Archive of Our Own

As soon as Nero killed the engine, he stretched out his arms, cracking a few joints as he stood up and trudged his way out of the van. He settled Red Queen on the work desk and, very carefully, placed his Devil Breakers where Nico told him to. He wasn’t going to deal with her yapping and lecturing because he accidentally scratched one again. Last time she’d gone on for twenty minutes about "artistic integrity" while threatening to hit him with a wrench.

Nero rubbed a hand down his face and let out a long breath. Today’s gig had been annoying from start to finish. What was supposed to be a simple demon cleanup job turned into chasing some teleporting bastard through half of Red Grave, while civilians screamed and ran around getting in the damn way. By the end of it, he was covered in dust, his coat was torn near the shoulder, and he had a pounding headache sitting right behind his eyes.

He went inside his and Kyrie’s home, noticing the dim lighting, but didn’t think much of it. Kyrie said she would be coming home late from the orphanage, thankfully dragging Nico along so he could experience some solitude after a long day. 

"How was the commission?"

Nero almost fucking died.

His wings exploded out behind him on instinct in a sharp burst of blue spectral energy, feathers flaring wide as he whipped around in defence mode. One hand snapped toward Blue Rose before his brain fully caught up with what he was seeing.

Vergil sat near the coffee table with a cup of tea in one hand, acting like he hadn’t just shaved ten years off Nero’s lifespan.

Nero stared at him in disbelief, his chest still heaving from the adrenaline spike.

"Dad!" He bellowed as he hastily flicked the light switch on and glared at his father. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Vergil took a sip of his tea. "You seem tense."

"You scared the shit outta me!"

"You should be more aware of your surroundings, Nero."

Nero forced his wings away with an annoyed grunt before running both his hands through his hair. His heartbeat was still trying to recover. "Seriously, normal people announce themselves…"

"I did."

"And you waited until I walked into the room?!"

"You reacted adequately," his father responded, inclining his head. 

Nero glared at him. "I almost shot you!"

"You hesitated before firing." Vergil sounded almost approving. "I would say it’s an improvement."

"Oh, wow. Thanks. Glad my reflexes passed your stupid inspection."

Rolling his eyes, Nero stomped his way into the kitchen, downed a glass of water and got another fill. He stepped out, taking a sip, staring at Vergil as he read his book.


He set his glass down and was about to head upstairs until he noticed something sat at the coffee table in front of his father. He squinted because at first he thought it was one of Kyrie’s little prayer cards or maybe a receipt Vergil had somehow taken out of his pocket. Kyrie did make the habit of sending his father out to do some of the grocery shopping after all. 

He walked closer and was surprised to see it was a photo of his younger self. 

The photo was old, a little bent at the corners from being handled too much over the years. Nero looked maybe five or six years old in it, sitting on the steps outside the orphanage in Fortuna with an absolutely miserable expression on his face, while holding some crooked wooden toy sword. His hair stuck up in every direction imaginable, and there was dirt on his cheek like he’d just gotten done fighting another kid.

He picked up the photo and stared at it. "What’s this?"

"A photograph."

"I know what a photograph is!" Nero snapped, turning a little red. "I-I mean… How’d you get this?"

Vergil looked up from his book. "Kyrie gave it to me."

"She did?" Nero blinked at him before frowning. "Why?"

His father met his eyes. "Because I did not know what you looked like as a child."

Oh.

And in an abrupt second, all the irritation and embarrassment drained out of Nero so fast it almost made him feel stupid for getting defensive in the first place.

"…Right."

Vergil said nothing after that. He just picked up his tea again, though Nero noticed his father’s eyes lingered on the photograph before lowering them back to his book. Nero also noticed he hadn’t actually turned the page in a while.

The room suddenly felt strangely warm.

Nero rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the picture. He’d never really thought about it before. To him, these pictures were just random pieces of his life scattered around the house because Kyrie liked organising memories into albums and frames.

But his father had none of that. 

No baby photos. No stories. No memories of Nero growing up in Fortuna. Nothing from the orphanage. Nothing from his birthdays or the dumb trouble he got into as a kid. There was just this massive empty gap where all those years should’ve been.

And somehow that felt worse than Nero expected.

He set the photo down and let out a sigh. "Gimmie a minute."

Nero went upstairs and stripped off his clothing before taking a shower. He washed the sweat and grime off his body and changed into a blue hoodie and sweatpants before going downstairs. The house smelled a little like tea and old books now, mixed with the soap he’d used upstairs. The exhaustion from the job still sat heavy in his bones, but at least he didn’t feel like he’d crawled out of a damn sewer anymore.

He lingered at the bottom of the stairs for a second before glancing toward the shelf near the television. He walked over and pulled one of the thicker albums from the rest and dropped beside his father on the couch. "Move over a little."

Vergil complied without argument, which honestly felt more unsettling than if he’d refused. He even put his book to rest and neglected the rest of his tea. 

"Okay…" Nero paused and scratched the bridge of his nose, hoping he wasn’t blushing all that much. "I-I guess it’s fair since you showed me all those pictures of you and Mom," he muttered, shifting the album onto his knees. "You can look at some of mine."

He set the album down on the couch cushion between them and dragged it closer until it rested half on his thigh, half on Vergil’s. He ignored the prickly feeling and opened the first page. The plastic cover crackled when he lifted it. 

The first page had just one photograph, carefully placed in the centre with a lot of empty space around it. The photo was old, a little faded, and the colours were softened by time. In it, a newborn baby was wrapped in a black blanket, face scrunched up, and tiny fists not-so-visible from the folds. Someone was holding him close, arms curved protectively around him, but the picture cut off, and Nero could only see a pair of smiling lips. 

He stared at it for a second longer than he meant to.

"That’s me," Nero said, because he needed to say something before the silence got too damn heavy. He tapped the edge of the page with one finger. "Was just born."

Vergil remained fixed on the photograph.

"I don’t really remember who gave me this one. One of the sisters, I think. Maybe Kyrie’s mom helped me keep it." He smiled when he traced his finger over the person holding him. "This was the only picture I had of Mom. I-I dunno how long she held me here before she passed, but…" Nero swallowed, doing his best to get rid of the lump in his throat, but it stayed there anyway, pressing right behind his teeth. "I’m just glad I knew she wanted me."

He glanced over to his father and saw that he was looking intently at the picture. Nero had to squint enough just to see that the older man’s eyes had saddened. 

Vergil lifted his hand and traced his finger over the photo, first where his mother was and then slowly down to where Nero’s tiny face was half-buried in the blanket.

"You were very small," he said after a while.

"Yeah. Babies tend to be small." Nero snorted. "But I was bigger than the average one. Can’t remember how much I weighed, but I guess it had to do with the demon blood."

Vergil didn’t look away from the picture. "You looked displeased."

"I was probably cold," Nero said, trying not to stare too much at his father’s face. "Or hungry. Or maybe I already knew life was gonna be a pain in the ass."

"I see," Vergil hummed. "That would explain much."

Nero turned his head toward him. "Did you just insult me while looking at my baby picture?"

"I made an observation."

"You’re lucky I’m being nice right now."

Vergil’s mouth twitched, barely enough to count as a smile, but Nero caught it anyway. He started getting better at noticing those little things, the almost invisible changes in his father’s expression that would have meant absolutely nothing to anyone else. Vergil had a whole language of tiny movements, and Nero had somehow become fluent in it all. 

He saw Vergil staring at the photo again and decided they should look at the next one. Talking about his mother always seemed to dim the mood between them, and Nero would rather save that for another time.


He misses you, Mom… I can tell. 

Nero pressed his lips and cleared his throat, his hands moving over to the next set of photos. One showed him as a chubby toddler with messy hair, sitting in a wooden high chair with what looked like mashed vegetables smeared across his cheek, his hands, and most of the front of his shirt. 

"I hated peas," he chuckled out. "The sisters would try to get me to eat it, but I’d spit it out. They ended up settling on giving me anything with cheese on it."

"Is that so?" Vergil looked like he wanted to laugh. "I take it your stubbornness began early."

Nero gave him a flat stare. "You’re really gonna sit there and act like I got that from nowhere?"

His father stayed quiet, and Nero took that as a win.

He went through the other baby pictures. There was one where he was in the bathtub, looking angry, and another where he had somehow managed to fall asleep halfway through eating, cheek squished against the tray of the high chair with one little hand still buried in whatever dinner he had decided was worth passing out over.

Vergil would run his fingers through all of them, careful enough that he never touched the photographs directly unless Nero peeled the plastic back for him. It was oddly delicate for someone who could cut through anything like paper. 

He tried not to think about it too much because he didn’t want to make it weird. Well, weirder. The whole thing was already weird enough. 

"Okay, now we’re getting into the ugly years," Nero said, flipping another page and immediately regretting it when he saw what was waiting there. "Damn it…"

He was maybe eight or nine in the next photo, standing outside the orphanage with his arms crossed and a scowl sharp enough to scare off most adults. His hair was longer than it should have been. His shirt was too big, his trousers were patched at one knee, and there was a bruise darkening near his jaw.

"What happened to your face?" Vergil asked. 

He skimmed at the bruise and shrugged, trying to make it seem like nothing. "Probably got into it with one of the older kids. I don’t remember that one specifically."

"You fought often?"

"Yeah." Nero scratched his cheek, then added with a half-hearted grin, "I mean, not for fun. Most of the time."

Vergil’s gaze sharpened.

He sighed. "Relax. I wasn’t getting beaten every day or anything. Some kids just ran their mouths, and I wasn’t exactly good at ignoring them."

"What did they say?" Vergil asked pointedly. 

Nero grimaced. He could’ve brushed it off with a joke. He wanted to, honestly. It would’ve been easier than watching his father stare at a childhood version of him, acting like he was looking at something he should have been there to stop.

"Stuff," he blurted out. "About my hair and about Mom. You know, kid crap."

He noticed his father’s jaw tightening, so Nero nudged him with his elbow before it got too serious. "Don’t go plotting revenge on people who were also eight. I handled it."

"Clearly, those children were parroting things from an adult’s mouth."

"Yeah, and I was a mean little bastard when I wanted to be." He steered the topic away before he could ask any more questions. Nero turned the page and beamed, pointing at the photo of him, Kyrie and Credo. "This was the day when Kyrie and Credo’s parents took me in."


Vergil’s eyes settled on it for a long moment before he picked the album up, angling it closer to the light.

In the photo, Credo stood stiff as a board beside the front steps of the house, already trying to look responsible despite only being a teenager himself. Kyrie stood beside him, smiling so bright it almost made the picture look overexposed. Between them was Nero, smaller than both of them, but he was happy, grinning from ear to ear. 

"Credo always acted older than he was. Thought he had to protect everybody." Nero smiled at the picture. "He used to wake me up for school every morning because I’d sleep through the sisters ringing the bell."

"You attended school regularly?"

"Yeah," Nero replied, like it was obvious, then realised it maybe wasn’t obvious to Vergil at all. "Fortuna had regular schooling, even with all The Order stuff hanging over everything. The orphanage sent us, then later, Kyrie’s parents made sure I kept going. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just reading, math, history and boring lectures about Grandpa."

Vergil studied the school photo. "You disliked it."

"Eh, it wasn’t the best, but it was alright." Nero shrugged. "Some of the teachers were fine, though. One of them used to let me read in the back when I finished early."

"You enjoyed reading at this age?"

"Don’t sound surprised, old man."

"I was only assuming since you didn’t mention it to me the first time." Vergil brought his hand out and smoothed down Nero’s hair. 

A blush rose in Nero’s cheeks before he could stop it, and he resisted the urge to duck away.  He’d never admit it aloud, but every time his father ran a hand through his hair, the restless part of his devil quieted in seconds. Sometimes he wondered if Vergil knew exactly what he was doing and simply chose not to mention it. Nero still hadn’t decided whether that made him annoyed or strangely happy.

Clearing his throat as Vergil removed his hand from his head, Nero flipped to the next page. The pictures shifted gradually from his childhood to that awkward pre-teen stage where his limbs looked a little too long, and his face hadn’t quite caught up yet. In one picture, he stood in a training yard with both hands wrapped around the hilt of a practice sword. His stance was terrible, his elbows were too stiff, and his expression was a ridiculous mix of concentration and determination.

"Oh, no. Here we go," he groaned.

Vergil eyed it with interest. "Your first sword?"

"First real one I was allowed to hold," Nero said, tapping the picture. "Not that sharp, obviously. Credo would’ve had a breakdown if they gave me a live blade that young."

"He taught you?"

"Yeah. He and some of The Order instructors, but Credo was the first one who really took it seriously with me." Nero leaned forward, remembering the weight of the practice sword in his hands. "I’d messed around with sticks before, like every kid, but that was the first time someone actually showed me how to stand, how to grip it and how to not swing like an idiot."

Vergil observed the photo, then looked at Nero. "Your grip is incorrect."

"I was twelve."

His father hummed again. "It was still incorrect."

"I knew it was incorrect. That’s why Credo spent the whole afternoon yelling at me, which was basically saying my full name in that disappointed officer voice." Nero straightened his back and did a stiff imitation, lowering his tone. "‘Nero, if you insist on treating the sword like a farming tool, perhaps we should send you to the fields instead.’"

Nero turned another photo over with a chuckle. "It was annoying, but it worked. I wanted to prove I could do it. Credo was already good by then. Everyone looked at him like he was going places, and I was just the angry kid trailing behind him."

"You wanted his approval."

He opened his mouth, ready to deny it out of habit, but the answer got stuck there because it was obviously true. He scratched at his cheek and looked down at the page instead. "Yeah. Guess I did."

The next few pages moved into his teenage years, and Nero felt a different kind of awkwardness crawl up his neck. The photos showed him taller, leaner and wearing the uniform of the Order of the Sword. The dark fabric made his white hair stand out even more, and in several of the pictures, his right arm was impossible to miss.

His Devil Bringer was on full display, blue and scaled and unmistakably inhuman, with its clawed fingers flexed at his side.

Vergil didn’t touch the photograph this time. His eyes stayed on Nero’s arm in the picture. "How old were you?"

"Fifteen, maybe sixteen in that one." Nero tilted his head, trying to place the day. "This was around when I officially became a knight. I mean, I was way too young for it, but they needed fighters, and I was already doing the work."

"Was it painful?"

Nero flexed his current hand on instinct, even though the Devil Bringer was gone now, replaced by flesh and memory and a few things he still didn’t like thinking about too hard. "It was more like… pressure, I guess. Heat under the skin. It’d react when demons were nearby, or when I got angry. I wrapped it up at first because people stared."

"In these photographs, it’s not wrapped."

"Yeah. After a while, hiding it got annoying." Nero looked down at the teenage version of himself, standing there with his chin lifted and his monstrous arm bare for the camera. "People already knew. Fortuna’s not that big, and rumours travel fast when you’re the weird white-haired kid with the demon arm. The Order acted like it was some holy sign when it suited them, and other people acted like I was cursed when it didn’t."

Vergil’s jaw tightened again, but Nero gave him another small nudge with his shoulder.

"By then, I’d figured out that if people were gonna stare, I might as well give them something to stare at." Nero turned to another photo, where he stood with a few other young knights, looking bored and irritated while everyone else tried to pose properly. "I learned fast. The arm helped, but I trained hard too. Credo made sure I didn’t get sloppy."

The next set of photographs were harder to look at. They came after the Saviour incident. Kyrie had arranged them neatly, but Nero could still feel the gap around them, the space left by things nobody had photographed. There was no picture of Credo’s last moments, no image of the city tearing itself apart, and no neat little memory that could make any of it easier to understand.

One photo showed Nero sitting outside the ruined cathedral, Red Queen propped beside him, his coat torn and dirt streaked across his face. He looked exhausted, but Kyrie was beside him, her hand wrapped around his left one. 

Nero wanted to shoot himself as soon as he saw the next photo. 


Vergil leaned over, and once again, that damn amused small smile was threatening the older man’s face. 

Okay, he knew he looked stupid holding Yamato like that. But he didn’t even know Dante’s dumbass took the photo anyway! 

"Before you say anything," Nero started, pointing to the photos in which he held Yamato correctly at his hip rather than on his shoulder, as in the first picture. "She took a little while getting used to, alright?"

"Ah."

"C’mon, old man. At least sound like you’re disappointed."

"I’m not disappointed," Vergil said, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if disappointment would have been far easier to explain than amusement. "You were inexperienced."

Nero blinked at him, caught off guard by the lack of immediate criticism. "That’s your nice way of saying I looked like an idiot."

"It is my accurate way of saying you were inexperienced," he countered. 

"That still sounds like an insult when you say it."

Vergil looked away from the photograph and gave him a mild stare. "I would never have the intent to insult my own child."

Nero huffed, but it came out too close to a laugh to be convincing. He shifted on the couch, one knee bouncing as he looked back down at the page. The first picture was awful. Not awful in the sense that he looked bad, but awful because it captured him at a point where he had no clue what he was supposed to be doing with something so important. 

"After Dante told me to keep it, I kind of ignored her for a while."

"Why?"

Nero met his father’s gaze and regretted it, because Vergil was looking at him with that focused, unreadable intensity again. 

He leaned back, letting the album rest more comfortably across his lap. His fingers stayed near the edge of the plastic sleeve, brushing over the corner of the photo without really touching it. 

"I had a lot on my mind back then," Nero said at last. "The city was wrecked. Credo was gone. Kyrie was almost used as fuel for that giant asshole. The Order was falling apart, and everybody who used to act so sure about everything suddenly didn’t know what the hell they believed anymore."

He swallowed, then shifted his shoulder. "I knew the sword was important. I mean, anyone could tell that much. The assholes had treated it like some holy relic, Agnus lost his mind over it, and Dante clearly knew more about it than he was saying." Nero felt his mouth twist. "And that was kinda the problem."

Nero chanced a glance at Vergil, then looked away because this part felt uncomfortable. Talking about old injuries was one thing. Talking about the years when he had looked at Dante and wondered whether there was a reason they felt familiar to each other was much worse.

"I had my suspicions," he admitted. "Like the little things kept piling up. The hair, the way he looked at my arm and the way he talked around things instead of answering straight." He laughed a little, but it lacked energy. "And he kept doing that thing where he’d act like everything was a joke, but then he’d get serious for half a second when he thought I wasn’t looking. It pissed me off."

"...You believed Dante was connected to you."

"Yeah," Nero said. "I mean, after a while, it got hard not to. He knew too much and cared too much for someone pretending he didn’t. And when he gave me Yamato, it felt like he was giving me something that belonged to me for a reason."


The room went quiet after that. Then Nero dragged a hand through his hair, already feeling his ears heat up. "And yeah, alright, for a little bit, I thought maybe he was my father."

Vergil went very still. His jaw flexed once, acting as if there were several things he wanted to say and none of them was acceptable. 

Nero pointed at him before the silence could turn explosive. "For a little bit. Don’t make that face."

He didn’t outright say it, but Nero knew the thought of Dante acting as if he were his father sent Vergil into a spiral of jealousy. It was hard not to notice when Vergil’s version of it looked less like sulking and more like he was mentally drafting a formal declaration of war against his own brother. 

"Look, it wasn’t like I wanted him to be. There weren’t exactly a lot of people walking around with hair like mine and a habit of showing up right when my life was falling apart."

Vergil’s gaze lowered to the photograph of Yamato, then returned to Nero’s face. "And Dante never corrected your assumptions."

"Dante never confirmed anything either," Nero added. "That was the annoying part. He’d just dodge the question, make some stupid joke, and act like I was being dramatic for asking."

"He has never possessed a delicate approach to difficult matters."

Nero stared at him for half a second before a laugh escaped him. "You’re saying that like you do."

"I am considerably more direct."

"Yeah, that’s one way to put it. You’d probably just stand there and say, ‘Nero, I am your father,’ or somethin’ like that."

Vergil lifted one brow. "If I had known, would that not have been clear?"

"It would’ve been insane."

"It would have been truthful."

"Dad." Nero squinted at him. "There are ways to ease people into things."

"And I’ve been informed of this," Vergil stated, nodding. 

"By who? Me?"

"Kyrie as well."

Nero blinked, then gave him a suspicious look. "Kyrie talked to you about easing into conversations?"

"She suggested that certain revelations require preparation."

Barking out a laugh, Nero felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen. Vergil’s expression remained the same, but that faint amusement was back in his eyes. 

He turned the page. More photos followed, some taken after Dante had started coming around Fortuna more often. He could tell because every other picture involving his uncle looked like a crime scene of bad habits.

"I didn’t really know what to do with him. Part of me liked that he cared. But part of me hated that he wouldn’t just say why. But I was scared to ask too much, ‘cause what if the answer was something I didn’t want?"

Nero let out an exasperated sigh then. "And I’d think about my poor mother, but then I’d be like, no way. No offence to Dante, but I just knew Mom would never date someone like him."

Vergil’s mouth twisted into disapproval. "She wouldn’t. I wouldn’t insult your mother by comparing her judgment to Dante’s romantic prospects."

Suddenly, Nero laughed so hard he had to lean back against the couch, one hand pressed over his face while the album nearly slid off his lap. Vergil placed one hand over the edge of it to steady it.

"You know she had me with you, so I dunno if you get to act too superior here, old man!"

His father’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second, just enough that Nero saw it. His eyes flicked toward him, mildly offended, and Nero just grinned. 

"That was different," Vergil insisted.

"Mhm. Sure it was."

There were pictures of Dante sprawled across the Devil May Cry van with his boots on the seats while Nero yelled at him in the background. Another showed Dante grinning at the camera with a half-eaten pizza slice hanging out of his mouth while Nero looked one second away from punching him.

The other photograph showed him leaning over Nero’s shoulders while flashing a stupid thumbs-up toward the camera. Nero himself looked exhausted, holding Red Queen in one hand while glaring hard enough to burn through the picture.

Nero kept flipping through them, talking without thinking too hard about it now. There were photographs from jobs, blurry ones from late nights at the shop, and one where Kyrie had forced everyone to stand together properly while Dante ruined it by throwing bunny ears behind Nero’s head.

He saw that Vergil’s face had grown distant again. But in his eyes, there was longing, and the jealousy he was trying to hide earlier was much more obvious now. 

"Hey."


Vergil blinked once, then looked at him. "Yes?"

Nero shook his head. "Don’t do that."

His father knew exactly what he was talking about, but frowned at him. "I’m doing nothing, Nero."


"Dad."

The word did what it usually did now. So much so that he could see Vergil’s shoulders tense a little. 

Nero held his gaze seriously this time. "You’re my father."

Vergil didn’t move, but Nero didn’t feel weird under the older man’s eyes. His stomach did do that little twist, but he swallowed it down. "I’m not saying that just to make you feel better, because it’s true. Dante was there for some parts. Credo was there for other parts. Kyrie, Nico, all of them. But that doesn’t change what you are to me, okay?"

Something in Vergil’s face shifted, small enough that most people would have missed it. Nero didn’t. He saw the tension in his mouth ease and saw his fingers loosen where they gripped the album.

Nero looked back at the page. "Besides, it’s not like I’m replacing anyone. I’m just… figuring out where everyone fits."

A brief silence followed before his father asked, "...And where do I fit?"

He went quiet. He was already feeling heat creep into his face, then pushed the answer out before the embarrassment could stop him. "Isn’t it obvious? You fit where my father fits."

Vergil didn’t answer right away. Although his expression remained controlled, some of the tension left it. The wistfulness was still there, but the jealousy behind it no longer seemed quite so raw.

Nero let out a breath through his nose. "I’m not gonna sit here and act like it doesn’t suck that you missed all this. It does. Probably more than either of us wants to admit." He nudged their shoulders. "But you’re here now, aren’t you?"

Vergil was silent for several seconds. His eyes moved to the album, though Nero could tell he wasn’t really looking at the photographs anymore.

"I am," he said eventually.

"Good." Nero nodded, relief settling through him as he gave his father a light pat on the back. "Then that’s what matters."

There was finally a genuine smile on the older man’s lips. When Nero leaned in closer, Vergil didn’t move away when their shoulders rested against each other.

After that, the album felt different. The photos still showed years his father could never get back, but they no longer seemed like evidence of a life Vergil had no place in. They were simply stories he hadn’t heard yet.

Judging by the way Vergil’s smile had stayed when Nero pointed to the next picture, he intended to hear every last one.

"Would you hurry up and take the damn picture already?!"

"Quit rushin’ me, dickhead!" Nico yelled back at him before squinting at the screen. "This is an important historical event, and I ain’t lettin’ you ruin it by lookin’ constipated!"

"I’m looking fine," Nero said through gritted teeth.

Nico snorted. "You’re lookin’ like a reaaaal daddy’s boy right now, Nero."

"Shut up, Nico!"

Beside him, Vergil was still, his posture straight and his hands resting loosely behind his back. He had agreed to the photograph with considerably less resistance than Nero expected, though his face suggested he hadn’t realised agreeing would involve ten minutes of Nico ordering both of them around.

"You know you can relax, right?" Nero tried to reassure him. 

"I’m perfectly relaxed."

Nero rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I’m the one who looks constipated."

Vergil’s eyes narrowed at him. "Your words, not mine."

Nico lowered the camera and sighed. "This ain’t gonna work if y’all keep bickerin’. Vergil, quit standin’ like you’re havin’ your portrait painted by some creep. Nero, stop leanin’ away from him like he smells bad."

"What the hell are you talking about?" However, Nero looked down and realised there was a noticeable gap between their shoulders. He shifted half a step closer, trying to make it look casual, but Nico’s widening grin told him she caught his hesitation.

"There," he groused out. "Happy?"

"Nope!" Nico pointed impatiently at Vergil. "Put your hand on his shoulder."

Vergil seemed to become wary of the request. "...And the reason for that would be…?"

"Because I’m not takin’ a picture of Nero beside the final boss of emotional constipation, alright?!"

Nero choked on his laugh, earning a sharp glance from his father.

Vergil regarded Nico for another second before slowly lifting one hand. Nero felt it settle around him with almost excessive care.

Nero looked at him from the corner of his eye. "You can actually touch me, Dad. I’m not gonna break."

"I am aware."

"Could’ve fooled me."

Vergil’s fingers tightened, drawing Nero closer until their shoulders pressed together. The movement was sudden enough that Nero stumbled half a step, bumping against his father’s side.

"Hey!"

"You instructed me not to be cautious."

"I didn’t tell you to drag me around!"

Nico lifted the camera again, laughing behind it. "Oh, this is perfect. Keep doin’ whatever that is."

Nero sighed and straightened himself. He didn’t attempt to move out from beneath Vergil’s arm. "Okay. We done?"

"Not until you smile and say cheese!"

"I’m not saying that!"

"Fiiiine. Say, ‘I love you, Daddy!’ loud ‘n clear!"

Nero felt his entire face explode. "I’m not fuckin’ saying that either!"

"I would advise against provoking him further," Vergil said, though the slight curve at the corner of his mouth ruined any seriousness the warning might have carried.

Nero looked over at him. His father wore his usual controlled expression, but the slight curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. "You’re having fun with this."

Vergil offered no defence. He merely adjusted his grip on Nero’s shoulder and told him to look at the camera.

That made Nico laugh harder. "Listen to your daddy, Nero!"

"Both of you can go to hell," Nero muttered.

Vergil’s answer came without hesitation. "Already done."

The reply caught him off guard, and a laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. Vergil’s smile widened at the sound, the last of his stiffness disappearing as he kept Nero close to his side.

The camera finally flashed.

Nero’s laughter stopped, and he looked toward Nico in disbelief. "You took it? I wasn’t even ready!"

"That’s what makes it good," she said, lowering the camera to inspect the screen. Her grin softened after a moment. "Aw, would ya look at that?"

He moved toward her, only to realise Vergil’s arm was still around him. He ended up pulling his father along as Nico turned the screen around.

The photo had captured none of the careful posing Nico had demanded. Nero was halfway through a laugh and practically resting against his father, while Vergil wasn’t even looking toward the lens. His eyes were on Nero, and the rare warmth in his smile made it obvious he had been enjoying the moment far more than the picture itself.

Nico busied herself with the camera settings. "I’ll print two copies. One for the album and one for Vergil, since his place could use some proof that people actually visit him."

His gaze found his father. "Yeah, that’d be good."

When Vergil looked at him, Nero gave him a small smile before bumping their shoulders together.

"Hold that pose. That was disgustingly sweet!"

Nero aimed a finger at his mechanic. "Take one more picture, and I’m breaking-"

There was another flash. 

"NICO!"

Cackling, Nico ran from the room, clutching the camera against her chest while Nero shouted threats after her. He’d barely taken two steps before Vergil stopped him.

"Let her go," he said. 

"But she’s gonna show it to Dante!" Nero groaned. 

Vergil considered that for a moment before he gave him a mild smirk. "Then, should he make any remarks, we will deal with him together."

Nero blinked at him… before a slow grin spread across his face. "Now that’s what I call father-son bonding."

His father gave a quiet laugh, then reached over and lifted a hand to smooth his tousled hair back into place. As embarrassing as the whole ordeal had been, Nero decided that maybe the chaos was worth it after all.