Chapter Text
The door to the Devil May Cry office groaned open, its hinges screeching in protest as Nero shoved it in with more force than necessary. He stepped inside first, strides brisk and silent, his jaw clenched and shoulders taut with an energy that had yet to settle. Vergil followed a few paces behind, his footsteps precise and deliberate, the echo of his boots lost beneath the fading sound of the city outside.
There was a thick scent of leftover pizza, old books, and gunpowder. A faint buzz of rock music played somewhere in the back, looping on a forgotten speaker. The clutter was the same as always. Papers and folders spilt across the desks, empty takeout boxes occupying chairs that weren't supposed to be storage, and the distinct click-click of Dante's pen tapping lazily against a half-filled clipboard.
Vergil would've slaughtered his brother for the disgusting mess if his mind wasn't already preoccupied.
Dante looked up from his desk, a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging between his fingers. His face lit up with a grin when he saw them, though his eyes quickly darted between the two with an alertness that betrayed his easy posture.
"Well, well, well. The dynamic duo returns!" He greeted, leaning back in his chair. "You kill the thing, or did ya argue it to death?"
Usually, Nero would've snarked a response, but he didn't this time. Instead, he strode over to the desk, pulled out the chair beside Dante, and sat down without a word. In his hand, he held a worn envelope: a share of the contract payout. He tossed it gently onto the desk. Dante caught it mid-slide, then raised his brows in silent acknowledgement before flipping open the ledger beneath his pizza box.
Without being asked, Nero reached for the stack of forms at the edge of the desk and began helping Dante sort through the paperwork, signing his initials in the right places, checking over figures, flipping pages with the mechanical rhythm of someone doing it just to keep their hands busy.
The silence was almost unnatural.
No snark. No post-job banter. Not even a triumphant grin on Nero's face.
Dante's gaze shifted between them, his easy smirk slowly fading into something more thoughtful. He leaned back, eyes narrowing as he met Vergil's.
The look was pointed with the obvious question in the air.
What did you do?
Vergil wanted to bristle at the look but decided against it. He simply turned, crossed the room in silence, and sank into the worn armchair near the window. He sat still, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance, though it was impossible to tell whether he was truly looking at anything. The only sound in the room came from the occasional scritch of Nero's pen and the rustle of paper.
It continued like that for several long minutes. The quiet dragged the family like a mass between them.
Eventually, Nero finished the last of the forms and stacked them neatly before sliding them over to his uncle.
"Thanks, kid," Dante said, smiling as he ruffled the younger man's hair. In normal cases, this would've prompted Nero to hit his hand away, but he barely reacted as he stood. The chair scraped back, his legs grating loudly against the floorboards. He turned and walked toward the back hallway. The door to the side room slammed shut a second later, hard enough to rattle the glass pane in its frame.
Dante sighed and pushed back in his chair, dropping the pen onto the desk with a soft clack. He leaned back and had his hands laced behind his head.
"So…" He started off, eyes settling on him. "You wanna tell me what that was about?"
Vergil didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the door Nero had disappeared behind, his fingers tightening slightly against the armrest. There was no sound beyond it now. Just the steady, low hum of the office, the gentle tap of the ceiling fan wobbling above them, and Dante waiting with an expectant look at him.
In hindsight, Dante's office was the last place he should've thought about going to. It was an ill-considered decision. He was supposed to handle this himself.
Just the thought of Nero seeking Dante whenever both father and son had a spat with each other needled Vergil. He only had to assume that this was an occurrence that had happened more than once, quietly behind his back. Nero disappearing for a few hours, coming back a little more grounded, a little less volatile. How many of those moments had ended with him here, in this office, with Dante picking up the pieces Vergil had left scattered?
The idea of Nero turning to Dante, his irresponsible, sometimes half-drunk slob of a brother who lived off junk food and old glory, was absurd on the surface. But when Vergil thought about it, really thought about it, it made perfect sense. Because as much as his brother was reckless, infuriating, and crude, he was also patient. Steady, in his own maddening way. A constant. For Nero.
Vergil… was not.
Or, perhaps, barely, in these newer circumstances.
His relationship with his son was something he always seemed to have needed to tread lightly. Nero was a wildfire. Unpredictable, fierce, and burning with more heart than reason. But Vergil had learned, or he thought he had learned, to be more measured around him. To temper the blade of his tongue, to offer structure without snuffing out the flame entirely. But today, whatever fragile and calm balance they'd struck had crumbled... undone by frustration, impatience, and fear poorly masked as control.
Vergil closed his eyes briefly, jaw tightening as the moment replayed in his mind. Nero throws himself into the heart of the fight, disregarding strategy in favour of brute force and raw instinct. And Vergil, watching it unfold, could see only his younger self in those reckless swings. The same arrogance, the same belief in one's invincibility.
"I asked you what happened. You gonna talk, or just sit there and pretend you're a statue?" He heard Dante ask, breaking him out of his thoughts.
"It's none of your concern," Vergil said, slowly opening his eyes.
His brother scoffed, sitting up. "Bullshit. It is my concern when my nephew slams a door hard enough to shake the building."
The words dug in more than they should have, and Vergil's brow twitched as a muscle clenched at his jaw.
Dante caught it and leaned forward. "Y'know, I've seen him storm in and outta before, but this time? He looked like he'd been gutted. What did you say to him?"
Vergil did not like the underlying threatening tone that came from the other twin, so his voice came low and clipped. "That is between Nero and I."
"Yeah? Well, you brought it here, so now it's my problem too."
"I don't recall asking for your help," Vergil hissed, his tone laced with frost as his grip on Yamato increased. "And need I remind you, Dante…" He drawled off as he glared at his brother. "He is not your son."
His words were sharp, cruelly precise, as only Vergil could make them. But he needed to make that abundantly clear.
Nero was not his brother's to take.
Dante's brows lifted slowly. "Wow," he muttered, the air between them chilling. "Low blow. Even for you."
"I simply stated a fact," Vergil said. "You may dote on him like a surrogate, but blood does not change the reality. He is mine. And whatever happens between us does not require your interference."
His brother stood now, the creak of the floorboard beneath his boot echoing. "Huh. Then maybe act like it."
Vergil felt his thumb flick at the edge of Yamato as he opened it from its sheath.
"You think I like stepping in when things go sideways between you two?" Dante asked, a familiar fire licking at the edges of his question. "I'm not trying to take your place, Vergil. But when Nero shows up here looking like you just kicked him in the chest, what do you expect me to do? Look the other way?"
"You would do well to do exactly that," Vergil stated, rising now too. "Nero is my responsibility. I will handle it."
Both brothers were now towering over the desk.
"Yeah, clearly doing a stellar job so far!" Dante shot back, dripping with sarcasm. "You wanna be a father so bad? Then be one. Don't just sit there like you're above it all while Nero's tearing himself up over something you said, dumbass."
Vergil's lips parted as if to retort, but he faltered. His mind was still whirling, trapped between anger and regret, tangled in the memory of Nero's face when the argument earlier had reached its boiling point.
He had braced for it... had expected the fire, the defiance, the spitfire temper that Nero was so known for. He'd prepared himself for the yelling, the retaliation, the reckless bravado. But what he got instead had shaken him far deeper than fury ever could.
It had been hurt.
And it stunned him.
There had been a flicker in Nero's eyes, something wounded and young, far too young for the man he'd grown into. It struck Vergil in a way no blade ever had, cutting clean through the justifications he'd told himself. He had opened his mouth to speak, to fix it, maybe. But by then, Nero had already turned away, jaw clenched and shoulders rigid, hiding everything again behind silence.
Vergil hadn't known what to say. And that, perhaps, was the most damning and foolish thing of all.
Before he could even think of a reply to Dante, the door in the hallway creaked open again.
Nero stepped back into the room, his movements clipped and purposeful. He'd changed and ditched the coat, replaced with a plain hoodie, his duffel slung over one shoulder. His right arm flexed unconsciously at his side, fingers twitching, his gaze cast downward as he crossed the room without acknowledging either of them.
"I'm heading home," he said shortly, brushing past the desk.
Dante blinked. "Back to Fortuna? Now?"
"Yeah."
"That's one hell of a drive to take when you're pissed off, kiddo."
Nero gave a humourless huff and grabbed his keys from the hook beside the coat rack. "Better than staying here."
Vergil watched him before saying, "You're in no state to be behind the wheel."
His son turned, his expression sharpening. "Huh? Didn't realise you got to make that call."
"Nero-"
"I'm fine."
"You're not," Dante said, stepping into his path. "C'mon, kid, just stay the night. Crash on the couch. Eat something. Sleep it off. Then go back if you still want to!"
Nero sidestepped him. "I'm not twelve."
"You're acting like it," Vergil chimed in again from his space. "Running off every time you're told something you don't like."
"Vergil…" Dante warned, glaring at him.
Nero had stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned again as his voice went cold. "You think this is about me not liking what you said?"
"It's certainly not about understanding it," Vergil replied, taking even strides toward him. "Your emotions cloud your judgment. I've told you this before. You fight like the world owes you something."
"Because I care!" Nero shouted suddenly, dropping the bag from his shoulder with a thud. "I care about people! I care about doing something when others won't! You want me to just stand there and calculate like you do? Watch people get hurt because I'm waiting for the 'correct moment' to draw my sword or whatever?!"
"You're reckless," Vergil snapped. "You throw yourself in without a second thought. That foolish bravado... that is what will get you killed!"
"And you think standing back while people bleed is noble?! I'd rather die trying to protect someone than sit around and do nothing!"
"You mistake chaos for heroism. You think your passion makes you right. It doesn't. It makes you weak."
Dante made a noise, something between a sigh and a groan. "Okay, knock it off, both of you-"
"Weak?" Nero barked. "You wanna talk to me about weakness? This coming from the guy who ran away from everything for years? Who turned himself into a full-fledged fucking demon to chase some fantasy about power and left a mess for the rest of us to clean up?!"
Vergil felt his eyes darken, but Nero pressed on.
"You think I'm the one who's out of control? At least I don't try to gut my family every time I feel something real! You don't get to stand there and talk about control when you nearly killed me the first time we met!"
"You know nothing of what I had to endure, Nero."
"And you know nothing about what it means to love someone enough to let yourself be vulnerable!"
It hit like a slap.
And what came next was something that Vergil himself didn't even recognise anymore.
"Then perhaps I should have stayed gone."
Everything surrounding them was suddenly void of sound.
The load of his sentence, cold and unthinking, flung in the heat of frustration, landed in the room like a blade driven straight into the floor. It rang louder than any yell, louder than all their arguing, and louder than even the silence that followed.
Dante didn't move. For once, even he looked shocked.
Vergil's own breath caught in his throat as the echo of his words lingered in the stale air. He hadn't meant to say them, not truly. He certainly hadn't planned it. But the second they left his mouth, it was as though they struck a wall inside him, one that cracked wide open. The shame came after with a slow, burning realisation.
He had watched his son throw his heart into every reckless move, every word, every fight, and Vergil, like a fool, had chosen that moment to tear into it.
And now Nero stood before him, motionless, looking as if something vital had just been ripped from him.
The younger's chest was rising and falling unevenly, like the very act of breathing had become difficult. He looked like he was trying to understand what he'd just heard, as though replaying it again in his mind might somehow alter the reality of it.
His eyes locked onto his, wide and hollow in a way that made something in Vergil recoil.
It was the same look.
That damned look again.
The one from earlier that had caught Vergil so off guard. That silence that wasn't surrender, but grief… quiet, intimate grief.
And seeing it now, again, only deeper, felt like having everything ripped from his lungs.
"Why…"
Nero sounded so small on the single broken syllable that it startled both of the twins.
"Why…" He rasped again. He blinked hard, eyes glassy as they locked on his father's. "Why would you say that, Dad?"
His son looked like he was drowning, throat seemingly working uselessly to form the words he wanted to say further. His voice was cracking mid-sentence, breaking under everything that he was trying to hold back. His face contorted. Not in rage, but in disbelief and betrayal.
Nero barely looked like the young twenty-five-year-old man he was right now. Instead, it was like Vergil was looking into a mirror of his younger, teenage, broken self.
Vergil took a step forward, his hand instinctively lifting, but the damage was done. He could already see it retreating behind Nero's eyes, the trust folding in on itself like crumpled paper.
Yamato's blade suddenly quivered at his side, the air around it humming with a life of its own. The sword's runes glowed hotter, pulsing like a heartbeat in tune with Nero's. Nero's eyes had flicked down, drawn to the blade as if it called to him. He stepped forward, and his fingers trembled as he slowly held out a hand; Yamato slid free of Vergil's grip and levitated, spinning once.
Vergil could feel the small hairs on his neck stand upright.
…Since when was Nero able to do that?
Nero caught Yamato's hilt in one practised motion and drew it free from the scabbard as he turned. He made one clean cut down and then one across from his right side, as the very fabric of space produced a familiar portal.
As soon as he sheathed Yamato, the calm seemed to have dissipated as he turned and angrily launched the blade back at Vergil. Vergil caught it, albeit with a grunt from the force, but his eyes never left Nero as his son didn't linger any further and stepped inside the portal before it shut as quickly as it came.
Even though the portal was gone with Nero's belongings, Vergil found himself still staring at the space where his son was.
"Goddamn it…" Dante muttered, finally moving. He dragged a hand down his face and looked toward Vergil, eyes full of something between disappointment and sorrow. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Vergil's hand tightened on Yamato until the metal bit into his palm. For a moment, there was nothing but the blood in his ears and the faint, distant squeal of a siren outside, like some other life continuing on in a city that didn't stop for a family falling apart. The office felt smaller, all the angles closing in. The clutter, the lamp's halo, Dante's expectant face. Everything pressed against him until he was certain the edges would shear.
He imagined Nero's face again: hollowed, as if someone had reached into him and pulled a vital piece free. Vergil felt it like a blade. It was the same face he'd once glimpsed in a mirror. A younger version of himself stared back through a life split in two by choices that had cost him more than he thought possible. That reflection had been full of promise and arrogance and, somewhere under it, a brittle loneliness. He had vowed then to never be weak. He had carved that vow deep into himself. Now, in the aftermath of a sentence that had slipped from his mouth like a shard of ice, he recognised the cost.
He found that his mouth was dry. He had rehearsed things. Retorts, explanations, rationalisations, during long walks in empty corridors and in the quiet hours before dawn. None of them fit into the space left by Nero's eyes. All of them sounded like excuses.
"I…" The word failed him. He looked down at his blade, at the runes that still hummed faintly where Nero's hand was. The metal was cool and obedient, a thing of blade and balance and fortunes that could split worlds. It was also, absurdly, the only thing in the room that felt steady.
"I swear, you're gonna lose him before you ever figure out what it means to have him."
Dante's words rattled him to his core, and before he knew it, he was already slashing two lines in front of him.
"Ohhh, no you don't!" His brother grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back a step. "You are not going after him."
Vergil's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Remove your hand," he warned, his voice like tempered steel.
Dante ignored his demand. "Not until you get it through that thick skull of yours. You're the last person Nero wants to see right now."
"Do not tell me how to handle my son," Vergil hissed, the air around him tightening. "Stand aside before I-"
"Before you what?" Dante's grip increased as he leaned in. "Throw another dagger at him with your bullshit? No. You need to let him cool off before you even think about opening your dumbass mouth to him again."
"I will not be told-"
"Yeah, you will," Dante cut in sharply, stepping into his space until the air between them was taut as a bowstring. "So back. Off."
Vergil felt his anger flare. "You'd threaten me over this?"
"You're damn right I would," Dante said without missing a beat, his voice dropping low with the kind of weight that made it clear he wasn't bluffing. "I've known that kid a lot longer than you have, and I know how to handle him when he's like this. You don't. Not when you're wound up like a coiled spring and looking to win an argument instead of listening, you shit head."
The edge in Dante's voice struck something sharp inside Vergil, making him grit his teeth. He was vexed. "If you so value your life, brother, I suggest you remove your hand from me."
Dante smirked, though the smirk lacked its usual humour. "And if you value your relationship with Nero, I suggest you sit your ass down."
That earned him a taunting step forward from Vergil, their shoulders almost colliding. "You will not stand in my way."
"I'll do a hell of a lot more than stand in your way if you keep charging at the kid like a damn battering ram," Dante snarled. "You think I won't do it, Verge? Try me."
The challenge hung between them like a drawn blade, both brothers perfectly still except for the tense rise and fall of their chests.
Vergil's glare sharpened, and he could almost feel a dark, insistent cloud behind him. "You forget yourself, Dante."
"No," Dante shot at him. "I'm remembering exactly who you are. And I'm telling you right now, sit your ass down and think about what just happened. Then figure out how you're gonna approach him without tearing him open again. 'Cause if you go barging in there, you're gonna hurt him. And if you do..." His brother's tone suddenly took another threatening turn as his eyes flashed dangerously. "Just know I'm not gonna take it."
Vergil felt his jaw lock, his glare refusing to falter, but Dante didn't budge either. The brothers stood in that quiet, dangerous standoff, the weight of their shared history simmering between them, until the creak of the office chair behind Vergil broke the tension.
It was only then that he realised Dante had left him no room to argue without proving him right.