Chapter Text
The shop was never quiet these days—not with Nero dropping in whenever he pleased, not with Eva insisting on “family nights,” and certainly not with Dante’s booming laughter echoing through the walls.
Nero had gotten… comfortable.
“Dad, pass me the salt,” Nero said casually one evening, not even looking up from his plate as Eva ladled soup into bowls.
Vergil froze. The saltshaker almost slipped through his fingers, though he managed to keep his composure. “…Here.” His voice was steady, but his ears burned faintly pink.
Eva noticed. She hid her smile behind her spoon. Sparda caught her eye, grinning knowingly.
Meanwhile, Dante nearly choked on his breadstick. “Wait, wait, wait. Did you just— Dad?”
Nero smirked, stabbing his fork into his meal. “Yeah. What of it, old man?”
Dante slammed his hand on the table. “Old man? I’m the cool uncle! That’s literally my thing. You can’t—”
“Uncle Dante,” Nero interrupted sweetly, leaning on the table with his cheek resting in his palm. His tone dripped with exaggerated innocence. “Could you maybe get me a soda from the fridge?”
Dante beamed instantly, bolting upright. “Ha! He said it! See? I am the uncle! Vergil, you hear that?” He strutted to the fridge, muttering, “Cool uncle, reliable uncle…”
Nero and Sparda exchanged a look, both smirking.
“Gramps, is he always this easy?” Nero asked.
Sparda chuckled. “Every single time.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Vergil muttered under his breath, though his hand twitched at his side like he wanted to ruffle Nero’s hair.
Eva swooped in with perfect timing, planting a kiss on Nero’s temple as she set a fresh slice of pie in front of him. “Eat up, sweetheart. You’re still too thin. Boys your age should be hearty, strong!”
Nero groaned, cheeks puffing up as he poked the crust with his fork. “Grandma…”
Dante popped the soda onto the table and nearly doubled over laughing. “Oh-ho-ho! Grandma! Mom, you hear that? You’ve officially hit grandma status!”
Eva only smiled serenely, unbothered. “And I’m proud of it. I’ve waited far too long to hear it.” She leaned over, cupping Nero’s face. “Say it again.”
Nero flushed, squirming. “Grandma—stop it!”
Vergil’s lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smirk. He savored the moment, even as Dante teased Nero mercilessly.
The weeks rolled into months.
Vergil took Nero on long training sessions, pushing him to refine his instincts, but more often than not, they ended with Vergil subtly correcting Nero’s stance and then pulling him into a half-hug when the boy’s frustration boiled over.
Eva made sure Nero never left her kitchen unfed. Sparda spoiled him with new gear—sometimes practical, sometimes ridiculous (a “family crest” buckle that Dante mocked endlessly).
And Dante? Dante made it his mission to keep Nero blushing.
One afternoon, Dante spotted Nero and Vergil sitting side by side on the shop couch. Nero’s head had slumped onto Vergil’s shoulder, dozing after a long mission. Vergil sat perfectly still, book in hand, eyes pretending to scan the page while one arm had sneaked protectively around his son’s back.
Dante tiptoed closer, grinning wickedly. “Awwww. Look at you two. Adorable.”
Vergil’s eyes flicked up, sharp as blades. “Say a word, and you’ll regret it.”
“Oh, Uncle Dante…” Nero mumbled groggily without opening his eyes. “Shut up.”
Dante clutched his chest dramatically. “Uncle Dante. He said it without asking for something. Vergil, did you hear? The boy’s growing up!”
Vergil’s glare darkened. “Leave.”
Dante cackled.
That night, Nero sat at the dinner table, cheeks pink as Eva smothered him with hugs after dessert. Sparda was telling a story about when Vergil and Dante were children—something involving a frog, a broken vase, and an exasperated Eva—and everyone was laughing so hard Dante nearly fell off his chair.
And through the chaos, Nero leaned back in his seat, resting his chin on his hand, his cheeks squished from Eva’s affection, his father seated beside him with quiet pride, his grandpa roaring with laughter, his uncle making a fool of himself.
And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.