Work Text:
Vergil leaned against the cool frame of the van's interior, arms crossed, Yamato resting in its sheath beside him. The engine rumbled low beneath them as Nico fussed with her keys and muttered about traffic and demon guts staining her upholstery again. Morning light filtered weakly through the windshield, casting pale streaks over the floor and worn seats.
Outside, Fortuna still looked grey and tired. Much like all of them.
Dante was already sprawled on the couch across from him, legs kicked up, a stick of gum lazily chewed behind his grin as if they weren't gearing up for another bloody cleanup. Vergil didn't say a word; he never needed to when Dante was around. His twin would talk enough for both of them, much to his irritation.
The van door finally creaked open beside them, but Vergil already knew who it was before the person was even ten feet away from them.
Nero.
Vergil's eyes flicked up briefly. The boy looked more exhausted than usual. His steps were heavy, sluggish, like someone who had been dragging himself through half the night.
"He finally decides to grace us with his presence," Dante quipped. "Mornin', sleepyhead!"
Nero didn't respond at first. He just grunted and rubbed his eyes, tossing Red Queen against the nearest corner with the grace of someone seconds from collapsing. Without a word, he stepped over Dante's legs and stood at the edge of the couch.
"Move," he muttered, voice hoarse and flat. "I wanna lie down."
Dante groaned like a wounded beast, dramatically clutching his chest. "Are you serious? I just got comfortable. You're not the only one who needs beauty sleep, y'know."
"You don't sleep, you hibernate," Nero snapped back tiredly, already nudging Dante's legs. "C'mon, Dante."
"Ugh, the hell you even tired for anyway?" Dante whined, drawing his legs up protectively. "We haven't even started the day yet."
Nero drew out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face as he turned away from the window light. "Spent most of the night clearing out what was left near the cathedral. Some hellbats came through the gate again. Didn't get back until dawn."
Vergil's brow twitched slightly at that, and he pressed his lips together. He hadn't known. No one had mentioned a night patrol, and Nero hadn't said a word.
"Damn it, kid," Dante sighed, finally sitting up, though barely. "Then you sit up front with Nico. I'm not moving."
Nero wrinkled his nose in visible disgust. "She's smoking."
"Exactly. I ain't sitting next to all that smoke either."
Vergil stayed silent, watching them with a passive expression. A low, simmering pressure in his chest, familiar and unwelcome. Guilt, perhaps. Or frustration. If he had known Nero had been sent out to patrol alone again, he would've...
The thought drifted as he noticed Nero wasn't arguing anymore.
The younger man trudged over without another word and, with a soft grunt, dropped himself onto the couch beside Vergil. Their shoulders brushed close, far closer than Vergil would typically tolerate, but he didn't move. He expected Nero to adjust after a moment. To shift away. To maintain that thin line of distance they often both seemed to guard so fiercely.
But Nero didn't.
Instead, Nero just adjusted slightly… then had his feet across the other end of the couch, shoes and all, and with far less hesitation than Vergil would have ever expected, Nero leaned sideways…
…and rested his head directly on Vergil's lap.
Vergil froze.
A rare, breathless pause overtook him as he stared down at the white strands of hair pressed against his coat. The weight across his thighs was warm, solid, and entirely unexpected. Nero's features were already slack with fatigue, his breathing slowing into something even and peaceful, as though this, this was the most natural thing in the world.
As though trust had always been this simple.
Dante was already laughing.
"Oh man, you gotta be kidding me!" He snorted, pointing across the van. "Would ya look at that? Aww. Finally, some father-son bonding time! You two want me to knit you a throw blanket?"
Vergil shot his brother a glare, ceasing his comments.
He looked down again.
"…He's worn himself thin," Vergil muttered, mostly to himself.
Dante tilted his head. "Yeah. He does that a lot."
"What?" Vergil looked at his brother with a sharp stare.
"When I first got him into the business, there'd be nights where he'd show up to jobs half-asleep, bruised up, still rarin' to go. Thought he had something to prove, y'know?" Dante's voice lowered, less teasing now and more reflective. "Still kinda does."
Vergil's gaze went back to Nero. The boy hadn't stirred. Even as the van bumped over uneven roads, Nero remained still, one arm slung over his stomach, the other hanging limp by his side. The faintest crease still lingered between his brows, like the ghosts of whatever he'd endured the night before clung to him in sleep.
"Why didn't you stop him?" Vergil asked, the words rougher than intended. Accusatory. Defensive.
Dante's jaw moved slightly, chewing the last of his gum before shrugging. "I tried. He wouldn't listen. Said he needed to, like he owed the city something. Or maybe himself. I dunno."
Vergil's hands had curled slightly into fists, one resting atop Yamato's sheath. His knuckles whitened before he let out a slow, measured exhale. "He shouldn't be fighting alone."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, no shit. Try telling him that." He let out a sigh. "But the kid came to the back of the van for a reason."
Vergil's eyes narrowed slightly. "What reason?"
His brother looked at him as if he were an idiot. "You, dumbass."
The words rang louder than expected in the quiet van. Vergil stared, genuinely caught off guard.
Dante smirked at his reaction. "Kid coulda sat up front. Hell, he coulda forced me off the couch if he really wanted. But he didn't. He picked you. So just… shut up and let your son rest, will ya?"
Vergil didn't reply. Instead, he looked down once more at Nero's sleeping form.
He shifted minutely, just enough so that Nero's head could rest more comfortably against his stomach. His arm moved slightly, stiff and awkward, but he let his hand brush through the silver strands of Nero's hair, almost uncertain if it was allowed.
He half expected Nero to stir, to blink awake and grumble some protest. But he didn't. The younger man only shifted slightly with the motion, exhaling a soft sigh, like the tension that ruled him even in sleep was beginning to loosen. Like the silent gesture had granted him some measure of peace.
Vergil didn't look at Dante, though he could feel the twin's smug grin aimed like a blade.
"You know," Dante said, stretching his arms and legs out lazily, "I was just about to put together a mixtape called 'Vergil Gets Sentimental: Volume One.' This right here? Definitely the album cover."
"Dante."
"Yeah?"
"Be silent," Vergil warned.
Dante laughed loud enough for Nico to yell "Shut up back there!" from the front, which only made him laugh harder.
Vergil had been enjoying the silence in the Devil May Cry office. The usually rowdy, sorry excuse of a headquarters was quiet for once.
The rain outside tapped at the windows in a steady rhythm, grey light bleeding through the curtains. Vergil sat on the leather couch, Yamato leaning against the side of the armrest, an aged book in his gloved hands. The soft rustle of a page turning was the only sound within the office's walls.
He barely lifted his eyes when he heard the ring from the front door.
Vergil glanced up and caught sight of his son trudging in, shoulders slouched under the weight of another mission. His hair was still damp from the rain, dark circles smudged under his eyes, his jacket spattered with flecks of blood and grime, both demon and seemingly his own. He moved with the heavy, dragging pace of someone running on the last dregs of strength.
He closed his book with a soft snap.
"How did it go?"
Nero didn't answer. He merely waved him off with a limp motion, too tired to form a sentence. That alone said enough. Vergil watched as Nero trudged down the hallway and into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a dull click. The sound of running water followed seconds later.
Vergil leaned back, fingers drumming faintly against the spine of his book. He'd known Nero would stop by today; he had a hunch. Enough to leave out a clean set of clothes. The same blue t-shirt, hoodie and black sweatpants Nero tended to steal from the back of Vergil's closet whenever he "forgot" to pack his own.
It was routine by now. Nero would fight until his body gave out, show up half-dead and angry, take a shower, and collapse on the couch. The rhythm of it was both frustrating and familiar.
And Vergil… Well. He found himself waiting for it more than he cared to admit.
Some minutes passed, and the bathroom door creaked open again.
Nero emerged, steam trailing from the room behind him. He was barefoot, his damp hair a tousled mess that made him look younger than twenty-four.
Vergil expected him to slump into the cushions of the couch or claim the other armrest. But instead, Nero grabbed one of the throw pillows and casually dropped it onto Vergil's lap.
Before he could react, his son brought his legs up onto the couch, turned on his side, and rested his head against the pillow, against Vergil.
Nero didn't even look at him. He adjusted slightly, letting out a satisfied sigh as he shifted into a more comfortable sprawl. One arm draped across his own chest, the other resting over the edge.
Vergil placed the book down.
"…There is an entire couch here," Vergil said finally, voice laced with dry amusement. "And yet you choose me."
Nero cracked one eye open. "You're more comfortable."
"Am I to take that as a compliment?"
"Take it however you want," Nero said, already letting his eyes fall shut again. "Just don't move."
"You should choose your sleeping arrangements with more thought," Vergil mused.
"I did," Nero mumbled.
Silence again. Save for the rain.
Vergil stared for a long while. At the silver hair, the slow rise and fall of Nero's chest. The relaxed lines of his face.
His hand hovered, unsure, then settled atop Nero's head. A tentative motion at first. But Nero didn't flinch. He simply shifted slightly to lean into the touch.
Vergil let his fingers move through the damp strands.
"…You should not be working yourself to exhaustion," he said, more quietly this time. "If you continue this way, you will burn out."
"I'm fine," Nero muttered stubbornly.
Despite himself, Vergil chuckled as his hand continued its path through his son's hair. "…You are many things, Nero," he murmured, his tone gentle, almost indulgent. "But convincing is not one of them."
Nero huffed softly. "Don't start lecturing me," he said, voice thick with weariness. "I get enough of that from Kyrie."
"I'm not Kyrie," Vergil replied calmly. "I have no interest in telling you how to live your life."
"Could've fooled me," Nero said, shifting a little. His head remained heavy on Vergil's lap. "You just want me to go to bed and rest because I'm making your lap sore."
Vergil raised a fine white brow. "If I wanted you off, you'd be off."
A pause.
"...Touché."
For a moment, neither spoke. The rain painted a gentle rhythm against the windowpane, a soft percussion that filled the silence between them. Vergil's hand didn't stop moving. The repetitive motion had become almost meditative, soothing, even to him.
"I saw the corpses you left behind on the east end," he said after a time. "Two infernos and what looked like a scorcher."
Nero shifted again, brow furrowing slightly in memory. "Yeah. They popped out of a collapsed drain. Lucky me."
"You handled it alone," he hummed.
"Didn't exactly have a choice."
Vergil's eyes narrowed slightly. "There is always a choice."
Nero cracked one eye open again, glancing up. "I can't wait around every time something crawls out of a hole. Not when people are getting dragged into the streets. You think those things wait for us to organise a tea party?"
"You think dying in the gutter will save more lives than asking for backup?"
"I think I'm capable."
"You are reckless, Nero."
Nero scowled faintly, the stubborn tension bleeding back into his frame.
To Vergil, it looked like he was staring at his reflection in a mirror.
His hand paused in the boy's hair.
"…And I suppose," he said, contemplative. "So was I. Once."
That made Nero open both eyes. His gaze searched his father's face, a flicker of surprise breaking through the fatigue.
"You admitting that?"
Vergil's mouth twitched. The barest ghost of a smile, but it was there. "I'm not above reflection. Or correction. Contrary to what your uncle may claim."
His son snorted, head tipping slightly back into the pillow. "Man, if he were here right now, he'd never let you live that down."
"Fortunately, he's not."
Nero let out a laugh. "Yeah. Guess I should enjoy the peace while it lasts, huh."
Vergil's fingers moved once more through the silver strands, slower now. Thoughtful. "You don't have to be the one to shoulder everything."
"I'm not-" Nero began, but the words died halfway out of his mouth. He sighed. "I'm just… trying to keep up. It's not like I don't want help. It's just easier to do it myself. People don't get hurt that way."
Vergil's expression didn't change, but something in his gaze shifted. A dark flicker of memory behind blue eyes.
"That kind of thinking," he started, "Is precisely what isolates you. And in time, it consumes you."
Nero frowned again, but it was more thoughtful than defiant. "…Is that what happened to you?"
"Yes."
That one word was enough. Enough to weigh down the silence that followed it. Nero didn't press further.
After a long moment, he shifted again, closer this time, his arm curling slightly against Vergil's leg like he was chasing warmth, or reassurance, or something he couldn't name but craved anyway. The subtle vulnerability of the gesture wasn't lost on Vergil.
He let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"You are capable," Vergil said, more carefully now. "But capability means nothing if you burn out before it can be used. Even the strongest blade dulls without rest."
"That supposed to be poetic?"
"It's meant to be factual," Vergil replied, furrowing his brows. "Though I forget how little you appreciate refinement."
Nero snorted. "Says the guy quoting himself like a damn fortune cookie."
"I could quote Shakespeare instead, if you'd like."
"Don't even think about it, old man."
Vergil allowed himself the faintest sound of amusement. His hand stilled for a moment atop Nero's head, then brushed his hair back gently, combing through it once more. "You can rely on me, Nero. Whether or not you choose to."
"…You always this talkative when I nap on you?" Nero mumbled.
Vergil smirked faintly. "It would appear so. You must be a bad influence."
"Shut up," Nero said, but there was no real heat behind his voice, and there was an unmistakable smile playing on his lips. "Y'know, for the hardass you are, you're surprisingly comfortable to sleep on."
Vergil regarded him, eyes half-lidded in that sharp, pensive way of his, like he was weighing the worth of a response. Then, almost imperceptibly, he let his fingers slow their movement through Nero's hair again, pausing at the crown of his head.
"Do not mistake my tolerance for softness," he said, though there was no bite to the words.
Nero gave a low hum, eyes shut again. "Too late."
Yamato seemed to sing louder in his saya whenever he was near Nero. He wondered if the latter could hear it also.
He almost found it strange that his demon wanted to hold his son and shield him from the world that refused to let him rest. He did not shy away from the sudden protectiveness he had for Nero. He kept reminding himself that this feeling was normal and that he did not mind it.
Vergil smiled, this time without shame, an imperceptible curve of his lips that was rare and precious. Nero's eyes flickered open once more, catching the movement out of the corner of his vision.
"What's so funny?" Nero murmured.
Vergil's smile lingered, but he looked away, as if considering whether to speak at all. Then, with a dry, self-aware tone, he said. "Nothing." He looked back at him, his fingers brushing the boy's hair again. "...Just these pesky fatherly feelings I seem to have developed."
He said it almost like a joke, but there was an honesty beneath the words, a soft echo of what he once told Arkham in a far different time, now turned back on himself. The irony wasn't lost on him.
Nero let out a faint chuckle, but said nothing more. Slowly, he shifted his weight, turning fully onto his side with his face resting closer against Vergil's stomach. One arm wrapped loosely but securely around Vergil's waist, pulling him a little nearer. His breathing eventually evened out.
Vergil's hand stayed still for a moment, resting lightly on Nero's back, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"Tomorrow," Vergil said quietly, "I will accompany you, if you are alright with that."
Nero didn't respond. He only tightened his arm slightly around him, his face pressing a little more into him as his eyelids fluttered shut once again. This time, sleep claimed him fully, the tension in his body melting away at last.
Vergil leaned his head back against the couch, fingers brushing lightly along the back of Nero's neck, and closed his eyes.
Outside, the rain continued its quiet rhythm against the windows, a soft backdrop to the stillness that settled between father and son. Unspoken, steady, and for once, enough.