante's way of saying he doesn't remember what the job was, but he got paid anyway."
Vergil let out a scoff. "Irresponsible."
"Effective," Nero corrected, shrugging. "Mostly. …Kinda, sorta."
He inwardly cringed at the crinkled-up, coffee-stained contracts he once had to help Dante deal with when he started working for the business. To say his uncle was a dumbass would've been an understatement. Half the time, Nero had felt less like a Devil Hunter and more like the poor bastard assigned to stop Devil May Cry from collapsing under Dante's complete inability to do anything like a normal person. If the place had survived this long, it was mostly through luck, stubbornness, and the fact that demons usually didn't care how bad your filing system was.
Nero shook his head with a sigh and took a seat next to Vergil. He reached for the nearest stack, straightening the edges out of habit before flipping the top page over. Vergil slid another binder toward him without looking, a silent adjustment that set a rhythm between them almost immediately.
It wasn't organised in any official sense, but it worked.
He skimmed, signed where it needed signing, added a quick note where Dante had clearly left something unfinished, then passed it to the side. Vergil checked, added anything where necessary, and moved it into a cleaner pile. Then the next. And the next.
At some point, Nero leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulder before reaching for another sheet. He also couldn't help the yawn that escaped past his mouth, either, as he rubbed his tired eyes with his palm. He was really going to kick Dante's ass for making him do this shit.
"Are you alright?"
Nero nodded, though it came a second too late to be convincing. "Yeah. Just tired."
Vergil didn't look entirely satisfied with that answer. He set his pen down, then turned one page in the binder before him without actually reading it. "Tired," he repeated, like he was testing the word for weaknesses. "From the work, or from whatever you walked back in here carrying?"
Nero gave a small snort and reached for the next binder. "You always this subtle, Dad? Or am I gettin' special treatment?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Vergil's mouth. "You are getting restraint, Nero."
"Damn. Must be serious."
"It is." Vergil signed his name in clean, exact strokes, then slid the paper aside. "You have taken on several contracts alone lately."
Nero's hand slowed over the page. Ah. So that was where this was going.
"Somebody's gotta do 'em."
Vergil exhaled through his nose, not annoyed so much as unwilling to let it go. "How many jobs have you done today?"
Nero clicked his tongue, pretending to think hard as he scribbled his signature at the bottom of a page. "Lemme see. Three regular cleanups, one nest under an apartment block, one idiot-summoner who thought he could control a Hellbat, and that thing near the docks. Dunno what it was, but it was huge." He rolled his eyes. "They weren't all big jobs. Couple were low-level. Easy money."
"Easy money still carries risk." Vergil's eyes went to Nero's arm, then back to his face. "Were you injured?"
"Nah," he said, waving him off with his hand before he rolled his shoulders back again. "A little, but nothing really worth worrying about. Couple scratches, that's it."
Vergil gave a low hum at that, the sound quiet and thoughtful rather than convinced. He didn't argue straight away, which somehow made Nero more aware of the way his shoulder still ached when he moved it.
"Have you eaten?" His father suddenly decided to ask next.
Nero closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
Had he eaten? Kyrie usually had something ready for him in the fridge.
He frowned as he tried to think back. Morning had been a blur. He remembered grabbing his coat, keys, the weight of Red Queen on his back, and the sound of his phone going off with another job before he had even finished the first one. There had been coffee, definitely. Strong, quick, half-drunk while he was already heading out the door. After that… he slowed, mentally retracing it.
Somewhere in there, he must've stopped, right?
His brows furrowed as he tried to pin it down. A vending machine, maybe? No, that had just been more coffee. He had thought about food at some point; he was sure of it, but thinking about it and actually doing it were two different things. He could almost see the moment in his head, standing still for half a second, deciding he would grab something after the next job.
Then the next job happened. And the one after that.
Nero opened his eyes again, staring down at the paper in front of him without really seeing it, the answer sitting there now in an annoyingly obvious way.
Vergil apparently decided he had waited long enough and took the silence for what it was. "I see."
"...Yeah." Nero grimaced but quickly replaced that with a grunt. "Listen, thanks to you, and I guess Gramps, I don't really need to eat as often as a normal person. I'm not gonna keel over 'cause I skipped a meal."
When his father said nothing, it finally made Nero look at him.
However, Vergil simply rose from his chair, pushing it back with a hushed scrape against the floor. Nero blinked, pen still in his hand, watching as Vergil walked past the desk and headed toward the back of the shop without a word.
Nero sat there, mildly thrown off, before he heard it. A faint rush of the tap running from the little kitchen in the back. A cupboard opening. Then the fridge door, its old seal giving the usual reluctant sound before shutting.
He stared in that direction.
What the hell was he doing?
A minute later, Vergil returned as if nothing about this was unusual. In one hand was a glass of water, filled nearly to the top. In the other was a sandwich on a plate, simple and clearly put together from whatever Dante had failed to completely ruin in the kitchen. Ham, probably. Maybe cheese. Nero barely registered the details at first, because for a moment his mind just went completely blank.
Vergil set both down in front of him.
Nero looked at the sandwich. Then at the water. Then up at his father.
Vergil had already pulled his chair back out and sat down, reaching for his binder as though this had been the most obvious thing in the world. He uncapped his pen, glanced at the half-sorted stack in front of him, and added, without looking at Nero, "Eat."
It was stupid, really. Nero was a grown-ass man. He fought demons for a living. He had been stabbed more times than he cared to count. And yet his father silently getting up to make him food was somehow enough to leave him sitting there like his brain had tripped over itself.
"Thanks."
Vergil only gave a small nod and turned a page.
Nero picked up the sandwich, still a little sheepish, and took a bite. The moment he did, he realised just how hungry he actually was. His stomach seemed to wake up all at once, and he exhaled through his nose, chewing as he reached for the water next.
He finished the sandwich in embarrassing time, washed it down with water again, then glanced sideways when he caught Vergil looking at him for the briefest second before returning to the binder in front of him.
Nero looked back down at the sheet in front of him and tried to focus on the numbers. It lasted maybe a minute before he cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something without you getting all weird about it?"
"I would believe it depends on the question."
The younger nodded once, even though his father wasn't looking, then let out a small breath through his nose. He didn't usually get stuck on words like this, but something about the question made it sit heavier than it should have. "When you found out about me," Nero said slowly, then paused and tried again. "No, that's not what I mean." He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at himself. "I mean now. Like... with all this."
Vergil stayed quiet. Nero wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut, but he went on regardless.
"Do you actually like it?" He kept his voice casual, or tried to, but even he could hear the hesitation in it. "B-Being a dad, I mean."
He wanted to slap the shit out of himself for stuttering and fucking that up. What was wrong with him?!
Vergil looked down at the page in front of him, the tip of the pen still hovering near the line he had been about to mark, and for once, he seemed less like he was choosing the most precise answer and more like he was making sure he understood the question.
"I don't think 'like' is the correct word."
Nero's stomach dropped a little at that, but he kept his eyes on the paper in front of him, forcing himself to stay casual. "Yeah? That sounds promising."
Vergil exhaled softly through his nose, then leaned back slightly in his chair. "It is… unfamiliar," he said after a moment. "And I am aware that I am ill-equipped for it." His fingers tapped once against the desk, controlled. "There are expectations I do not fully understand and things I should have done differently"
Nero swallowed, his grip tightening a little on the pen. "That wasn't really the question, old man."
"I know, Nero."
Vergil finally locked eyes with him then, and his gaze was less guarded than usual this time.
"It's not something I resent," he continued. "If that is what you are asking."
Nero let out a breath he had not realised he was holding, the tension in his body loosening just a fraction. "Okay. That's… good. Good."
Vergil studied him, like that wasn't enough of an answer, and then, more quietly, "I find that I think of you more than I intend to."
"What?"
"During the day," Vergil clarified. "In the middle of a task, or a fight. Whether you have taken on more than you should. Whether you are injured and have decided not to mention it." His eyes flicked briefly back to Nero's shoulder before returning to his face. "Or whether you have eaten."
Nero let out a small, awkward laugh. "You make it sound like I'm a problem."
"Perhaps."
"…Wow. Alright."
"A persistent one," Vergil added, not unkindly. He paused, but this time it was shorter. "It's not unpleasant, Nero."
That hit differently than Nero expected. He looked down again, but he wasn't reading his writing anymore as he was starting to feel warm in his ears. "You've got a weird way of saying things, ya know that?"
He could hear the smile in his father's voice. "I have been told."
Nero snorted and looked at him. "If it's any better," he started, then slowed, the words catching before he glanced back down at the paper like it might help him organise the sentence better. "I don't really have anything to compare it to."
He rolled his pen between his fingers once, then set it down. "But… I dunno." He huffed a small breath through his nose whilst he leaned back in the chair. "I think you're doing alright."
There was a moment's pause after that, as if he was debating whether to leave it there. He decided not to.
"And," he said, a little more awkwardly now. "I kinda like it." Nero smirked at him then. "Besides, having blue demonic powers is way cooler than having red."
He decided to add to that by materialising his blue spectral wings.
Nero tilted his head, glancing back at them before looking at Vergil, a crooked grin settling in. "See? Way better. And don't even try to argue it's not, because I got these from you. That's gotta count for something."
Vergil's attention shifted to the wings, and Nero felt like he had to squint just a little more to see the proud smile forming on the older man's face. "They suit you," he said.
Nero chuckled, the wings giving a small twitch before fading away into nothing. "Yeah, well. Guess I inherited something good."
"You did," Vergil replied.
Before Nero could say anything more, Vergil's hand lifted from the desk and, after the briefest pause, as if he was making a conscious decision, he reached over and placed it gently against the top of his head.
Instinctively, Nero looked up, and that was when he saw it. Vergil was smiling. It wasn't the faint, almost-there bullshit he sometimes did when he was being dry or sarcastic, but it was something way tender, and a hell of a lot more real than Nero had ever seen from him.
"You have more than that," Vergil said, his voice quieter now, but certain as his fingers combed through his short locks. "You've made it something entirely your own. I find that reassuring."
Nero's ears heated up almost instantly, the warmth creeping up faster than he could stop it. He dragged his hand up to his face and rubbed hard at the bridge of his nose like that might somehow fix it, huffing out another breath because he was trying his hardest not to be embarrassed.
"Y-Yeah, well…" Nero trailed off and realised he didn't have anything to say. Shit.
Vergil's hand lingered for a moment longer before he let it drop back to the desk.
Nero pushed his chair back abruptly, standing up a little too quickly as he grabbed onto the first excuse his brain offered. "I'm gonna-" Nero paused, cleared his throat, then tried again with a bit more composure, "I'm gonna take a shower. Been out all day. Kinda gross."
His father glanced at him as he stood. He nodded once and returned his attention to the binder in front of him. "See that you do. I've left fresh clothing in the guest room."
Nero stopped halfway around the desk and looked back at him. "You what?"
Vergil didn't look up this time, or more like he refused to. Though Nero could see the faint shift in his expression, like he had expected that reaction and had already decided he wouldn't be bothered by it. "Fresh clothing," he repeated. "In the guest room."
"Yeah, I heard that part." Nero narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out whether he had missed something at some point during the day. "Why do you have clothes for me?"
"Because you come here after jobs more often than you should, covered in dirt, blood, or whatever else demons leave behind when you insist on fighting them at close range."
Nero stared at him. "That doesn't answer the question."
"It does," Vergil said, turning a page with infuriating calm. "You simply dislike the answer."
Nero opened his mouth, closed it and then looked toward the back hall. "You seriously just put clothes in there?"
"Yes."
"For me?"
"Yes."
"Like, on purpose?"
Vergil finally looked up at him, one eyebrow lifting by the smallest amount. "No, Nero. I accidentally purchased clothing in your size, folded it, and placed it somewhere you could find it."
Nero's face went warm again. "Alright, smartass!"
The corner of Vergil's mouth twitched. "You asked."
"Yeah, and I'm regretting it now." Nero sighed and made his way to the back, but stopped. He pondered for a moment before taking a few steps back so he could look at Vergil. "Hey… Dad?"
Vergil looked up at him. "Yes?"
Nero stood there, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck, feeling awkward for no real reason except that this was still new, and Vergil making it look simple somehow made it worse. He glanced toward the hallway, then back at his father, his expression softening despite himself.
"...Thank you," he said.
Vergil held his look for a second before the faintest smile returned. "You're welcome, Nero."
Nero turned before his face could get any warmer and left, muttering under his breath about stupid paperwork, stupid sandwiches, and stupid emotionally constipated dads who somehow knew exactly what to say at the worst possible time.
Still, by the time he reached the guest room, he was smiling too.