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Chapter Text

          Fighting in the underworld with Vergil at his side fills Dante with a sense of completeness he'd never tell his brother about. Mostly because his brother would hiss and spit about it. Vergil feels it, too. Dante knows he does. If he didn't, the satisfied grin on his face each time they finish another bout of demons wouldn't be so obvious. His eyes wouldn't crinkle with a mix of mirth and irritation when Dante boasts his kill count.  

          Even after twenty years, Dante knows his brother.  

          And that feels good.  

          It's also the reason he notices Vergil slipping. Vergil is all about speed and no waste of a single movement, each strike leading into the next like breathing. Enemies usually find themselves split in two before they get anywhere near Vergil's blind spots, which there aren't many of, and if they do find themselves there, Dante has his brother's back.  

          That's why it strikes a certain chord in Dante to see him take a hit he could easily dodge. Blood and sweat are expected in a fight, but as Dante wheels around, he sees a glassiness in his brother's eyes.  

          Just to get it over with, Dante releases his Devil Trigger.  

          Vergil slides Yamato into her sheath with a quiet click. "Overkill much, little brother?" 

          "Nah. Just kill. Let's get back to the cave." 

          Sharp as ever, Vergil narrows his eyes. It's too bad he has Dante's reasoning backwards. "You in need of a breather, Dante? I'd have thought as my equal, you'd have a few more days of energy." 

          Dante plays it off with a casual shrug. "Even we need to rest up sometimes." 

          Vergil glances at the bloody field they've been cutting their way across. They've been fighting to the gateway Vergil escaped through last time, just to see if it would work. At least this time, Vergil has the benefit of being more than half-alive and he's thinking clearly to boot.  

          Mostly clearly.  

          Dante watches him wipe blood off his face with a frown, swallowing breathlessly despite his earlier comment. Vergil is tired. Explains why he allowed Dante to bow out so easily.  

          Once in the cave, Vergil carves a protection rune into the cave wall. It'll give them cover until they leave. He's done so to several other resting points, other caves where they could eat and sleep. Vergil smooths a hand through his hair, sending the blood out in a puff of red. Like usual, he opens his pack and offers Dante a chunk of meat.  

          Unlike usual, he doesn't take any for himself.  

          "You aren't gonna eat?" 

          Vergil shakes his head, kneeling down and taking Yamato in hand. He cleans her edge in silence, as though he didn't take care to clean the blood off before putting her in the sheath in the first place. It's a well-earned reverence and a daily recurrence. Dante watches his brother, chewing on his food in slow consideration. Whether Vergil recognizes it yet or not, his eyes are fever-bright, and the cooling sweat on his skin isn't just from the battle.  

          After fifteen minutes, Vergil stares down at Yamato. His fingers tremble ever-so slightly when he puts her away.  

          Asking Vergil if he's okay won't go over well. Dante knows from experience that getting him to admit to pain or fatigue is a lot like pulling teeth. A very violent version of pulling teeth. Unfortunately, in their situation, they can't afford to be caught off-guard. If Vergil doesn’t rest, it will get worse. He'll fight the exhaustion as long as he can, but any illness determined enough to get past their heightened immune systems will suck him dry given time. 

          "Get some sleep. I'll take first watch." 

          It says something that his big brother doesn't argue.  

          He also doesn't wake on instinct to switch with Dante, something he stubbornly does whether his younger brother wants to change shifts or not.  

          Dante watches over his twin in silence. Vergil is curled on his side next to him, back to the wall and one hand wrapped around Yamato's sheath. His coat is still stained with blood, something he'll remedy immediately once they're topside again. In sleep, his brother's face is softer, although right now, he has a slight crease in his brow. If Dante breathes deep, he can smell the sickness on him. 

          Vergil is not going to be a happy camper.  

          Now that he's really looking, Vergil is thinner than usual. The shadows under his eyes are more prominent. Thinking back, Dante supposes he should've noticed his sibling wasn't eating well sooner. 

          To be fair, Vergil would do his best to hide it from Dante.  

          "You're a stubborn pain in the ass, you know that?" 

          Vergil cracks open an eye with a soft groan. "No more than you." 

          Dante laughs, but it sounds fake even to his ears. Vergil really must be tired if he's willing to have a sense of humor. "Whatever. Just go back to sleep." 

          "How long has it been?" 

          "About an hour." Dante lies. It's been seven. "Go back to sleep." 

          Vergil glowers a little at being told what to do, but he curls his limbs a little closer and quiets again. True to Vergil's estimation, Dante feels fine. Compared to full humans, the amount of sleep they need is minimal, and Dante intends to take full advantage of that. In the coming days, Vergil will require time to rest and recover.  

          If they have to park their asses right here in this cave for the duration, then so be it. It's not like Vergil could take Dante in his condition anyway. If it came to a fight, Dante would win, no contest.  

          The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

          Dante sighs. All these years, and Vergil fought tooth and nail for every scrap of power he could get. It wasn't even about the power. After knowing V, his brother's human half, it became clear he needed it. He needed it and hated that he needed it because it reminded him constantly of their past, just like before they'd stabbed and made up, he hated to need Dante. Vergil wanted to be safe for once in his hellish life, and here they are, in the underworld.  

          For once, it's Dante's turn to protect Vergil.  

          He won't fail this time. More than that, he'll get Vergil home to his son. Nero deserves a chance to know his father, and not as some power-hungry lunatic, but as a person. With Vergil's protective instincts, he's better father material than he thinks. 

          Protective with murderous intent should anyone threaten Nero? Check. Possessive and proud enough to accept Nero as his without question? Check. Encouraging Nero to be better? Check.  

          Vergil flat-out told his son they'd battle again. Which, in all honesty, Vergil would probably win that one. The kid is strong, but he's a bit... squishy. Vergil was injured from fighting Dante already, and Dante could've laughed himself silly watching Nero beat the shit out of him. 

          Chances are, he won't be battling his brother to the point where neither of them can stand again anytime soon. 

          "Do you think he will hate me?" 

          Dante glances down at his twin. Crystalline eyes stare towards the mouth of the cave, bleary and feverish. It shouldn't surprise him that given a chance, both he and Vergil would be thinking about who they left behind.  

          The weird part is Vergil doing his thinking out loud. 

          "Nah." 

          "I abandoned him. Again." 

          Dante huffs. "Just the once. And I wouldn't call it abandoning him since you intend to come back, and you did tell him as much. You didn't know he existed, and I guarantee you wouldn't have left him if you had. Although, the idea of nineteen-year-old you with a nestling is a bit weird." 

          Vergil huffs softly. "I'm having a hard time imagining it myself." 

          "He grew up okay. On the wrong side of things, but not on purpose. Nothing a little ass-whooping didn't fix." 

          "How did you find him?" 

          Dante shrugs. "Eh. Was tracking some demon presences on Lady's request. They were messing around with the Sparda. Turns out 'The Order' was working under this asshole pope who'd turned his followers into demons. I'd caught most of 'em, but then this stupid kid tries to get in my way. Looked a hell of a lot like me, but I knew.... I told him it was Yamato who confirmed it for me, but he sure as hell wasn't mine, and he wouldn't have gotten that resemblance from anywhere else." 

          "He wielded her?" 

          Dante chuckles. "For a little while. She sang for him. Maybe not as happily as she does for you, but still. Yamato knew his blood as well as I did. Just wasn't sure I was ready to admit it." 

          "But you cared for him?" 

          The younger twin sighs. "Well as I could, I guess. Brought him into the demon hunting business, but.... There wasn't much I could give him. 'Sides an occupation with a rather high mortality rate. And he didn't want my help. Didn't want anyone's help, really. Nero made it to where he is on his own for the most part." 

          "Hmm." 

          The noise from Vergil's throat is tired-sounding. Dante can't help but think he looks like a wrung-out towel. He's dry now, demon blood caked everywhere, but he's reached his limit for soaking in it.  

          "Go back to sleep, Vergil." 

          "How long has it been?" 

          Dante would sigh if it wouldn't give him away. He just has to hope his brother ignores the gentleness in his tone, because he's never figured out how to hide it. "About three hours. You can do your shift when you wake up next time, all right?" 

          Vergil grumbles like a petulant child, but gives in with minimal effort.  

          He's gotta be out of it, otherwise he'd have called Dante on his lying ass bullshit. Here in the underworld, Vergil's grasp of time has always been crisp despite a distinct lack of night or day. No matter how shifting the terrain, or how the very atmosphere seemed determined to shroud their path, he knows where he is, or, at the very least, how to navigate as normal. Worry churns in Dante's gut. He'll need to make sure Vergil gets some fluids into his body. 

Chapter Text

          Dante hums a soft song from the DMC office. It's good that he mastered the art of doing nothing in his early years, otherwise he'd be bored right now.  

          "Your singing is still terrible." 

          Dante scoffs as his older brother sits up. Estimating a tad, it's been about ten hours since Vergil went to sleep the first time. He definitely seems more alert now. In fact, he's eyeing the mouth of the cave with a downward turn of his mouth.  

          "You lied to me." 

          "Little bit." Dante says, unconcerned. "Drink this." 

          Vergil eyes the canteen with suspicion, taking the cap off and sniffing the contents. "What's in it?" 

          Dante rolls his eyes. "Mix of hellwater and blood. The usual. I'm not gonna poison you or anything. Just take that stick out of your ass and drink it already." 

          His sibling glares at him.  

          "I know. It's not getting nominated for any awards in the taste department, but hey. It's what we've got, and you need to hydrate. You haven't had anything since yesterday evening." 

          Vergil clenches his jaw at having been caught.  

          "Yes, I noticed. Just drink it and I'll quit bothering you." 

          Dante sees indecision warring on his brother's face. On the one hand, getting Dante to shut up is almost always a priority. On the other hand, it looks like the idea of putting anything in his stomach is revolting.  

          Vergil drinks, pointedly ignoring his little brother's triumphant smirk.  

          With that battle won, Dante leans over and passes out. He doesn't even feel Vergil jolt when his head lands on his twin's shoulder. He does, however, feel the comforting rumble of his sibling's speech. It sounds suspiciously like "sentimental fool." 

          He wakes sometime later to the screeching of demons on the field of blood.  

          Vergil and Dante answer their call, fighting forward to the nearest available hidey hole. The next twelve hours drag on in violence. Some distant part of Dante is aware, even in the midst of combat, of his brother's wheezing breaths. The flickering strength of his magic becomes more obvious with every new ethereal blade conjured; they move slower and take longer to summon. Dante covers his sibling when he stumbles, baring his teeth with a wild growl. 

         With a strangely leisurely-looking gesture, Vergil slices the head off the last of the combatants, as though he couldn't be bothered to grace the motion with its usual speed or precision. 

          It's disturbing in the worst sense of the word. 

          "Come on." Dante pats his shoulder, ignoring the warning hiss in his brother's throat and pointing him to an outcropping where they can rest for a little while. "Let's get out of the open." 

          Vergil tries to hide a cough in a scoff of annoyance.  

          Dante eyes his sibling. His face is flushed with exertion, chest heaving despite his poor attempt to hide it. Vergil examines the rocky outcropping when they reach it. It's a wonder he ever picks a spot to rest considering how long he deliberates. He presses his hand to the sharp rocks, burning a sigil into them and kneeling down with the Yamato in hand. The ritual calms Dante, but only marginally.  

          Vergil meets Dante's eyes once he's finished, robotically catching the piece of meat being tossed at him. "I'm not hungry." 

          "Eat it anyway." 

          Hissing under his breath, Vergil ignores the order, throwing the chunk back at Dante with an excessive amount of force. Dante doesn't relent. In fact, he seems quite content to play catch with their meal while Vergil silently seethes.  

          "Quit acting like a picky five-year-old and eat it." 

          "You quit acting like a stubborn child and accept that no means no." 

          "No." 

          Vergil takes a breath, his skull throbbing too much to endure much more of his brother's antics. The things he does for some peace of mind. Vergil catches the meat one final time and points a warning finger at his brother. He takes a bite, lifting a single silver brow and daring Dante to speak a word of it.  

          Showing impressive restraint, he doesn't.  

          Something else flickers in Dante's expression, though. It's dreadfully akin to worry. Vergil's mouth twitches down and he resists the urge to sneer at his brother. He does not need Dante's pity.  

          "I've got first watch." Dante says, faux cheerfulness in his tone.  

          Vergil would argue if not for the bone-deep ache spreading through his body. Fine. If Dante wants to be annoyingly overbearing, then let him think he's won. They're still days from the portal Vergil crawled out of last time, so he'll have plenty of opportunities to kick his brother's ass for treating him like a child.  

          He tilts himself against the stone to sleep with Dante watching over him. Some part of him knows waking for his watch will be a lost cause as he drifts into oblivion. Exhaustion drags his mind into fog. 

          Dante shakes his head at his brother.  

          He sleeps sitting up, chin tucked against his chest. Vergil's hair is still soaked in blood, something he'd apparently forgotten in his usual routine of self-care. Dante crouches in front of him, hand outstretched before he realizes what his brain is up to. With his hair down like this, they look more like the twins they're supposed to be.  

          Odd how, despite all Vergil has been through, he looks younger. 

          Dante cards his fingers through his brother's hair, a slight twist of magic pulling the blood to his fingers. Vergil doesn't wake, another sign of something terribly wrong. He sleeps lightly, a habit borne out of necessity.  

          Seeing V, Dante thinks he might understand his brother a little better. His humanity displayed a part of his brother that was scared. He knew how dangerous his demon side was—a side of him that wanted power without remembering why. Urizen said himself he didn't remember what happened when they were children, which meant V must have had all of Vergil's reasoning, twisted as it might've been at the time. And more than that, Vergil recognized that his perception was warped after the fact. It wasn't to stand on top of the world. It wasn't to rule. It wasn't even about his desire to be better than Dante. 

          Power means safety. 

          Power means the strength to fight.  

          And, more than anything, power was the one reassurance his brother had that nothing could ever hurt him again. If Vergil hates anything, it's helplessness. He refuses to become a victim, and he will never bow his head to another. Never again. 

          Dante sighs, pressing his forehead against his brother's and feeding a flicker of his energy into the contact. "We'll get through this, Vergil." 

          Vergil groans, a sound so soft compared to his usual curtness.  

          Dante sits, resting his sword on his knee and keeping an eye on the terrain. Even with their backs to unforgiving stone, he feels exposed. This isn't anything like the cover of a cave with one way in and one way out. Anything with eyes can still see them, even if the sigil covers the scent of their blood.  

          They manage three hours of silence. 

          A horde of demons spots them. Dante growls, standing over his brother with sword drawn. "Wake up, old man. We've got trouble." 

          The red twin engages when he hears Vergil rouse. 

          Dante turns once the last of them are gone, facing his brother with foreboding swirling in his chest. Vergil is on his feet, but only just, one hand against the rock face for balance and his other pressed gingerly against his stomach. 

          "Vergil?" 

          "I'm fine." 

          He promptly throws up. Dante sighs, rubbing a soothing hand across his brother's shoulders. Vergil sways with the motion, and frighteningly enough, doesn't bother telling Dante to go away. Dante leans down to grab the canteen, ignoring the putrid odor of vomit. A prolonged press of his blade has his blood flowing into the mouth of the container. 

          "Here. Drink." 

          Vergil skewers him with a glare. "I don't need your blood." 

          "What you need is the energy to fight being sick. You can't honestly expect me to believe you're fine after this. Just drink it. Think of it like a protein shake." 

          Growling, Vergil takes a few steps away and slides down against the rock face. He's obviously dizzy if the way his eyes squeeze shut is any indication. He's sweating. Dante drops the canteen in his lap and presses the back of his hand against Vergil's forehead.  

          "Don't treat me like I'm weak!" Vergil snaps. 

          "I'm not." Dante flicks his forehead, aggravating his sibling's growing headache. "I'm treating you like you're sick, dumbass. 'Cause you are." 

          Vergil hisses, lips curling into a sneer even as his body betrays him by leaning into Dante's hand. Maybe that's what the sneer is for. Dante never met anyone as stubborn as his big brother. Except Nero. Explains why they both have a bit of a pride complex.  

          "Your skin feels cold." 

          Ha! Was that worry in the old man's tone? "Yeah, that's what happens when you have a fever. Gotta be pretty high if even I feel cool to you, though." 

          No small amount of irritation floods Vergil's expression. 

          "Come on. While it's clear, we should keep going." Dante offers his brother a hand. "We'll need to cover as much ground as we can before you're too sick to move." 

          Goodness knows Vergil would never allow Dante to carry him if he were conscious enough to protest. 

          Vergil takes his hand. 

          Dante carries the pack, pressing the canteen against his sibling's chest while they walk. "Hydrate. I know you don't feel good, but you'll need the fluids. Once your stomach has settled, you should see if you can't keep some food down." 

          "I've traveled through the underworld while deathly ill before." 

          "Yeah? Well, this time you've got me, and I'm keeping my eye on you." Dante clicks his tongue, gently slugging his brother's shoulder to avoid knocking him over with his compromised balance. 

          Vergil scoffs. "Because you told Nero you would?" 

          "Nah. Makin' sure you don't disappear again. Lost you too many times already." 

          The words send a shuttering of emotions over Vergil's face. Dante glimpses concern, curiosity, and something like... surprise? A lot has happened between them, for sure, but Vergil is his brother. Dante will have his back, whether Vergil thinks it's necessary or not.  

          "Even after destroying the city twice, you don't hate me." 

          It's a statement, solid and certain. Definitely surprised him, then.  

          Dante chuckles. "Ah, hell. Got too much going on to judge you for being desperate. If I'd been braver as a kid, we could've been together all these years. We were supposed to protect each other, and I-" The words lodge in his throat when memories flash in his mind. 

          He still remembers the shock of picking up his brother's amulet—of knowing that Vergil had been alive and suffering for years. And then Dante had- 

          "You didn't know." 

          As if that alleviates the guilt.  

          "Perhaps it was better this way." Vergil says, eyes still fever-bright. He probably wouldn't have said anything at all were his thoughts in order. "You freed me, Dante." 

          He'd never thank Dante for it, and for that much, Dante is grateful.  

          Killing his brother isn't something he'll accept praise for.  

          Vergil stops, one hand on the Yamato's sheath and the other pressed against his temple. Strange how someone so strong is about to get taken out by what's looking like the flu. 

          "Come on, Vergil. We can't sit out in the open like this." 

          His brother stares at him.  

          "What?" 

          A light smile graces Vergil's features before closing off behind the mask he always wears. Was he... proud of Dante for something? "You're too good for them, Dante." 

          Dante doesn't have to ask who, but he does have to wonder what the context of that statement is. It's not unusual for Vergil to think of humans as lesser beings, but his tone said something else. What was that? Dante figures it's mostly the high fever talking, but still. His brother isn't terribly chatty unless he's taunting during combat. His words are concise, only ever what they mean to him in their simplest form and nothing more. 

          So, that's the question. What did he mean by it this time? 

          If he hadn't wanted to give Dante a chance to figure it out, he'd have quoted poetry at him. 

          Vergil and Dante walk on without words, the only noise between them a chipper tune whistling from Dante's lips. It's from a record framed in his office, one he listened to a billion times before it got scratched.  

          It's something of a reminder for him, too. Before people called all the time for help, before Fortuna, the days where he'd scrape by were all the same. The most dangerous thing in his way would maybe be a behemouth of a demon crawling out of the sewers. He has his pick of jobs, but there are a scant few he actually wants. Usually, the ones that help people are his favored option. 

          Lady always whines at him about her money, like she doesn't owe him her life a hundred times over. Despite needing a place to live, for Dante, it was barely about money. Dante sighs. There's too much time to think and let things stew when he and Vergil aren't at each other's throats. 

          The hours pass slowly, but not quietly. 

          Dante adds several new stains to his coat. Vergil adds a few less, succumbing to a wheezing fit in the third fight. His eyes watch Dante's every move as he carves a bloody swath around his sibling. Blue spikes of magic crop up here and there, Vergil's doppelganger joining the battle to guard Dante's back. Much like Dante had in Vergil's duel against Nero, Vergil sits out the fight. 

          "Almost done. Just stay put." 

          Vergil has his breathing back under control by the time Dante returns to his side. A quick check of his fever and Dante is pulling him upright. He presses the canteen into Vergil's hand, offering him a thin piece of meat that could be considered jerky if one didn't observe too closely. 

          "Come on." Dante says, guiding Vergil forward while he munches on his own much larger chunk of meat. "Let's keep moving while we're able. Looks like there's another cave up ahead, so we can rest awhile. It's only another couple days travel after that, right?" 

          "Yes." 

          "Good." Dante says, his tone grittier than usual.  

          He's worried, though from the sound of his own breaths, Vergil understands why. If only they could use the Yamato to leave, but if he could use it to travel between the under and overworlds, he would've done so at nineteen. Sealing the realms apart from one another again means travel could potentially be impossible. The chances of the hole Vergil slipped through last time still existing are slim. He'll take slim over none. 

          After spending half his life here, his inclination to stay is rather low.  

          "Easy does it." 

          Vergil blinks, sliding down against the wall of a cave with his brother's help. When did they reach the cave? The lack of awareness disturbs him, and so does the way Dante peers at him.  

          "You hear me? Eat, drink, then sleep. I'll watch over you." 

          "All right." 

          The blatant concern on Dante's face confuses Vergil. He sluggishly takes the canteen from Dante after the man gulps down a few swallows himself. 

          Dante cleans the Yamato, both a pleasing and uncomfortable sight. 

Chapter Text

          Vergil blinks once—he could swear it was just the once—but he hears his brother distinctly and distantly outside the cave fighting. Had they been attacked? If he really did doze off, how long has it been that something could've found them? A confused noise draws from his throat. His head pounds for reasons unknown, and he struggles against his muddled mind to put together his situation. There's something on his body.

          Dante's coat? 

          Why did Dante leave his coat? 

          "Take him and get going! I'm right behind you!" 

          A mass of pure heat washes over Vergil, a glowing red demon picking him up gently. Protectiveness bleeds over Vergil in waves from its body. Was this Dante's doppelganger? As a reflection of his brother's true self, he'd expected....  

          Vergil isn't sure what he'd expected. Maybe he thought the strongest thing his brother felt for him was annoyance. Vergil certainly earned the ire with what he'd done, stupid and foolish as he was. 

          But no. The fierce devotion rolling off the doppelganger would be impossible to fake.  

          It's with belated certainty Vergil realizes they're flying. 

          Vergil truly hopes his brother isn't insane enough to try to hold this until the portal. The second set of wingbeats say he is. Before Vergil fell ill, walking was by far the safer option seeing as they could conserve their energy and defend one another. In his current situation, it seems Dante has thrown caution to the wind and decided to solve their traveling problem the fastest way he knows.  

          The idiot is going to get himself killed. Maintaining both his demon form and his doppelganger for a prolonged period will leave him drained and bordering on helpless should something happen.  

          If only Vergil could get his mouth to cooperate to tell his stupid brother as much.  

          As it is, the warmth is putting him to sleep. 

          A wild shout from Dante rouses him somewhat, red flares of demonic energy cropping up around them. The doppelganger rumbles reassuringly, shielding him from a barrage of pyrobat flames. Sluggishly, Vergil supposes flying at high speeds with unshielded power would attract airborne attention. 

          Vergil trades hands from Dante's doppelganger to Dante. They must be on the ground now. Only when he feels his brother hair in his face does he realize he's being held up on his brother's back. 

          "This brings back memories." Dante murmurs, breathless in a way that concerns Vergil. 

          "Hm." 

          "I remember that one time we got going too fast and you accidentally dropped me on a sharp stick. I'd never seen you run back to the house so fast." 

          Pulling on the frayed edges of his memory takes work, but Vergil vaguely recalls the incident. He remembers Dante's scream of pain, and his own panic at the sight of his brother's blood drizzling out around the chunk of wood embedded in his leg. He remembers it was his fault. It was always his fault. No matter what Vergil tries to do, he hurts his little brother. Even his own son. 

          Vergil doesn't know how to atone for that. 

          "There was also that one time when the apple tree had this really early fruit at the top, but mom wouldn't let us climb." 

          A soft snort leaves Vergil's mouth. 

          "You remember, Verge?" 

          "Hm." 

          Dante lifts Vergil a bit higher on his back, Vergil's head tilting against his brother's neck. Cooling sweat rests under his collar, hidden but for the sudden touch. Vergil doesn't have to energy to mention it. His sibling has done whatever he feels like thus far in terms of caring for Vergil, and without the strength to argue, it'll be more expedient and less headache-inducing to let him continue doing so. 

          "You feel really warm, buddy. You doing okay?" 

          Vergil hums in the affirmative.  

          "I don't believe you." 

          "Believe what you like." Vergil mutters, his mild headache rearing its ugly head. His throat feels raw, as though he swallowed glass. He glares daggers at his little brother when Dante glances at him, his brother's brilliant smile beaming back at him. 

          Dante carries Vergil onward in silence, the great heat emanating from his coat comforting the older twin. Even though Vergil could have severed the Qliphoth roots alone, Dante stayed. 

          He stayed and battled Vergil with eager abandon. Something tells Vergil it's because his little brother never wants to let him out of his sight ever again. In fact, if his current position is any indication, Dante's never letting him go for any reason whatsoever. Vergil would be annoyed and insulted if he could summon up the drive to be anything more than grateful. 

          "I remember the last time you were sick." Dante says lightly, hiking his brother a bit higher on his back. "Or, I guess, the last time I was still around when you were. You been sick since we were kids?" 

          Vergil hums in the negative, a soft sound that has Dante chuckling. 

          "You kept saying you felt fine even though you were shivering so hard your teeth were chattering. If that ain't the most Vergil damn thing." Dante says, his breath hitching in his chest. He keeps talking as though nothing happened, but Vergil dwells. "I remember mom wouldn't let us sleep in the same bed like always, and I was so mad." 

          A tired smile tips Vergil's lips, and, though he'd deny it until his dying breath, he nuzzles closer to his brother's neck. 

          "During the night, I snuck in anyway. You remember?" 

          "I remember." Vergil croaks. He was so cold that night, he'd curled into Dante's warmth without hesitation. His body hurt, wracked with shivers and aches. No wonder Dante's thinking about it now. 

          Dante's head tilts against Vergil's. "Good." 

          "Hm." 

          "Then you know I'm gonna take care of you, right?" 

          Vergil's lip curls with a lazy smile. It's the best he can manage right now. His brother's unwavering loyalty amuses Vergil in his feverish state. Vaguely, he supposes were he operating at full capacity, he might've protested. 

          "Hey. Look at that, old man." 

          Cracking open scratchy eyes, Vergil squints ahead at the looming blur ahead of him. 

          "There it is. Mallet Island, or its equivalent here, anyway." Dante shrugs one shoulder to adjust Vergil's arm. "Been a long time since I've had to remember my way around in there, but I should be able to get back to the mirror where you came through before." 

          The first step Dante takes is staggering, but he never gives Vergil the chance to comment on it, hiking him up again and halting his words with a squeak of air. 

          "You okay?" 

          Vergil scowls, knowing full well his brother is ignoring the subject. 

          "Right. I can feel you glaring. You're fine." 

          Dante picks his way into a twisting and warped series of hallways. Vergil knows his perception is skewed by both that and the fever, but he could swear Dante sways on his feet. Both brothers aren't at their best, for certain, but Vergil will admit—begrudgingly—that Dante's antics bought them valuable time. If they needed to keep their heads down and rest, the castle will be a good option. Dante cleared it out easily, wiping the floor with Mundus's generals and even Mundus himself in the end. 

          "Dante." Vergil chokes out. 

          His little brother pauses, glancing side to side before crouching down and carefully sliding Vergil off his back. "Yeah, you're right. We should stop while we're indoors and mostly safe." He props Vergil against the wall, a supportive hand at his neck.  

          Vergil shifts, eyes squeezing shut. 

          "All right." Dante tips the canteen against his lips. "Here. Just water this time. Drink slowly. Your fever's a bit better, but it's not gonna keep getting better if you don't stay hydrated." 

          Despite Dante's warning, Vergil drinks eagerly from the bottle until he estimates about a third is gone. With a hand that barely feels attached to his body, he pushes it back against his brother's chest. Dante stares at him with confusion until Vergil whispers, "Your turn." 

          The younger twin smiles. "Yeah. Okay, Verge." 

          Vergil gives an approving nod when Dante drinks, seemingly realizing how thirsty he is only once the water hits his throat. Dante stands, pacing the room twice before settling beside Vergil and burying his face in his brother's shoulder. Belatedly, Vergil wonders how long it's been since he slept. 

          "I'll keep watch," he hears himself saying. 

          Dante is already out like a light. Vergil lifts his chin, resting it securely over his little brother's head. Weakness plagues his body, but if something dares threaten Dante, he will find the strength. 

          He failed to protect him once, he would not do so again. 

          Vergil manages a soft snort of amusement. Almost two weeks ago, such an oath would have been unfathomable. 

          He grimaces as nausea washes over him, a growl of denial nearly passing his lips. Falling to the fog of sickness isn't an option. Clarity hasn't been his friend throughout this illness, but he needs it now. Vergil snorts to himself. How his priorities have shifted. Vergil spent so long chasing power, something that didn't even matter in the end. Even after consuming the Qliphoth fruit, Dante matched Vergil. 

          In all fairness, Dante absorbed the Sparda, which possessed the power that brought down Mundus in the first place. It seems Dante is destined to be his equal. 

          Vergil swallows down the sting to his pride. It would have to sit by the wayside for once. He may never tire of battling Dante, but in an entirely different way, he's tired of fighting him. Being at odds with his brother lost its charm when Vergil split himself in two. Certainly, it granted him immeasurable drive, enabling him to survive far longer than he ever might've otherwise, but after learning the truth about their childhood? 

          The thought of bringing anymore pain on his brother repulses Vergil. 

          After a time, Vergil blinks drowsily. Thankfully, coherency hadn't abandoned him, but the bone-deep exhaustion drags at his senses. Indoors now, time skews without direction. Uncertainty trickles through him when he pulls back to look at his brother. 

          Dante still appears drained. His breaths come more shallowly than they should and dark rings encircle his eyes. His skin possesses a sticky sheen, a sign of his overexertion. 

          Vergil keeps watch a little longer before regretfully waking his brother. His voice has not improved. In fact, it comes with difficulty, scraping out of his throat as little more than a whisper. "Dante." 

          He wakes immediately. "What? I'm up. You okay?" 

          Vergil glowers. How very like Dante to worry about anyone but himself. He was doing it before, and he's trying to do it now.  

          "I'm fine." 

          "You sound awful." Dante laments, shoving the canteen at him. "Drink." 

          Vergil sorely misses the energy to argue with his brother, but Dante is incorrigible. Even so, Dante only appears more worried than before when Vergil fails to protest first. 

          Dante peers at his brother, taking in the feverish shine to his eyes and the pain crinkled at their corners. Vergil's skin pales against the minimal effort it takes to drink. The sight leaves Dante more unnerved than he'll admit, but his brother has survived worse. It'd be a miracle if Vergil ever let him forget it. 

          "Slow and steady." Dante murmurs, offering Vergil a hand. 

          Vergil frowns, sliding his hand into Dante's. The younger twin chuckles and uses said hand to alter their positions until Vergil is once again situated on his back. 

          "I know you're still pretty wiped. No walking for you." 

          "Hypocrite." 

          Dante huffs. "Old man. Creaky bones." 

          "We're twins." 

          "You're older." 

          Vergil sighs, lowering his chin to his brother's shoulder and closing his eyes. Somehow, Dante ended up on Vergil's usual side of this particular argument. "By six minutes." 

          "And thirteen seconds." 

          A growling sigh leaves Vergil's throat. "Can't forget those." 

          "Never." Dante grins and hikes his brother up into a more comfortable position. Vergil's head presses against Dante's, as though seeking comfort against some ailment or another. "You okay? I didn't hurt you?" 

          "No." 

          The younger twin isn't convinced. Vergil's head has probably been pounding what with the fever and all, so Dante keeps his pace as even as possible. His body reminds him of its quaking fatigue with every step forward, protests each flight of stairs he passes, and relentlessly disapproves of Vergil's continued weight on his shoulders. Amusement curls through him. Vergil was right; Dante is a hypocrite. Wouldn't it just make his damn day to hear that from Dante's mouth? 

          His brother's voice still sounded so wrecked, a cracked and mistreated parody of its usual smoothness. 

          Dante pauses when they reach a particularly twisting hallway, the corners branching off in three other directions in truly sickening pulsing tandem. He hated this side of Mallet Island back then, and he hates it now. The floor should not move. Walls should not bulge and undulate. 

          "Well," Dante breathes. "We're lost." 

          "Goody." 

          Dante laughs, hoping his unsteadiness stayed out of his voice. He really does suck at hiding things from Vergil. It certainly has been an adjustment having him back. Lady and Trish gave up reading him ages ago, but to Vergil, he may as well be an open book. 

          "Unless you remember where to go, I'm just gonna guess." 

          Vergil makes a noise in the negative, hardly moving except to grimace. His awareness was touch and go the last couple days. Vergil blacked out for an undetermined period between their last resting place and the castle. 

          "To the left it is." 

          Vergil gives an indifferent noise, but it comes both late and distracted. Dante feels the heat of his brother's fever against his ear and neck. It's getting worse again. The scent of sickness on him is stronger, cloying and thick. Whatever has ahold of him won't let go without proper care and rest—two things he's currently incapable of getting. 

          Worry churns in Dante's gut while he listens to his brother breathe. Vergil struggles, but each puff of air remains even while they wander through the castle. 

          Time travels differently in the underworld, but it still feels like an eternity before Dante finally locates the proper room. The building throws him for a loop, turning him about with visual distortion that nearly has him walking into a wall. Thankfully, his human backpack doesn't notice, otherwise he was sure to get an earful. 

          "Finally." Dante mutters. 

          Relief shoots through him when he sees the mirror and his knees go a bit weak. Dante will never be happier to see a piece of glass, even despite the creepy bedroom it stands in.  

          Dante steps through with a startled yelp in his throat as his feet hit dead air. Right. The island exploded into smithereens. He quickly shifts into his Devil Trigger, catching both he and his brother on a lofty breeze. It feels so fucking good. The air in the underworld is still and formless, and it always stinks like death and blood. 

          "Vergil?" he questions softly. His brother sleeps on, unaware of their near-death experience as they toppled out of a portal over a pile of jagged rocks and rubble. "Hang in there, brother." 

          The younger twin flies onward, ignoring his own labored breaths the longer he holds his Trigger. Those few hours of rest Vergil encouraged him to take weren't near enough to replenish his depleted reserves, and he's feeling it now. The burst of energy provided by his transformation soon fades. Dante stays close to the water, gliding as far as possible between flaps. He angles his wings to catch the wind. Vergil's weight shifts a little, but Dante is careful. 

          Dante rocks with a heavy gust of wind, blinking gray fizzle from his eyes. He blinks again. Relief prickles at his sluggish thoughts when he realizes the gray splotches in his vision belong to land formations, not his own tired eyes failing. 

          "There we go, bud. You see that?" 

          Vergil does not see that, because Vergil is still passed out on Dante's back. The younger twin snuffles at his brother's face, mindful of his sharp horns. A concerned croon rumbles out of his chest. In full Devil Trigger, the scent of illness lays heavy over him. It isn't the same as V's, where he smelled like death because he was quite literally falling apart from the inside, but it is potent and worrisome.  

          Vergil groans softly, a crease in his brow. "Dante?" 

          "Hey," Dante answers, his voice soft despite the distortion of his Trigger. Vergil's own voice still sounds terrible. "How're you feeling?" 

          "Mmph." 

          An agreeable noise leaves Dante's throat. He didn't figure Vergil would be feeling fantastic, so any response is better than none. "The portal worked like a charm. We're almost back to the mainland now, so just stay with me, huh?" 

          Or, at least, Dante hopes it's the mainland. He didn't exactly check which direction he was going before he flew away from the remains of Mallet Island. Whatever it is, they're still miles off the coast, but at least they'll be on land again soon. Dante probes at his dense demonic core, keeping his senses on alert for Nero's presence just in case he went the complete opposite direction and ended up heading for Fortuna. 

          Sure enough, he recognizes the familiar skyline of his nephew's home island, more specifically, the docks where the ferry runs. 

Chapter Text

          Dante doesn't quite know what happens. 

          The next he's aware, cyan claws hold his horns, locking him in place. A growl thunders from his chest. Behind him in the alley, his brother's presence glows softly, defenseless yet unharmed so long as Dante refuses to give in. That singular thought pumps adrenaline back into his body, but there's not enough to go around. He channels it into his wings, thrashing and clawing until the demon threatening him is pinned beneath his larger body, howling for its release.  

          Entirely strange is how it hisses at him in English. In fact, it swears a blue streak Dante barely understands through his blind rage. 

          With both sets of hands, scaled and spectral, pinned by the claws of Dante's wings, the creature wriggles underneath him. Dante stares into slitted yellow-red eyes, desperation and fear flitting through them as they search Dante's snarling countenance. 

          "Dante! It's me! It's Ner-" The creature jerks as Dante's hand latches around his throat. 

          Dante growls, but he doesn't attack. It knows him. 

          The demon splays its fingers in surrender—all twenty of them—and it releases a shaking breath. For some reason, that confuses Dante more than anything. He can't fathom this being fearing him for any reason. 

          It flinches when his heavy wing-claws dig into its wrists. "Dante," it squeaks. It's a nestling, Dante realizes. "You're hurting me." 

          The energy at Dante's core wavers. He clings to it desperately, but all too soon, the scales and ridges fall from his body, his wings remaining out of helpless determination alone. His menacing teeth shrink into a human set, though he does still have fangs of his own. 

          The demon under his grip follows suit, teal skin and red scales dissipating until only the small human frame of his nephew remains. The spectral wings fade out entirely. 

          "Uncle Dante, it's me. Please." 

          Dante releases Nero immediately, scrambling back from him until he bumps into his brother's unmoving form. The wings on his back snap out of existence. He shakes, cold and pale from overexertion. His chest heaves and black spots instead of gray dance in his eyes. Nero follows him, halting at the reflexive warning growl in Dante's throat. 

          The young devil hunter peers around him. "Well, damn. No wonder you tried to kill me." Nero raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Just take a breath, okay?" 

          "Y-yeah. Sure, kid." 

          Dante passes right the hell out. 

          Nero stares wide-eyed at the twins, at his wits' end. It's been months since his father and uncle disappeared to the underworld and left him to pick up the pieces. He takes a minute to shake himself free of his surprise. One minute, Dante doesn't recognize him, and the next, he's passed out cold on top of his brother—his brother who looks like he'd be healthier getting hit by a truck. 

          "Okay." Nero says, wheels turning slowly as he tries to figure out what to do. "Okay. Uh." 

          The first thing he does is pull Dante off Vergil's chest. He sits between them, checking their pulses the way Kyrie taught him after the fall of the Order. Who knew his disaster relief training would come in handy with his ridiculous family? 

          Dante's pulse is erratic, worryingly so. Vergil's holds steady. Both his and Dante's pupils are blown wide when he checks them, his father's forehead burning with fever. 

          "The hell did you two idiots do?" Nero mutters. 

          Shaking his head, Nero starts dragging them toward the mouth of the alley. He was on a job solo today, and he can only be grateful, because Nico would throw a fit if she knew he was about to put the filthy twins in the back of the van. It's his van anyway, but she'd still throw a fit. 

          Dante weighs a ton, but Vergil is disturbingly light in comparison. He certainly hadn't been so when Nero fought him atop the Qliphoth. Even V was heavy, and he'd only been half of himself and falling apart at the seams. 

          Somehow, through some miracle involving his heritage, Nero gets them both into the van. Vergil curls around Dante, a spiny tail appearing out of nowhere and pulling him closer. The barbs flare and relax, disappearing altogether when Vergil is satisfied. Nero wonders if he imagined the whole thing, but he doesn't dwell on it as he carefully steps around them. His first stop is the cabinet above Nico's workspace. He drags down a heavy shock blanket—yet another thing he used back when the Order fell—and dumps it over the twins. Vergil makes a confused noise, clutching his brother tighter, but he stays unconscious. Thank goodness. 

          His second stop is the phone. He calls home, glancing back at the twins when Kyrie picks up.  

          "Hello?"  

          "Hey, Kyrie." Nero says, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slips into the driver's seat. He lounges there in a way that belies his nerves. "Got some interesting news. I found Vergil and Dante. They're in rough shape, but I've got 'em in the van and I'm coming home.  Dante passed out from exhaustion, and Vergil's running a fever high enough to raise the roof." 

          "How did they get back? Did they tell you anything?"  

          Nero huffs. "Hell, no. I was headed back from this last job and this streak of demonic energy sailed past me and crashed in the alley by the opera house. Didn't even realize it was Dante until he pounced on me." 

          Kyrie's voice needles him with a thread of worry. "Are you hurt?"  

          "Nah, just a bit bruised." Nero rubs at his wrists, the shallow cuts already scabbed over. "I'll heal. Could you do me a favor and make sure the kids are in their rooms? Gonna need to take these two idiots into the bathroom to clean 'em up, and I don't want them to see all the blood." 

          "I'll have Julio take the other two to the park with a picnic basket and a ball. That should keep them occupied long enough for us to figure out what to do with them."  

          Nero smiles. What would he do without Kyrie? "You're a genius. I love you, and I'll be home soon." 

          "Love you. Drive safe."  

          "Will do." Nero answers, tipping the phone into its cradle and peering back at his two wayward family members. 

          Family: the thought still warms Nero, even knowing what his father did. It's ridiculous of him, but he wants it just as much as he did when he was a child. Well..., maybe he doesn't yearn for it like he did then. He wants that closeness all the same. Kyrie and Credo were his only family for so long, and Dante hid right under his nose for five years. 

          When Nico told him Dante killed Vergil once, he started to understand why his uncle hid the truth from him. 

          It hurt, but he understood. Dante never intended to make Nero feel as though he was unwanted by not claiming him. He stewed in the same guilt for twenty years, and meeting Nero simultaneously brought him joy and pain. Every time Dante saw Nero, he was faced with the knowledge that Nero's father wasn't around in part because of him. Nero knows it wasn't entirely Dante's fault, but Trish and Lady both refused to share details on the twins. 

          Now that bit did piss Nero off just a little. 

          Nero sighs, takes a breath, and stoops down next to the twins. A faint aura of blue light encompasses them, flaring with familiar energy—Yamato's energy. He reaches out, holding his hand just over his father's skin. The aura flares and abates, his father giving no indication of noticing. Nero tries not to read into it as an act of trust. 

          "Do me a favor, old man." Nero huffs. "Stay all nice and friendly like this while I try to figure out what the hell to do with you two, huh? You sure know how to ruin any ideas of a lazy afternoon." 

          Vergil clutches his brother tighter, an uncomfortable-sounding breath leaving his mouth. 

          "Good enough." 

          Nero slips back into the driver's seat and points the van towards home. He sees Kyrie waiting for him in the garage when he arrives, her arms wrapped around her middle out of anxiety. Nero smiles more for her benefit than his own. He hates worrying her. 

          "Do you want help getting them out of there?" 

          Nero walks to the back of the van and pops open the doors. "Nah. If one of these two wakes up and decides they're in any danger whatsoever, I don't want you in their immediate reach. I already got jumped once, and I definitely don't want you to share the experience." He hops up next to them, tugging the blanket aside and frowning over his father and uncle. Testing his father's sleeping state feels like a really bad move, but they need to get inside. Both of them need care. "Okay, Vergil. Nice and easy." 

          Suffice it to say, no amount of pulling or prying manages to loosen his grip on Dante. 

          "Or not." 

          Kyrie worries at her bottom lip. "Nero, are you sure-" 

          "I'm sure. I know you want to help." But I don't exactly trust the twins like this. "Could you go run some water into the bath? They're both soaked in demon blood." 

          Having something to do seems to satisfy her desire to help. "I can. I don't think we have anything that'll fit them in the house to put on afterwards, though." Kyrie frowns. "Actually.... Some of Credo's old things might fit them." 

          "Thought you gave all that stuff to the relief centers." 

          "Most of it." she says, with a flicker of grief in her eyes. "I'll set the box out for you to pick through." 

          Nero watches Kyrie spirit into the house with a frown of his own. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the time to dwell on Credo's memory, his attention arrested by the two idiots in the back of his van. 

          Gently this time, Nero squeezes his father's wrist. "You gotta work with me here, old man." 

          Vergil groans with discontent, his brow furrowing in his sleep, but his fingers slowly relinquish their hold on Dante. Nero pulls on the thread of demonic energy at his core, drawing on hidden strength to wrangle his uncle into the house. 

          "How the hell do you weigh this much?" Nero grits out. 

          It takes twenty long minutes to get him inside, strip him out of all of his gear, evaluate his present condition, and wrestle him into the bathtub. The water turns a frothy pink, as though Dante is the largest and most inconvenient bath-bomb in the history of mankind. 

          "I'll start cleaning him up." 

          "Kyrie-" 

          She levels a firm look at him. "Nero. I'll be fine for five minutes. You have enough to do already without having to bathe both of them, and if you're worried about how Dante will react to me being here, imagine how Vergil will react to Dante not being there. You saw how he was clinging to him." 

          Kyrie sets to work while Nero heads for the van to collect his father. 

          Vergil curled on himself in the time Nero spent working on Dante's predicament. He looks small—too small. Despite that, his tall and muscular body is still a bitch and a half to carry around. 

          "Dante." Vergil whispers, that singular word hoarse and ruined. 

          Months ago, they tried to kill each other on sight. Now, Vergil sounds desperate to have his brother near. Nero pointedly ignores the needle of jealousy he has no right—or maybe every right, he's not sure—to feel. With a grunt of effort, Nero hefts him up the last of the stairs and into the house proper.  

          The bathroom hardly fits them all once he makes it inside. Kyrie still dutifully kneels beside the tub while she scrubs at Dante's hands. Nero props his father up against the cabinet under the sink and begins pulling his gear off. Every once in a while, Nero swears those icy eyes flicker open and closed. Vergil's skin under his coat and vest holds a painful, sticky paleness—where it isn't stained with blood, that is. 

          "He needs fluids." 

          Nero agrees, running a glass of water from the sink and tipping it to Vergil's lips. The half-demon drinks greedily, feverish eyes blinking open for sure this time. His head lolls in a rather loose fashion, muscles either too weak or too distant from his thoughts to fully control. 

          He squints, staring at Nero. Vergil puzzles out his presence with difficulty. Incorrectly, no less. "Dante?" 

          "Nope." 

          Evidently, that wasn't the right thing to say, because Vergil moves amidst sudden urgency, pouncing on Nero with surprising strength. Nero doesn't fight. There's not enough room in the bathroom to thrash without Kyrie getting caught in the crossfire. 

          "Nero!" she cries, one hand extended as if to help him.  

          "Don't! Don't touch him, Kyrie. I've got this." 

          Above him, Vergil bares his fangs. He holds Nero down, right wrist pinned by his father's knee and left by his father's right hand. Vergil's opposite hand is curled around Nero's throat with threatening pressure. The protective fury in his fevered gaze speaks to his resolve. Even weakened by sickness, he will not fail. "Where is he? What have you done to him?" 

          Nero experimentally tugs his wrist where it sits beneath Vergil's knee. He's not going anywhere. "Take a breath. Focus. It's me. It's Nero. I'm not gonna hurt you." 

          "Nero?" Vergil echoes, in that same breathy tone he used atop the Qliphoth when he tried to talk him down. The heat of anger fades from his face. He shifts his weight, lifting his hands from Nero's skin with such gentle regret, it hurts to watch. Vergil swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut. 

          The young devil hunter leans up with his free hand to catch him when he sways forward, grunting with surprise when his father's weight falls on him. "Uh...." 

          Vergil makes no move to get off; though, by the way his body trembles, it'd be a wonder if he had the strength. Unused adrenaline is a bitch like that. Nero sits up more fully, keeping Vergil pinned against his chest until he rests in front of the cabinets again. 

          "You okay?" 

          The elder doesn't answer, and Nero flicks a glance Kyrie's way. He offers her a reassuring nod, a silent promise that he has everything under control. She squeezes his fingers, turning back to Dante and rubbing soap into his hair.  

          Vergil's weak voice meets Nero's ears. "Dante?" 

          "He's in the tub, right here. You're both safe." Nero motions towards Kyrie and Dante with his thumb. "You should've seen him when I found you two. Never seen him turn on somebody so fast." 

          "Hm." 

          Nero gives a nervous chuckle, brushing at his nose. "If he'd been running at full speed, he'd have probably torn me to ribbons. He had me pinned, wings and all in full trigger." He spares a cautious glance at his wrists, now mostly healed and cuts soon to be gone. "Must've run himself ragged getting you here, because he didn't even know who I was." 

          "He's a fool." Vergil grumbles.  

          "A fool that very likely saved your life." Kyrie answers.  

          Vergil's head snaps up. It speaks to how tunnel-visioned he'd been that he didn't realize Kyrie was there. He bares his teeth, flashing the same fangs he and Dante share before Nero places an appeasing hand on his shoulder.  

          "Relax. This is Kyrie." Nero can't help the smirk on his face. "Your future daughter-in-law." 

          The look he shoots Nero in response is scathing, but a flash of something else lurks in those icy eyes as well. Nero doesn't know his father well enough to read it. "I see." 

          Nero makes an uncomfortable noise. "So, uh.... Vergil, Kyrie. Kyrie, Vergil." 

          "A pleasure." Kyrie says. "I'd offer you a hand, but they're currently covered in soap and blood." 

          Vergil hums. "I understand. And... thank you. For taking care of Dante." 

          "Of course, but we're going to be taking care of you, too, you know." Kyrie freely bestows upon him one of her radiant smiles, and Nero can't help his own lips twitching up in response. "You're next." 

          And dear Sparda, if she doesn't know how to make that sound like a threat. Vergil senses it, too, accepting his fate with the aplomb of a man drowning, taking the olive branch offered without hesitation. Where was that pride from atop the Qliphoth—the pride that wouldn't let him back down even in the throes of defeat? "I would be foolish not to accept."  

          Nero suddenly recalls what V said about wanting to be protected and loved. Dante said V was part of Vergil, and if that was true, then what V said was, too. 

          "Yes, you would." Kyrie says, her tone all too cheery. 

          Vergil glances between both she and Nero, a quirk of his lip the only sign of his mood. Nero can't read it at all. "Nero?" 

          "Yeah?" 

          "I likely haven't the right, but.... If it means anything, I approve." 

          Nero laughs. It's the only thing he can do. He contains the flutter of child-like glee battling with his anger. Vergil left. He missed all of Nero's life, and slew thousands in the process. For some, maybe most of it, he wasn't completely in his right mind. But Vergil is his family, family he never had the chance to know—family who finally explains all the whacked-out shit in his life. 

          He can't help being curious about him. 

          In fact, he's curious about the fact that he mentioned approving of Kyrie at all. The fever likely loosened his lips enough to allow one such comment to pass. The idea makes Nero smile.  

          "Well, that's good. I guess." he says finally. "Not that your disapproval would mean I'd let her go. There's not a single girl on the planet like Kyrie. Still waiting for her to turn around and blink at me wondering how she ended up here." 

          Kyrie snickers. "Doubtful. You're too cute." 

          Nero flushes to the tips of his ears. "Quiet, you. Aren't you supposed to be taking care of Dante?" 

          "Master multitasker. The perks of living with you and three rowdy children." Kyrie quips, a coyer smile twisting her lips than before. Coming from anyone else, Nero might've sassed them back, but for Kyrie, he simply basks in her attention and leans to sneak a quick kiss onto her cheek.  

          "Watch it, mister." 

          Nero grins. "Can't watch it if I don't know what 'it' is." He points a thumb Dante's direction. "Make sure you get behind his ears." 

Chapter Text

          Kyrie hums, a light tune leaving her mouth until she declares her work with Dante as finished as it's going to get. "Nero, would you help your father out of the rest of his gear?" 

          "Right." Nero kinda forgot they'd have to clean Vergil up, too. He turns to face his father. "All right, old man. Up an-" he pauses, blinking when he sees his father passed out cold. His breaths puff in and out with audible difficulty. Nero presses his hand to Vergil's forehead. Wincing, he stands enough to fish the thermometer out of the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and sticks it in his father's mouth. "I think the fever's getting worse, but I don't know how much worse it can really get. He feels too hot for a normal fever already." 

          "I'll make sure his bath is cooler then. Not too cold, since I don't want to put him into shock, if that's even possible for their physiology, but enough to help bring the fever down a little." 

          "You don't think...." Nero eyes his father, stewing in silence until the reader beeps. Nervously, he removes the thermometer. "Fuck. Uh, let's hope this is a half-demon thing, since 115 is not normal. You don't think he can get brain damage, do you?" Worry prickles under Nero's skin. Aside from his time with V, which doesn't really count, he has a sum total of ten whole minutes spent with his father, and most of those were made trying to beat each other senseless. The child in Nero who never had a father recoils at the idea of him changing before Nero ever has a chance to really know him. 

          Kyrie stares, wide-eyed, at the temperature read-out. "Get Dante out of the tub." 

          Nero springs to his feet, plunging his arms into the murky water and lifting his uncle with no small amount of strength. He definitely strains something, but he doesn't care. Did Dante get heavier? 

          "Don't take him anywhere yet." Kyrie orders, laying out a long towel that's still not long enough on the floor by the door. Nero throws a smaller one over his manhood while Kyrie drains the tub to start anew. "Get Vergil out of those clothes." 

          "On it." 

          Nero wrestles with his father's boots, giving the buckled armor a rough jerk. With an almost hysterical laugh, Nero appreciates his father's foresight when he sees the nearly invisible zippers along the sides of his calves. It makes getting his remaining gear off easier than Dante's. Kyrie tests the waters, satisfied, and stands up to open the medicine cabinet. 

          "Get some of this and this down him." she commands, words leaving no room for question.  

          Nero reads the bottles after giving them to him. "Fever meds, and anti-inflammatories? Kyrie, Dante can't even get drunk. I don't know if these are going to help." 

          "It's that or nothing and he needs something, most of which being a hospital, but they wouldn't know what to do with him." 

          She has a point. 

          "Okay." 

          "Besides, running a fever this high, organ failure isn't out of the question for someone normal, but he hasn't lost any functions that I can see, and usually there are signs. If his healing is focused there, then, chances are, the medicine might have time to take some effect before getting burned off." 

          Another good point. 

          "Okay." 

          Kyrie pauses for just a moment, peering at Nero before placing a gentle hand on his face. "Nero." 

          "Yeah?" 

          "Take a deep breath." She smiles when he does so. How is she the calm one? "Good. Now, lift your father into the tub, please. Slowly, just in case he thrashes." 

          Nero collects Vergil into his arms, grimacing at the sticky feeling of sweat and blood through his t-shirt. His father flinches when he touches the water, but otherwise doesn't cause any problems. Blood diffuses into the tub, turning murky enough that Nero feels safe letting Kyrie have a look at him. Their first meeting shouldn't end with her seeing him in the nude. Nero chuckles to himself; he's probably more uncomfortable about it than she is, but hey. Just what he wants is for his future wife to see his father naked. 

          Great. Now that he's thinking about it, he didn't even want to see his father naked. 

          Vergil's eyes flutter open again, unfocused and bright. Nero immediately decides that as long as Vergil survives, he can cope with the trauma. 

          His father stares down at the bloody water until Nero tips his head back against the rim of the tub. "Hey. I don't know how the hell you're conscious right now, but do me a favor and stay awake if you can, okay? Your fever's high enough to fry a human brain, and I'd rather not take chances with yours." 

          "Hm." 

          Nero isn't quite sure how to take that. The noise means absolutely nothing to him, but he supposes it's a response. Vergil's eyes slowly track down the length of his left arm to where Kyrie is cleaning his fingers. His face shutters as he swallows, squeezing his eyes closed. At first, Nero thinks he might slip back under, but eventually, Vergil takes a trembling breath and looks at his son again.  

          In a soft, broken voice, Vergil whispers, "You're not afraid." 

          The young devil hunter gapes, his mouth moving without sound. He heard the desperate pleas from V when he was dying, but that was nothing compared to the quality of his father's voice now. Nero never imagined a person as strong as Vergil could be moved to tears, but he was wrong. 

          For reasons Nero doesn't entirely understand, he reaches out. His hand, his right hand, rests in the crook of his father's neck and shoulder. Nero feels the heat there, the steady throb of his pulse through his fevered body, the damp cold-sweat on his skin, and he smiles. Vergil is here, real, terrifyingly vulnerable, and questioning the existence of a scenario where Nero doesn't see him as a monster. 

          "We're not." 

          Vergil's expression shows nothing, but he allows his head to sink against the tub again and swallows thickly. His brow creases with pain, likely from a pounding headache due to the fever, and he sighs. "I'm sorry, Nero." He shakily brings his free hand to his face, dragging his fingers through his hair. "For so many things. For father's sake, if I had known...." 

          Something within Nero warms. Vergil hadn't purposely abandoned him. 

          The wayward son of Sparda grimaces. "How ironic. My father left, mother died, and both Dante and I grew up alone. Now, this." He drops his hand, only to have his fingers caught lightly in Kyrie's. "Driven as I was at that age, I don't know that I would've changed my plans in the long run, but I'd have kept you." 

          Nero glances at Kyrie. Would they ever have met if Vergil took him instead? The alternative is unbearable. 

          He's suddenly... not glad, per se, that he grew up without parents, but endlessly grateful for the people he met because of their absence. Life kinda uber-sucked in the orphanage, but after Credo and Kyrie took him in, things were okay. For the most part. "It wasn't all bad, but thank you." 

          In all honesty, he expected to have to drag such an apology out of the old man. 

          "You should really rest now, okay?" Kyrie says, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before resuming her cleaning. "Nero, could you towel down Dante before the water dries back onto him? I think Mister Vergil and I can get along for a few minutes while you get him situated, can't we?" 

          Vergil's lip twitches. "I believe so, yes." 

          Oddly enough, it reminds Nero of his father's smile and laugh at the top of the Qliphoth, so very subtle in comparison. It's amusement. Nero nearly grins openly upon figuring it out. 

          Such a silly victory. 

          Nero tilts his head when he hears Vergil and Kyrie talking quietly, but doesn't dwell as he kneels beside his uncle. Dante's pallor is greatly improved by a distinct lack of congealed demon blood. Nero runs a towel over his skin, picking up the remaining bloodied water. While he's drying Dante's hair, he notes the legendary devil hunter is in need of a shave, but no more than he did when Nero last saw him. How long did it take for the twins to grow any kind of facial hair? 

          Come to think of it, Nero hasn't grown any either.... Huh. 

          He hadn't thought about it before. 

          Once Dante is some semblance of dry, Nero tiptoes into the living room to check inside the box Kyrie put out for him. Inside are the only casual clothes Credo ever owned, among other things: his favorite t-shirts, which there are four of, hair gel that probably still smells faintly of Credo to this day, two pairs of sweatpants that were order-issued for training days, a disc with his favorite album on it, and a bronze bracelet. Nero slides a careful finger over the intricate band. Kyrie gave this to Credo when they were children. 

          Nero shakes himself free before his heart can swell into his throat and snags two sets of clothing. Credo wasn't quite the twins' height, but it was a close thing, and the lounge clothes should make up for the difference. 

          He slips back into the bathroom after checking down the street to make sure the kids aren't on the way home. 

          "Find what you needed?" Kyrie asks.  

          "Yeah. Enough to keep them out of the nude while we get their gear cleaned up." Nero sneaks a glance at his father, who seems to be amidst another lapse in consciousness. "He okay?" 

          Kyrie nods. "I think so. I mean, as well as he can be. Before he fell asleep, I managed to get him to drink a little more." 

          "Good." 

          "You should see if you can't get Dante to drink a bit, too. He hasn't shown any signs of waking up since you got here, but if he's burned out, he'll need the fluids." 

          Nero agrees, filling up the water glass again and dragging his uncle to sit upright against the sink cabinet. Yup. He definitely feels heavier than before. Weird. He's heard demons absorb power from blood, and he saw as much himself in the Qliphoth, so maybe a little rest helped him... digest? Nero has no idea. 

          Unlike his father, Dante does not drink without issue. 

          "Can't get him to drink." 

          "Massage his throat. It'll encourage him to swallow." 

          Nero follows her instruction, helping his uncle to the best of his ability. Dante doesn't make it easy. Story of my life.  

          After five minutes of struggling, Nero finally manages to get half the glass of water down Dante's throat. He clothes his uncle, taking care to avert his eyes when putting pants on him even knowing the man is shameless. 

          "Okay. Now, where are we gonna put them?" 

          "Our bedroom for now." 

          Nero nearly laughs. He might've if Kyrie wasn't serious. "You want me to carry my uncle up the stairs?" 

          Kyrie lifts a brow. "Do you have a better place that's out of the way, and out of sight for the children? As far as I know, ours is the only room in the house that ever sees any privacy." 

          The devil hunter sighs. "There's always the linen closet." 

          The look Kyrie shoots him is unimpressed. "Nero." 

          "Fine, fine. I'm going. If you hear a crash, that's me dying because Dante is heavy and I fell over backwards." 

          "Be careful." 

          "I'll try." Nero turns his uncle to the side, pulling Dante from behind and heaving with all his might. By the time he wrangled Dante around yet again, he's not sure stairs are such a good idea. "You're gonna make me DT in my own house, aren't you?" he pants. Right as he's about to do it, he has a thought. "Duh. Extra hands." 

          Nero puffs out his spectral arms, the ethereal limbs providing the necessary support to carry his uncle. He wishes he thought of this an hour ago. 

          Dante's head falls against his shoulder, still somewhat wet. His hair softly brushes Nero's neck, making him consciously swallow down a flutter of nerves. His father and uncle are the two most powerful people probably on the entire planet. Who would've thought Nero, whose demon blood is a mere half of theirs, would be taking care of them. Of course, it also has Nero wondering how Dante found him. He wasn't even at home. No way he followed an address. Even though he tried to kill Nero, the fact that he crash-landed right next to him as opposed to literally anywhere else cannot be coincidence. 

          "Here we are, Dante." Nero murmurs, dropping Dante on the far side of the bed. 

          The legendary devil hunter immediately curls on himself, looking remarkably similar to Vergil when he'd done the same earlier. "Vergil."  

          For both brothers' peace of mind, Nero resolves to hasten Vergil's bath and get them into the same space. He's never heard Dante sound so scared before. Which, yeah, if Nero had a brother and he killed him—or thought he did—then he'd be concerned about his sick sibling's whereabouts, too. 

          Right as Nero reaches the door, he feels the change in the air. Coming from demons, it's funny, but the scent of fear on his uncle tastes sour in the younger man's mouth.

          "You can't take him away."  

          Maybe they have some sort of twin radar. Nero returns to the bedside, sitting down next to Dante. He doesn't even know if the older hunter can hear him, but speaks anyway with a reassuring hand in his. "No one's taking him away. We're helping him and you'll be together again soon. Just rest." 

          Dante calms. 

          These two absolute idiots are breaking Nero's heart. 

          He stays beside his uncle, pondering over irrelevant things until Kyrie calls him down to get his father out of the tub and into some clothing. Nero hefts Vergil over the rim with some effort and treats him with the same care he did Dante. To his great relief, the fever feels lessened now. Much like with Dante, he's heavier than before, too. Nero glances back at the tub. 

          "Kyrie, shouldn't the water be... I dunno. Redder?" 

          She frowns at the tub. "I suppose so. I didn't rinse it between, so most of the blood from Dante should've still been in it." 

          So, Vergil absorbed the excess blood that Dante couldn't and what had been plastered all over himself, because the other twin was already gorged. Nero gives an exasperated shake of his head. "These two are weird. I mean, my Devil Bringer absorbed some pretty wacky shit, but full-on blood?" It's not like he hasn't seen red orbs before, but they never increased his body mass. Did they? 

          And that raises another question. If it did, do the effects wear off? Like, if Nero weighed himself right after a job compared to a few hours later, would his weight change? 

          "Why did you ask?" 

          Nero shrugs. "Both twins are heavier than they were when I first dragged them out of the van." 

          Kyrie is too polite to blink and call him crazy, but after another discrete look at the bathwater, she chooses not to respond. She accompanies Nero up to their room, quietly observing when he places his father beside Dante. 

          The response is immediate, and insanely adorable. Not that Nero would say so out loud even under the threat of death, since he'd probably get stabbed for it. 

          He's been stabbed for less. Never make fun of a guy with a stutter. 

          Vergil's tail makes another appearance, coiling around Dante and pulling him until the younger twin is curled safely in Vergil's grip. A purr rumbles from Dante's chest. Nero nearly busts out laughing when he sees the wide-eyed look on Kyrie's face. 

          "Is it weird to say they're cute?" 

          The question surprises a laugh out of Nero anyway. "Not really." 

          Kyrie smiles, pulling the blanket over both of them. She leaves for a minute and comes back with a damp towel for Vergil's forehead. The elder half-devil shudders when the cold touches his face, but he doesn't fight. With both twins suitably reassured, Nero feels a slight bit safer allowing Kyrie so close. 

          "I should start working on their gear. It'll take me a while to get all the blood out." 

          "Okay. I'll keep an eye on them. Give me a shout when the kids get home, and I'll make dinner, okay?" 

          Kyrie starts to protest.  

          Nero puts his hands on her shoulders. "Nothing doing. You just bathed both my father and uncle. That's enough for one day. I'll make dinner. I promise, I won't burn down the kitchen without your express say-so." 

          "All right. Tell me if your father's fever worsens." 

          "I will. Now, go on." 

          Kyrie pecks his cheek and leaves him to watch over his wayward family members. Nero pulls Kyrie's reading chair closer to the bed and kicks his feet up on the edge. Vergil shouldn't mind too much. He's unconscious, after all. And if he does mind, then he's an asshole. Nero brought both him and his obnoxious brother into his house, and he can damn well put his feet on all the furniture he likes. 

          Nero shakes himself from his musing with a rueful smile. Here he is fantasizing about fighting with his old man. This family really is a glutton for punishment. 

          At least, he comes by it honestly. 

          The young devil hunter glances at his bedside table. His father's book rests in the drawer; he knows. Maybe.... A scoff falls from his lips. Their situation is backwards. Vergil should be the one reading him the bedtime story. Or not. Nero is an adult. He doesn't want or need such childish things. He doesn't. Does he?  

          Nero grabs the book and opens it to the first poem. He's a filthy liar. 

          It feels so strange—so awkward—that, even though his father and uncle are asleep, he blushes furiously when he reads. Nero speaks softly, shoulders inching toward his ears until he relaxes a few poems in. 

          His father may not necessarily deserve this moment of peace, but Nero feels an inexplicable desire to grant it to him all the same. Vergil went with Dante to cut down the roots. While it wouldn't bring back those who died, it was a step in the proper direction. It was the beginning of an attempt to correct his mistake, even if on the Qliphoth he said it was only so he and Dante could settle their score. 

          Maybe they did, too. They seem awfully friendly now, curled up with one another—afraid to let go. Vergil said he wouldn't have left him behind if he'd known, but the image before him of his father wrapped protectively around his younger brother might just be proof. 

Chapter Text

          Dante and Vergil recover slowly. After a couple sleepless nights on the couch and a scant few hours of sleep at their bedside, Nero is ready to dropkick them down the stairs.

          Kyrie helps. She helps a lot. Every time he becomes impatient with their current state, she gently reminds him they just spent months wading through the underworld and its countless hordes of demons. In fact, his father's fluctuating fever reminds him almost as often. He wakes several times, but Nero notes with a tinge of disappointment that he's not nearly as coherent as the days before. 

          Not to mention his nightmares. Nero takes distinct displeasure in the taste of fear now, and whoever Mundus is, Nero wants to bash his face in.  

          On day three, Vergil's fever finally breaks. Unsurprisingly, he's pretty weak, but he manages to drink a glass of water at Nero's request and sits still enough for a quick check-up from Kyrie. The dark slayer doesn't complain, but he most certainly is not a fan of the treatment. For good measure, she makes him take a little more medicine. His expression sours at the taste, but again, he doesn't protest. 

          He peers down at his tail where it still sits curled around his brother, glances at Nero, then decides he does not care. 

          "We managed to get him to drink a little broth yesterday, but he's a stubborn bastard." 

          Vergil's lip twitches in that cryptic way of his. "Yes." 

          "Kyrie's making more for today. Both of you are running on empty aside from what water we made you drink, but go easy on it. I don't know when you two ate last." 

          "How long have we been here?" 

          Nero shrugs. "A few days. Aside from both of you jumping me, you've been on your best behavior. Which, don't get me wrong, is not a problem, but it's starting to freak me the hell out. You kinda raise hell everywhere else you go, and I can't help waiting for the other shoe to drop." 

          Vergil's gaze sharpens. "Jumping you?" 

          "You don't remember pouncing on me in the bathroom?" 

          His perturbed silence says he does not. It takes a few tries of him opening his mouth without speaking, but eventually, he says, "You are... uninjured?" 

          "Good as new. Dante nearly ripped me a new one when I first found you, but you were about as effective as a kitten the other day." Nero rubs the back of his neck, suddenly coming to the realization that if Vergil doesn't remember what happened, then he might not remember telling Nero he would've kept him. No better way to double-check than to start an incredibly awkward conversation. 

          "Did I... you, uh-" Nero's words stall. Talking to Vergil when he was sick was easier than this. It was easier than looking up and seeing those sharp eyes digging into his very being. "You didn't...." 

          Vergil tilts his head toward the window. 

          Was he trying to avoid him? Nero bristles, but that's only until he realizes Vergil isn't looking out the window at all. His attention is focused solely on his little brother beside him, pressed up against his side as close as he can get. Vergil's tail shifts slightly lower, releasing its crushing pressure on Dante's chest in trade for his stomach. 

          The measure of care reassures Nero and allows him to ask his question, but for whatever reason, he can't bring himself to look his father in the eye when he does so. "Did you know about me?" 

          "No." 

          Silence falls between them. 

          Nero fidgets, brushing at his nose in the tense moment and staring at the door practically begging Kyrie to rescue him from this. She does not. "Do you remember her?" 

          Vergil exhales through his nose, drawing his son's eyes back to him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. "Not clearly. Many of those memories were taken from me." 

          "Taken?" 

          The icy look Vergil shoots him freezes Nero to the spot. He does not want to talk about it, and no amount of prying, prodding, or picking otherwise will get him to open up. Nero resists the urge to wilt in his seat, but only just. All these years, and neither him nor his father have any idea who his mother was. Nero wonders if Vergil's missing memories have to do with that Mundus guy, but he's quite certain asking about it will only make his father clam up if that's the case. 

          "What do you remember?" 

          Vergil frowns, brows knitting together. "From Fortuna?" 

          "I guess." 

          "I sought information from the Order's library, but had no efficient way in. Outsiders are strictly prohibited." A soft noise of pain leaves his throat. It's that his-head-hurts look again. "She offered me passage, but I can't...." 

          Nero perks up. He remembers needing her help, but not her? 

          "I remember that night." 

          "That night?" 

          Vergil's lips quirk up into a smirk. "Surely, you're not interested in the lurid details of the night of your conception." 

          Nero sputters, realizing too late his father is teasing him for his innocent curiosity. "I-" 

          "She was quite... creative." 

          "Stop!" Nero covers his eyes, as though that will ever rid him of the image of his father getting it on with some random female from the Order. "Fuck you. I'm gonna need to bleach my eyes." 

          Vergil keeps a straight face, the bastard. "I said nothing of our time together, so I hardly see that as my fault." 

          "It's the implication." 

          "Your imagination." 

          Nero scowls at his father, and the silence between them now falls even more awkwardly than before. Vergil's levity fades and he returns his attention to Dante, observing the steady rise and fall of his chest. Jealousy pangs through Nero yet again for the subtle display of attention. Would he and his father ever be close enough for Vergil to care like that? 

          Scolding himself, Nero sits back in his chair. 

          "I am sorry, Nero." Vergil murmurs, gaze never leaving his brother. Anyone else might bear a tender expression while moving Dante's hair out of his eyes, but he remains impassive. "For hurting you." 

          "You apologizing to me, or to Dante?" Nero retorts, not about to let his father get away with hiding from him. He wants his father to look him in the eye and say it. 

          Vergil hums. "It may well be both."  

          He turns his attention on Nero, crystalline shards of ice burning into him in the face of Nero's wordless challenge. Vergil is proud. Nero knows that, and there's no better way to take advantage of it than to imply he's a coward. Unless it backfires. Nero prays it doesn't backfire. 

          "He will likely apologize as well when he wakes, but until then, on both our behalf, I'm sorry." 

          Nero nearly gapes. He's not sure why. He got what he wanted after all, but he at least expected to have to fight for it. Hell, he fought for his father's respect on the Qliphoth. Why would he think this would be any different? As far as Nero can tell, this family fights over anything and everything. Vergil peers at him, one corner of his mouth twitching into some blank maybe-expression again. Indignation at his passivity flares in Nero, but he never acts on it, instead content to stare his father down in a battle of wills. 

          And the ridiculous part is? He enjoys it. It means he has his father's attention.  

          So stupid. 

          "Such a stubborn child." Vergil speaks, a definite smirk on his face. "How blind I was not to have realized sooner, but in my defense, Dante was quite protective of you." 

          "Protective?" 

          Vergil cocks a brow. "When his own strength was failing he attempted to get you to leave the Qliphoth, or don't you recall?" 

          Nero clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Oh, I recall. I recall that asshole calling me deadweight and having V drag me out of there against my will when I could've been helping him." It hurt. Nero's deflates a little. It hurt a lot, because he'd proved to Dante he could handle himself, and it hurt because it felt like Dante had lost faith in him. 

          And more than that, it hurt because Nero knew they were family somehow. Dante directly implied it when he gave Nero the Yamato, so after growing up in an orphanage being told no one wanted him and then having those words come from someone who might've been his father stung.  

          Something touches his cheek, infinitely gentler than anything he's ever felt. Nero sucks in a sharp breath, lifting his eyes to Vergil. 

          Vergil wipes the tears from his face, his countenance unreadable. "He didn't mean to hurt you." 

          Objectively, Nero knows. It was obvious when they met up again Dante regretting saying such a thing, but he never explained even when Nero asked what he meant. He just left. They both had in the end. 

          Nero stares down at the floor, distantly aware he's on his way to a breakdown. His voice is tight. "Every time I tried to help, he left me behind, and then he finally tells me the truth after five fucking years, and he leaves again. And then you both left me on top of the Qliphoth, and I-" Nero chokes on a sob he can't fight. "I.... Am I really so awful?" 

          "Nero...." 

          Nero splays his hands, turning his face away in shame. This is so stupid. His father is just barely recovered from his own sickness, and Dante is still comatose, and here Nero sits, throwing his own loathing and self-doubt on top of them. 

          Someone pulls him from his chair and into their arms, kneeling with him on the floor. Nero sobs, distress wringing broken noises out of his throat against his wishes. Whoever has ahold of him strokes his hair, hardly a balm for the swirl of emotion in his chest and yet a steady anchor all the same. He has no idea how long it takes before he recognizes rocking movement.  

          He's being rocked like a child. 

          Nero takes as deep a breath as he can, his sinuses clogged and his nose running. He furiously blinks back tears, pushing at the person in front of him. They hold fast.  

          "Hush, my nestling. It is all right." 

          It's Vergil. The one caring for him is Vergil, out of bed when shouldn't be and quietly reassuring him even in spite of his own weakness. Nero keens. He presses against his father's chest with almost desperate abandon and hates himself for it. He's an adult and took care of himself all his life. He's not supposed to need this. 

          Another voice, softer, joins them on the floor. "Verge? What's going on?" 

          Fuck. Now Dante's awake to see him like this, too. 

          "He believes we do not want him." 

          "Aw, kid." Dante says softly, resting a warm hand on Nero's back, then moving it to his neck, then to the side of his head, and suddenly Nero feels gentle pressure on top of his hair.  

          His only clue is the bristle of his uncle's scruffy facial hair.  

          A second pressure at his temple, this time without said bristle, indicates similar treatment from his father. "We would never have left you had it not been necessary to ensure the separation of the underworld from the human world." 

          Dante's hand rubs up and down his back in soothing lines. "I'm sorry we made you feel unwanted, kiddo." 

          For once, Nero doesn't mind being called kiddo.  

          Vergil meets his brother's eyes over Nero's head, a silent agreement crossing between the twins. Something decidedly new unfurls in his chest, something he swore to himself ages ago he'd never allow himself to feel again: love. It is love for the boy in his arms—this hot-headed and kind-hearted child he never had the chance to know. 

          He does not have the right, but he feels pride swell within him, light and freeing. 

          "You are ours, Nero." Vergil whispers, resting his chin on top of his son's head. "And we will not let you go." 

          Vergil said once he learned how important everything he threw away was. He would not so recklessly cast aside that which was his, whether he knew it belonged to him or not. 

          Dante's smirk says many things. "Ours, huh? Finally learned to share?" 

          "Just this once, Dante." 

          Nero chokes out a laugh, buries his face in his father's chest, and allows the twins to soothe the hurt he didn't realize he was still nursing. 

          Dante's smile is genuine when he hears a comforting purr rumbling from his big brother's chest. 

          You did good, Verge.  

          You did good.