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Kyrie had been the one to answer the phone because Nero had been outside, wrangling the kids. He and Kyrie agreed that someone had to be supervising them when they were playing. Otherwise, there was the danger that one or two could wander too far.
Nero took the job seriously. He had been watching when one of the orphans, laughing and whooping, had run away from the others into a thicket of trees, and it was barely another second before he’d quickly risen and started after her. He had been leading her back to the others when he heard Kyrie calling for him– "Nero! Phone!"
When he'd come inside, keeping one eye on the window for the rest of the children, she'd handed it to him with a resigned little smile that told him who it was even before she said, half-apologetically, "Dante."
The call had been brief. Nero had not been receptive. It was a shitty reason to leave Fortuna.
“Are you sure?” Kyrie asked before dinner, after he’d told her as much.
"Sure am. It's a dumb idea.”
Kyrie tilted her head and looked at him. She looked sad, and that made him hasten to say, “Really. I don't want to."
"I don’t know, Nero,” she said quietly. “I think if you were…”
She paused, and then brought a hand up to cup his face, gently running her thumb over his cheekbone. Nero blinked down at her and felt a familiar surge of fierce, protective affection.
“Then you wouldn't look so conflicted,” she said. “Like thinking about it is tearing you up."
Nero took a sharp breath. There were no words he’d ever been able to find to describe how it made him feel when she saw through so easily to his heart. “Kyrie…”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Kyrie said.
“Yeah,” Nero said. “I know.”
She smiled at him, and then they had to call the kids to the kitchen to eat.
That night he was awake to stare at the moonlight coming through the window. Kyrie lay asleep in bed beside him. He looked up at the ceiling and thought again about what Dante had said.
"Goddamnit,” he murmured to himself. “Fine.”
So he found himself in Devil May Cry a few days later.
"Three sessions," Vergil said. "They'll be two hours each."
Nero barely heard him. He was staring at the wall across from the door. There, a painting hung that hadn't been there before. The worn canvas had cracked and stained, and the frame was in similarly bad shape. Four figures were depicted there. Three of the faces were obscured, but one was still visible– that of a woman, with alert eyes and light-colored hair.
"Nero," Vergil said.
Startled out of his reverie, Nero turned to him. His father was looking back, with a steady, considering gaze.
“See,” Dante said, “the picture’s freaking out the kid.”
“Not a kid,” Nero said automatically. "Where did that come from?"
“The ruins of our family home," Vergil answered.
His gut feeling had been right, then. Nero looked at the picture again. The woman with the blonde hair– that was Dante and Vergil’s mother. His grandmother. Then the two figures who seemed to be children were the two brothers. And the man…
Nero looked back at Vergil. "You went and got it?"
“Lady procured it for me. I secured her services.”
Nero frowned, confused. “You paid Lady to pick up a painting."
“Demons have been appearing within the grounds as well. There was more to the job.”
“He thinks throwing money at her will ease his conscience,” Dante interrupted breezily. Vergil turned to glare at him, but he just grinned back. “What? It could work. She always appreciates a generous hourly rate.”
Nero didn’t know what his father could have done to Lady that could make him feel guilty, but that was probably for the best. He was trying to hold off on learning anything that could possibly make him really hate Vergil. For now.
“So,” Nero said, gesturing at the painting. “This is where you got the idea.”
"Don't know what about it brings out the fuzzy family feelings," Dante said. "It's downright creepy."
“A family portrait is a noble thing to have in one's home," Vergil said. "I was reminded of that recently. However, this painting is in poor condition. That is why I would like the three of us to be part of a new one."
"You've gotten soft, Vergil," Dante said dryly. “Knew there was still some V in you.”
"You're really on board with this?" Nero asked him.
Dante shrugged one shoulder carelessly. "If it puts the light back in my dear brother's eyes, I don't mind sitting motionlessly for six hours. Sounds like a typical workday for me, anyway."
"Your compassion is appreciated, Dante," Vergil said, but he was looking at Nero.
He was waiting for his answer, Nero realized. "Whatever. Already said I’m alright with it, didn't I?"
“Then it is decided,” said Vergil. “The first session will be tomorrow."
"Who the hell in this city paints portraits, by the way?" Dante asked.
"Exactly one elderly gentleman, who resides on the east side. My sources tell me he is skilled, however."
"Getting gawked at by an old guy," Dante said. "Sounds like you've planned a real party for us, Vergil."
At least Nero had a lot of experience being stared at. The white hair and the bad reputation did that.
"I expect both of you to dress well," Vergil told them.
“Don’t I always,” Dante said.
“No, you don't,” Vergil replied.
"I brought a dress shirt," Nero said stiffly. Kyrie had been right about how he'd need one.
"No way," Dante said, sounding gleeful.
Vergil silenced him with a look. "Good. Now that that's clear, I'll retire for the night." He stood up. "Where is Nero sleeping?"
"In the spare room. Like I always do." Like he always did before Vergil showed up, and always would. Nero bit back the scathing comment.
"Right," Vergil said. He hovered for a moment, hesitating, before he left.
When he was gone, Dante snorted. "Affectionate as always," he said.
Nero went over to the kitchen to try to find something to eat that wasn't pizza. Dante followed him and watched as he picked up a fork from the counter, the only utensil in sight.
"Better not use that one," Dante said.
Nero gave him a quizzical look.
"Yesterday Vergil used it to pin my hand to the table." He held up his right palm, although of course there was no mark.
Nero sighed and set down the fork.
"I only wanted one of his fries. Talk about an overreaction. You know what he said after I had to yank it out? No apology, just 'force of habit' . Unbelievable."
Nero grunted in response.
“Still sulking?” Dante watched him rummage through a cabinet. "You know, I thought you were too old for that. Then again, your old man was never around to help you learn your manners.”
Nero reached for a packet of ramen with one hand and gave him the finger with the other.
“Really not gonna say anything, huh?”
Nero slammed the cabinet door closed and turned to face his uncle. “Why, Dante? All those years, and you didn’t tell me. Why?”
Dante tsk -ed and looked away. "Not this again."
“I want an answer.”
The easy grin fell off Dante’s face for just a moment. Then he shrugged and said, “Well, you didn’t ask, did ya?”
Nero took a sharp breath and fought to keep his voice steady. "Forget it. I shouldn't even have come."
"Oh, please," Dante said.
The condescension in his tone made Nero bristle, and rage bid him bite out, “You know, I don’t know much about how families are supposed to work, but it sure as hell isn't like this.“
He brushed past Dante roughly, fully intending to leave for home, where things weren't so damn complicated.
Behind him, he heard Dante sigh. “Jeez,” Dante said. "Don't get your underwear in a twist. All right, we’ll talk."
Nero turned around and glared. "Yeah?"
"Tomorrow," Dante said, "after the…” He lazily gestured with a hand. "thing. Happy?"
“No bullshit,” Nero said. “I mean it, Dante.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dante said. "Night, kid. Go get some sleep."
With that, he turned away, off to his bedroom. Nero watched him go.
The portrait sitting was scheduled for noon. Vergil lead them, on foot, to the area of the city where the studio was. On the way there, Nero stared at the back of his head and tried not to feel resentful.
Later, inside the small, shabby studio, Nero stared, too, at the painter. He was a small, balding man with glasses who gazed back at Nero when he put his brush to the canvas in front of him. Nero defiantly refused to look away first, a habit left over from growing up in Fortuna.
Nero wondered if the man suspected he was painting a family of demons. He wondered if he had lost anyone he knew during the Qliphoth's invasion. He was so lost in thought that he was surprised when he realized that two hours had passed.
Vergil thanked the man and they left. Outside on the sidewalk, Nero marvelled at how mundane the afternoon had been. They were even all still in one piece.
"My ass hurts from sitting. And my muscles are all sore," Dante complained.
"That means you're getting old," Vergil replied.
"Look who's talking."
Vergil glanced at Nero, and then glanced away again. "Well, I'll be leaving the two of you now. I have business to attend to elsewhere."
Without another word, he went off in the direction opposite from which they'd come. His dad really was shit at goodbyes.
Dante stared at Vergil's back as he retreated. His expression was wary and focused, like he was sizing up an enemy before a battle. Nero thought it was an odd look, since he had never known Dante to approach a fight with anything other than bravado.
As if he could sense Dante's piercing gaze, Vergil looked over his shoulder. "I'll be back in time for dinner," he said. "I'll even pick something up for us that isn't soaked in oil."
"Whatever," Dante said. Nero saw at once how quickly his face had relaxed as soon as Vergil had said he would return. "As long as it's not from the last place you chose with the tiny-ass portions."
His back to them, Vergil raised a hand in wordless acknowledgment as he walked away.
Dante and Nero started on their way back to the shop. The city's streets loomed emptily. Dusty gusts of wind occasionally lifted pieces of debris in the air before letting them fall back on the ground.
"The dress shirt's a great look, by the way," Dante said. "Very prim and proper."
"You never talked about him." Nero looked at Dante.
"Vergil? Well, I was sure he was gone," Dante said, flippant. "Turns out he's too annoying to die."
"I deserved to know," Nero said. "What, you didn't want me around? Is that it?"
"Come on, Nero. You were happy, you and Kyrie. You two have a good thing going. Me, I was never lucky in love."
"I said no bullshit! "
Dante whirled around. "Nero, this isn't the long-lost family an orphan kid fantasizes about." He'd raised his voice. His skin looked drawn tight across his face. "This is me and my dumbass brother– that's it. We've been trying to kill each other for most of our lives. What good would it have done? Getting you mixed up in our damn soap opera?"
Nero couldn't think of how to reply. He closed his mouth.
"Like I said," Dante said after a moment. "You had a good thing going."
"You couldn't know," Nero bit out. "How it feels. You always knew who you were. I never had that! I…"
He felt overwhelmed, like he really was a kid in over his head. Nero looked away, feeling pinpricks of old pain stabbing at him suddenly.
"Hey," Dante said, sounding almost gentle. He reached over and clapped Nero on the shoulder. "Enough with the sulking. You know now, don't you? And I'm glad you do. Listen– when I found you, I thought…"
He paused. Nero scowled, certain it was only for dramatic effect.
"Finally some good luck," Dante said at last. He saw the look on Nero's face and grinned before turning towards the entrance. "Come on, let's go in."
Nero watched Dante swagger into the shop. As he did, he pointed upwards at the sign. "Family business, kid," he called over his shoulder.
Nero looked up at it, his hands in his pockets. Devil May Cry blinked at him in neon letters, buzzing with the vigor of something alive.
During the second sitting, Dante fell asleep.
"I'll wake him," Vergil said, eyes narrowing. Nero looked over at the Yamato at his waist. Vergil must have paid the artist well, for him to never mention the weapons both he and Dante brought into the studio, Nero thought. Then he thought that he had better stop Vergil. It was possible that his idea of a wake-up call was synonymous with impalement.
"No need," the painter said absently, before Nero could do anything. He didn't elaborate.
Vergil glanced at Dante again, but let it rest, apparently deciding that going through the effort of waking him would be too bothersome.
This was going to be a longer session without Dante's quips to move the time along. Nero sighed and shifted a little. He stared down at the top of Vergil's head, which was all he could see of him because of the way they were posed.
Minutes passed. Nero began to find the blank silence, coupled with the painter's continuous gaze, unbearable. The way he kept looking from them to his canvas, stare probing, made Nero sweat.
“So,” he said finally to Vergil. “You always liked this stuff? Poetry, and art, and… that kind of stuff.”
For a moment, he heard no reply. Thinking Vergil hadn’t heard, Nero opened his mouth to repeat himself, but his father answered suddenly before he could. “I didn't often have time to appreciate the arts. When I had the opportunity, I would take the time to visit museums or libraries. Of course, that became more difficult later."
“Huh,” Nero said. He felt more uncomfortable than he did before he’d spoken. But he didn’t want to quit talking. There was so much more that he wanted to know. “That other portrait," he said. "How old were you and Dante when it was painted?
"...Seven," Vergil said. He huffed slightly. It might have been a chuckle. "I remember that day. Dante kept trying to make me laugh while we were supposed to sit quietly."
“Who painted it?"
"Well, well," Vergil said, sounding amused. "You are an inquisitive child."
Nero wished Dante was awake so he could ask him if Vergil had always been this annoying. "Not a child," he said.
"True," Vergil allowed. "Your childhood is past.” He paused. “I wish I could have been there,” he said haltingly, “to oversee your growth. You deserved… to be aware of your heritage. I am sorry for my absence."
Nero was struck. He had never expected to hear Vergil apologize. Collecting himself, he hesitated before saying, "Not like you knew about me."
“Yes,” said Vergil.
They spent the rest of the session in silence.
Before the last sitting, Nero called Kyrie.
“Take as much time as you need, Nero,” she said over the phone. “I’m fine. Nico’s being a big help. What?” She laughed at something in the distance. “Nico says not to cry.”
“I’m not crying!” Nero protested. Now that he’d heard Kyrie laugh, he was actually in a good mood. “Anyway, I should only be a couple of more days here.”
She told him what the kids had gotten up to that day. They would have spoken for longer, but Dante came in and told him to stop clogging the shop’s line.
On the way to the studio, Nero became aware that something was different. At both of the previous sittings, Dante and Vergil seemed to be getting along. Now they didn't seem to be speaking. Nero waited and watched, but they weren't even looking at each other.
"What's wrong?" he demanded.
Vergil and Dante glanced back at him, looking uncannily twin-like, each of them arching an eyebrow in the exact same way.
"It doesn't matter," Vergil replied, at the same time Dante said "Don't worry about it."
The tension didn't dissipate inside the studio. The three of them were silent for the first hour or so. Nero hoped it would continue.
Then Dante said, "This was a dumb idea, you know."
"What?" Nero tried to look at him without moving his head.
"Pay him no mind, Nero," Vergil said. "He's just acting out." He sounded contemptuous.
"My apologies for disrespecting the sanctity of a portrait sitting. At least I have respect for the memory of my family."
"Dante," Vergil hissed.
"Vergil," Dante returned.
"Earlier," Vergil said, cuttingly, "I did not say anything untrue."
"Ha." Dante sounded disgusted. "You never change. Treating our own mother like a second-class creature. Just because she was human."
"I never said that," Vergil snapped. "I never said that."
"Doesn't matter. I know what you meant."
"Ridiculous. You're deluded. Have you ever stopped licking your wounds?" Vergil's voice was cruel. "A grown man obsessed with his own memories. Pathetic, Dante."
Dante rose from his chair with such force that it toppled over. It crashed into a table nearby that had been holding art supplies. Paint bled onto the floor.
The old man stood up and began exclaiming in a language Nero didn't recognize, but the brothers took no notice of him.
Vergil had shifted into a defensive stance. His eyes were grim. "Try me, little brother," he said, voice hard.
"You're a damn hypocrite," Dante said. He picked up something from the table and charged.
There was a sudden, awful noise and a cry of pain.
"Oh," said Vergil.
"Uh," said Dante.
Nero looked at his hand. He had moved between the brothers before Dante lunged, and now, there was a paintbrush embedded in it.
"Oops," Dante murmured.
Voice lethally quiet, Nero hissed, "You two done?"
Nero's hand healed by the time they got back to the shop. Vergil kept shooting Dante murderous looks as they went inside.
"Go ahead," Dante snapped, after an all-too-short moment of tense silence. "Blame it on me."
"Why shouldn't I? You have never possessed even an ounce of discipline or decorum." Vergil's voice was frosty.
Dante laughed, a clear mocking note to the sound. "Oh, that's rich. Which one of has the self-control issues, do you think?"
"Shut up!" Nero barked. "Both of you."
Dante and Vergil looked at him, and said, simultaneously, "Nero–" Then they glanced at each other and scowled.
They would have begun to argue again, Nero was sure, if he didn't say, “All this is just… a charade."
Vergil frowned at him. "What do you–"
"A big painting," Nero interrupted, "isn’t going to fix the problems you have. It’s not even a Band-Aid. You two haven’t changed." He clenched his fists. "You don’t want to settle your differences. You think you can just… sit in this place, spending all day wearing and wearing at each other! You’re just waiting for something to give. That's no way to live!”
"Look, kid," Dante said. "You don't–"
"Don't tell me it doesn't concern me again." Nero could hear the cold fury in his own voice. "Maybe neither of you wanted me to be, but I'm a part of this family."
"Nero." Vergil looked pained. "That isn't–"
"And if my only role in it," Nero continued rashly, "is playing mediator, because you're both too damn stuck-up to sort out your problems, then I'm done trying."
Nobody followed him when he went to the spare room to get his things. Dante and Vergil were still standing there, shooting hostile looks at each other, when he returned.
Dante turned his gaze to Nero when he headed for the door. "Kid," he tried.
Vergil said nothing.
"Let me know if you ever get your shit together," Nero said. Then he left.
A week later, in Fortuna, Nero got another call from Dante.
“Picture’s finished.” His uncle’s voice was tinny on the phone. “We had it delivered today. Thought I’d let you know in case you want to come see it. I had to pay extra for the damn thing, ‘cause of the property damage. Nothing new for me, I guess.”
"Okay," Nero said.
There was an awkward silence.
"Well, see ya," Dante said finally, and hung up.
“I’ll come with you,” Nico said later, after he’d told her and Kyrie the news. “Been meaning to pick up some parts from a supplier in the city. It’s always better to get ‘em in person than have ‘em shipped.”
Nero could have told her to suck it up and get her shit in the mail like everyone else, but instead he found himself making the journey to Red Grave City once again.
This time, when he got to the shop, Nico was with him.
“Well then, I’ll go handle my business,” Nico declared, hands on her hips as she looked up at the neon sign. “It's not like I wanna be around for this touching family moment, anyway.”
“You don't,” Nero said. "Could turn homicidal any second."
“Good luck, buddy!” Nico said, and was off.
Nero walked through the doors with a feeling of resignation. Inside, the painting, propped up against the desk, was the first thing he saw. He stopped in his tracks to stare at it.
That old man clearly did have skills. He had painted the three of them just as they'd been posed during the sitting– Vergil and Dante, seated on matching chairs, with Nero standing between them. What made Nero's breath catch in his chest was how alike they looked. The same shade of white-gray for the hair. He had never noticed how he had Vergil's nose.
Seeing his own expression was like looking in a mirror. During the sessions, he had meant to school his face into a neutral expression, but in the portrait, he looked defiant. His eyes held that rebellious look he could never shake, the one that had gotten him into trouble so many times.
“Well, there you have it,” Dante said. Nero looked up. He hadn’t even seen his uncle behind the desk.
“Satisfied, Vergil?” Dante said.
Nero turned. His father was standing next to the jukebox. His arms were crossed, his gaze unreadable.
Dante stood up and spread his arms wide, continuing to address his brother. “This thing is a touching reminder that now you have a reason to stop throwing your life away every chance you get.”
There was no hostility in his voice, Nero noticed. Just matter-of-factness, and a note of wry humor.
Maybe Dante and Vergil had done it. Maybe they had actually talked.
Vergil’s icy expression seemed to melt at once. He looked at Dante, mouth open slightly, then away, closing his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, he said, “Nero."
"Yeah?" Vergil always said his name with so much gravity. It never failed to make Nero feel on-edge.
"If you will accept it," Vergil said, "I would like for this to be yours.”
Dante’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Well, then,” he said.
“Wait,” Nero said with disbelief. “You serious?”
“I am serious, yes." Vergil glanced at Dante. "I will never forget about Nero. I don’t need a visual reminder of my family's existence. ”
Nero could feel the tips of his ears start to turn red. “And you think I do?” he managed.
Vergil hesitated. “You are my son,” he said. “I had never… I did not think there would ever be a next generation of our family. After all, Dante has proven himself incapable in that area–”
“Oh, please, continue, Mr. One-Night-Stand,” Dante said.
“Regardless,” Vergil continued loudly. “You have a responsibility, as the next generation, to carry forth our legacy. Dante and I are entrusting it with you. It seems only fitting that the portrait should belong to you.”
Nero felt blindsided. He scratched the back of his head, trying to bide his time while he thought of what to say.
Part of him was irritated. One painting couldn’t make up for years of his father’s absence. For his arm– which was back, now, but still. As if he wanted to hang up a huge picture of himself, anyway. What kind of narcissist did that make him?
Nico would never let him live it down. But Kyrie… Kyrie would love it. And Vergil… He clearly had no idea how to be a dad. But he was trying.
“Thanks,” Nero said finally. “I don’t know where the hell I’m gonna put it. But, uh, thanks.”
“Good,” Vergil said. He looked immensely satisfied, which kind of made Nero want to change his mind, but he supposed he could let Vergil have this one.
“Right, then,” Dante said. Nero and Vergil looked over at him. He was smiling broadly. "That's settled. Anyone hungry?"
"Yeah," Nero said, "but–"
"Who wants pizza?”
“No,” Vergil and Nero said simultaneously.
Vergil was already going over to get his coat. “Nero and I will pick something up.”
“Fine, fine,” Dante said. “Just don’t take too long.”
“We’ll take however long we need,” Nero said.
“Brat,” Dante commented before disappearing down the hallway.
"Come, Nero," Vergil said. He was at the door.
Nero shook his head. At the entrance, he hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the portrait one more time. Then he followed his father out of the shop.