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Dante strolls into the lobby of his shop in the late evening hours, having tucked away some money from his most recent job into his rainy-day fund. Lady hasn't heard about his payment yet, but the moment she does, she'll be around. Dante laughs to himself. The only reason she bothers anymore is to stop by and pester him.
He's the closest thing to family she has. Lady probably figured out long ago that if she keeps him in her debt, he won't have any grounds to tell her to stop coming. Not that he would.
It'd be nice to operate as friends rather than business partners.
Caught in his musing, Dante almost misses the hooded figure on his couch. His mouth tips into a slight smile at the subtle echo of his nephew's demonic presence. Nero worked a job with him earlier in the afternoon, and it tuckered him right out, it seems. His arm pulses with faint light, reacting to Dante's presence in the room.
Nero hums in his sleep, turning unconsciously towards him with a soft snore.
Dante's smile becomes pained. Nero isn't an idiot. He has to have guessed by now they connect on more levels than a professional one, but Dante can't bring himself to explain to him. How is he supposed to tell Nero about his father without also telling him the reason he doesn't have one? He sees more of Vergil in the kid with every month that passes. He'll turn twenty soon. Dante knows Vergil wasn't exactly a beacon of good intentions, but after their horrific past, he can't imagine his stubborn twin doing anything to compromise Nero's future.
But Vergil isn't here to protect him. Vergil never got the opportunity to know him, to grow fiercely protective of his stubborn son, because of Dante.
So, even if Dante can't tell Nero why, and even if Nero hates him for it, he'll... try to be here for him. Nero doesn't need Dante to parent him or hold his hand, and Dante can only be grateful for that. All he needs is a little nudge here and there. Dante can do that much. He owes his big brother that.
Dante takes the last couple stairs with a quiet sigh, crouching beside the couch and slipping his arms behind Nero's back and under his knees. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you into a real bed, huh?"
Nero stubbornly refused the guest room when Dante offered it earlier, but his body takes up the whole couch and then some. He hit a growth spurt recently, so his aches mean his attitude of late leans toward the surly agitated manner of his old man. No point in making him grumpier by letting him get a crick in his neck.
The devil hunter lifts Nero with hardly any effort, the boy's head lolling limp and boneless.
His nephew's hood and hair fall back, and Vergil's face of nineteen years ago flashes before Dante's eyes. Nineteen long years without his twin, ten since he took the Force Edge to Vergil unknowingly, and Dante wonders how he fucked up so badly. Of course, he would find his nephew now. Isn't it the way of the world to torture him like this? If he recognized Vergil, this kid—this child—could have a father, but Dante had taken that from him.
Now, it's his responsibility to watch over the last remaining piece of his big brother. That's why he gave Nero the Yamato, so she could do the same. When Dante held her last, her song was both joyful and heartbroken—just like him.
Vergil would mock him for his sentimentality, but ultimately fall prey to it himself. That's why he held back at the Temen-ni-gru, and why he reacted to the amulet on Mallet.
Hypocrite.
Dante manages a soft laugh for his lost twin, bouncing Nero in his arms to get his head to fall against his chest. How like Vergil to spite him from the grave, having a child so similar to himself and leaving Dante with the heartache of it all. As he climbs the stairs to the guest room, Dante idly wonders if he should be angry at his brother. Yet, when it comes to Vergil, the only one Dante has ever been able to be upset with is himself.
It's his way of being selfish, he supposes.
Nudging the door open with his shoulder, Dante steps into the guest room and carefully lowers his nephew to the bed. The springs creak and the bedframe croaks, but Nero remains quiet. A light snore trails from his lips. Dante's resulting smile feels more like a grimace.
Dante can't resist the urge to brush Nero's hair back again, a telling tremble in his fingers. "You look more like him every damn day, kid."
Would Vergil be proud of Nero the way Dante is? Would he be able to handle the kid's attitude, or would he be hopelessly lost in the face of it? Dante smirks. He can see it now. They would want to kill each other within the first ten minutes. And they would both be wearing an identical scowl.
With that, Dante squeezes his eyes closed and turns away. He can't take anymore tonight. With a tight chuckle, he wonders if keeping Nero around is another way for him to torment himself. If it is, it's the most bittersweet punishment Dante has ever experienced.
Punishment or not, Dante owes his brother this—deserves it.
The kid is better than both of them, and Dante will protect him until his last breath. Knowing his luck, Vergil wouldn't just roll over in his grave if Dante didn't; he'd come back to life to beat the shit out of Dante himself.
With a musing smirk, Dante thinks maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
Dante trots down into the lobby and drops into his chair with a sigh. The best Dante can do for his brother now is to try.