Chapter Text
Bleeding.
His father was bleeding.
Face twisted up into a pained expression, Vergil groaned from where he lay sprawled against annihilated chunks of earth. His perfectly styled swath of white hair was matted with streaks of scarlet. Long, unforgiving slashes marred his jacket, gleaming bits of whitened bone poking through the impressive tears.
Nero clutched his father's hands to his chest in desperation, tears rolling unfettered down his cheeks.
“Father,” he whimpered, fingers trembling as he tightened his grip.
“Nero,” Vergil sighed impassively, affixing his son with a frighteningly agonized glare. “You couldn't save me.”
“I tried!” Nero insisted. “Please, please, father, I tried!”
A shuddering breath escaped Vergil's collapsed lungs. “You were never good enough…” he accused, rejection glowing in his ethereal eyes. Nero slammed his own shut as guilt coursed through him.
“I'm sorry,” he whimpered, feeling pathetic as a gossamer trail of fresh tears tracked down his face. “I'm sorry.”
Vergil's eyes closed for the last time as a gasp clawed its way out of his mangled throat.
Cold dread seized Nero’s heart in an unforgiving grasp. “Dad?” he pleaded, fingers convulsing around the limp weight of Vergil's hands in his.
The corpse held tightly in his arms offered no response. The lonely sting of loss strangled Nero's breath as he wailed.
“Please, please, don't leave me again!”
—
A raw scream tore its way out of Nero's mouth. Hands clawing forward in rage and distress, the young hunter forced his eyes open, growling as he was met with looming darkness on all sides. A fretful search for his demonic power turned up a faint, sputtering flame of fury glowing faintly in his chest. Nero clutched at the weakened energy and let it wash over him, feeling familiar scales slot into place over his body as spectral arms flared into existence and punched into surrounding walls.
“Take it easy!” someone roared. Nero felt hands press against his sternum, connecting with an aching thrum as his healing ribs contracted against the firm touch.
“Let me go!” Nero snarled, voice rough and slurred with disuse. He didn't have time for more demons. He needed to get to his father. He needed to keep him safe. “Vergil!”
“Vergil is fine,” the same exasperated voice emphasized. “But you won't be if you keep triggering every time you wake up!”
“I won't let you hurt him,” Nero spat, fury coursing through his overworked muscles. Agony clawed at the edges of his vision as he felt his strength rapidly fail him.
“I am unharmed.”
The fight left Nero instantaneously, limbs sagging against what he distantly realized must be some sort of couch as he dropped his Trigger and sank into the press of unassuming fabric. As his yellow, slitted eyes returned to their distinctively human awareness, Nero strained to focus in on a figure leaned stiffly against a nearby wall.
The sight of the Yamato’s sleek, elegant sheath told Nero immediately who it was.
“Vergil,” he breathed, allowing the remaining reserves of frantic, bubbling anger to seep from his exhausted body.
“Yes,” his father affirmed solemnly.
Nero offered no more complaints as his weighted eyes lidded shut. The feeling of something soft and familiar caressing its way up his aching chest before settling over him told Nero he was being wrapped in a blanket. A low murmur of gratitude wheezed past his lips as he allowed sleep to claim him once more.
—
A hand was stroking through his hair. The touch was careful, measured, and laden with an emotion so strikingly powerful that Nero felt his breath catch before he even came into full awareness. Unthinkingly, he leaned into the delicate movements, a rumbling noise echoing through his chest as he pressed his head against his unknown caregiver.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” A familiar chuckle reverberated throughout the stillness of the room, ricocheting off of the newly gouged marks in the walls.
“Dante,” Nero murmured, brain foggy as he kept himself ensnared against his uncle's gentle ministrations. “You're alright?”
“Of course I am, kid,” Dante assured him. An undercurrent of guilt cut through his tone. “Thanks to you.”
A grin lazily fell across Nero's peaceful features. “You're welcome, old man,” he croaked.
Dante ruffled his nephew's hair a final time before leaning back.
Nero would later deny the sad, forlorn noise he practically mewled out as his disheveled, confused form sought after the disappearing traces of familial comfort.
“Get a grip, kid,” Dante laughed, nudging at Nero's shoulder with a gloved hand. “Got someone who wants to make sure you can still stand up.”
“I'm fine,” Nero protested weakly, throwing a hand against his forehead as he felt the distant throb of a headache welcome him back into full wakefulness. As an afterthought, he added, “what truck ran me over?”
Dante winced, hand grasping at the back of his neck. “Might be the sword you got stabbed through your chest,” he explained, a haunted look crossing briefly through his features.
Nero groaned. “Of course, when you and Vergil get stabbed you gain incredible powers,” he growled sullenly. “I just get stabbed.”
Dante barked out a genuine laugh at that, hand clapping down against his nephew's shoulder. “There's an important difference, kid,” he chuckled.
Nero swatted his uncle's fingers away and swung himself into an upright position, bursts of color erupting at the edges of his vision. Nausea gripped his painfully empty stomach.
“Ugh,” he groaned, cheeks paling. “Whatever I did, remind me to never do it again.”
“I couldn't agree more,” Dante snarked, carefree charm smothering the persistent crackle of dismay prevalent in his gruff voice.
Nero hobbled upright, Dante hastening to his side to make sure the injured hunter could stand. A whisper of thanks fell from Nero's lips as he steadied himself against his uncle's sturdy chest.
When it no longer felt like the floor wanted to aggressively make out with him, Nero delicately pushed himself away from Dante's reassuring arms. Planting his feet into the dirty floor, Nero sucked in a breath and cast his gaze resolutely forward.
“Well,” he announced, limbs shaking with exertion, “I can still stand, I guess.”
Dante offered his nephew a dramatized slow clap. “Well done,” he praised sarcastically.
Nero only picked up on the sounds of approaching footsteps because of his slowly returning demonic senses. The otherwise silent, stealthy movements were completely untraceable. Nero’s heart leapt. He recognized the careful steps a mere moment before the owner of said strides appeared from behind a corner.
Vergil stood stock still, light tread faltering as his eyes raked over the standing form of his son. Nero was surprised to see stark relief flood his father's carefully schooled features.
Nero opened his mouth to say something, closing it again as his father suddenly lurched forward.
“Nero,” Vergil exclaimed, the single word weighted with a cacophony of indiscernible, thickened emotions.
A beat passed, and then Nero was abruptly enveloped fully in a pair of strong, unrelenting arms that were wrapping decisively, desperately around his back.
Shock pervaded Nero's newly awakened system in a cold, confused wave. His arms were planted awkwardly out in front of him as if he were trying to hold back the unstoppable force that was his determined father.
“My son,” Vergil whispered, the words falling from his lips like a prayer and burrowing themselves into Nero’s neck from where they were first uttered. A tremor was woven into the solemn, heartfelt declaration.
In a single, explosive moment, Nero felt the carefully constructed dam of his entangled emotions forcefully break apart within his addled mind. A flood of suppressed, suffocating familial desire surged forth, seizing his dry throat and probing at his stiffened fingers until they snapped free of Nero's unsurety and hastened to bundle themselves around his father's shoulders.
“Dad,” he cried in response, term pulled from his mouth before he could think to stop it.
Vergil's hold tightened impossibly closer as a startled gasp fled from between his lips. One quivering hand entrenched itself in Nero's messy hair while the other splayed tightly against his son's spine.
“I'm here,” he soothed, voice wavering. “I'm here, Nero.”
A sob burst forth from Nero’s chest, equal parts relief and embarrassment fighting for dominance in his mind. He swayed unsteadily on his feet as a tiny, aching part of his soul reached out for his father.
Arms came around from behind him, anchoring Nero in place as the unmistakable scruff of Dante's persistent beard scratched against the back of his neck.
“You're okay, kid,” his uncle muttered, voice heavy with some unnamed emotion.
Nero nodded, eyes squeezed shut as he breathed in raggedly. The sharp, powerful scent of his father permeated his senses and wove blissful solace into his limbs. He nuzzled his nose further into the offered comfort, sobs quieting as what little energy he had drained from him.
Vergil noticed the change, straightening abruptly, hands perched on Nero's shoulders. “You need to rest,” he instructed firmly, guiding his son back to the couch. Nero went willingly, mind a haze and limbs too weary to protest.
“You two are just adorable,” Dante sighed, yelping violently a second later as a spectral sword shot forward and into the top of his foot. Vergil ignored the pointed middle fingers gestured his way, eyes staring intently at his son as Nero eased himself back onto the couch.
“Thanks,” he muttered softly, dazed expression overtaking his features.
Vergil nodded once. His hands slid from his son's shoulders, coming to rest at Nero's wrists.
Nero tensed. A shudder passed through him as he flinched, a rippling echo of pain pulsing through his right arm as a muffled cry dropped from between his teeth.
Vergil jerked back, a flicker of remorse eclipsing his features for a solitary moment. His mouth was set in a grim line as he shifted, movements lithe and steady as he draped the discarded blanket back around his son's shoulders.
“Rest,” he repeated somberly, a glimmer of something particularly melancholy prevalent in his harsh features.
“I’m sorry,” Nero muttered, face awash with shame as he hastened to burrow his trembling wrist below the gray folds of Dante's shoddy blanket.
Vergil snapped to attention as he registered the meek weight of his son's apology, brows furrowed and expression borderline angry as his icy gaze raked down Nero's face. “Why?”
Nero jolted, caught entirely off guard by the sharpness of his father's sudden inquiry. He shrugged, disappearing further within his fabric sanctuary as he averted his gaze. “You were right,” he admitted bitterly, “it's a weakness.”
“One that I gave you,” Vergil reminded him fiercely, eyes flashing with a quality that greatly unsettled Nero. “One you wouldn't have otherwise.”
Nero sat up more fully, tired blue eyes brimming with rapt attention as incredulousness flickered across his face. “What?” he whispered, shocked.
“I do not regret taking back Yamato,” Vergil clarified, cheekbones hardened into chiseled points as his jaw worked furiously below his clipped tone. “It is unfortunate, that it had to come at such a high price.”
Speechless, Nero sat back against the couch, the sensation of antiquated leather clinging to his clammy skin keeping him tethered to sanity. His right hand fisted itself within the blanket, shaking with exertion from how tightly it was gripping the textured cloth. Breaths ragged, Nero swiped at his nose with his left hand, struggling to school his features as the looming threat of exhausted tears began to pool in his eyes.
“Dad…” he choked out, far too weary to rein in the solitary plea.
Vergil's reaction was nigh instantaneous as he shushed his offspring, fingers trembling. With far less grace than he typically conducted himself with, Vergil sank into the couch cushions, eyes trained resolutely upon his son’s bundled form.
“Sleep,” he suggested, clearing his throat to dispel a sound that Nero elected to ignore. “I will be here when you wake.”
“And I'll be here, too,” Dante chimed in, hopping around on one foot as he impatiently waited for his undeserved injury to dissipate.
Vergil spared his twin a childish sneer and was quickly rewarded with a wagging tongue for his efforts.
Nero giggled softly at the pretentious display, eyelids fluttering weakly as his damaged body began to return to the tempting solitude of unconsciousness. Almost instinctually, as his limbs loosened and his grip on reality slackened, Nero allowed his head to drop onto Vergil's shoulder, face burrowing into the patterned jacket as a pleased hum left his mouth.
Vergil's face flamed at the beaming grin Dante was sending him, only just refraining from leaping off the couch and wiping the smirk off his brother's face himself.
Dante plopped himself down on Vergil's unoccupied side, slotting himself in place and dropping a hand into his brother's hair. “Now you can relax,” he muttered. “Your son is gonna be just fine.”
Vergil breathed out a heaving sigh, moving an arm to wrap it around Nero's shoulders. “Sleep,” he commanded gently at his son's groggy, questioning noise.
“Don't mind if I do,” Dante preened, elbowing Vergil in the gut as he got himself more comfortable. A low growl escaped his brother's throat, but it died in his chest as Nero whined on his path to slumber.
Vergil shushed him, pressing a kiss to Nero's hair.
“You're a big softie,” Dante crooned, knocking heads with his brother as he yawned.
“Foolishness, Dante,” Vergil hissed, his voice lacking its usual bite. Before he could change his mind, he looped his free arm around his twin’s shoulders and tugged him in closer.
Dante sighed, pressed his nose against Vergil's shoulder, and began snoring obnoxiously.
Annoyance prickled at Vergil's skin, but only just so. He allowed careful, tentative contentment to warm his limbs as he settled his eyes closed, feeling the reassuring press of his living son's breath against his shoulder and the beat of his twin's heart against his own chest.