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Chapter Text

Prologue- Mission 0-  This Party's Getting Desperate

Sixteen Hours Before Mission One...

Nero stared in disbelief at the love of his life, opening and closing his mouth to try and find the right words."You want Nico...Nico, of all damned people, to look after the kids for three days?"

Outside, as if on cue, they heard a muffled bang followed by Nico's excited whooping from out back.

Kyrie continued folding the laundry, a small smile playing at her lips as another round of suspicious bangs echoed from the garage. The basket was full of the dirty clothes they'd need for their upcoming trip - their first real vacation since... well, since ever.

Truthfully, neither Kyrie nor Nero had foreseen their romantic weekend being a thing. It was  rather upon sheer luck. It had all started with what should have been a routine demon-hunting job on the mainland a few weeks back. The client, some financial clerk executive with more money than sense, had insisted on paying Nero an obscene amount for taking out some Scarecrows in the basement of his office building.

When Nero refused (still feeling at odds being given too much for "just doing his job"), the financial clerk  pawned off the payment, offering them a free stay at his luxury beach house for a long weekend. Nero had been uncomfortable with the whole thing, but Kyrie saw an opportunity. 

They had been secretly debating for months on saving up some money for even a night away together, but three days paid for in some expensive getaway home were beyond either's couples imagining or pockets. She'd even pointed out that their options may be limited on who could look after the boys, but at least they were trustworthy. 

Those doleful hazel eyes had worn down his resistance as he found himself before a kiosk desk in Port Caerula two days later, two ferry tickets in hand to the mainland.

Now, here they were, packing for paradise tomorrow while his best friend/weapons specialist was handed an opportunity to allow their kids to run riot. But then again, between Nero's lacking social skills when it came to making friends with the neighbours and Kyrie's slightly strained relationship with the sisters at the orphanage, Nero couldn't say they had a lot of options. At least Nico, for all her chain-smoking and profanities, genuinely cared about the kids—more than he could say for some of the other possibilities.

Kyrie hesitated to leave Carlo, Kyle, and Julio in Sister Beatrice's hands. The elderly nun meant well, but she still hadn't recovered from Kyle's interruption during last month's sermon as part of a fundraiser. Kyrie had practically dragged Kyle along, the teenager halting the service halfway through as he began a heated debate with Bishop Marcus about the Savior still being worshipped as a god.

Nero had come home to Kyrie lecturing the boy, her voice carrying that particular blend of disappointment and concern that somehow hit harder than any shouting match could. Kyle had been slumped in his chair at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched and jaw set in that stubborn way that reminded Nero entirely too much of himself being caught by Credo moping.

To be honest, Nero could understand the kid's sentiment. He had never seen eye to eye with the old bags that praised Sparda as some living god, and now, knowing he was his grandfather, it was plain weird. Still, the fact that the kid had made valid points from Kyrie's briefing didn't change the fact that he'd embarrassed the songstress in front of half the island's remaining faithful - the same people whose donations helped keep the orphanage running.

They had both considered asking Dante to play childminder. However, the thought of leaving three impressionable children with someone who thought pizza, whisky and strawberry sundaes were a complete food pyramid and whose housekeeping concept was "let the ants and cockroaches sort out the crumbs" had quickly been dismissed.  

Not only that, but Nero noticed how Kyle was also starting to become a little too starry-eyed about anything associated with devil hunting. Between his eldest's recent bout of teenage angst and meltdowns, the last thing he needed was for Kyle to get ideas about following in the legendary devil hunter’s footsteps. He'd already caught the teen trying to somersault the backyard a few months back, ending with a sprained ankle and an unconvincing story about tripping over his feet.

Lady and Trish were out of the picture too. Dante had let slip on the phone a few days back about them being on some big job several towns away. Then again, even Nero was uncertain whether either woman would be a better option than Nico, given their track record. That left only two viable options: the first being the most plausible ( despite Nero’s protests), and the second being one the young devil hunter was desperately trying to put off.

"Nico's good with them," Kyrie said softly, smoothing a wrinkle in one of his t-shirts. "She might be... unconventional, but she loves the boys. And they adore her."

Nero ran a hand through his hair, looking torn between amusement and exasperation at the thought of Nico being left unsupervised to look after the kids. “I just... maybe we should—"

"Well…” Kyrie paused, her eyes not quite meeting Nero’s. “ We could always ask Vergil to keep an eye on things," Kyrie suggested innocently.

Nero's face underwent impressive expressions before settling on pure horror. “ You can’t be serious.”

Kyrie tried to keep her expression neutral, but her eyes danced with barely suppressed mirth. "He and I have been talking quite a bit on the phone lately. ” 

That earned the songstress a startled sound from Nero, evidently unaware of his girlfriend’s weekly Thursday mid-morning routine to call Vergil.  “ The hell do you two even talk about? I barely got a grunt when he picked up the office for Dante that one time.”

The memory of that awkward minute call still made Nero cringe. Despite them at least making some progress talking in-person, Vergil was awkward as hell over the phone. He still remembered the abrupt " No"  and an occasional shuddery breath down the other end until Dante had finally stumbled in. The young devil hunter had spent the entire time toying with Blue Rose, trying to fill the painful silence with the familiar clicks of metal on metal. At the same time, his father apparently contemplated the deep philosophical meaning of "Is Dante there?"

“ Gardening like today, poetry often, sometimes baking tips,” Kyrie replied,  drawing Nero away from the memory. She paused between folding a pair of his jeans. “ But mostly about you.”

The tips of Nero's ears flushed slightly pink, his mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to sputter out, "The hell? What— what could he—" He trailed off, looking both flustered and oddly vulnerable.

Kyrie put the jeans on top of a t-shirt and focused on folding one of her evening dresses, a year-old gift from Lady, into a neat laundry pile. "He wants to try and find an excuse to help you out, you know,” she said softly, her fingers absent-mindedly playing with the chiffon. “Don't worry, he doesn't know about our trip. I imagine if Vergil did, he would be willing to do so.”

Nero turned away abruptly, but not before Kyrie caught the way his eyes had glazed over slightly. He cleared his throat roughly, shoulders tense. "That's... that's just..." He shook his head, unable to find the words.

It was one thing to get his estranged father to look after a group of children, but putting a half-devil who had caused two catastrophic city-scale events in charge?  Hell, that was crazy. Absurd. But, still, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. The whole red coat switcharoo was still fresh in his mind. His father's awkward attempts at connection, hiding behind his uncle's identity just to spend time with him and then there was the whole thing with their relationship. They were actually getting somewhere. After the very awkward afternoon tea Vergil had invited him along to last month, it made saying 'no' feel like slamming a door that had only just creaked open.

Nero's voice was rough with emotion, and he couldn't entirely hide it when he spoke again. "Dammit. Now I have to consider letting him babysit, don't I?"

He felt Kyrie wrap her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek against his back. Through his worn jacket, he could feel the warmth of her embrace, steady and grounding as always. "Only if you want to, Nero." Her voice held the gentleness she reserved for when she knew he was struggling with something bigger than the young devil hunter wanted to admit.

He could feel some tension leave his shoulders as he placed his hands over hers, his calloused fingers intertwining with her softer ones. "Guess I should run it by Nico first," Nero sighed, his tone trying for casual but not quite making it. His thumb traced absent patterns on the back of Kyrie's hand, a nervous habit he'd developed over the years. "Can't exactly spring the asshole on her without warning."

“ Language”, Kyrie chided softly without any weight behind it. Withdrawing from her grip on the fabric. "At least we know she'll be honest about whether she's comfortable with it," Kyrie said, smoothing down her floral skirt with practised grace. A hint of amusement tainted her voice as she added, "Though I imagine her exact words might be a bit more... colorful. “

Nero snorted, returning to face her with some of his usual spark, though his fingers still fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve.  "Yeah, that's one way of putting it. Pretty sure half the kids' vocabulary comes from trying to copy her garage rants."

He cracked a small grin, remembering how just last week Carlo had earnestly described his broken toy as 'absolutely goddamn busted to hell and back.'  "Think I'll head over there now, actually. Better to know sooner rather than later if we need to figure something else out."

Kyrie nodded, planting a small kiss on Nero's cheek before she turned back to their laundry. The familiar scent of their geranium detergent and the soft rustling of clothes filled the comfortable silence. She didn't need to say anything else - they both knew she'd be here when he got back, ready to help plan for whatever came next.

As Nero headed for the door, he could hear her humming softly to herself, the same hymn she always fell back on when thinking deeply about something. It was amazing how she could make folding laundry feel like a moment of grace.

The walk to Nico's makeshift workshop in the garage was short, but it gave Nero plenty of time to second-guess himself.  Through the propped-open door, he could hear the telltale sound of metal on metal and Nico's off-key humming competing with some old rock song playing on her beaten-up radio.

He paused at the entrance, watching her bent over what looked like another "improved" version of his Blue Rose—probably adding something that would either be brilliant or blow up in his face. With Nico, it was always a toss-up.

"Hey," he called out, loud enough to be heard over her work but not so sudden as to startle her. The last time he'd surprised her mid-modification, she'd nearly soldered her fingers together. "Got a minute?"

Nico didn't look up from her work, but her humming shifted to words. "Depends. You here to complain about the kickback on that last mod? 'Cause I told you, that's a feature, not a bug."

"Feature my ass," Nero scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. "Pretty sure my shoulder's still got bruises from that 'feature.' Super healing or not."

He crossed his arms, watching her continue to tinker. "But nah, that's not why I'm here. Though while we're on the subject, maybe dial back the 'improvements' that try to dislocate my arm?"

Nico finally looked up, pushing a loose strand from her face and leaving a smear of grease across her temple. "You want mediocre, go buy some mass-produced piece of shit." Accusingly, she jabbed her soldering iron in his direction, though her grin took any real heat out of the words. "My babies pack a punch 'cause that's what they're meant to do. Alright," she set down her tools, reaching for her ever-present cigarette, "what's got you skulking in my doorway looking like someone pissed in your cereal?"

Nero shifted his weight, suddenly finding the scattered tools on Nico's workbench really interesting—screwdrivers arranged by size, half-assembled gun parts, and what looked suspiciously like demonic fragments in a jar labelled 'DO NOT TOUCH (THIS MEANS YOU, NERO)'.

"Uh. So. What'd you think about Vergil and you watching the kids?" The last part came out rushed, like he was trying to get it over with, the words tumbling over each other in their haste to escape. The wrench hit the floor with a loud clang that echoed through the garage, causing several sheets to flutter out from a nearby stack of blueprints.

Nico gaped at him, cigarette hanging loose from her mouth, the ash growing precariously long. "Hold the hell up. You wanna let V-man babysit?" She rolled her stool closer, the wheels squeaking against the concrete floor as she squinted at him through the haze of smoke. "You take a demon claw to the head or something? Maybe inhaled too many of those weird spores from last week's job?"

"It's not—" Nero bristled, then dragged a hand down his face, leaving slight oil smudges from where he'd unconsciously been fiddling with a loose gear. "Dammit, look, he's been having these weird-ass morning talks with Kyrie lately, and she thinks... ah fuck, forget it. This was stupid." He turned to leave, boots scuffing against the floor.

"Oh no you don't," Nico jabbed her cigarette in his direction, ember trailing a bright arc through the air as she nearly fell off her stool, grabbing his shoulder with her other hand . "Dumbass, I didn't actually say no. Just wonderin' if you've finally cracked from all those demon fights.

Nero rolled his eyes, throwing off Nico’s loose grip. "Yeah, well, according to Kyrie, he's been wanting to pull some kind of favor during their talks." He shifted uncomfortably. And you know how she is. Gets all..." he waved his hand vaguely, "optimistic about people."

"You mean she sees the good in folks even when they're being complete jackasses?" Nico grinned. "Yeah, wonder how that worked out for you.”

"Hey, what's the hell is that  supposed to mean?" Nero snapped, but there wasn't any real heat in it. "Look, I just figured if anyone could keep him from doing something weird, it'd be you. Plus..." He crossed his arms, looking anywhere but at her. "You and the kids get on. “

"When I'm not teaching ‘em how to make explosives ?" Nico winked teasingly, tapping ash off her cigarette. Then she eyed him for a long moment like she was trying to figure out a particularly tricky bit of engineering. "You trust him that much? Around the kids?"

"I trust him to try," Nero muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

Nico's teasing grin faded into something softer, more understanding. She'd seen that look on Nero's face before, and she'd seen it so many times on her own in the van's bathroom mirror thinking about Agnus and Rock - usually when he was trying to work through something about his complicated mess of a family. "Ain't that what matters though?" she asked quietly, stubbing out her cigarette. "The trying part?"

Nero shrugged, but there was something vulnerable in the way he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Kyrie thinks it's important.”

Nico sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up. "Fine, fine. Count me in on Operation Daddy Daycare." She spun on her stool, grabbed a wrench and pointed it at him. "But you gotta be the one to ask him. None of this 'Kyrie mentioned' bullshit. Call him right now."

"What? Now?" Nero's eyes widened slightly, that familiar tension creeping back into his shoulders like a cat preparing to bolt. "I was thinking maybe tomor—"

"Nuh-uh." Nico was already reaching for the grease-stained phone on her workbench, knocking aside a half-assembled Devil Breaker in her haste. "Strike while the iron's hot, wonder boy. Besides," her grin turned mischievous as her oil-smudged fingers dialled the office's number, "I wanna hear you try to explain this to Mr. Poetry himself."

"Nico, don't you dare—" Nero lunged for the phone, but she twisted away with surprising agility, holding it out of reach as cigarette ash scattered across the floor.

"What's wrong, big ol' tough guy? Scared of talking to your old man?" She ducked under his grab, dancing around the workbench littered with prototype weapons and scattered tools. "After all that big talk about trust—"

"I'm not scared, I just—" He vaulted over the bench, sending screwdrivers and wrenches clattering to the floor. "Give me the damn phone!"

"Make me!" Nico cackled, keeping just ahead of him as the line rang, her boots skidding on the oil-stained concrete. "You wanna get my help or not?"

"Devil May Cry." The familiar cold voice cut through their chaos.

Nero and Nico froze mid-grapple, her half-sprawled across the workbench with the phone stretched out, him with one hand caught in her oil-stained overall strap trying to drag her back. A wrench teetered on the edge of the bench before falling with a sharp clang. For a moment, they just stared at each other, wide-eyed.

"Hello?" Vergil's voice came again, sharper this time, cutting through the line's static. "I am able to hear your breathing."

"Uh—" Nero finally snatched the phone, shoving Nico away with his free hand. She stumbled back against a spare parts shelf, mouthing 'do it!' and making aggressive, encouraging gestures while straightening her crooked glasses. He shot her a glare that could have melted steel before clearing his throat. "Hey... Ver-Father. It's me."

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Nero." Vergil's tone shifted slightly, barely traceable to the average listener. "Is something wrong?"

"What? No, nothing's wrong," Nero said quickly, then winced at how defensive it sounded. Nico was now perched on her workbench, legs swinging, making exaggerated 'go on' motions. "I just... wanted to ask you something."

Another pause. "Very well."

Nero ran a hand through his hair, pacing. Damn, he hadn't thought this far ahead. "So, uh... you know how Kyrie and look after three kids.”

"Yes." The single word somehow managed to convey both patience and wariness.

"Right, well..." Nero glanced at Nico, who was now making wildly encouraging hand gestures. "Thing is, Kyrie and I... we haven't had much time to ourselves lately, and we were thinking of taking a long weekend break tomorrow. Just three days, nothing major."

He could practically hear Vergil's raised eyebrow. "I see."

"And we need someone to watch the kids." The words came out in a rush. "Someone who can handle... you know—their energy.  And since… I mean, technically, you are their…” The words trailed off as Nero gripped the phone tighter. "Would you... be willing to watch them? Just for the weekend?"

The silence that followed felt endless. Nico had stopped her pestering, leaning forward intently.

After what felt like an eternity, Vergil spoke with careful precision. "You want me of all people... to watch over children. Multiple children. For an entire weekend."

"Look, if you don't want to—" Nero started, but Vergil cut him off.

"I didn't say that." Another pause, shorter this time. “ Will it be just me caring for these children?”

Nero paused. “ Uh… well, I guess Nico is also gonna be around as an extra pair of hands.”

"The mechanic?" There was a different note in Vergil's voice now, one of recognition that raised Nero's eyebrows. "Nicoletta Goldstein. She was... helpful, during that time." The words came carefully, like Vergil was carefully selecting each one.

Nero caught Nico's surprised expression at the acknowledgement, her mouth forming a small 'o' as she dropped back onto her stool. It was easy to forget sometimes that Vergil had known her first as V and had relied on her transportation and aid during those desperate hours running around Redgrave. She'd been there for his father's weakest moments, even if neither talked about it.

"Yeah," Nero confirmed, feeling slightly more confident. "She's really good with the kids. Knows all their schedules,  and their quirks. Julio won't eat certain foods, Kyle needs to be supervised, and Carlo needs—"

"Then I accept," Vergil said, his tone shifting to something more businesslike, cutting through Nero's nervous rambling. "But I have conditions."

Nero felt his stomach drop slightly - Vergil's 'conditions' could be anything from 'no one touches Yamato' to sizing up which one of the children showed the most potential for combat compatibility. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to imagine a situation where Vergil had given the kids wooden training swords.

"What kind of conditions?" he asked cautiously, watching Nico leaned closer, her cigarette forgotten and burning dangerously close to her fingers.

"First, no one informs Dante of this arrangement," Vergil stated flatly, voice hardening at his twin's name. "I refuse to deal with his  interference."

"Yeah, that's fair," Nero agreed quickly, imagining the endless stream of jokes and photos the devil hunter would produce.

"Second," Vergil continued, papers rustling in the background like he was actually taking notes, "I expect detailed written instructions. Schedules. Emergency contacts. Any relevant medical information. Everything."

Nico was already pulling out her grease-stained notebook, scribbling furiously with a pencil she'd pulled from behind her ear.

"And finally..." There was that pause again, which usually preceded something particularly Vergil-like. "I wish for a proper fight between us when you return from your... sojourn."

"Yeah, should've known there'd be strings attached," Nero muttered, some of his earlier doubt returning. Of course, the self-righteous bastard would want another fight with him. Typical. "Just try not to wreck my house while we're gone."

The slight uplift in tone was so subtle that Nero might have imagined it. "I will arrive early in the morning to receive the instructions."

“ Uh, okay”, the young devil hunter responded.

There was a brief pause on the line. "You sound less than convinced."

"No, no, it's fine," Nero said quickly, though his fingers tightened on the phone until the plastic creaked in protest. Great, now he'd probably offended him. This was just what he needed before leaving his kids with the guy—Vergil sulking around the house with Yamato while trying to manage three energetic children.  “ Early morning works. Just  let me know when you're actually heading over."

Beside him, Nico was scribbling even faster in her notebook, the pencil making harsh scratching sounds against the paper.

"You will know." The words carried that cryptic weight Vergil seemed to specialize in.

The phone dropped on the other end with a sharp click that made Nero wince. He stared at the receiver momentarily, the dial tone buzzing in his ear like an angry insect. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"Means you better set your alarm," Nico snorted, not looking up from her list. Her glasses had slipped down her nose again, and she pushed them up with an oil-smudged finger. "Bet you ten that he shows at dawn."

Nero rolled his eyes.

Chapter Text

Prologue: Part 2

Five hours before Mission One…

Dante lounged in his chair, boots propped on his desk as he tried not to knock over his half-empty beer bottle. The ancient desk fan rattled away in the pre-dawn darkness, doing little more than pushing around the stale dust. 

Back and forth, back and forth – he was beginning to lose track of the amount of time he’d seen blue flash into his line of sight. The devil hunter stopped counting how many times his brother had paused to re-read whatever verse had him wound up tighter than Yamato's wrappings, but it had to be somewhere between "way too many" and "go and find a demon to slice up you selfish asshole."

It was no lie that demonic blood ensured Dante and Vergil’s sleep schedule and emotional states were... complicated.

As kids, they'd driven their mother half-mad with their nocturnal adventures to raid the kitchen for cookies. Eva had tried everything - warm milk, bedtime stories and even long baths, but she was fighting a losing battle against their demonic urges .The twins would lie in bed, restless energy thrumming through their veins, until the house grew quiet for them to escape  from their rooms, save for their father's occasional footsteps in the study below.

Hell, even when Dante was still going under Tony, that strumming energy  had followed him like a shadow. He'd spend those endless nights prowling the streets, picking fights in back alleys, anything to burn off the energy that built up like lightning under his skin. The few foster homes that had tried to take him in had given up pretty quick - hard to explain to normal humans why a kid never slept, ate enough for three grown men, and kept accidentally breaking door handles with his bare hands.

Vergil was often pretty tight-lipped about his own experiences as a teen,  but if the recent habit of pacing was anything to go by, his brother's nights had been just as bad. The image of his brother, alone in some crumbling cathedral with only Yamato and centuries-old texts for company, made something twist uncomfortably in Dante's chest.

He supposed Nero had it slightly better with a human mother and all, but demonic blood ran strong no matter how diluted. The morning after their return from hell nearly a year ago, Kyrie was already on the phone seeking solutions to their newest domestic challenge: Nero's newfound habit since triggering being to destroy makeshift targets in the garage at 4 AM.

Dante had little advice beyond " tell Nero to go play whack-a-mole with some Mephisto and let him burn it off"—it wasn't like he and Vergil had ever figured out a better solution. Probably not the most helpful advice for someone trying to maintain a semi-normal life in Fortuna, but something must have come of it, as he found a box of fancy chocolates  from that chocolatier he’d visited last time in Fortuna, and a thank you note in the mail a few weeks later.

"You know," Dante drawled, absently spinning a half-empty pizza box with his finger, "the floor's not getting any cleaner that way."

Vergil stopped mid-stride, turning just enough to fix his brother with that familiar cold stare. The one that said 'your existence irritates me' - though these days it carried considerably less venom than it used to.  "If you have nothing useful to contribute, brother, then perhaps silence would suit you better."

"Hey, I'm plenty useful." Dante put the pizza box down, chair creaking as he shifted. A few pizza crumbs scattered from his shirt onto the floor. "I'm the one telling you that wearing holes in my floor isn't gonna make daylight come any faster. What's got you so worked up anyway?” He gestured at Vergil's whole state of being, taking in the tighter-than-usual set of his shoulders and the way his free hand kept straying to Yamato's hilt.

"Nero requires my assistance with a matter today," Vergil stated flatly, resuming his pacing. The words came out with that particular crisp precision he used when trying to convince himself as much as others.

"Nero?" That got Dante's attention, feet dropping from the desk as he sat up straighter. "What kind of dirty work needs you wearing trenches in my floor at 4 AM? Kid's usually pretty self-sufficient."

A particularly sharp tap of Yamato against wood was the only indication that the question had hit a nerve, the sound cutting through the quiet office like a gunshot.

"I believe," Vergil cut in, his tone dropping several degrees colder, frost practically crystallizing on each syllable. “There are still bills requiring your attention." He gestured to the stack of unopened envelopes threatening to avalanche off Dante's coffee table, their edges gone soft from weeks of neglect. “Perhaps you should focus on those rather than matters that don't involve you."

Dante was about to press further when he caught something in his brother's posture - a slight tension in his shoulders he hadn't seen since their early post-hell days when Vergil was still adjusting to being around people again. The same flustered energy radiated from him during those first Saturday nights with Lady and Trish at the office, like he was preparing to fight or flee at any moment. Whatever this was about made his proud, immovable older twin… nervous.

"Hey, you mind grabbing those reports Lady dropped off last week?" Dante stretched, deliberately casual, jerking his thumb toward the back room as he picked up his previously disregarded bottle of beer from the desk . "Figure if we're both up burning midnight oil, might as well be productive. Unless you'd rather help sort through these love letters from the utility company?"

"Commit time to your own paperwork, Dante," Vergil commented dryly, but there was the faintest hint of relief . He paused tucking the book back into his pocket, hand resting on Yamato's hilt.

"Hey, you live here too, freeloader," Dante's smirk curved around the rim of his bottle and earning him a withering glare from his brother. “ Besides, not my fault you spend so much on taking showers. The hell you need four showers a day anyway? No wonder the water bill is always sky high. ”

"At least one of us maintains proper hygiene," Vergil retorted. His fingers drummed once against Yamato's hilt, a subtle tell of irritation. "Though I suppose as they say one used to such luxuries often doesn’t take it for granted.”

Dante paused mid-sip. Ah, shit. He’d been trying to stay clear over the past year or so of getting into that topic. He knew he often played the fool, but even the devil hunter couldn’t miss Vergil’s uncertainty about interacting or doing mundane things.

He still got a good laugh when Patty left her cordless headphones behind that one time. Vergil had spent twenty minutes examining the headphone cord that connected the two earpieces around the back of the neck, trying to figure out where the rest of the wire was supposed to go. The look of disbelief shot his way when Dante explained they didn't need to be plugged into anything was almost worth the three new sword-shaped holes in his wall.

But then there were the other moments—the ones that made Dante remember that his brother hadn't been lounging and getting wasted in an office for twenty years while in Hell. His brother would sometimes stare at the television with a mix of disdain and fascination like he was trying to piece together two decades of history and cultural shifts from infomercials and late-night reruns. Dante sometimes wondered what the hell V did in that month leading up to the Qliphoth.

 "By the way," Vergil said abruptly, snapping Dante out of his thoughts. "I'll be... unavailable for the next few days. Do not come and find me."

Dante blinked, bottle halfway to his mouth. "Few days? Since when do you take vacations?"

"It's not a vacation." Vergil was already moving towards the door, his movements precise and deliberate in that way that meant he was forcing himself not to rush. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as demonic energy gathered.

"Wait, what—" But Vergil was already gone, leaving behind only the faint blue afterimage of a portal and the lingering scent of ozone that always accompanied his spatial cuts. 

Dante stared at the space where his brother had been, mentally ticking off the oddities of the evening. First, the late-night pacing that had worn a path in his floorboards, then the nervousness about something with Nero, and now, a mysterious multi-day disappearance? From someone who still couldn't handle unexpected phone calls without tensing up?

"Huh," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Now that's interesting."

Looks like those reports were going to be gathering more dust.

After patrolling around the Business District, Nero shuffled into the kitchen at some ungodly hour. Sunlight was barely cracking through the windows as he returned to the house, trying to recount the memories of Kyrie’s sleeping form as he woke up.  He still remembered her peaceful face, auburn hair spread across the pillow in the dim moonlight, almost made up for being wide awake and beating up empusas at whatever the hell this was.

In the past, Nero never considered why he needed less rest than the other knights. It had just been another oddity to add to the list - along with the arm, healing, and everything else that had made him different.  He'd gotten pretty good at making up stuff about needing less sleep, even if they rang hollow in the quiet hours before dawn.

Nero sighed, attempting to brush off such thoughts as he absent-mindedly reached for the cereal box. The cabinet creaked - he really needed to fix that hinge before Kyrie noticed -

"Your guard is down."

"Fucki-" Nero nearly jumped out of his skin, the cereal box launching towards the ceiling as he spun around, blue spectral hands materializing before his brain caught up to his reflexes. Colorful hoops scattered across the counter like shrapnel, marshmallows bouncing off the tile with tiny plinks.

Vergil sat perfectly composed at the kitchen table, sipping what looked like tea from one of Kyrie's porcelain-painted mugs, as if materializing in people's kitchens at 5 AM was completely normal. The delicate purple flowers on white porcelain looked absurd in his father's gloved hands.

"Hey, asshole," Nero hissed, heart still trying to escape his chest, spectral hands curling defensively around his shoulders. "Ever heard of a fucking door?"

"Language," Vergil replied mildly, taking another measured sip from the dainty mug. The kitchen light caught the steam rising from it, creating an almost ethereal effect that clashed hilariously with the situation. "And yes, I am familiar with doors. I often find  them unnecessary."

Nero stared at him and tried to reconcile the familiar image before him with V doing the exact same thing through his window not that long ago.

Dawn was barely breaking outside their kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the cramped space that made the scene even more ridiculous - his half-demon father rigidly positioned in one of their chairs. Even Yamato was propped carefully against one of their mismatched pieces of furniture as Vergil drank tea from Kyrie's favourite set like he'd been invited to a morning social.

"The tea is quite good." Vergil gestured to the carefully arranged tea set on the table - clearly Kyrie's birthday gift from Credo for her fourteenth, though Nero had never seen anyone actually use it other than Kyrie. The bone china gleamed in the weak morning light, delicate roses and gold trim catching the faint sunlight. "Your... Miss Kyrie has excellent taste."

" Right," Nero  said slowly, studying Vergil's carefully neutral expression. He noticed his father's fingers tightened further, threatening the cup's integrity. "So you broke into my house at dawn, scared the shit out of me, and have been sitting here drinking tea for who knows how long because...?"

"I was informed you normally watch the children while Kyrie attends her morning chores," Vergil said, his tone deliberately casual in a way that immediately set off warning bells in Nero's head. There was that slight hesitation before speaking, the same one he'd had when asking about Nero's arm awhile back and that had ended in a pretty nasty fight. "I thought perhaps I could... observe."

Nero stared. The cereal box lay forgotten on the counter, spilled marshmallows still dotting the floor like multi-colored landmines, his brain struggling to process what he'd just heard. "You want to watch the kids' morning routines?"

"I merely wish to understand certain... aspects of child management," Vergil said stiffly, like the words physically pained him to say. His gaze fixed somewhere past Nero's left shoulder, where Carlo’s latest crayon masterpiece  of  Mr. Rapetti’s daschund hung proudly on the fridge. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Unless my presence would be disruptive."

A dozen responses warred in Nero's mind, ranging from "get the hell out" to hysterical laughter. Nero ran a hand through his battle and sleep-mussed hair, buying time as he thought.

The kids would be up soon - Carlo always woke first, and the others would follow shortly after. Having Vergil and him in the same room here would complicate things. The kids were naturally curious about Vergil, but Nero avoided telling them about his relation to the elder twin after the last incident.  But still, it didn’t seem fair to keep them in the dark, not when a seeming stranger  was going to be babysitting them for the next few days. Hell, this whole morning and idea might be a complete disaster. But...

"Okay," Nero found himself saying, surprising them both. "But you’re not the only one lying some damned rules out here about this whole babysitting stuff. And if you try anything, I'm throwing you out the damned window - door or no door. Be thankful that Kyrie and I trust you enough to be here in the first place."

Something flickered across Vergil's face - so quick Nero almost missed it, but for a moment, his careful mask slipped to reveal what looked suspiciously like relief. Then surprise, as if he hadn't actually expected Nero to agree. His fingers finally loosened their death grip on Kyrie's cup, though he immediately compensated by sitting even more rigidly upright, if possible.

"First rule," Nero said finally, moving to clean up the scattered cereal before someone slipped on it. "Keep Yamato out of sight of the kids."

Vergil's eyes narrowed slightly, his hand twitching towards where Yamato rested against the chair. For a moment, Nero thought he might refuse - his father's attachment to that sword went beyond obsessive into something almost pathological. But then Vergil gave a short, sharp nod and, with smooth movements that barely seemed real, the sword... vanished. Not teleported or hidden - just gone, in that way Nero had seen both his father and uncle do but had never quite figured out himself.

"Acceptable," Vergil said, though his posture remained tense. "What else is required of me?"

"Second rule," Nero said, dumping a handful of crushed cereal into the trash before throwing himself into a chair opposite, "no demonic bullshit. No summoned swords, transformations, nothing that'll make the neighbors call one of the Knights. Again." He gave Vergil a pointed look, remembering the chaos when Dante had visited last month.

"And third..." Nero straightened up, meeting his father's eyes directly. His voice took on an edge that made him sound more like his father than he'd probably care to admit. "If they get scared or upset, you back off. Immediately. No questions asked. These kids have been through enough - they don't need..." He gestured vaguely at Vergil's whole... everything. "Just... remember they're kids, okay?"

Vergil sat perfectly still through the rules, face unreadable. Only his eyes moved, following Nero's gestures with an intensity bordering on discomfort. Then he inclined his head slightly, the gesture somehow both regal and awkward, like he was trying to remember human responses. "I understand," he said quietly. "I have no intention of frightening them."

Nero studied his father's face, searching for any sign of the usual deflection or pride. But all he found was that same awkward sincerity—like Vergil was genuinely trying, even if he had no idea how to show it.

It was... weird. It was almost unsettling, seeing his father this uncertain. He seemed less like the demon who'd torn through Red Grave City and more like an antisocial asshole who had no idea what the hell he was doing.

Nero let out a shuddery breath he hadn't realized he was holding, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Right. Okay." He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling as awkward as Vergil looked.  "Just... follow those rules, and we’re good to go."

Nero wasn't sure how long they'd sat in silence after that, but the telltale sign of sunlight brightening through the windows and the soft pad of tiny feet in the hallway told him it must've been awhile. The morning had crept up on them, transforming the kitchen's shadows into pools of warm light that caught on the pre-laid-out breakfast dishes from last night and the worn edges of the table.

Nero watched his father tense almost imperceptibly at the sound, his shoulders squaring as he often did in combat rather than meeting a child. The kitchen door swung open with the gentle squeak they'd never entirely bothered to try and fix, and Carlo poked his head in, still drowsy-eyed and pyjama-clad. He froze mid-yawn when he spotted Vergil, his small hand tightening on the doorframe.

"Morning,  Carlo," Nero said, keeping his voice carefully casual even as he watched Vergil from the corner of his eye. "You're up early."

Carlo nodded without taking his eyes off Vergil, who sat unnaturally still under the child's scrutiny. The boy's sleep-tousled hair caught the morning light, and his dinosaur pyjamas seemed to emphasise how out of place Vergil looked in his regal coat and carefully controlled posture.

“Why…” Carlo started, then stopped, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway. His free hand twisted in the hem of his pyjama top, a nervous habit they'd been trying to help him break. “ Is that Mr. Dante’s brother?”

Nero cleared his throat, acutely aware of Vergil's stillness beside him. 

Fuck.

He'd forgotten that the kids had briefly encountered Dante and Vergil in one another's places. That had taken a fair bit of explaining and white lies.The words still felt strange in his tongue, even after all this time. "Yeah, he is. And... he's also my father." He toyed with the tablecloth. "He'll be looking after you, Julio, and Kyle for a few days while Kyrie and I are away.”

Carlo blinked in confusion, blissfully too young to know about the turbulent dynamic between father and son. “ But why is your dad here? I thought you said Nico would be looking after us.”

Nero sighed, brushing the back of his head. “ Well, Nico’s going to be there too.”

"Both of them?" Carlo's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his hand finally releasing the wrinkled hem of his pyjama top. His gaze shifted back to Vergil, studying him with renewed interest.

The morning routine was broken by the distant sound of Julio’s protests, followed by some form of  an out-of-shot protest from Kyrie. The kitchen's warm light seemed to soften the edges of everything except Vergil, who remained as sharp and defined as a blade.

"Does he know how to make pancakes?" Carlo finally interrupted. "Nico always burns them."

Nero grimaced. “ Well, I am not-“

“Banana or chocolate?" Vergil's sudden question cut through Nero's hesitation.

Nero could do nothing but stare incredulously at his father.

Carlo's eyes widened, clearly not expecting to be presented with such an important decision so early in the morning. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, pyjamas rustling softly as he considered the question. "Can... can we have both?"

A moment passed when Nero could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smile on the elder twin’s face. "That would be acceptable," Vergil replied, rising from his chair. The movement caused the morning light to catch on his silver-white hair, creating an almost ethereal effect that made him look more otherworldly than usual.

Once again, Nero wondered who the hell his father was.

Chapter Text

Prologue-Part 3

Two hours until Mission One...

Kyrie had been expecting many things as she wrestled Julio down the stairs after his protests about going to school and Nico babysitting them. Her hands were gentle but firm on his shoulders as he reluctantly dragged his feet on each step. She had already deduced from the middle child’s empty bed, which had been clumsily made, that Carlo was likely already downstairs.  Behind them, Kyle skulked in a way only a teen could perfect - shoulders hunched, hood pulled low over his eyes despite her house rule prohibiting Nero from doing so, each heavy footfall a statement of protest against the cruel injustice of  the morning school routine.

The sound of cabinets opening in their kitchen wasn't unusual—Nero often started breakfast when she was wrangling the kids. But rounding the corner to find Vergil, still in his impeccable coat, flipping pancakes in her kitchen at 8 a.m. was not one of them.

For a moment, she could only stare at the man she’d been sharing phone calls with over the past two months, finding it easier to disassociate Vergil’s softer voice from his actual appearance. She was aware of Kyle walking into her back with a muffled grunt, his typical teenage slouch momentarily forgotten as he peered around her shoulder at their unexpected guest.  Julio, who had been mid-complaint about the unfairness of being left behind for the couple’s trip, fell unusually quiet, his mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise.

 The contrast between phone Vergil’s softer edge and the reality of his cold appearance was jarring enough that she nearly missed his quiet "Good morning"—the same measured tone Kyrie’s grown familiar with over their discussions about Milton and Blake. Sometimes, the songstress forgot she spoke regularly to someone who could level a city block, especially when he became passionate in the debate about analysing meter and form.

"Good morning," Kyrie automatically replied before she was aware of the words leaving her lips.

She blinked before side-stepping to let Julio and Kyle into the kitchen. Kyle slouched past her  , though she caught how his eyes flickered cynically toward their visitor before he dropped into his usual seat next to Carlo. Julio moved with more restraint, casting curious glances at their visitor as he edged around the kitchen's perimeter to reach the table. He maintained a careful distance from Vergil as he slipped cautiously into his usual seat by Nero.

Beside him,  Nero watched his father with an expression caught between amusement and wariness, with a coffee mug in his hand. His free hand tapped an irregular rhythm against the chipped ceramic, a tell  Kyrie recognized from whenever there was much on his mind. Nero’s pale gaze met hers across the kitchen, and she read the mix of apology and exasperation in them. Clearly, he hadn't expected his father to show up unannounced in the morning either.

 Kyrie offered him a small smile before awkwardly shuffling towards Vergil.

"Would you like some tea?" Kyrie offered, keeping her voice gentle but matter-of-fact. Behind Vergil, she could see Nero's shoulders relax slightly, though his fingers hadn't stopped their nervous tapping.

Vergil's gaze flickered between her and the kettle, then briefly to Nero, as if checking for some cue on how to proceed. “Tea would be... acceptable," Vergil responded, focusing on the pancake sizzling in the pan. He held the spatula with the exact precise grip he used for Yamato, waiting for the exact moment to flip it.

Kyrie busied herself with the kettle, stealing glances at his profile as it began to boil.  Kyrie couldn't help but notice how much he resembled Nero when deep in concentration - the same slight furrow between the brows, the same way of holding himself just a bit too rigid when focusing intently on a task. These weren't traits Nero had learned - they were there, written into his blood like the color of his hair and eyes or the shape of his jaw.

She froze slightly as Vergil's icy gaze  suddenly flickered to her, caught in her observation. There was something questioning in his look, perhaps even uncertain, as if he wasn't quite sure how to interpret being studied so carefully by his son's... what was she to him? Future Daughter-in-law? Family? Acquaintance?  It shouldn’t be so hard to really categorise their relationship, but it felt It as complex as the man himself.

Kyrie turned  her gaze away, and looked inside the  nearby cabinet. “ Jasmine or Earl Grey? I… I am afraid I used up the last of the bergamot during our phone call the other day.”

"Jasmine," Vergil replied after a brief pause, his tone carefully neutral though something flickers across his expression.  He watched as she reached for the tin, his next words coming with deliberate casualness that didn't quite mask his interest. "Your observations about  Marriage of Heaven and Hell the other day… I enjoyed it.”

Kyrie saw Nero shift slightly uncomfortable in his seat. It was still strange for him, she knew, these moments when his father overlapped with the frail black-haired man Nero had accounted as being a part of Vergil.

Kyrie’s hands stilled briefly on the tin, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I think Blake would have found Fortuna fascinating," she said softly, measuring out the tea leaves.

"Indeed." There was something almost wistful in Vergil's voice as his gaze drifted past the window.

Kyrie decided not to press Vergil further, recognizing the surprisingly  distant look that had settled over his features. Instead, she focused on the familiar ritual of preparing the tea, letting the steam rise  gently from the kettle.

The kids and Nero sat in awkward silence, until the faint sound of tuneless humming sounded down from the corridor. Julio and Carlo had their elbows propped on the table, watching Vergil with undisguised fascination, while Kyle pretended not to cast glances at Dante’s twin with barely concealed intrigue. None of them had plucked up the courage to ask for pancakes yet.

The kitchen door  suddenly banged open with enough force to rattle the windows, Nico's voice preceding her into the room. “Hey y'all, you would not believe the absolute chaos  with the traffic -"

The words died in her throat as she registered the more than six-foot tall figure at the stove. Her cigarette actually fell from her slack mouth, bouncing off her boot.

"Oh shit," Nico blurted, then immediately cringed at both the curse and the fact she was now standing frozen in the doorway, staring at Vergil's back like she'd walked into a tiger's cage. In between trying to pick up the disregarded cigarette, Nico’s words shot out of her mouth "I mean- shoot… how you doin’ V-man? "

"Language," Kyrie said mildly, not turning from the kettle.

Without turning, Vergil set another pancake on the stack with surgical precision. "If you wish to address me properly, Nicoletta," his voice gave away no trace of his feelings on the matter, "Vergil will suffice."

Nico's face went through several rapid transformations - surprise at the use of her full name, embarrassment at being corrected, and then finally a widening grin. “ Well sure thing, Vergil," she drawled, emphasizing his name, "just as soon as you start callin' me Nico like everyone else does. Fair's fair, right?"

The spatula stilled. Vergil turned, just enough for one cold blue eye to fix on her, a hint of amusement ghosting across his features. "Touché.. Nico.”

Nero, who had been frozen mid-sip with his cup halfway to his mouth, nearly choked on his coffee.

Nico grinned before moving into the kitchen and leaning against the counter, using her old mug on the side for some water from the tap.

"That's the tall man who looks like Mr. Dante," Julio finally spoke up in a low whisper. His small hands gripped the edge of the table as he leaned forward slightly, fascinated by the sight of someone who shared Dante's striking features but carried himself so differently.

Nero tensed slightly at the comparison but kept his voice calm and steady. "That's Vergil. Do you remember him?” The youngest of the three boys nodded. Nero cleared his throat, the words still feeling foreign on his tongue in front of others. “ He’s my father.”

Kyle's  slouch vanished as he snapped upright and took off his hood. "Wait, your dad? But I thought..." He glanced nervously at Vergil who evidently was showing feigned interest in trying to put another pancake on a spare plate. The teenager then leaned in closer to Nero, lowering his voice. "You said you grew up at the orphanage and then Kyrie’s parents took you in. Where the hell was he? And how come you never mentioned..." He trailed off at the noticeable discomfort on Nero’s face, seeming to realize all at once how personal his questions were becoming.

Julio's grip on Nero's sleeve tightened further, his earlier sleepiness completely forgotten as he watched the exchange with growing concern. Unlike Kyle, he wasn't old enough to fully grasp the implications but could feel the tension building in Nero's arm beneath his fingers.

Nero's jaw tightened for a moment, but his voice stayed deliberately even, conscious of Julio's grip on his sleeve and Vergil's eavesdropping. "It's... complicated," he said quietly. He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words that wouldn't upset the kids or make things more awkward than they already were. "Sometimes stuff just happens that way."

"Huh," Kyle said, watching as Kyrie handed Vergil a cup of steaming tea. He held onto it expertly with one-hand as he put the last pancake on the plate.  “ Why is he here anyway?”

Nero pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to find the gentlest way to drop this particular bomb. "Vergil  and Nico are  going to be watching you guys over the weekend while we're away."

Kyle's mouth fell open and Julio's eyes went wide as saucers. Carlo, who'd been quietly sipping his orange juice,  merely glanced up with mild interest, all too satisfied with the growing pile of pancakes on the kitchen side counter.

"Him?" Kyle finally managed, his voice cracking slightly as he looked between Nero and Vergil's back. "But he's... I mean, why can’t Dante babysit? Why him?”

 "Dante's... busy," Nero said diplomatically. "And Ver- my father offered to help out."

At the stove, Vergil methodically turned off the gas, his expression unreadable as Kyrie handed him his cup.

"Does he know any games?" Julio asked in that direct way young children often do, his earlier whispered awe giving way to practical concerns. He tugged at Nero's sleeve again, eyes still fixed on Vergil's back.

There was a moment where Nero opened his mouth, closed it, and clearly struggled with how to answer that. He'd never actually seen Vergil play anything that wasn't potentially lethal or wasn’t a competition to belittle Dante. Before he could cobble together a response, though, Vergil spoke without turning from the stove.

"I know chess," came the flat response.

Kyle made a face that clearly said 'boring,' while Carlo hid a smile behind his glass of orange juice.

Nico just snorted.

As he turned towards them with the plate full of pancake with in one hand and tea in the other, Vergil's voice carried just the faintest hint of something that might have been levity.  "I  also excelled at hide and seek as a child, though Dante would likely disagree with my... interpretation of the rules."

"What kind of  rules were there?" Carlo asked, lowering his juice glass with interest.

"Let's... maybe not get into that before breakfast," Nero cut in hastily, recognising the mischievous glint entering Julio’s eye.  The last thing he needed was the kids getting creative ideas about the dumbass twins and their childhood games  before school.

Vergil wordlessly settled the plate down and stepping back to awkwardly take a sip of his tea . There was an awkward pause as everyone in the kitchen seemed to realize  this was his first time Vergil had interacted with the kids properly.

Carlo, blessedly oblivious to the tension, perked up. "They look yummy!”

Kyrie emerged right behind Vergil, moving to her  usual spot beside Nero  as she put down the chocolate spread and the bowl of chopped banana pieces onto the table. As she settled into her chair, the worn wood creaking softly beneath her, Kyrie began distributing napkins from the small stack on the kitchen table, distributing them to the kids and then one to Nero.

“ Are you staying for breakfast, Nico?”, Kyrie asked.

"Nah, gotta bounce," Nico said, though she eyed the perfect stack of pancakes with obvious regret. She drained the last of her water and stepped away from the counter. "Got a client waiting on some upgrades near here.”

Nero paused as he reached for a pancake. “ The guy who kept talking about those demons near the old factory?" Nero pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor as concern crossed his features . "That area's been getting worse with crooks fresh off the boat, let alone demons. Lemme come with you."

"Oh come on, I can take care of myself!" Nico protested, rolling her eyes. She patted the holster at her hip with familiar confidence. "I've been doin’ this for years, remember? Besides don’t you two need to be headin’ for a ferry to catch?"

“ He’s right, Nico,” Kyrie interjected softly. “ The reports from the harbor district have been... troubling. Even the knights have been doubling up lately on patrols.”

Nico looked ready to protest again, her mouth already forming the words when Vergil spoke from where he stood . "I will accompany you." It wasn't so much a question, but a confirmation . He straightened from his casual lean, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the morning light, as the steam from his tea whipped up into the space of the kitchen.

Nero's eyebrows shot up at his father's unexpected offer, while Nico shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly caught off guard. She glanced between father and son, her usual quick wit momentarily failing her. "Well..." she started, “ I mean uh… if you’re offerin’, I guess…”

Vergil gave a slight nod, setting his empty cup down on the counter with practiced precision. "We should leave now, then. The morning fog will provide adequate cover."

"Yeah, yeah, lemme just—" Nico patted her pockets in a familiar dance, checking for keys, smokes, and her other essentials. She backed toward the door with her usual energy barely contained, gesturing with quick, sharp movements. "Meet ya out front in five? Gotta grab my toolkit from the garage anyway."

Before anyone could respond, she was already gone, her boots thundering down the hallway toward the front door.

Vergil lingered a moment longer in the kitchen, putting down his half-drunk cup of tea, his posture stiff as he turned to Kyrie and Nero and the kids. His gaze lingered upon them, clearly wrestling with the social obligation of a proper farewell. "Your weekend away…. I trust it will be enjoyable." He paused, visibly searching for appropriate words, gaze fixed somewhere between Nero's shoulder and the wall. "The children will be adequately supervised."

It wasn't quite a reassurance, but from Vergil, it was practically a warm send-off.

Kyrie's warm smile held a mix of understanding and gentle amusement at Vergil's formal delivery. "Thank you, Vergil," she replied with the same patient kindness she used to coax the shyer orphans out of their shells. "We know they'll be in good hands. Though," and here her voice took on that particular tone that could make even demon hunters straighten their posture, "I trust everyone remembers the house rules? All of them?"

Nero had to look away to hide his expression, caught between second-hand embarrassment for his father and pure admiration for Kyrie. Here was Vergil, who could slice through dimensions and had literally fought his way out of hell, being gently but firmly put in his place by the same voice that read bedtime stories and sang in the choir. The fact that his father seemed to have no defense against it made Nero want to simultaneously grimace and laugh – though he'd never dare do the latter, not unless he wanted to end up on the business end of Yamato himself.

Vergil's chin lifted a fraction, pride warring with the begrudging acknowledgment that his son might have a point about such matters. "...The rules will be observed," he conceded. His gaze shifted to Nero, and there was that familiar glint in his eyes – cold and evaluating, the same look he got when measuring an opponent's worth.

Nero met the look with a tighter smirk, tension coiling in his shoulders.

But before Nero could debate that gaze further, Vergil turned away, coat sweeping behind him as he strode toward the door. Each step was measured and deliberate, his boots barely clicking against the kitchen tiles. Vergil paused momentarily at the threshold, not bothering to look back. His rigid posture casting long shadows across the untouched stack of pancakes steaming on the table, before Vergil disappeared out of sight.

"Well he's a ray of sunshine," Kyle snorted, slouched in his chair with fork poised over his pristine plate, clearly more interested in the drama than the breakfast spread before him. The maple syrup bottle sat unopened in the center of the table, alongside the chocolate spread and banana slices.

"Kyle," Kyrie gently reprimanded.

Carlo reached across the table with childish eagerness, his small fingers already stretching for the nearest pancake. He nearly knocked over the syrup bottle in his haste, saved only by Kyrie's quick hand steadying it.

"Don't forget your plate, Carlo," she reminded him softly, pushing his blue ceramic plate closer to him.

The boy dutifully retracted his hand, grabbed his fork instead, and began carefully spearing the topmost pancake from the stack, biting his lip nervously in concentration as he maneuvered the floppy disk onto his plate. His eyes widened at the sight of the chocolate spread, and he wasted no time slathering it across his pancake with clumsy determination alongside a generous handful of banana slices.

Julio turned to Nero with a raised eyebrow. “ I thought you said Nico and Nero would be looking after us  ?”

“ Aren’t you three forgetting you’ve got school?”,  Nero retorted.

Julio and Kyle groaned in response.

“Vergil makes the best pancakes!" Carlo  obliviously chirped through a mouthful of chocolate and banana. "They're way, way better than when Nico tries to cook!" His feet continued their happy swing under the table as he scooped up another forkful, unaware of the looks of disbelief the youngest and eldest were sending him.

Nero couldn’t help but wish everyone could see the world from Carlo’s perspective sometimes.

Herding three kids and a suitcase outside the house was always easier with an extra pair of spectral hands. As Nero carried the suitcase down the stairs, he listened to the controlled chaos behind him: Carlo chattering about Vergil’s pancakes for what had to be the tenth time, Kyle trying to convince Kyrie he'd packed his homework when Nero knew for a fact he hadn't, and Julio doing that thing where he pretended to not have sneaked several chocolates from the candy jar into his pocket for a mid-morning sugar rush.

Just another normal morning, except for the lingering traces of tension from breakfast that the kids seemed determined to put past them.

"Hey," Nero called out when the phone's sharp ring cut through the morning bustle, "is anyone going to get that?"

No response. Of course not. With an exasperated sigh, Nero awkwardly maneuvered the suitcase against the wall, nearly dropping it on his foot in the process. He lunged for the phone, catching it on what had to be its final ring before voicemail. The receiver almost slipped from his grip – because apparently nothing could be simple this morning – and he had to perform some weird acrobatic maneuver to keep both himself and the phone upright while dodging Carlo, who chose that exact moment to zoom past him in pursuit of his forgotten schoolbag.

"Hello?" Nero managed to ask.

"Kid!" Dante's voice boomed through the receiver, way too cheerful for this hour.

Nero raised a sceptical eyebrow. “ Since when are you up at this time?”

“ What?” Dante asked in feigned offence. “ Can’t a loving and doting uncle  check in on his favorite nephew?"

"I'm your only nephew, dumbass," Nero pointed out dryly, already sensing there was more to this call. There was always more when it came to Dante being 'thoughtful' at suspicious hours.

"Yeah, well... speaking of family," Dante's voice took on that carefully casual tone that meant trouble, "you haven't seen your old man around lately, have you? Maybe prowling the rooftops, slicing reality in half and scaring children and puppies, that sort of thing?"

Nero's grip tightened on the phone, grateful Dante couldn't see his face. "What makes you think I'd know where he is?" he deflected, keeping his tone neutral.

"Oh, you know..." Dante dragged the words out, "just that whenever he disappears like this, he tends to end up in your neck of the woods. Some kind of father-son magnetism thing, maybe?"

"Sorry to disappoint," Nero said, ignoring the muffled sound of Carlo running past him with his schoolbag in-hand. "But I've got my own stuff to deal with. Maybe he's just tired of living off pizza and the state of the office."

“Hey now," Dante protested, "what's wrong with my office?"

"You really want me to answer that?" Nero snorted.

"That's... fair," Dante chuckled, though it didn't quite reach his usual warmth. "Just figured I'd ask considering he’s gone MIA and all.”

Before Nero could ask more, Julio's voice pierced through the open door as he stared wide-eyed at him.  "Nero! Carlo took my homework again! And shouldn't we be setting off soon? Nico said if you and Kyrie miss the fer—"

"Not now, Julio!" Nero cut in quickly, but the damage was done. He could practically hear Dante's eyebrow-raising through the phone.

"Ferry?" Dante's voice had that annoying knowing lilt to it. "You and Kyrie going somewhere?"

"Just... errands," Nero muttered, then called out, "Julio, tell Carlo if he doesn't give it back, there’s no cartoons for him tonight.”

Julio looked ready to protest, but a quick dismissive hand gesture from Nero sent him scurrying away, though not before shooting an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

"Y'know," Nero began trying to sound casual, “ maybe he just struggles to pick up a payphone, or somethin’. You said yourself he had an armed stand-off with a microwave that one time.”

Nero made a mental note to ring Nico and give her an advance warning about that.

"Right..." Dante drawled, and Nero could practically see him scratching his chin in that exaggerated way he did when he was plotting something. “ Well, uh, duty calls and all. Got a a big job near Capulet and the client ain’t gonna be happy if I leave ‘em high and dry.”

The excuse was so obviously fake that Nero almost called him out on it. Almost. But another part of Nero just could really be bothered to get into another of Dante bullshit ploys, especially when  a relaxing weekend was just around the corner.

"Yeah. Sure. A big job," Nero said flatly, already dreading whatever scheme his uncle was cooking up. “Just don’t get your ass handed to you, old man. I ain’t bailing you out.”

The line went dead before he could add anything else, and Nero stared at his phone with narrowed eyes.

"Nero!" Kyrie called from outside.

"Coming!" he shouted back, slamming the phone  back onto the hallway wall with maybe a bit more force than necessary. Whatever Dante was up to, it could wait. He had a ferry to catch and a weekend away with Kyrie for the first time in forever from demon-hunting and family drama to look forward to. For once, his dumbass uncle's problems weren't going to be his own.

At least, he hoped.

Chapter Text

Nico would never admit it out loud but she was beginning to miss that dumbass bird. Griffon may have been many things, including an absolute asshole, but at least he had something to say. Vergil, in contrast, sat in the back like a statue that occasionally dispensed judgment through slightly narrowed eyes.

It was wild, really, thinking that Nero’s daddy was technically the same guy who'd stumbled into her van all that time ago, all Gothic poetry and dramatic poses. V had been cryptic sure, but at least he'd had style about it - dropping William Blake verses like they were casual conversation. Had actually appreciated her work too, unlike his whole self who just "hmm'd" when he caught sight of her latest Devil Breaker designs on the van’s workbench.

As Nico caught sight of Vergil in her mirror, she couldn’t help but see a glimpse of Nero in him with those same pale eyes, to the point where it made her shudder slightly. V had been desperate to live, Urizen desperate for power, but Vergil? He seemed desperate to understand - watching Nero and Kyrie's easy affection with confused fascination, studying human interactions like they were some complex puzzle he had to solve.  Granny Nell always told her there were some weird ones out there.

"Your cigarette is burning low, Nicoletta" . Vergil commented, snapping Nico out of her thoughts.

“ How many times we gotta go over this V-Man? It’s Nico. Thought ya learnt your lesson earlier in the kitchen, but know too damned stubborn like ya baby boy.” She flicked the butt out the window, immediately regretting it when his eyes narrowed further. Whether it was her choice of words or her actions she wasn’t sure. But, she liked to think it was the former. Yeah, Right. Littering. The man who'd once ripped up an entire city apparently drew the line at cigarette butts.

"Formality is a form of respect even in smaller gatherings," Vergil replied like he was bestowing some ancient wisdom instead of being a pain in the ass, Yamato materialising into his hands as they passed a barely visible street corner.

"Yeah? Well where I come from, respecting what someone asks you to call them is pretty damn formal." She caught his slight head tilt in the mirror as his icy gaze bore into hers.

Vergil’s  mouth tightened at the corners, not quite a frown but definitely not pleased, even as something that might have been reluctant amusement threatened to soften his expression.

"Ya know," Nico jabbed her cigarette toward the rearview mirror to catch his reflection, "for someone who's supposed to be this big bad demon king or whatever, you sure get your panties in a twist over something small as names."

The muscle in Vergil's jaw twitched. "Your point being?"

"Just makes a girl wonder what actually dragged your fancy ass out here." She yanked the wheel hard left, cackling when he had to shift slightly. "Can't just be checking up on your kid like some normal dad."

"My reasons are my own."

"Ha! That's exactly what Nero says when he's being a stubborn little shit." She flicked ash out the window, grinning at his bristle. "Coulda called. Coulda done that swooshy sword thing with a note. But nope - here you are, crammed in my 'questionably maintained vehicle' - your stuck-up words, not mine – lettin’ some grease monkey give you shit about being formal."

His fingers tensed on Yamato's sheath. "Perhaps I prefer to verify matters personally."

"Yeah, yeah. And I prefer to not blow myself up testing new Devil Breakers, but here we are." Nico's grin went sharp as she spotted that stubborn jaw-set Nero got when he was cornered. "Wouldn't have anything to do with actually wanting to see your kid, would it? Like a regular person with actual feelings?"

The look he gave her could have frozen hell. "You presume much."

The fog was getting thicker, making the dilapidated buildings of old Fortuna loom like ancient pyramids through the haze. Perfect demon weather. No wonder Vergil wanted to tag along to stealth on some of those critters.

"Ya know what you keep forgetting, V-man?" Nico took a long drag, blowing smoke out the window. "You 'n Dante crashed in my baby that whole night during your little identity crisis shindig. Hot damn, that musta been something! “ The look he gave her could've peeled paint, but Nico just grinned wider, jabbing her cigarette in his direction. “Though I gotta say, you sucked at being Dante. Like, spectacularly sucked.”

His reflection was absolutely still, but something raw flickered behind his eyes before being locked away. "Your commentary," Vergil bit out each word like it physically pained him, "is neither required nor welcome."

"Yeah? Well neither was that identity theft stunt, but you sure as hell pulled that one anyway!" Nico cackled at his barely contained tense shoulders. "Just sayin’ - being Vergil seems to be working out way better than being discount-Dante. Even if you are still emotionally constipated as all hell."

Vergil's fingers tightened on Yamato until his knuckles went white, a barely perceptible tremor running through the sheath. His usual marble-perfect posture went rigid, shoulders drawing back as if physically struck. The temperature in the van dropped several degrees, frost threatening to creep along the edges of the windows.For a split second, something vulnerable and almost lost flickered across his face - a ghost of V's more open expressions - before being ruthlessly buried under layers of cold control. His jaw clenched, a muscle working beneath the skin as he visibly fought to maintain his composure.

When Vergil finally spoke, his voice was deadly quiet, each word precise as a blade stroke: "I suggest," he said, power thrumming beneath the surface, "you attend to your driving, rather than matters which do not concern you."

Nico shut up after that.  The rest of the fifteen-minute drive to the harbour district was filled with nothing but the rumble of the van's engine and the occasional flick of Nico's lighter. She kept sneaking glances at her tight-lipped passenger, but for once, her usual brass balls weren't quite enough to break through the arctic wall of silence Vergil had erected. The fog grew thicker as they approached the water, turning the world outside into nothing but grey shapes and darker shadows.

When she finally pulled up to the harbor gates, the screech of her brakes cutting through the heavy silence felt almost sacrilegious. But as Vergil reached for the door handle, she couldn't quite help herself:

"Hey," Nico said, softer than usual. "At least ya trying now with Nero and all. Better than my daddy ever did."

The door slammed hard enough to make the whole van shake. Through the fog, she could just make out his silhouette as he strode away, coat snapping in the wind like the wings of some predatory bird. "Like father, like freakin’ son ," she muttered, but there wasn't much heat in it. Both of them had the same way of storming off when something hit too close to home - though at least Nero usually came back around after he'd cooled off. His old man, though...

Still, the way Vergil moved was pure agitation - too sharp, too precise, like he was one wrong word away from cutting something to shreds. Probably for the best to let him work it out on whatever demons were stupid enough to show up.

"Guess I better shut my trap and let you do ya broodin’ patrol thing," Nico muttered, pulling up the van near the docks.

The fog swallowed everything except the occasional flash of blue as Vergil cleared their path, silent as a ghost and twice as deadly. Nico couldn’t quite make out what type of demon it was being mowed down as she reached for a cigarette, but Nico almost felt sorry for the poor lil bastards. Almost. Nothing like serving as a walking therapy session for an emotionally constipated half-demon with a  katana and something to prove.

After about five minutes and one necessary joint later, Vergil emerged from the fog like some kind of avenging spirit, not a hair out of place despite what must have been an impressive demon massacre. The only signs of what had transpired were the fading blue afterimages in the air and the way his boots left slightly bloody footprints on the wet concrete. His expression was back to its usual marble mask, though there was still something tight around his eyes.

He didn't look at her as he threw two Empusa Queen legs at her through the driver's window. Nico caught them reflexively, nearly dropping her joint in the process. She stared at the twitching demon parts - perfect specimens, naturally, cut with the kind of precision that would make a surgeon weep.

"Well damn," she muttered, turning one of the legs over in her hands. She'd been wanting Empusa parts for weeks now, trying to work out some new modifications for Nero's Devil Breakers. "Thanks, I guess."

Vergil opened the passenger door with less force than before, somehow managing to make even that simple action look like some kind of regal ceremony. He settled  rigidly back into his seat without acknowledging her thanks, though there was something almost pleased in the set of his shoulders as he watched her examining his handiwork from the hand mirror.

 Nico paused, before tucking the Empusa legs safely away and hauling herself between the seats into the back of the van. The movement made the whole vehicle rock slightly, earning her another narrowed look that she cheerfully ignored.

 "Got about fifteen before we gotta meet the client," Nico called over her shoulder, rifling through her cabinet drawers. "Want anythin’? Coffee? Water? Somethin’ stronger?" She waggled a flask in his direction with a grin.

"No." Flat and immediate, but she caught the way Vergil’s eyes kept tracking to her new countertop microwave. It was one of those fancy digital ones with about fifty different settings - a recent splurge after the old one finally died in a shower of sparks. Nico caught him studying it earlier when he thought she wasn't looking, like it was some kind of demonic artifact he needed to assess for threats.

"For cryin' out loud, it ain't gonna bite ya," Nico  snorted, watching him eye it like it might suddenly sprout tentacles. "Just a microwave. Though this baby's got more bells and whistles than my first jalopy. Actually heats stuff without turning it into shoe leather." She tapped her fingers on the counter, grinning. "Go ahead and poke at it if you're curious. Got the manual somewhere if you're the type who needs written permission to pushin’ buttons."

The look Vergil gave her could have curdled milk, but she noticed he didn't quite manage to hide his interest in looking at it again.

Nico sighed and shook her head as she began to make herself a coffee. “ Okay, spill it, V-man. Where did you learn to cook freakin’ pancakes of all things? Cause the way you're eyeballin' my microwave like it's gonna summon demons tells me you ain't exactly used to the kitchen.”

"I have managed adequately." The words came out stiff, like he was being forced to confess to something shameful.

"Uh-huh. 'Adequately' meaning what exactly? Raw demon meat over a hellfire?” She paused, coffee mug halfway to her lips. "Wait, don't tell me - you're one of those weirdos who reads cookbooks for fun but never actually cooks anything."

The way Vergil’s jaw tightened told her she'd hit closer to home than he liked. Hell, he totally was. Probably had a whole collection of fancy recipe books he'd never used, memorized cover to cover just 'cause they were books.

"Mother showed us... the basics." The words came out slow, like they were being dragged out of him. Vergil’s expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did. “ But I suppose such necessities have changed since then.”

Nico's fingers stilled on her coffee mug. Well damn, if that wasn't the understatement of the century. Before she could help it she let out a small snort, earning her a weary glare from her passenger. “ The hell went wrong with Mr. Dante, eh!?”

Vergil's mouth twitched - just barely, but Nico caught it. Might've even been the ghost of a smile, though she wouldn't bet money on it. "My brother," he said with the kind of long-suffering tone that only came from decades of familial exasperation, "decided that learning the number for that pizzeria was... adequate instruction."

"You're kidding." Nico barked out a laugh. "Actually wait, no you ain't. That tracks perfectly. Bet he thought microwaves were just for heatin' up leftover pizza."

"If he thought about them at all." There was definitely a hint of something almost amused in Vergil's voice now. "Though I suppose in his defense, at least he memorized their telephone number."

"The fact that place is still standing after all these years is the real miracle," Nico snorted. "Bet they got his order memorized too."

The slight incline of Vergil's head told her she wasn't wrong. Hell have mercy, the mighty Sons of Sparda - one some mighty gastro chef too afraid to ask about modern appliances, the other subsisting his entire existence on speed-dial pizza.

Nico stirred her coffee slowly, trying to keep her tone casual. "Y'know, speaking of food... got me thinking about back during that whole Qliphoth mess. Never saw you - well, V-you - touch anythin’ I offered. Not even when you looked about ready to keel over."

She watched him carefully over the rim of her mug. Mentioning V was always a gamble - like poking Shadow with a stick. It was bad enough with Nero half the time, let alone with part of the man himself. But he’d at least been open enough to reminisce the last time, Nico supposed.

"That form was..." he paused, searching for the right words, "hungry. Constantly. But not for..." Vergil made a vague gesture at a tin of cookies on the side and one of Nero’s labelled pot noodles beside it. "The body was failing. Food seemed... irrelevant. Insufficient." He fell silent for a moment, then added with an odd note of something almost like wonder, "Though I do remember the smell of your rather unique blend of coffee. Even when everything else felt distant."

Nico held her breath, afraid any wrong move might make him clam up again. But there was something almost vulnerable in the admission - like he was trying to piece together a puzzle of his own existence. "Must be weird," she ventured carefully, "havin’  two sets of memories of being someone else. But also... still you?"

It’s a most curious experience." Vergil said finally. "The handwriting is yours. The thoughts are yours. But they're filtered through something else. Something that changed how they manifested." He traced his finger alongside Yamato’s wrappings, almost absently. "V was necessary. A means of survival. But also..." He paused, and Nico could practically see him wrestling with whether to continue. "Also a part I had forgotten. Or perhaps chosen to forget."

"The poetry-spouting part?" Nico couldn't help but ask, though she kept her tone gentle.

That earned her something that might have been a scoff. "Among others. Though I suspect you found that particular trait… irritating.”

"Nah," Nico grinned, seizing on this rare moment of openness. "Actually thought it was kind of cool. Here, look, ” she put her cup down and held her shirt up slightly, earning a slightly startled expression from Vergil.  

Nico let out a bark of laughter. “ Relax, V-man. You ain’t my type,” she teased before pointing to the tattoo on the left side of her torso.

" I mean.. I, uh, changed it a bit, but, uh…" Nico allowed Vergil's gaze to bore into the verse before she dropped the shirt back down. "Had this one before I met you - well, V-you. Nearly fell outta my chair when you started quoting the same stuff. What're the odds, right?"

Something shifted in Vergil's expression - not just recognition of the words, but something deeper. His eyes lingered on where the tattoo had been before meeting hers with an intensity that might have made her uncomfortable if she wasn’t beginning to read him slightly better now.

"Eternity," Vergil said quietly, almost to himself. Then, with what might have been the ghost of appreciation, " I could not have chosen a better verse to describe you…Nico.”

Nico blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Well damn, Vergil," she said, deliberately using his first name back, testing this strange new territory. "Never figured you’d for the type to get all deep about tattoos." Nico’s grin was a bit softer than her usual brash smile, acknowledging the moment without dwelling on it. “ You pulled it off as V, though. Ever thought about gettin’ inked up again? I know a great tattooist in the East District of Redgrave.”

"I believe I've experienced enough body modification to last several lifetimes," Vergil replied with the barest trace of irony, his hand unconsciously touching where Yamato had once split him. "Though I admit, the poetry had its merits."

Something in his tone made Nico suspect he was reflecting on more than just the tattoos, but hell if she was going to start pushing him about that.

A thunderous pounding on the van's door made them both turn, the moment shattering as abruptly as it had formed. "Hey! Artisan! You in there?” The voice was rough, impatient - clearly someone used to getting what they wanted. Through the tinted windows, a bulky silhouette loomed. The banging continued, more insistent. "Hey! I know you're in there - saw the lights!"

Nico shot Vergil a quick glance, noting how he'd already shifted position - silent, almost invisible from the door's angle, but with a clear line of sight. His hand wasn't on Yamato yet, but she knew he could draw faster than anyone could blink.

"Alright, alright!" she called out, moving toward the door. "Damn, y'all harbor folks got no patience!" She cracked it open just enough to assess the potential client - a burly man with scarred knuckles and the kind of tension that spoke of either desperation or trouble.

"You got it?" The man said, trying to peer past her into the van. "It better be good; otherwise, I want a refund."

“Maybe I do, maybe I don't," Nico replied, keeping her tone casual even as she positioned herself to block his view. She could feel Vergil's presence behind her, a silent promise of swift intervention if needed.  “ Thought we agreed to meet by the old port house anyway. Why the hell are you knockin’ on my van like I owe you three months rent, eh?”

The man's demeanor shifted, something predatory crossing his features. "Changed my mind. Figured it'd be safer here." His scarred hand moved slightly, and metal glinted beneath his jacket. "Now, about that money. You’re gonna-"

Before he could finish, there was a whisper of movement behind Nico - so subtle she barely caught it - and suddenly the temperature in the van seemed to drop several degrees.  "I suggest," came Vergil's voice, quiet but carrying an edge that could cut through steel, "you reconsider your current course of action."

The man froze, his face draining of color as he finally noticed the inhumanely tall figure in blue standing behind Nico, one hand resting casually on Yamato's hilt. Even in the dim harbor lights, there was no mistaking that Vergil was an intimidating presence

“ Hey man,”  the would-be thief raised his hands, backpedaling. "No disrespect meant. Just had a... misunderstanding about some merchandise. Didn't realize she had... company."

"A misunderstanding." Vergil's voice remained eerily calm, but his eyes had taken on that faint luminescent quality that meant his demonic heritage was stirring. "One involving a weapon, as I recall. Pointed at my associate."

Nico leaned against the van's doorframe, crossing her arms with a smirk. "Funny how folks get all polite when they realize who they're dealin’ with.  I gotta say," she addressed the increasingly panicked man, "tryin’ to rob me in the harbor district? That's amateur as hell, hun. Word gets around pretty quick. You’ll be jumped before you tried turnin’ the corner."

The man's eyes darted between them, then to the shadows of the docks, as if calculating his odds. Whatever he saw in Vergil's expression made him think better of it. "My mistake," he said quickly, backing away. "Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Vergil replied softly, and something in his tone made the man turn and practically sprint into the darkness.

Once the man's footsteps had faded, Nico let out a long, shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled out a cigarette, fumbling with her lighter three times before managing to light it.

"Well, shit," Nico muttered, taking a deep drag as she slammed the van door and climbed back into the driver’s seat. "That could've gone south real quick." She tried to keep her voice steady as she started the car and pulled off, but there was a slight quaver in it that betrayed how rattled she actually was. The adrenaline crash was hitting her hard now that the immediate danger had passed.

Vergil didn't move from his position by the door as they drove off, his attention still focused through the small window and into  the fog where the would-be robber had disappeared. Without looking at her directly, he asked in his characteristically understated way, "Does this occur often?"

The question was casual enough, but there was an underlying note of concern in his voice that most people would have missed. Nico recognized it though - it was as close as Vergil ever got to asking if someone was alright.

"Not as much as it used to," Nico admitted, trying to steady her hands on the wheel. "Most folks know better than to mess with Devil May Cry's handy supplier. But sometimes you get these fuckin’ dumbasses who think they can score easy money off the 'lil lady with the fancy toys.'" She attempted a laugh that came out more brittle than she'd intended.

Nico paused , glancing at Vergil though the  mirror. "Usually I can handle myself. Got enough security measures in this van to make Fort Knox jealous. But..." she took another drag of her cigarette, "can't say I mind having a Son of Sparda ridin’ with me this mornin’. Thanks for not, y'know, turning him into human confetti. Woulda been a pain to clean off my upholstery.”

Vergil made a soft "hmm" sound - the kind that somehow managed to convey both acknowledgment and dismissal of her thanks. His posture relaxed marginally, but his hand remained near Yamato as he moved to sit in the passenger seat, positioning himself where he could still monitor both windows and the door.

"Your weapons have merit," he stated simply. His eyes narrowed slightly at the window. "Though perhaps your choice of meeting locations could use some refinement."

Nico snorted, some of her usual spark returning. "What, you got somethin’ against scenic waterfront property? Besides," she gestured expansively at the grimy harbor, "some of my best deals happen in places like this. Can't exactly go peddlin’ demon-hunting gear in the local plaza."

"Indeed." After a moment of silence, Vergil added, almost absently.

The rest of the drive back to the house was silent, broken only by the occasional bump in the road and the soft click of Nico lighting another cigarette. She kept sneaking glances at her unexpected passenger, who remained perfectly still, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings through the windows.

As they pulled into the driveway of her workshop, the early afternoon sun cast harsh shadows across the gravel. Nico killed the engine but didn't immediately move to get out. "Y'know, that whole situation's giving me major Night Guardian vibes," Nico joked as her nerves settled. "Like that episode where Detective Stone's just silently posted up in that mechanic's shop all night 'cause of those gang threats? Never says a word, just-."

Vergil's brow furrowed slightly, the reference clearly sailing over his head. "I am not familiar with that particular… choice of program."

"Seriously? It was huge back in- right, right." Nico caught herself, suddenly remembering who she was talking to. "Actually," Nico brightened, jingling her keys. "I got the whole series recorded on the TV in my workshop. Been meaning to do a rewatch anyway." She nodded toward the building. "And uh… since we're gonna be waitin’ for the kids to come back, might as well make it educational, right?"

Vergil's expression shifted minutely - somewhere between puzzled and wary at this unexpected social proposition.

"C'mon," Nico pressed, already opening her door. "You can tell me all the ways they got the sword fightin’ wrong. And I bet you'll appreciate how they handle the whole legacy thing." She paused, adding with a knowing smirk, "Plus, the main character's got this kick-ass sword that's supposedly forged from a meteor."

That last detail seemed to catch his interest, though he tried to mask it. After a moment, Vergil let out a resigned "Very well" that didn't quite hide his curiosity.

Nico grinned. Well, small victories and all.

Four hours later, Nico watched Vergil staring at the black screen in dismay, still perched rigidly on the edge of his seat. “ Was that it?”

Nico snorted, leaning back in her workshop chair with undisguised amusement at his reaction. "Yeah, that's the whole thing. They only made one season - some bullshit about 'budget constraints' and 'low ratings.' Criminal if you ask me 'cause it was major popular and all." She stretched, working out the kinks from sitting so long. "Thirteen episodes of pure gold, and they just... canceled it. Least they wrapped up the main plot though, even if they had to rush it."

The sudden slam of the front door, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs, made them both snap to attention, breaking the TV-induced trance.

"That’s not fair!" A young voice , likely Julio’s echoed through the house, followed by another door slam.

"Is too!" came the answering shout from Carlo, accompanied by more stomping.

Nico glanced at the clock and winced. "Ah hell, school's out already?" She exchanged a look with Vergil, who had tensed at the sudden noise. "Guess we got a bit caught up in the show, huh?"

The sounds of what was clearly developing into a full-blown sibling argument filtered down from above.

“ Let ‘em cool it off,” Nico advised at Vergil’s gaze up the ceiling as she sprawled her arm against the back of her head. “ Nero’s too much of a pussy to let it get outta hand half the time, and Kyrie, bless her heart, dotes on ‘em way too much. They need some time to blow off steam and get it out there systems.”

"Hmm." The sound was clipped, almost defensive. Vergil’s gaze didn't leave the ceiling, tracking the movements above with too much intensity for casual observation. Nico didn’t miss the way that when presumably Kyle’s door slammed shut, his shoulders stiffened. Finally, he addressed the young mechanic with a controlled edge. “You seem remarkably unbothered by conflict here."

Nico paused in her lounging, catching something in Vergil's tone that made her lower her arm and actually look at him. She sat up straighter, choosing her next words with unusual care. "Yeah, well... healthy conflict's different from the bad kind." She fiddled with a loose piece of thread on the sofa before getting up to stretch.

“ Plus”, Nico grinned. “ The kids are too damned predictable. Give it twenty secs and it will go silent.”

As if on cue, the shouting above suddenly ceased. A quiet settled over the house, broken only by the muffled sound of footsteps and what might have been a begrudging curse borrowed from one of Nero and Nico’s own rants.

Vergil's eyes narrowed slightly at Nico's knowing look. "You've timed this beforehand."

"Course I have!" Nico's grin widened as she cracked her neck. "Carlo's got the attention span of a goldfish - can't hold onto anger longer than a minute. And Julio? That kid's already planning how to make it up to him, probably diggin' through his stuff for whatever comic he borrowed to give it back. And well… uh, Kyle’s at that age where he stays out of it." She paused. "Different when kids know they're allowed to be mad without it being the end of the world."

Before either of them could continue, the sound of the doorbell  went. The sharp ring cut through their conversation like a knife. Vergil's posture tensed immediately, one hand instinctively moving toward where Yamato would be - if he hadn't dematerialised it away from visible sight.

Nico rolled her eyes at his reaction. "Relax, likely just gonna be one of the neighbors bein’ busybodies and shit…” she trailed off as went to stand up. “  Lemme-“

"No." Vergil's voice was quiet but firm, halting Nico mid-motion. "I'll answer it."

He moved toward from the garage towards the hallway kind of  grace that made even a simple action look dangerous, leaving Nico to throw her hands up in exasperation as she trailed behind him. His damned long strides made it even harder to catch up. From the top of banister, she could see Julio curiously looking down at both Vergil and the wooden door.

Nico leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, crossing her arms with a mix of amusement as Vergil stood frozen by the door. "Ya know," she stage-whispered loudly enough for both Vergil and Julio to hear, "most folks just look through the peephole instead of treatin' it like a steakout." She gave Julio a conspiratorial wink, clearly playing to her audience even as she kept one eye on Vergil. Julio let out a small giggle before turning his attention back to Vergil.

Vergil’s hand froze slightly on the doorknob, and for a moment, Nico began to dread he sensed something on the other side. If it was who she thought it could be, then…

Before Nico could finished that thought, the door swung open. Nico watched as Lady and Trish froze mid-motion at the door, their expressions shifting from casual to stunned in the span of a heartbeat. The sight was almost comical - like someone had hit pause on a video right at the most awkward moment possible.

"Holy shit," Nico muttered, grateful she wasn't actually smoking right then, even if Kyrie had her damned rules. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife - or maybe Yamato, given the circumstances. She could practically see the gears turning in everyone's heads as they stood frozen.

Lady and Trish looked like they'd walked into the wrong house entirely, while Vergil stood there radiating the kind of discomfort that suggested he'd rather be fighting a horde of demons than dealing with either of the two women.

"So..." Nico drawled, “anyone wanna break into Nero’s liquor cabinet?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5-Mission One, Part Two-The Last Shot

“ Nero, you’re doing it again.”

Nero blinked, awareness filtering back slowly like sunlight through water. He found himself staring at the same page in the book he'd been "reading" for the past fifteen minutes, the leather-bound volume - something fancy from their previous client's extensive library - practically forgotten in his lap.

"Huh?" He turned to find Kyrie watching him with that gentle, knowing smile of hers, and his chest did that familiar warm thing as it always did when she looked at him like that. She was curled up on the other end of the ridiculously plush couch, the kind that probably cost more than their entire place back in Fortuna.

 "You were drifting," Kyrie said softly. "Your shoulders get all tense when you're thinking about demon hunting or..." she paused delicately, "family things."

Nero shifted, suddenly conscious of how rigid he'd been sitting.   “Was not," he muttered, but there was no heat. His fingers drummed restlessly against the book's ornate cover - a dead giveaway to his restless thoughts.

The sound of waves filtered through the open french doors, along with the salt-fresh breeze that made the silk curtains dance. The private stretch of beach below was empty save for a few seabirds, the white sand practically glowing in the sunset. Idyllic. Well, it was supposed to be. That's what normal people did in million-dollar beach houses, right? Enjoy panoramic views and then drink, eat expensive shit and relax?

"I just-." Nero started, then stopped, shoulders hunching slightly. "It's just weird as hell, okay? Not having to watch my back or..." he gestured vaguely with his hand. "Being somewhere this fancy without having to fight some demon honcho tryin’ to eat someone’s face off."

Kyrie's smile softened further. "It's okay to take a break, Nero. The world won't end if you put your feet up for a few days." She reached over to the marble side table, picking up a bottle of  crémant that their client's chef had left earlier. "Wine?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, sinking further into the ridiculously plush couch. "Might as well get the full rich person experience, right?"

Though honestly, watching Kyrie looking this relaxed was worth more than all the fancy wine in the place. The sunset coming through the French doors caught in her hair, turning the loose strands around her face to copper and gold. She'd braided her hair back earlier, but the sea breeze had teased bits of it free, and he had to fight the urge to reach over and brush them from her face.

She reached for the wine glasses, the movement causing another strand of hair to fall free from her braid. "You know," Kyrie teased, that gentle knowing smile still playing at her lips, "you don’t have to force yourself to read."

"I'm not forcing-" Nero started to protest, then caught himself as he realized he'd been staring at the same page for who knew how long. He let out a resigned huff. "That obvious, huh?"

"Well," Kyrie said softly, pouring the fizz into one of the two glasses, "you're more of an... active learner. Always have been." She handed him a glass, her fingers brushing his. "Remember when we were kids? Sister Angela would try to get you to sit still for scripture lessons, and you'd be halfway out the window thinking about training with Credo."

The memory pulled a grudging smile from him. "Yeah, well, turned out stabbing demons was more useful than memorizing verses anyway." Nero paused, catching her raised eyebrow. "Uh, no offense to the whole... choir thing."

Kyrie just laughed, the sound as warm as the sunset spilling through the windows. "Well, I suppose someone has to keep the demons in check while the rest of us read our books." She took a sip of her wine, eyes twinkling. "Though I seem to remember you paying plenty of attention during  my choir practice."

Nero ducked his head, hoping the fading sunlight would hide his blush. "That's... that was different," he muttered into his wine glass. "Wasn't exactly the hymns I was focusing on." He glanced up at her, feeling his cheeks heat up even more, caught that knowing look in her eyes that still made his heart skip, even after all these years. “ And, yeah, whatever… Credo definitely caught on. Pretty sure that's why he started making me run extra laps whenever choir practice was scheduled."

"Is that why you always showed up out of breath and red-faced?" Kyrie’s eyes danced with mischief. "And here I thought you were just flustered by my singing."

"Little of column A, little of column B," Nero admitted, feeling his face heat up again as he took another sip of his drink. Even now, years later and miles from Fortuna, she could still make him feellike that awkward teenager in the back pew. "Though watching you sing was worth all the extra training."

"Smooth talker," Kyrie teased, but her free hand found his, fingers intertwining naturally. "For someone who claims he's bad with words, you have your moments."

Nero couldn’t help but grin at her playful flirting, but he soon found himself submerged in thoughts on his phone call before they left. Dante’s probing about Vergil’s whereabouts, catching on to him and Kyrie’s trip- no, no. Nero had made a promise to himself to put such thoughts behind him. This was their first break, their first real alone time in months. He wasn't going to let the asshole ruin it for him.

Kyrie watched the subtle shift in Nero's expression—the way his grin faltered slightly, his eyes growing distant as she took a sip of her crémant. She knew that look; she had seen it enough times when something was eating at him. “ Nero, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, cutting straight to the heart of what was troubling him.

Nero sighed, caught out by her perceptive gaze. No point trying to hide it – she has always been able to read him like one of her sheet music books. "Just... Dante. On the phone earlier. He was asking about Vergil and where he was, and he had that tone, you know? Like he's figured something out and thinks its  freakin’ hilarious ." He sighed, swirling his glass and watching the bubbles escape to the top. "And, yeah, I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but if he tries to pull somethin’ with Vergil when the kids are there...”

"If I recall correctly," Kyrie said gently, setting her glass down, "Vergil told me on one of our calls the last time Dante tried to ‘pull something’ on him, he  put him through two walls and made him clean up the mess.” She paused as Nero winced slightly at the thought of what state the house would be in once they returned. “ But, if you're really worried, we could always call Nico to check in."

Nero grimaced. "Yeah, and get charged a minute for the privilege. You know how she likes to talk."

"We're not paying for calls here, remember?" Kyrie reminded him with a small smile. " Might as well take advantage of it."      

Nero rubbed the back of his neck, considering, before he let out a small sigh. “ Fine.” He relented as he put his glass down and stood up, folding his arms, trying his best to look serious, but judging by the mirthful light dancing in Kyrie's eyes, he wasn't quite pulling it off. " But if she starts going on about those shitty mods-“

“ Nero, language,” Kyrie chided.

"Sorry, those...dumb  mods she's been working on lately, I'm hanging up," Nero amended, though there was a hint of fondness in his exasperation.

Kyrie couldn't entirely suppress her giggle as Nero walked over to the fridge, where a sleek-looking rotary phone hung on the wall. He stared at the numbers for a moment, fingers hovering over the dial, before muttering under his breath, "Can't believe I'm actually doing this." But he began to punch in the familiar sequence of numbers, each ring seeming to stretch out longer than the last. After the fourth ring, there was a click, followed by the unmistakable sound of chaos in the background – what sounded suspiciously sounded like… classical music and a distant female voice arguing?

"Y'ello, Devil May Cry , how may I direct your call?" Nico's cheerful drawl came through the line, barely audible over the noise in the background.

“ Nico, it’s me,” Nero replied.

"Well if it ain't the two lovebirds!" Nico's voice perked up immediately, though there was a slight edge of nervousness underneath her usual cheer. "How's paradise? Hold on-" There was a muffled sound like she was covering the receiver, followed by her distant voice hissing something indistinct.

The classical music in the background suddenly cut off, replaced by what sounded like raised voices, though the words were too distant to make out clearly.

"Nico," Nero said slowly, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to suspicion as Kyrie looked over  from the sofa worriedly at his sudden change at tone. "What the hell is going on over there?”

"Going on? Ain't nothing going on!" Nico's voice went up half an octave. "Just a regular old evenin’ in, you know how it is. Kyle's doing his homework, and uh..." There was another crash in the background, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a woman's voice snapping something about ‘ damned stubborn bastards, the lot of you ’,  "...and we're just having a nice, quiet family time. Your old man’s just... strugglin’ to use the dryer. Yep, that's all!"

“ Nico,” Nero warned.

"Hey, uh, Vergil!" Nico called out, her voice getting more distant from the receiver, and the woman’s voice in the background suddenly falling silent. "Nero  wants to- hey man, don’t to- hey man, don't give me that look, you can't just-“ There was a scuffle, the distinct sound of the receiver being yanked away, followed by Nico's indignant "At least lemme say goodb-" before the clatter of the handset being forcibly removed from her grip cut her off and heavy footsteps, presumably the young mechanic’s, sounded in the background.

"Nero," his father's voice was perfectly composed, though there was an underlying tension. "I trust your... vacation is proceeding satisfactorily?"

Nero blinked. “ Yeah, uh,  about as good   as whatever's going on over there. Was that Lady I heard? ‘Cause it sounded like Lady, and last I checked, she and Trish was supposed to be handling that outbreak of—" He broke off, at his father’s sudden interruption.

"I apologize… the connection appears to be breaking up," Vergil stated woodenly, clearly having never had to pretend poor reception before in his life. "I cannot ksssshhhh quite hear you ksssshhhh—"

In the background, Trish’s voice cut through crystal clear. "Vergil, what the hell are you—"

"Kssshhhhhhhhh”, Vergil responded, somehow even more awkwardly than before. "How unfortunate. Goodbye."

Without another word, Vergil hung up. Nero stared at the phone in his hand, mouth slightly agape, before slowly turning to Kyrie who was  still curled up on the sofa , having witnessed the entire exchange with growing concern.

“ What happened? ”, Kyrie asked.

Nero paused, before finding the right words. He looked at the phone again as if it might offer some explanation for his father's bizarrely mundane attempt at getting out of a phone call. “ Honestly, I dunno myself."

Lady bit her lip, trying to suppress her blossoming grin at Vergil's slight grimace as he put the receiver down, the ancient corded phone in Nero's kitchen looking almost comically mundane in his gloved hand. Good. The asshole deserved to suffer after their previous argument on humans being "needlessly emotional." But something in Lady stirred slightly at that. Not quite guilt, but... something.

Trish gave Vergil a blatant look of disbelief from where she was perched on the counter, boots dangling as she took a sip of whisky. "What the hell did you do that for, Vergil?"

The huntress watched him deliberately avoid looking at Trish - he always did that when she used certain tones, the ones that probably cut too close to bone-deep memories. His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly under his coat, fingers lingering just a fraction too long on the receiver. "I fail to see how my actions concern you, woman."

"The woman has a name, asshole," Lady snapped, her earlier amusement evaporating. Trish shot her a quick glance - a warning, maybe, or something closer to appreciation. It was always hard to tell with Trish, especially when it came to Dante and Vergil.

Then Vergil's gaze finally shifted to her, and Lady felt that familiar chill race down her spine—the one that reminded her of what he was and what he could do. The way the kitchen lights caught his pale eyes made them look almost luminescent, inhuman. But she'd faced down demons before—hell, she'd faced down her own father. She met those cold eyes steadily, chin lifted in defiance.

"And you presume to lecture me on manners, Mary?" Vergil's voice cut through the kitchen like ice, wielding her birth name like a weapon.

Lady's fingers twitched, itching to grab her gun, do anything - to wipe that damned look off his face. But Nico’s footsteps forced the huntress to remain still, kept her mouth shut even as old rage bubbled up inside her. 

"Hey now," Nico's drawl cut through the tension as she walked back into the kitchen, making a beeline for the whisky bottle. "Don’t go drinkin’ the whole damned bottle. That’s from Nero’s special cabinet. Y'know, the one Kyrie only opens when someone's either dyin' or gettin' hitched." She plucked the bottle from beside Trish with practiced ease, examining the label with exaggerated concern. "And since I don't see nobody bleedin' out or down on one knee..." She pointedly shot Vergil as she tucked the bottle away, the cabinet closing with a decisive click.

Vergil's gaze shifted slightly - barely a movement, but in him, it was evidently one of discomfort. "Are the children all to be accounted for?"

Lady rose an eyebrow at that. Never in a million years did she think she'd be sitting in Fortuna at six pm on a Friday night drinking some expensive whisky, with Vergil of all people showing an interest in looking after kids. The world really had gone to hell.

Nico snorted. “ The kids are fine - all of 'em. Julio's playin' in his room, Carlo's readin' his comics, and Kyle is actually doin' his homework for once. I, uh... kinda told 'em to stay up there for a bit," she paused, uncertain on the reaction of the recipients.

"Smart call," Lady said dryly, though her mismatched eyes never left Vergil.

“ So, uh…,” Nico stammered slightly. “ "What's kinda job got you gals all the way out here, eh?" She leaned against the counter, trying to look casual even as her fingers tapped anxiously against the wood.

“ Scudo Angelo infestation in the Old Town,” Trish replied, her gaze briefly flittering towards Vergil, before turning back to the young mechanic.  The leather of her attire creaked slightly as she shifted her weight on the counter. “ Nothing to really write home about, but pay was decent enough.”

Lady let out a short, humorless laugh. "Decent enough to make the trip worth it, not decent enough to explain why he's here playin’ babysitter." She took another sip of whisky, the glass clinking a bit too sharply against her teeth. “ Does Dante even know you’ve gone walkies? Thought he had you on a lead or something.”

"My movements," Vergil said, each word precise and cold as ice, "are not subject to my brother's approval. Or yours." His pale eyes fixed on Lady with dangerous intensity. "Though if you must know… my son entrusted me to look after the children.”

Lady's eyes widened slightly at that. Nero was many things – hotheaded, someone with a heart of gold,  stubborn as hell like all of the freakin' Sparda family, it seemed, and fiercely protective of his own makeshift family - but he was also wet around the ears. She'd seen firsthand how Vergil could manipulate situations to his advantage, could wear masks so perfect even his own twin had been fooled.

Lady couldn’t quite bring herself to back down at that last thought of her brief encounter with V in the van. "Approval ? Nah." She took another sip, maintaining eye contact. "Just wonderin’ what kind of mess I should be expecting. Last time you went off-leash, it involved a demon tower and the time after that a giant freakin’ blood tree and a lot of civilian casualties. Can't blame a gal for being... scared shitless that you’re running around so easily." Her free hand rested casually on her hip - just a little too close to where her pistols were holstered.

A low, almost amused sound escaped Vergil's throat, but there was nothing warm in it. His posture remained perfectly still. "Your tendency to shoot first and think later hasn't changed, I see." His voice carried a cutting edge. "Though given your family history with demonic power, perhaps I should be the cautious one."

Lady's glass hit the counter with a sharp crack, whiskey sloshing over the rim. In one fluid motion, she'd drawn her pistol and leveled it at Vergil's head. Her mismatched eyes burned with a cold fury that matched his own.

“ Lady,” Trish warned. Electricity crackled faintly around her fingers, ready to intervene. But Lady's aim didn't waver, and Vergil's stance shifted ever so slightly - the kind of stillness that preceded carefully watching an opponent. Even without Yamato visible, the air around him seemed to distort with barely contained power.

"Aw hell," Nico groaned, already stepping back into the hallway in fear of being caught in the crossfire. “ Anyone forgettin’ house rules? No fightin’ indoors especially with the fucking kids upstairs." When neither of them moved, she clapped her hands sharply. "Hey! I mean it! Y'all wanna duke it out, take it outside.”

Lady's lips curled into a sharp smile, but she slowly lowered her guns - not holstering them, just letting them rest on her thigh. She slid off the counter, boots hitting the floor with a deliberate thud, and stepped forward until she was directly in front of Vergil. The arrogant asshole didn't even have the decency to back up when she got in his face, just stood there like an immovable wall, radiating that insufferable superiority. The height difference felt especially galling this close, as Lady had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact, and she knew from the slight smug twitch of his upper lip that he was aware of every inch of that advantage.

"You're lucky the kids are here," Lady said, voice low and precise, close enough that only he could hear.  For a moment, they stood there in a silent battle of wills, before Lady finally took a deliberate step back, shooting him one last venomous look as she headed to the kitchen door.

“ Where are you off to?” Trish asked, allowing the electricity around her hands to simmer down.

" Any damned drinking hole in Fortuna," Lady bit out, not breaking stride.

"Hope you leave at least one standing," Trish called after her, a hint of knowing amusement in her voice.

Lady didn't bother responding, still bristling from the confrontation and Vergil's smug demeanor. Let them think what they wanted. She needed a bar where nobody knew her name, where she could drink without having to look up at that arrogant face, and where she definitely wouldn't have to acknowledge how much it irked her that he'd gotten under her skin. Again.

As she got into the hallway trying to drone out Nico and Trish, she caught sight of movement at the top of the stairs. Carlo was holding onto the banister, his small form half-hidden in the shadows as he watched the scene below with those observantly big, hazel eyes of his. For an eight-year-old, he had an uncanny way of taking things in.

Lady managed a tight smile for the kid's benefit. “ Hey, kid.”

"Are you leaving?" Carlo asked, his small fingers still curled around the banister.

The question made Lady pause for just a moment at the bottom of the stairs, her hand already on the doorknob. She could still hear the muffled voices from the other room - Trish's sultry drawl mixing with Nico's more animated tones as they discussed something pretty mundane (, at least in their books,) on research notes. At least Vergil's voice wasn't among them anymore.

"Just for a little while," Lady answered, forcing her voice into something cheerful. "Got some errands to run."

“Oh.” Carlo looked a little crestfallen at that. “ Did you and Mr. Vergil have a big fight? I heard a lot of loud voices.”

Lady's smile faltered slightly. Trust a kid to cut straight to the heart of things with that simple, unburdened honesty. She hadn't realized their voices had carried that far up. "No, not a fight exactly," the huntress said carefully. "Sometimes grown-ups just... disagree about things. Pretty loudly."

"Like when Kyle and Julio fight over the TV remote?" Carlo asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity. He was still holding onto that banister like an anchor, probably trying to make sense of the adult chaos below in the only way an eight-year-old could.

Lady almost laughed at the comparison. If only it were that simple. "Something like that, yeah. Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's fine."

"Okay," Carlo said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Will you be back for dinner? Nico normally buys these really yummy pizzas  and-“

"Not tonight, kiddo," Lady said, already feeling guilty at the way his face fell. She didn't want to think about pizza, or dinner, or anything that would keep her in this house a minute longer than necessary. Not with Vergil's condescending words still ringing in her ears.

"But... but Nico gets the one with prosciutto and extra cheese," Carlo pressed on, as if the promise of melted mozzarella could fix everything. "And sometimes she lets us have soda too, when Kyrie's not looking."

Lady had to bite back a smile despite herself. Trust Carlo to accidentally rat out Nico's secret dinner-time conspiracies. "Maybe next time, okay? Save me a slice?"

"Promise you'll come back?" The question was so earnest, so free of the complicated mess downstairs, that it made something in Lady's chest ache.

" Sure, Kid."

Lady wasn't sure how long she'd spent at the bar, but for once it seemed even alcohol couldn't dull the edges of her thoughts. Stepping outside into the cool night air, the neon signs cast shifting patterns of red and blue out of the corner of her eye, making her head throb. The worst of it was she didn’t even feel drunk. It was just hollow, like someone had scooped out all her righteous anger and left nothing but confused emptiness behind.

The huntress stumbled slightly, catching herself against the rough brick wall, the coarse surface scraping her palms. The night had turned misty, humidity clinging to her skin and making her shirt stick uncomfortably between her shoulder blades. That's when she heard it – footsteps, trying too hard to be casual, scuffing against the cobbled stones behind her.

"Hey there, sweetheart." The voice was exactly what she expected – trying for smooth but coming out oily. "Pretty late for a lady to be out alone, isn't it?"

Lady didn't bother turning around. She could picture him well enough – probably thought he was being real slick in his discount leather jacket, hand probably already reaching for whatever cheap weapon he had tucked in his waistband. These types were all the same, human or demon. They saw a woman stumbling out of a bar and thought they'd found easy prey.

The huntress sighed. It was quiet outside, but there was always the risk of being caught, and that would always lead to more questions than answers. She straightened slowly as she turned into the alleyway, her hand drifting casually toward her thigh holster. Behind her, footsteps drew closer, apparently emboldened by her apparent vulnerability. She could hear the slight jingle of metal—probably a chain or knife—real professional.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to ignore people?" His voice was closer now, maybe six feet back. The stink of cheap cologne cut through the misty air.

"Didn't yours ever teach you not to bother women who are armed?" Lady turned then, letting him see her mismatched eyes, the kind that tended to unsettle people who knew what to look for. The man was exactly as she'd pictured – trying too hard to look tough in his faux leather jacket, hand hovering near his jacket pocket. Mid-thirties, probably, with the kind of face that suggested he'd lost more fights than he'd won.

His eyes widened slightly at her eyes, but he covered it with a sleazy grin. "Come on now, no need to be hostile, babe. Just thought you might want some company—"

"The only company I want right now," Lady cut him off, drawing her pistol in one fluid motion, "is my damned gun. But hey, if you're feeling lonely..." She raised an eyebrow, letting the threat hang in the air.

The man's face went through several expressions in quick succession – surprise, fear, and then the kind of anger that came from wounded pride. His hand jerked toward his pocket.

"I wouldn't," Lady said softly, her smile sharp as broken glass. "Really, really wouldn't."

Her would-be assailant’s  hand froze halfway to his pocket, muscles tensing as he weighed his options. Lady could practically see the math happening behind his eyes – pride versus survival instinct, machismo versus the very real gun pointed at his chest. His face was flushed red, caught between anger and embarrassment.

"You're crazy," he spat, but there was a tremor in his voice. His hand slowly moved away from his pocket.

"Probably," Lady agreed cheerfully, gun never wavering. "And I'm having a really bad night. Wanna  make it worse?"

He took a step back, then another, trying to maintain what was left of his dignity. "Bitch," he muttered, but he was already turning away, shoulders hunched defensively.

Lady watched him retreat, waiting until he was a good distance down the street before lowering her weapon. The man's footsteps quickened as he rounded the corner, practically running by the end. She waited another moment, listening to make sure he was really gone, then began to holster her right-hand pistol with a sigh.

“ And so my theory is testified.”

Lady spun around, one of her guns already half-drawn again, to find Vergil standing in the shadows of the alley. He was leaning against the wall with that infuriating casual grace of his, one leg crossed over the other, Yamato held loosely at his side. The dim light caught on his silver hair and the sharp angles of his face, turning him into something that looked carved from marble. He was looking for all the world like he'd been there the whole time, watching the scene unfold with that unreadable expression he'd perfected. Knowing him, he probably had been.

“ You,” Lady hissed, “ You really think I wanna see your freakin' mug right about now?”

The corner of Vergil's mouth twitched – not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. His eyes, cold and sharp as winter frost, studied her with that clinical detachment that always made her want to shoot him on principle.

"Your current emotional state is irrelevant," he replied coolly. “ I merely wished to see if you required assistance.”

Lady let out a wry snort. " Assistance? Yeah, you can actually by being my damned target practice."

"Tempting as your offer may be," Vergil responded dryly, not moving from his position, "I doubt it would improve either your aim or your current predicament." His eyes tracked her movements with predatory focus. "Though if you truly wish to test yourself against me, I would suggest doing so when you're not..." He wrinkled his nose slightly, "...compromised."

"I'm not drunk enough to miss at this range," she growled, waving the gun as though to prove her point. "And I'm definitely sober enough to deal with your condescending ass playing concerned citizen."

"Three shots of whiskey,  a glass of wine and a beer suggest otherwise," Vergil stated flatly. "Your speech patterns betray you."

The observation hit like a slap. Lady's face flushed hot with anger and something dangerously close to shame. "Been following me all night then? That's not creepy at all."

"Following implies effort," Vergil replied. “ Just merely… observing due to concerns from others.”

Lady stared at Vergil, the gun in her hand still drawn. “ What is your deal?”

Vergil remained motionless, his expression unreadable, but something shifted in his stance – a barely perceptible softening of his usual rigid posture. When he finally moved, it was to deliberately turn his body slightly away from her, presenting less of a target.

Lady's laugh was sharp and bitter. "What, no lecture? No smug comments about human weakness?" Her gun hand trembled slightly. "The great Son of Sparda, standing in a dingy alley, watching over a drunk human. This has gotta  be killing you."

 The silence was becoming oppressive. Lady had expected... something. Derision. Mockery. That infuriating superiority he wore like armor.

"Just... go away, Vergil," the huntress finally said, her voice losing its edge, leaving only exhaustion in its wake as she lowered her gun.

“ No.” His response was quiet but immovable as a mountain. That single syllable seemed to fill the alley, hanging between them like a challenge – or perhaps an olive branch.

Lady's head snapped up, exhaustion momentarily forgotten in a flash of renewed anger. "No? What  the hell do you mean 'no'? You don't get to just—"

"No," Vergil repeated, just as quietly but with an undertone that might have been gentleness from anyone else. “ I believe we are due a conversation.”

Lady stared at him, disbelief warring with something dangerously close to panic. "A conversation," she echoed flatly. "Now. Here. After you've been stalking me all night." She gestured wildly with her free hand. "Because that's what we do now? Have heart-to-hearts?"

"Would you prefer an audience?" Vergil's tone remained steady, but there was a subtle tension in his shoulders that betrayed his own discomfort with the situation. "Or perhaps we could continue this cycle of avoidance until one of us—" his eyes flicked meaningfully to her gun "—makes a regrettable decision."

The words hit too close to home. Lady felt her face flush hot again, but this time she couldn't blame it entirely on the alcohol. "You want to talk?" she challenged, voice rough. "Fine. Let's talk about how you're the last person who gets to comment on my choices. Let's talk about-"

“ I am sorry.” The words fell between them like stones into still water, rippling outward with devastating impact. Lady's throat closed up, her next angry retort dying before it could form. For a moment, all she could hear was the distant thrum of the bar's music and her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"I am sorry," Vergil repeated, each word measured and deliberate. "For Temen-ni-gru. For Artemis. For..." he paused, and for the first time, his gaze wavered slightly. "For treating your humanity as a weakness to be exploited, rather than the strength it truly is."

Lady let out a shaky breath, her voice barely audible when she finally found it. "In the tower... when I was..." She couldn't bring herself to say 'crying', even now. Her jaw worked for a moment. "And then years later, as V, you said I looked well." The words came out bitter, almost accusatory. "Was that some kind of joke to you? Seeing me like that, both times?"

Vergil was still for a long moment, his expression carefully controlled but his eyes unexpectedly transparent. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost introspective. "It was not mockery. It was... recognition. Of your strength." He shifted slightly, and for the first time that night, he was the one who looked away first."You survived what I intended to break you with. You thrived. And as V... I found myself grateful for that fact."

Lady lowered her gun and stared at Vergil, studying his expression for any signs of deception. “ I really don’t get you.”

Vergil's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, tinged with self-deprecation. “ Very few do, including myself.”

Lady's jaw worked silently for a moment, warring emotions flickering across her face. Her fingers flexed around her lowered gun, old instincts battling with the raw honesty she'd just witnessed. Finally, she exhaled sharply through her nose, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders even as her eyes remained wary.

"You're still an asshole," the huntress declared flatly, but there was something almost thoughtful in her tone. She slid her gun back into its holster with deliberate movements, each click of metal against leather like punctuation marks in the loaded silence. "And this doesn't make us friends either. I will shoot you if you try anything, and I mean anything shady as shit.” Lady paused as she finally secured her gun.” But if the kid and Dante are willing to give the benefit of the doubt, then I am  not gonna interfere."

"I would expect nothing less," Vergil replied with a slight incline of his head, accepting both the warning and the boundary it represented. His posture remained carefully composed, but there was a subtle easing of tension around his eyes - an acknowledgement that this tentative, not-quite-peace was more than he had any right to expect.

Lady stretched languidly, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of their conversation.She took a few steps toward the alley's exit, boots scuffing against concrete, before pausing at the edge of the shadows. "By the way," she called over her shoulder, a sudden note of sardonic amusement coloring her voice, "does your idiot brother actually know you've skipped town ?" Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a genuine smile.

Vergil’s lips curved slightly. "I trust Nero knows how to handle such inquiries appropriately."

Lady barked out a wry laugh, shaking her head. Before she could add another biting comment, Vergil smoothly drew Yamato from its sheath.

The blade caught the dim light, seeming to drink in the shadows before it sliced downward in one precise, elegant motion. Space itself parted before the legendary sword, reality peeling away in  patterns of luminescent blue.The portal hummed with barely contained power, its edges crackling and shifting like living lightning. The display of raw demonic energy made Lady's fingers twitch reflexively toward her holster - old habits dying hard - but she forced herself to remain still, watching with grudging appreciation as the gateway stabilized into a perfect oval of swirling azure light.

"Still as dramatic as ever with the exits," Lady observed dryly as she studied Vergil.

The portal's light caught his features differently than the harsh alley shadows had, and she found herself suddenly struck by how time seemed to have barely touched him. Where Dante had grown into his years, laugh lines creasing the corners of his eyes, Vergil's face remained almost unnervingly ageless. Something about hell, probably - or maybe just that perpetual stick up his ass keeping him preserved. The  last thought almost made her snort.

Vergil moved with that inhuman speed he was known for, but there was something deliberately measured in his movements now - like he was consciously holding back, trying to be less threatening. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist - just enough force to secure, not harm. The leather of his glove was cool against her alcohol-warmed skin, and she noticed with surprise that his grip trembled slightly, as if he wasn't quite sure how much strength was appropriate.

"Be thankful I made a promise," was all Vergil said, voice maddeningly calm. He pulled her toward the portal with the kind of authoritative decisiveness that brooked no argument, but his other hand hovered near her elbow, ready to steady her if needed. For all his usual composure, there was something almost awkward in the gesture - like someone who'd read about helping others but never actually practiced it.

"Hey- wait-!" Lady's protests came out less sharp than intended, her words slightly slurred as the world tilted dizzyingly around her. The combination of the portal's warping effect and the several drinks she'd had earlier was proving to be a particularly nasty cocktail for her equilibrium. Colors bled together at the edges of her vision, and what should have been a coordinated defensive motion turned clumsy. Her attempt to reach for her weapon turned into more of a stumble, which only served to make Vergil's grip more stabilizing than restraining. Despite herself, she noticed how he adjusted his stance to better support her weight.

The portal deposited them in Nero's dimly lit living room with a flash of blue light that seemed to sear itself into her retinas, Lady stumbled forward as her boots hit solid ground. Her knees buckled slightly, and she grabbed the nearest piece of furniture - an armchair - to steady herself, her fingers digging into the worn fabric as the room spun in a nauseating blend of portal-travel disorientation and alcohol. The familiar scent of Kyrie's potpourri wafted up from the decorative bowl on the coffee table, but the usually fragrant aroma only made her stomach lurch more violently.

"Never... do that again," Lady growled, fighting back a wave of dizziness that made the shadows dance at the edges of her vision. Her throat felt tight, and she could taste bile at the back of her mouth. "Some warning next time would be nice, assh—"

Before she could finish her insult, there was a subtle rustle of fabric as Vergil reached into his coat. Lady tensed instinctively, muscle memory from years of combat making her body coil for action despite her current state. But instead of a weapon, he produced something small and white between his gloved fingers - a hard peppermint candy, still wrapped in crinkly cellophane that caught the dim light.

The gesture was so unexpected, so absurdly mundane coming from Vergil of all people, that for a moment she could only stare. In the soft lamplight, with his hand outstretched offering her candy like some awkward  relative at a family gathering, he looked almost comically human. It was the kind of thoughtful solution Kyrie would come up with, and Lady had to wonder if he'd picked up the habit from the songstress in some way.

"For the nausea," Vergil stated matter-of-factly, holding it out to her with an expression that might have been mistaken for concern if she didn't know better.

For the second time that evening, Lady found herself wondering how the hell she had not shot the bastard on the spot. The weight of her pistol at her hip seemed to agree with the sentiment, but her fingers stayed where they were, clutching the armchair's fabric. Maybe it was the alcohol making her soft, or maybe it was the way he stood there awkwardly with a peppermint candy of all things, but she found herself taking it anyway.

The candy was nice though. She had to give him that much - somewhere between trying to murder his brother and whatever the hell he'd been doing in hell, he'd apparently learned basic human courtesy. Even if Vergil executed it with all the warmth of someone following an instruction manual. The thought almost made Lady laugh, but she managed to contain it to a slight snort. The last thing she needed was him thinking she found any of this amusing.

Chapter Text

Trish had maintained one fact throughout her brief existence in the human world and that was something simple: she wasn’t a fan of kids. They were whiny, demanding little creatures that seemed to exist solely to create chaos and drain energy from everyone around them. Yet still, she couldn’t quite bring herself to really try leaving. There was something about Nero’s brats that had a strange effect on her which she couldn’t quite explain. But now being stuck between two of them fighting over who got to sit next  was a special kind of hell she hadn't anticipated while rocking up to Nero’s place.

"I wanna sit by Aunt Trish!" Carlo whined, while Julio pulled at her new jacket from the other side.

Had Patty ever been this bad? The demoness remembered finding the same girl somewhat vexing at times, but in her own way, she had grown on Trish. After all, there were few people in Dante’s life she knew who could drive the devil hunter up the wall, especially with her demands for tea parties and a necessity to decorate everything pink. At least she'd never gotten sticky handprints on Trish's leather. These kids, though... they had no respect for quality materials. She winced slightly as she felt Julio tug at her sleeve with hands that were definitely covered in whatever sugary concoction Nico had given them earlier.

“ You’re both acting like fucking babies,” Kyle muttered before flinging himself into the seat next to Trish. The teenager paused slightly as though expecting a reprimand but Trish wasn't Kyrie. She'd heard far worse in Devil May Cry, usually from Lady after stealing one too many of Dante’s beers when he was out. Besides, the kid wasn't wrong - his younger siblings were being insufferable little shits.

Carlo's bottom lip started to quiver at the insult, while Julio's grip on her sleeve tightened dangerously. Great.  Now she had one smug teenager and two upset kids to deal with.

The demoness watched out of the corner of her eye as Julio flinched slightly at the sound of a plate shattering in the kitchen. What followed was a flurry of Nico’s colourful language that instantly made Trish want to teleport right out of there.  But then again, that meant leaving Lady alone with Vergil when she inevitably returned, and the demoness seriously didn’t want to be cleaning up the aftermath of that particular combination.

Trish sighed, looking between the three children. "Listen," she said, keeping her voice level in that way she'd learned from watching Nero  successfully wrangling both his father and uncle into something resembling functional adults (for at least five minutes). "There's plenty of room here. Carlo, you can sit on my left, Julio on my right, and Kyle's already claimed this spot. Fair's fair." She glanced at Kyle with a raised eyebrow that clearly said 'don't make this worse.'

The compromise seemed to work - or at least stopped the immediate crisis. Carlo's lip stopped quivering, though he still shot Kyle a wounded look as he climbed into his designated spot. Julio's death grip on her sleeve loosened slightly, though those sugarcoated fingerprints were definitely going to need some professional cleaning.

“ Auntie Trish?”

She turned to look at Carlo, who had that particular expression children got when they were about to ask for something they knew might be pushing their luck.

"Just Trish, kid, we've been over this already." Though she had to admit, there was something almost endearing about how persistently all of Nero's kids tried to add the 'Auntie' title. Almost. At least they hadn't picked up Dante's habit of calling her 'Gloria' whenever he wanted to annoy her.

Carlo didn't seem deterred by the correction, that calculating look still firmly in place. "Trish," he started again, drawing out her name in that way that definitely meant trouble, "can you tell us about when you first met Uncle Dante?"

She could feel Kyle perking up at that too, trying to act disinterested but clearly listening. Even Julio had stopped fidgeting with her sleeve.

"That's...uh, a very long story ," Trish said carefully, noting how Kyle was now completely failing to pretend he wasn't interested. "Let's just say I tried to run him over with a motorcycle and throw a sword through his chest." She paused, then added dryly, "It didn't put him down."

Kyle snorted, clearly delighted by this violent introduction, while Carlo's eyes went wide. Julio just gripped her sleeve tighter, though whether in horror or excitement was hard to tell.

"You tried to kill Uncle Dante?" Carlo's voice wavered between shock and fascination.

"A lot of people and demons have tried to kill your Uncle Dante," Trish replied matter-of-factly. "He's annoying like that."

"Did he shoot you?" Kyle asked eagerly, previous smugness forgotten in favor of what promised to be a good tale. "He always shoots  first in the stories I’ve heard from Nero and Nico."

Trish felt her lips quirk despite herself. "Actually, I caught him first." The memory was still crystal clear - that first meeting, the lightning, the motorcycle, and Dante's irritatingly knowing smirk. "I think he knew exactly what I was from the start, but he played along anyway."

"What do you mean 'what you were'?" Carlo asked, while Julio finally released her sleeve in favor of tucking himself closer to her side.

" There’s… a lot of different demons out there, kid. And I was made by one who was very mean and sealed away.” She watched their faces scrunch up trying to process this.

Trish was thankful Lady had given her a bit of a rundown the first time she’d visited Nero’s residence on the whole "tell the kids everything and I'll shoot you" talk. It seemed Nero was more than a bit stingy on what he revealed to the brats about demonic stuff. However whether through Kyrie’s influence ( bless that girl’s heart) or some chiding from Dante, she had been given the lowdown that the kids did know a little bit about the basics on Nero and Dante being…a little different from them.

“ But, hey enough about me,” Trish drawled trying to redirect the conversation and not open up some older wounds. "You want to hear about dear old Nero instead? Got plenty of stories about him being a hot-headed brat too."

“ You mean the guy who blushes pink when Kyrie tells him off?"  Kyle snorted.

"Did you know Nero used to give his old bosses absolute hell?" Trish amended. "He was supposed to be this proper Holy Knight, but he spent most of his time breaking every rule they had. Your Uncle Dante  just helped add to it after Nero left the Order."

"Nero was a troublemaker?" Carlo asked, clearly delighted by this revelation.

"Oh, you have no idea. He'd skip important ceremonies to help people in the city instead, talked back to everyone except Kyrie, and wore his uniform wrong just to annoy his superiors." Trish's lips quirked remembering what she’d pieced together as ‘Gloria’.  "When your Uncle Dante showed up, instead of stalling him  appropriately like was supposed to, Nero just decided to fight him in the middle of the Opera House. Had a funny feeling a lot of that anger came from seeing Kyrie being knocked down onto the ground."

Kyle raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That tracks."

"Right? The higher-ups would give him orders and he'd just go 'whatever' and do his own thing. Actually—"

“ That’s enough.”

Trish turned at Vergil's voice, finding him in the doorway with, of all things, a pasta bake in his hands. He kept his gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder - that deliberate way he had of acknowledging her presence without actually looking at her.  Closely behind him, Nico followed carrying bowls, though she looked somewhat sheepish.

“Hey kids, food's ready!" Nico announced with forced cheer, clearly trying to buffer the tension. She paused, glancing at Vergil. "Gotta admit, didn't believe you were serious about whippin’ somethin’ up. Guess it makes a nice change from eating takeout for once.”

Vergil set the pot down wordlessly with perhaps more force than strictly necessary, still steadfastly looking anywhere but at Trish. His hands lingered on the pot handles for a moment, as if unsure what to do.

Carlo frowned at the pot and then looked between Nico and Vergil. “ But I thought we were ordering pizza tonight. I promised Auntie Lady to save her a slice.”

Trish couldn’t help but hide her smirk slightly at that.

"C'mon, kid, Mr. Vergil here has gone and made an actual home-cooked meal," Nico pressed on, trying to inject some enthusiasm into the moment. "When's the last time we got somethin’ that wasn't delivered in a box when Kyrie and Nero aren’t in?"

Carlo's pout deepened, clearly unimpressed by this argument. "But Uncle Dante says pizza has all the food groups if you get the right toppings."

A muscle twitched in Vergil's jaw at the mention of his twin, and Trish had to disguise her snort of laughter as a cough, earning herself the briefest flicker of an icy glare before Vergil's gaze snapped to focusing on Carlo.“ Child, you require proper sustenance, not my brother's questionable dietary choices," Vergil stated firmly, though his tone remained carefully measured. " If you eat your meal, there will be a subsequent reward.”

Carlo perked up immediately at the mention of a reward, his previous resistance melting away. “ Dessert?”

Vergil lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. “ Perhaps.”

Trish pushed her chair back with subtle intent, the legs scraping softly against Nero's kitchen floor. She’d was starting to get bored of playing happy families. Trish was uncertain on what had seemingly changed between her and Vergil after their heart-to-heart months back at the office, pretending to be his brother. But one thing was for certain and that was he had been actively avoiding eye contact with her since the incident, and it was starting to get to her a little more than it should. "Well, speaking of which, I should probably head downtown to see if-"

"Nuh-uh," Nico cut in, one hand furiously gripped on the serving spoon as she began to serve out the oven-baked pasta into bowls. "You're already here in the kid's house, might as well stay put. Lady can handle one night at the bar without ya." Her grin widened mischievously. "Besides, wouldn't want to miss whatever's for dessert, right Carlo?"

Trish shot Nico a look of betrayal, and was partially tempted to just walk out anyway. But a small lingering voice which sounded suspiciously like Dante’s told her to stay and not make a scene. Damn the devil hunter’s self-proclaimed ‘ No Zappy, Just Happy’ lessons. A decade on from Dante’s attempts to try and teach her human mannerisms and his freakin’ voice was still intergrated in her consciousness. Still, she settled back in her chair with barely concealed resignation as Carlo nodded enthusiastically, his mouth already full of food.

“ Here, get this down ya,” Nico grinned sheepishly, popping open the cork over a bottle of merlot before pouring a glass for the demoness. “ Uh, don’t tell Nero, but Vergil kinda might have used a portal to get it. N-Not around the kids of course!” The mechanic winced at the rushed delivery of her words, before continuing. “Looks fancy and shit, though.”

Trish stared at the label. Château Margaux . Her eyebrows rose fractionally as she realized exactly what she was looking at from her previous travels on picking up jobs  across Europe. That had been aeons ago, but that didn’t mean she didn’t recognize signatures names and brands. Trust Vergil to casually steal what might be one of the most expensive wines in existence - though knowing him, he probably considered it 'reclaiming' something that rightfully belonged to the Sparda bloodline.

"You portaled to France?” she asked the elder twin dryly. “ For dinner wine?”

"The pairing matters," Vergil replied coldly, not bothering to look at her.

Trish set her glass down with deliberate care, lips curling into a sharp smile as she bit her tongue. For the fact Nero’s foster kids  were here and Dante’s voice still riniging through her thoughts, she wasn't going to start something here. Not least of all with Nico present, who was already looking between them like someone watching a lit fuse burn down.

A heavy silence settled over Nero's dining room, broken only by the clink of silverware against ceramic plates and Carlo's enthusiastic eating. Even the other two  kids has quickly picked up on the atmosphere, suddenly finding the bottom of their bowls interesting.

“ So, Nico,” Trish asked attempting to break the suffocating tension. “ You still doing commissions? I was thinking of getting an extra gun.”

"Hell yeah, I am!" Nico's face split into a wide grin, fingers already twitching like she wanted some ability to materialize her sketchbook. "Got some sweet new ideas that'll knock ya socks off. You want something that packs a punch or we going for style? Hell, who am I kidding - we can do both!"

From the corner of her eye, Trish caught Vergil's minute scoff at the mention of firearms. She deliberately kept her attention on Nico.

"Something with range," Trish replied, twirling pasta around her fork elegantly. "Been running into more of those flying types lately. Luce and Ombra are perfect for close combat, but..." She shrugged one shoulder, a predatory glint in her eye. "Sometimes you want to shoot them down before they even know you're there.”

Nico's eyes lit up. " Gimme a few days to draw up some designs and we can talk business. You gals plannin' on staying in Fortuna, or are ya going back soon? "

"Haven't decided yet," Trish replied. "Might stick around the Old City for a bit longer. Been needing a bit of a break if you catch my drift.”

“ Does that mean you can play with us, Trish!?” Julio chirped.

Trish's smile went a bit fixed at the edges, though she managed to keep her tone light. "Ah... we'll see. Got some things to take care of first." She'd faced down hordes of demons without flinching, but somehow children's expectations were another matter entirely.

Seeing Julio’s crestfallen expression, Trish quickly added, “ But how about I give you boys an ultimatum, hm? Lady and I are in need of some of the new threads while we are in town. Do  you three want to join me and Auntie Lady on a shopping trip tomorrow afternoon?” Trish blinked, uncertain of why the hell she’d put that out there, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to really back down. “Promise it won’t be all looking at  girly clothes. We can even get some ice cream if you want.”

"Yes!" Carlo cheered while Julio grinned. Kyle maintained his composure but couldn't quite hide a slight smile, though he quickly tried to look disinterested when he noticed Vergil’s rigid posture.

“And with whose funds?" Vergil's cutting tone sliced through their enthusiasm. "My brother's latest contribution to your expenses?"

Trish met his brief gaze before he averted it once more with a raised eyebrow. "Actually, took down a nasty piece of work in Red Grave last week. Payment cleared yesterday." She turned back to the boys with a small but genuine smile. "Ice cream's on me."

"Then I shall accompany you." It wasn't a request. His words carried the weight of frost, still refusing to look in her direction.

Trish scoffed. "Come now, Vergil. One afternoon isn't going to break your promise. Besides, I am hardly going to let anything happen to Nero's kids. I can more than protect them if anything shows up.”

" That is what I fear. Your competence isn't in question. Your judgment, however..." Vergil retorted, leaving  the rest unsaid, the implication clear.

Trish's emerald gaze narrowed. Vergil was a deflective asshole, much like his brother at times. That was a conclusion she’d come to quickly, though unlike with Lady and Dante, hers wasn’t entirely weighted in memories of a tower or vengeance. He was so different. Nelo Angelo had  been… She shifted uncomfortably at the thought before she stood up and took a long gulp of wine, her eyes not leaving the elder twin, despite his fixed focus and scowling at the wall.

The demoness forced a thin smile at the rest of the table as she slammed down the glass. “ Well, if I may be excused, I believe I need some fresh air.”

As Trish stepped out, she heard Nico’s muffled sigh.

“ Seriously, V-Man, not cool.”

For some reason, Trish’s mind kept wandering back to the past. It wasn’t uncommon she found herself reminiscing about Dante’s old lessons, but often they were trivial things like the purpose behind a park or grocery store, or understanding what coffee and tea were. Practical things that helped her blend into human society.

Money had baffled her at first. The idea of exchanging paper for sustenance seemed absurdly overcomplicated rather than hunting or gathering red orbs. But Dante had insisted, even after she'd pointed out how easy it would be to simply take what they wanted. He’d laughed and explained something about how Morrison would beat their asses to the underworld and back if they got caught doing something called shoplifting. She'd learned. Though Trish still occasionally sent Dante bills for her services, just to see him sputter indignantly about his regrets on teaching her about financial exchange.

But then, as she began to stalk a behemoth of an Empusa Queen down one of Fortuna’s long-winding streets, her mind kept going over one lesson in particular, and it was beginning to drive Trish mad.

"It's not just feelin’ 'amused' and 'murder time,'"  she remembered Dante explaining after she asked why on earth she’d seen Lady cry over a movie where no one had even died. That had evidently turned into another impromptu lesson over pizza and beer in the devil hunter’s office ."People feel everything in between. It ain’t black or white. Sometimes they might smile, laugh or cry, sometimes all at once. It’s called having emotions."

At the time, Trish remembered rolling her eyes with another reminder of hybrids’ weaker qualities coming from their human sentimentalities. As much as the demoness liked her human hunting partner,  thinking  or trying to confine  such reactions were useless in the demon world. Whether you felt ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ wouldn’t stop you from being hunted or killed by a bigger predator. It was simple as that.

"And here's the kicker," the devil hunter told the demoness, interrupting her thoughts as she put on a fake smile in the office’s cracked mirror. A flicker of something painful had passed on Dante’s face, then, and suddenly Trish found herself noticing it more often than she should. "Eventually, you stop imitating them. Start feelin’ them for real. That's when it gets interesting." He'd grinned then, but there was something knowing in his eyes. "And way more complicated."

First and foremost, while Trish liked to act as human as possible, her demonic instincts often got the better of her when the she-devil recognized her own emotions had names. She wasn’t entirely like Lady with that human urge to drink away the pain and numb her anger, or cry into a pint of cookie dough ice cream as she’d seen the huntress do after her last break up. Instead, she could only channel all that rage into she was best at - hunting.

As Trish found herself ripping into the last bit of the Empusa Queen’s torso, her eyes caught the sight of several Scarecrow down the alley, as she stalked forwards, her mind still racing with Vergil’s words. She was uncertain why she was so pissed off about it. Sure, Vergil had called her ‘it’ and ‘that thing’  during their first interactions, hardly the worst she'd been called, especially by demons. In fact, even being address as ‘you’ and ‘ woman’ was improvement in itself .  She'd been created as a tool, after all. A puppet meant to lure and destroy. The fact that Mundus's former general viewed her as just another demon construct shouldn't bother her.

But it did. It burned in a way that had nothing to do with the demoness’ lightning powers. Perhaps because she'd thought... well, after everything with Dante and Nero, after seeing how even Vergil had actually opened up a bit around her in the shop, maybe….

Trish had been so caught up in the thought she cursed slightly as one of the Scarecrow's blades whistled past her face, nearly catching her cheek. Lightning crackled between her fingers as she weaved between the Scarecrows' awkward, jerky attacks, her boots leaving scorch marks on the alley's pavement.

Of course, it always came down to Eva.

Unlike the demoness' usual controlled approach, tonight her strikes were particularly vicious. She didn't bother with her guns - this was personal, needed to be intimate. Trish's hands plunged straight through the first Scarecrow's burlap flesh, electricity turning its insides molten before she ripped it apart. The second tried to catch her with its blade-arms, but she caught them bare-handed, channeling enough voltage through the metal to make the demon convulse before exploding into dust.

She seized the final Scarecrow by its ragged throat, slamming it against the alley wall. The demon's bladed limbs flailed uselessly as she held it there, electricity dancing across her skin. For a moment, she stared into its empty burlap face, seeing something else entirely - a cold helm, a piercing stare, a memory that wouldn't fade. With a snarl of frustration, Trish channeled every volt she could muster through her grip. The Scarecrow jerked violently before bursting into ash, leaving nothing but scorched brick and the acrid smell of ozone in the air.

The demoness stood in the settling ash, her fingers still crackling with residual electricity. She could sense more demon activity further downtown - nothing significant, probably just more lesser demons scraping by in the city's shadows. Easy prey. Tempting.

But even through Trish’s demon instincts screaming for more violence, she recognized this spiral for what it was. She'd seen Dante go down this path often enough - hunting until exhaustion just to  ending up spiralling with over drinking to avoid thinking. And while she wasn't human like Lady, she wasn't another mindless demon either. Running from uncomfortable thoughts by drowning them in bloodshed was still beneath her.

The demoness shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips at the thoughts of the human huntress. For someone who prided herself on being practical and controlled, Lady had her own self-destructive methods of coping. And yet there was also a pang of jealousy crept in at the thought of her human partner’s lower alcohol tolerance. There were times Trish really wished she could get drunk, and this was one of them.

Trish turned back toward in the direction towards Nero’s residence, her boots crunching through the demon ash. With any luck, Lady would have worked through enough of her own anger and enough bottles to have returned. If not, someone needed to be there when she eventually stumbled back in at whatever time in the early hours it was.

As Trish slipped through the front door, she immediately sensed Lady's absence -  although the flickering energy of Nero’s foster kids and Nico’s from the garage suggested they had long since finished dinner and gone to bed.  But there was another familiar energy way too close for comfort, making her pause mid-step as she entered the living room.

Vergil was sprawled on the sofa - a sight so uncharacteristic it took her a moment to process. The proud Son of Sparda was never this unguarded, yet here he was, having dozed off with previous exhaustion catching up from likely weeks of his brother's antics and the new challenge of looking after the kids. But his rest was far from peaceful. The elder twin's face was twisted in discomfort, muscles tense, fingers twitching as if reaching for Yamato which wasn’t in sight. Whatever dreams plagued him, they weren't kind.

Trish paused in the doorway , uncertain on how to proceed. It would be easy to just walk out, pretend she hadn't seen this and spend some time reading through Kyrie’s book collection.  It would be the smart thing to do - Vergil was dangerous even at his most composed, and she had no desire to lose and try to regenerate an arm if she tried to shake him awake. Yet she found herself  still lingering, watching the way Vergil's brow furrowed, the slight tremor in his hands.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. It was odd feeling something akin to…empathy for the man who typically dismissed her existence.

Keeping her distance, Trish settled into an armchair across the room, positioning herself where she could keep an eye on both Vergil and the door. The romance novel she'd spotted - "The Devil's Embrace," of all ironically tasteless titles - sat temptingly on Kyrie's nearby shelf, but she forced herself to focus on the more pressing matter.

"You'd hate this," Trish murmured, quiet enough not to disturb him. "Being seen like this. Being pitied by 'that thing.'" Her lips curved in a bitter smile. "But I guess we've got more in common than you'd care to admit."

Trish watched as another shudder wracked the elder twin’s frame, his hand grasping at empty air where Yamato should be. She found herself wondering if he was dreaming of the same cold throne room she sometimes revisited in her own nightmares - that oppressive presence, that voice that could break through every mental defense.

The demoness absently rubbed her own arms, phantom pains of old "corrections" ghosting across her skin. Trish had been created later, hadn't endured nearly as long as Nelo Vergil had, but she remembered enough. The way Mundus would dig into your mind, reshape your thoughts, dreams and vision until you couldn't tell where his will ended and yours began.

"At least I was made for it," Trish muttered, still keeping her voice low. "You were just a stupid kid who bit off more than you could chew." The words felt strange in her mouth - not quite pity, but something adjacent to understanding. She'd seen glimpses of what Mundus had done to break him, to forge Nelo Angelo. It made her talk with the wispy poet she had known as V make a twisted kind of sense.

A particularly violent twitch shook Vergil's frame, and suddenly his eyes snapped open - that familiar icy blue now blazing with demonic energy. His breathing came in harsh, controlled pants as his gaze darted around the room, clearly trying to orient himself. His hand clenched and unclenched, reaching for Yamato in an instinctive gesture that spoke of decades of habit. The surge of demonic power that filled the room was immediate and suffocating, like the air before a storm. Trish could feel it pressing against her skin, searching for threats, for enemies, for any trace of that ancient, oppressive presence that still haunted them both.

The demoness remained perfectly still in her chair, deliberately keeping her own power in check. No sudden movements, no threat display. Just calm, measured breaths as she watched him slowly piece together where he was - Nero's house, the worn sofa, the soft moonlight streaming through lace curtains that were definitely Kyrie's choice.

Vergil’s eyes finally landed on her, and she saw the moment recognition hit - followed immediately by that familiar wall of ice slamming down over any hint of vulnerability as he sat up rigidly.

"You." The word came out clipped and hostile. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on her face—his mother's face—with that familiar mix of revulsion and barely contained rage.

“ Me.” Trish couldn’t help but retort, though she couldn’t bury down the slight panic of the elder twin having heard her previous confession.

"How long have you been here?" Vergil's voice was dangerously soft, the kind of quiet that preceded violence. His fingers flexed again, seeking Yamato's grip, and the absence of his sword seemed to make him even more tense.

Trish kept her posture deliberately relaxed, though every instinct screamed at her to move, to run, to fight. "Long enough to finish that questionable romance novel Kyrie has hidden behind her cookbooks," she lied smoothly, gesturing to the bookshelf. "You looked like you needed the rest, so I decided to catch up on my reading."

His eyes narrowed further, searching her face for any hint of deception. The air crackled with barely contained power as he pushed himself to his feet with rigid precision, every movement calculated to project control he clearly didn't feel. "If you think I believe-"

"What I think," Trish cut him off, her own voice growing sharp, "is that we both have better things to do than discuss your napping habits, Vergil. ”

Vergil's lip curled into a sneer, though there was something unsteady beneath the contempt. "Is that why my brother keeps you around? To play Mother Dearest?”  His voice dripped with venom, but Trish could hear the defensive edge underneath and tried to bite back the slight hurt at the quip.

"Actually, he keeps me around because I'm excellent at killing things and terrible at following orders - just like everyone else in his life." Trish met his glare steadily, letting a hint of her own anger seep through. "Though I suppose that must hit closer to home, given your history of raising hell and all."

Vergil's eyes flashed dangerously at that, a flicker of blue demonic power washing over his form before he reined it back with visible effort. "Bold words from Mundus's puppet."

"Former puppet," Trish corrected, keeping her tone deliberately light even as her manicured nails dug into the armchair. "I got better. Though I suppose we have that in common too, don't we?"

The silence that followed was razor-sharp. Vergil's face had gone completely still, like a frozen lake concealing dangerous depths. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet enough that a human wouldn't have heard it.

"You know nothing about what happened."

"I know enough," Trish said, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "I was there, remember? Not for all of it, but enough to also hear it from V.”

Vergil's posture straightened, mask of cold dignity sliding back into place despite the lingering tremor in his hands. "My business is my own,  woman."

"And I didn't ask to find you having a breakdown on the kid’s sofa," Trish shot back, electricity crackling at her fingertips.

A low, dangerous chuckle escaped Vergil's throat - the kind of sound that made lesser demons flee. "A breakdown? Is that what you think this was?" His fingers flexed again, and this time she could see the phantom claws of his demon form flickering at the edges of his control.

"What would you call it then?" Trish challenged, though she kept her power carefully in check. The last thing they needed was to wreck Nero's living room. "A  dream with bonus trauma?"

His eyes flashed dangerously, but there was something almost desperate beneath the fury now. "What I would call it," Vergil said with deadly precision, "is none of your concern. You are not my keeper, and you are certainly not-"

He cut himself off abruptly, jaw clenching so hard she could hear his teeth grind.

"I'm not Eva," Trish finished for him, her voice sharp but not unkind. "Trust me, I'm painfully aware of that fact. And if you think I enjoy wearing the face of your dead mother, you're not nearly as clever as you pretend to be."

She watched that hit land, saw the minute widening of his eyes before they narrowed again. For once, Vergil seemed at a loss for words, clearly thrown by her blunt acknowledgment of what usually hung unspoken between them.

Instead,  Vergil’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You presume too much."

"Do I? Because from where I'm standing, you look exactly like what you're so desperate not to be - scared. Human. And we all know how that turned out the last time you tried denying that. " Trish  knew she was pushing too far, still jaded from the memories of being trapped in that armor,  but something about seeing him so vulnerable had cracked her own careful restraints. "Did you think you were the only one who wakes up thinking they're still there?"

"Enough!" The word came out almost desperate, Vergil's composure cracking further. His demonic energy flickered erratically, like a wounded animal lashing out. "You are nothing but a copy, a manufactured-"

Trish felt her composure snap.“ For hell’s sake, Vergil, how many times do I have to spell it out for you? I am  not trying to be  your mother!”

Vergil looked like she'd struck him, shoulders dropping in surprise "You..." His voice was raw, stripped of its usual cold control. "You dare-"

"No, I didn't ask for this!" Trish's own composure shattered, electricity crackling around her in agitation. “ I didn’t ask to look like her or for you and Dante to constantly look at me like I'm some ghost come back to haunt you! Do you think I don't notice? The way your brother’s eyes linger for just a second too long sometimes, like he's seeing someone else?" Her voice grew quieter, but no less intense. "I don't have Eva’s memories. I never knew her. But I've spent years watching her shadow fall over everything - over both of you. And you," she gestured sharply at Vergil, "you can barely stand to look at me at all since the kid's birthday incident."

"Do not presume," the elder twin  said, each word precise, "to understand what you represent. You were created as a weapon. A tool. That you share her..." His voice faltered for just a moment. "Her face... was merely Mundus's idea of a cruel joke."

The silence that followed was charged with more than just their respective demonic energies. Trish let out a long breath, some of the fight draining from her stance as she pondered Vergil's words. "You're right," she said quietly. "I was created as a weapon. But so was the Yamato, and you gave that a chance to be something more." Trish met his gaze steadily. " I am not asking us to be friends, nor am I asking for reconciliation. All I'm asking for is the same courtesy."

Something shifted in Vergil's expression - subtle, but there. The phantoms around him dimmed slightly as his shoulders lost some of their rigid tension ."I..." He paused, searching for words with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "It is  difficult. To look at you and see..."

"I know," Trish said. "But I'm not asking you to forget her. Just to see me too."

Vergil was quiet for a long moment before inclining his head slightly as he finally made proper eye contact with Trish. For the first time, the demoness couldn't help but notice despite the noticeable difference to Dante's appearance, the twins truly shared that same pale gaze. "You are... different," he finally acknowledged, the words coming carefully, like admitting this cost him something. " Your smile is different from Mother’s.”

Trish blinked in surprise. Of all the distinctions out there, the elder twin had to bring up something as simple as that. "Well," Trish said, crossing her arms but with less defensiveness than before, "I did learn from the best at being  smug. Your brother's a great teacher."

The corner of Vergil's mouth twitched - not quite a smile, but something that might have been its distant cousin. "Dante does excel at being insufferable.”

"When it suits him," Trish replied dryly. She studied Vergil's face, reading between the lines of what wasn't being said as his gaze remained fixed upon her. "You want to know how I've earned his respect, don’t you?"

"I want to understand it," he corrected, the distinction apparently important to him.  "Dante is... careless with many things, but not with that."

Trish felt a smile tugging at her lips - one that was entirely her own. "He fought me first, if that helps. Tried to kill me, actually." She shrugged one shoulder. "Then he saved my life when he had every reason not to. Sound familiar?"

Vergil's eyes narrowed slightly, caught between irritation and something that might have been reluctant amusement. "You're suggesting a pattern."

Trish sighed, drumming her fingers against the armchair. "I'm suggesting Dante has a type when it comes to people who try to murder him."

Trish watched as Vergil's expression shifted minutely - the slight tightening around his eyes, the barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was fascinating, really, how much his eyes could say without saying anything at all.

The demoness adjusted her jacket as she got up out of the armchair, her movements more relaxed now. "I need to head out for a bit. I spotted a demon nest up in the north district of the city that needs handling." She paused, then added with careful casualness, "Lady's been pushing herself too hard lately. Would you..." A slight smile touched her lips. “ Would you mean keeping an eye on her for the rest of the night?  I know you two clash heads more often or not, but please for Dante’s sake, make sure she gets home okay.”

Vergil's expression barely changed, but there was a flicker of something - amusement, perhaps - in his eyes. "She is... remarkably stubborn."

"Takes one to know one," Trish replied, the gentle teasing in her voice something that would have been unthinkable minutes ago.

His response was just a soft "Hm," but he didn't refuse. Perhaps Dante's lessons had come in handy more than she initially thought.

A Few Hours Later….

The ticket clerk - Marco, according to his name tag - stifled another yawn as he flipped through the latest issue of "Night Slayer”. The ferry terminal's early morning shift was usually mind-numbingly boring, nothing but the gentle creak of the docked boats and the rhythmic slap of waves against the pier to keep him company .He was deep into a panel where the protagonist was facing down a vampire overlord that he only vaguely noticed when a shadow fell across his comic. Marco glanced up, then did a double-take that nearly knocked over his third cup of lukewarm coffee.

Through the scratched plexiglass window of his shack, smudged with fingerprints and sea spray, he saw what looked like a character stepped right off the page he was currently holding- a tall man in a worn red leather coat that had seen better days, its edges frayed but somehow still imposing. The white hair threw him off too - it didn't look dyed or artificial, but it sure as hell didn't match the man's suggested age or how he carried himself.

"Hey kid," the man drawled, leaning one elbow on the narrow counter that jutted out from the shack's window, its peeling laminate surface sticky with humidity . A gust of wind from the harbor ruffled his coat, and Marco could have sworn he caught the metallic gleam of firearms beneath it, along with other shapes he didn't want to identify. "Need a ticket for the next ferry to Fortuna."

"I, uh," Marco stammered, fingers fumbling with the ticket machine's worn keys, his comic forgotten face-down on the water-stained counter where condensation had left endless overlapping rings. "That'll be... um..." The stranger's grin widened slightly, showing just a hint of teeth that looked a little too sharp in the fluorescent lighting. “ The first ferry is at 7 AM, sir. It's only 5 now and I... I can't sell tickets until an hour before departure."

The white-haired man straightened up, stretching lazily like a cat that had all the time in the world. "Well, ain't that just perfect," he chuckled, but there was something in his tone that made Marco think he actually meant it. "Got some time to kill then." He cast his gaze around the empty terminal, then spotted the worn wooden bench opposite Marco's shack. "Guess I'll make myself comfortable."

The stranger dropped onto the bench, sprawling across it like it was a luxury couch instead of splintered wood. He propped his boots up on one end, crossed his ankles, and pulled out what looked like a crumpled comic cover from inside his coat.

"Hey, that's..." Marco squinted through his window. "Is that last month's Night Slayer?"

The stranger's grin returned, sharper than before. "Issue #47. The one where Blade Master faces the Crimson King." He waved the comic slightly. "Pretty decent fight scene if you ask me, though they got the sword techniques all wrong. You'd never hold a blade like that unless you wanted to lose your fingers. Trust me that would be in the pain in the ass."

 Marco stared at the man for a long moment, his mouth suddenly very dry. There was something about the way he'd said that - like someone who knew exactly what they were talking about. Someone with experience.

"Right," Marco managed, his voice slightly higher than usual. "Will keep that in mind for  future reference."

The stranger's smile widened just a fraction, and Marco couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something obvious. Something important.

He definitely needed to get off the night shift.

Chapter Text

If Kyle’s first impression of Nero had gone well, he would seriously be speaking through his ass.

He had nearly choked at the sight of Nero while nibbling on the amaretti in Kyrie’s apartment. The most shocking thing had been his hair. It was snow white. Not light white-blonde or somewhat dyed with darker roots showing at the top(like he’d caught glimpses from some of the smuggled-in magazines in the orphanage), but purely natural.  Just like Kyle had been taught about freakin’ Sparda himself.

The orphan’s initial thought as he stared gormlessly at the teen was how Kyle had never noticed Nero around the Old City before.

Sure, he’d heard the rumors. After all, Nero had become somewhat of a local legend—the Order's own knight turned rebel and now devil hunter who'd exposed the corruption at its heart.  But somehow, Kyle had never actually seen him in person, despite living in the same city. Then again, maybe that wasn't so surprising. The orphanage kids didn't exactly run in the same circles as demon hunters and former knights of a religious cult. ( Unless of course you happened to find yourself connecting with a particular songstress volunteering.)

 If that wasn’t a shock in itself, the guy was tall. Not the towering, imposing height of the statues that had once dotted Fortuna's squares in marble, but the kind that made Kyle wonder if Nero had to duck through the Old Town’s lowered- doorways. He thought it best not to ask about the gloved hand hidden behind the young devil hunter’s back.

Yet, despite his somewhat scowling features, there was something surprisingly tender in how Nero met Kyrie’s gaze, instantly softening those azure eyes before turning to Kyle with a slightly lopsided grin.

“ So, you’re Kyle, eh?”

Two months later, Kyle sat before the matron, Nero and Kyrie, with the “temporary foster care” documents. The boy wasn’t dumb. He knew much of it had to do with how full the orphanage had become over the months, especially as they wrangled more kids off the street in the wake of everything that had happened. He was just one of many who had been temporarily shoved aside in favour of a new batch of semi-feral street urchins.

The teen couldn’t deny looking back that he had gone out of his way to be a bit of a little shit in the months that followed arriving at Kyrie’s apartment. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for having a new room and a decent single bed, or clothes and stuff—more than he ever got at the orphanage. Hell, even his parents had rarely bought him anything new besides some new stationery on the odd occasion or when his shoes started falling apart.

But there was something about the dynamic of Kyrie and Nero’s puppy-dog eyes across the table and their constant attempts to "bond" that made Kyle want to crawl out of his skin. The forced family dinners and the way they tried so hard to include him in everything was suffocating. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of him was testing them, waiting for the other shoe to drop like it always did.

So he'd slam doors. Skip the dinners the songstress meticulously prepared. ( Not that he’d admit to secretly sneaking out to eat the plate left out for him by Kyrie.) Make smartass comments when Nero tried to set ground rules. Roll his eyes whenever Kyrie suggested "family activities." He'd found all their buttons and pressed them carefully, almost calculatingly, waiting for them to crack.

Except they hadn't. Nero would get frustrated, sure - he'd seen the demon hunter punch a few holes in the garage walls when he thought no one was looking and curse like a sailor. But he always came back, always tried to be gentle. And Kyrie... Kyrie just kept being Kyrie with her infinite patience and saint-like attitude.

Until that one evening  the teen regretted it. It had been one night after a particularly rough cornering in the schoolyard that afternoon by Frederico (a brute of a kid who, despite being a few years younger than Kyle, still managed to tower over him) that the orphan found his patience wearing thin.

He couldn’t remember the entirety of the conversation. Kyrie had been trying to convince him to take up or at least come to a choir session. At the same time, she had been cooking some form of stew for dinner. Nero had practically flung himself into a chair opposite, boredly flicking through a magazine with a title on the front cover he kept obscured under his fingers.

Kyle had snapped somewhere between Kyrie stirring the pot and asking if he wanted to attend choir again. The bruises from Frederico's "friendly chat" were still throbbing, his pride was wounded, and suddenly, Kyrie's presence felt like sandpaper on raw nerves.

"Just shut up about that already!" Kyle had yelled, slamming his hands on the table. "I'm not some replacement for your dead brother that you can dress up and parade around singing and-“

Before the orphan could finish his rant, he felt a sharp pain strumming across the back of his head as Nero's gloved hand connected with a disciplinary tap. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to make him yelp in surprise.

"Shut your mouth,” Nero growled, the magazine dropped to the table as he stood up. His right arm remained stiffly at his side while his left hand clenched into a fist. "You can be mad at the world. You can let it out on me. But you do not talk to her like that. Ever."

Kyle rubbed the back of his head, tears brimming in his eyes. Kyrie hadn't moved from the stove, her back still to the pot, but her shoulders were trembling. The silence in the kitchen was broken only by the soft bubbling of the stew and the ticking of the old clock on the wall.

"I-" he started, but Nero cut him off.

"Your room. Now.”

Kyle couldn’t remember much else about that night aside from the odd pang of embarrassment, remorse and feeling incessantly childish for crying in the dark.

To his surprise, Kyrie and Nero had entered his room at some point in the early hours, and before he could contain himself, he flung himself at the couple, wrapping around them both in a desperate, awkward embrace. His face was still sticky with dried tears, and he probably looked a mess, but he didn't care then. The words tumbled out before Kyle knew what he was saying.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- I was just- I shouldn't have-"

“ It’s okay, Kyle.” Kyrie cooed.

He felt Kyrie's gentle hand on his back and Nero hovering behind her as fresh tears threatened to swell.

“Buddy, maybe I got a bit harsh too, earlier. Trust me, I get it," Nero sighed, his usual sharp edge softened as he crouched down, placing his ungloved hand on the orphan’s shoulder, forcing him to look him in the eye. Kyle was reminded of how much bluer and vast they were for the first time than the ocean around Fortuna itself. "Hell, I was worse than you at your age. Ask any old crones around the orphanage, and they’ll talk ya ear off about stuff I did.”  The teen winced slightly at whatever memory went through his head.  

“But someone..." he glanced at Kyrie, who offer him a warm smile. "Taught me there's better ways to handle it than lashing out and saying some nasty stuff. Doesn't mean you have to bottle everything up. Just means you gotta find the right way to let it out."

Nero cleared his throat, his gaze softening further as Kyle fidgeted with his t-shirt’s fabric. “  Tell you what. When you feel like you are all wound up, why don’t I show ya how to smash up some old plates? Kyrie often has a shi-“Nero cleared his throat slightly as he felt Kyrie’s elbow digging into his stomach, and he was given a surprisingly sharp glare from the usually reserved songstress.

“ I mean, a lot of old crockery from donations and stuff from the orphanage, which I am sure no one will bat an eyelid at if one or two go wanderin’,” the white-haired teen winked, trying to regain some composure. “It’s not the same as… uh, other stuff, but we can give it a go if you start feelin’ like you’re gonna explore, eh?”

Kyle blinked through his tears, surprised. "Really?"

Nero gave him a slight smirk. “ Really.”

Kyle felt somewhat childish for still indulging in the coping mechanism that the devil hunter had shown him on a rainy afternoon. Years later, amidst so many other developments in his life, concerning what had happened to Nero and the addition of Carlo and Julio to their makeshift family, the teen once again found himself outside with a bat and a stack of the orphanage’s old crockery.

It had been a pretty stupid thing that had set him off. Julio had been running his mouth off about how he could never be a devil hunter after a particularly heated debate between him, Carlo, and Julio about who could “borrow”  Nico’s television in the garage.

All Kyle knew was that the familiar surge of emotions and hormones had swelled in his gut, and the teen had stormed off past a somewhat startled Nico in the hallway, who quickly flattened herself against the wall to avoid his rampage. He ignored her calls to him as he continued his way to the backdoor through the kitchen.

On the teen’s passing, he’d caught a brief glimpse of Uncle Dante’s friends leaning against the kitchen countertop, the huntress looking particularly rough with dark circles under her eyes and yesterday's clothes still on. She was nursing what looked like the strongest coffee in existence while Trish watched with an amused smirk as she brought her mug to her mouth.  He hadn't stayed long enough to hear whatever comment the demoness had made, but her low chuckle, followed by Lady’s snort, had followed him out the door.

Another plate shattered against the fence. Kyle adjusted his hood, momentarily grateful that it blocked out everything except the small clearing past the garage where he had done this.

Admittedly, it hadn't been just Julio who had wound him up. Kyle had been tense since his and Nero's last argument a few nights ago over the whole training thing. The older hunter had put his foot down about Kyle being too young to start learning demon hunting, and it still stung. Especially since Kyle knew Nero was younger when he started with the Order. But trying to point that out had just made Nero's expression go all tight, as he commented that at the end of the day, Kyle was different from the young devil hunter.

That had pissed him off.

Sure, Kyle knew the obvious things. He wasn’t dumb enough to try and forget that Nero was something else entirely after the young devil hunter’s confession and the clear signs—the white hair and inhuman strength made that pretty obvious. But some of Kyle had hoped Nero would understand better than anyone, especially as Nero had been just another orphan kid once, demon blood or not. The teen felt his jaw tense at that. Maybe it was also because deep down he thought of Nero as something like his-

"I trust those aren't from Kyrie's good sets."

Kyle nearly jumped out of his skin, the plate in his hand slipping and crashing to the ground as he spun around to see Nero’s father standing a few paces behind him, arms folded as his gaze refused to leave the dropped plate.

Kyle swallowed hard, trying to find his voice as he awkwardly remembered the last time they talked properly under his twin’s guise. He had hardly interacted with Vergil beyond his arrival without at least someone else present, and suddenly, the teen found himself tongue-tied. Vergil was very different from Uncle Dante, right down to the fact he was wearing attire that was right out of some oil painting he remembered seeing in his class textbook. How the hell he was somehow related to Nero and the devil hunter aside from looks was beyond him.

"They're... uh, the old ones. From Nico's box.”

The words came out smaller than he'd meant them to, and he fought the urge to pull his hood down further over his face when he felt an icy gaze meet his. The white-haired man’s expression remained unreadable, and Kyle instinctively took a small step back, a little too unnerved suddenly by the elder twin’s stoicism.

He shifted his weight uneasily, hyper-aware of the broken ceramic at his feet and how Vergil hadn't moved an inch since appearing.

"N-Nero knows," Kyle blurted out, grimacing slightly at how childish he must have suddenly sounded. "About the plates, I mean. And Nico gave them to me."

Vergil’s lips curled into what may have been a ghost of a smirk before returning to a neutral expression. He seemed almost transfixed by the unbroken plate on the side, and for a moment, Kyle found himself bracing for the inevitable lecture that followed. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of birds and the faint whir of Nico's fans still running in the corner of the garage.

Instead, Vergil moved forward past Kyle. He plucked the unbroken plate from the makeshift cardboard box platform. The ceramic caught the light as it turned in his grip, and without a word, he let it drop. The plate shattered suddenly, spreading in an oddly perfect pattern across the lawn—like a flower blooming in fast motion.

"Like that," Vergil said simply as if this was the most natural thing in the world. His eyes met Kyle's, and for a moment, there was something almost... understanding in that usually stern gaze. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "Hesitation serves no purpose. If you intend to break something, commit fully to the act.”

Without a word, he turned on his heel, striding past Kyle, who looked between the plate and Nero’s father speechlessly. While halfway between the clearing and the garage and without turning again, Vergil spoke. His voice was soft, way softer than Nero’s, but somehow, it cut through the distance between himself and Kyle with surprising clarity. “… And child?  Ensure you tidy up before we leave. I do not seek to be playing medic for anyone due to your incompetence.”

Before Kyle could utter a word, Vergil had already departed, leaving the teenager amidst the shattered ceramic and realising that Nero’s father was weird as hell.  And given that Kyle lived with a chain-smoking mechanic who spoke to her weapons and gave them pet names, that counted for something.

After finally disposing of the last of the shards of the broken plates, Kyle re-entered the kitchen, noticing Lady with a fresh batch of coffee in hand and Trish nowhere in sight. He dared not think where the hell Nero’s father was lingering after that last encounter, nor did the teen have any incentive to try and go looking for him either.

“ Cooled off, kid?”, Lady drawled groggily.

The teen's hand instinctively went to rub the back of his neck, a habit he'd definitely picked up from Nero. "Yeah, I guess." Kyle shifted his weight, partially grateful for the huntress not bringing up Vergil having followed him out to the garden. His gaze flickered to the coffee pot behind Lady with interest. " Uh, is there any left?"

Lady's mismatched eyes narrowed slightly as she assessed him over the rim of her mug. After a moment, she shrugged and gestured to the pot with her free hand. "Knock yourself out. Just don't tell Kyrie I'm enabling your caffeine habit."

Kyle couldn't help but snort at that as he reached for a mug from the cabinet. "Pretty sure she already knows. Nero and Nico aren’t not exactly good about hiding the coffee jar. Anway, where’s Trish? I thought she was here just a moment ago."

Lady set her mug down, fixing Kyle with a knowing look. "Trish likes her own space from time to time. Imagine being around so many  humans has taken it out of her.” Kyle felt like there was a detail missing there, but he wasn’t going to push. “ But, seriously, kid. Wanna talk about what got you all worked up earlier?"

The teen paused in pouring his coffee, shoulders tensing slightly. "Not really."

"Fair enough," Lady replied, surprisingly not pushing the issue. She took another sip of her coffee before adding casually, "Though if it's about what Julio said smashing crap isn’t.-"

Kyle cut her off, voice suddenly sharp. "I know that, okay? I know. Everyone's got something to say about what I should or shouldn't be doing." He set his mug down harder than necessary, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "And I get it - I'm just a kid, I don't know what's best for me, and taking it out on some crockery is childish and stupid, but whatever."

Lady's expression remained neutral, though her mismatched eyes tracked his movements carefully. "Not what I was going to say, actually." She took another sip of her coffee. "Was going to say it's not a long-term solution for dealing with Julio being a little shit."

The unexpected response caught Kyle off guard, deflating some of his defensive anger. He blinked at her, then let out a short laugh despite himself. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," Lady echoed, but there was no mockery in her tone. "Look, kid, I'm not here to lecture you. Hell knows I've got no right to tell anyone how to handle their problems. Just..." She trailed off, considering her words. “ There are other ways of getting it off your chest.”

Kyle felt silent for a moment before finally plucking up the courage to ask, feeling his ears burn as he spoke. " How did you become a devil hunter?"

Lady's expression shifted, something distant and hard flickering across her features before settling into something more measured. "That's... a complicated story." She took a long drink from her mug, as if buying time. "But the short version? Family business, you could say. Not by choice."

She studied Kyle for a moment, seeming to weigh something in her mind. "Started young. Too young, really. Had to learn fast or die trying." Her lips quirked in a humorless smile. "Wouldn't recommend it as a career path."

Kyle's fingers drummed against his mug. "But you're still doing it."

"Yeah, well." Lady shrugged. "By the time I had other options, I was already good at it. And somebody's got to keep Dante in line." She fixed Kyle with a knowing look. "But if you're asking because you're thinking about it..."

"I…" Kyle said quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Lady's eyebrow rose skeptically. "I just don’t know why Nero doesn’t want me involved.”

Lady's expression shifted subtly. "Ah. So that's what this is all about." She set her mug down, giving Kyle her full attention. "Has it crossed your mind that maybe Nero's got his reasons? And I don't mean the 'you're just a kid' ones."

Kyle's jaw tightened. "What other reasons could there be? I'm not completely useless. I could learn like you and Nero is just being a dick about it, and I don’t-"

"Kid," Lady's voice cut through his rising tirade like steel. "You ever stopped to think that maybe Nero knows exactly what it's like to be in your shoes? Standin’ there, feeling like you've got something to prove?" She took another large gulp of coffee before continuing. "He was younger than you when he started killing demons, you know. And trust me, it wasn't because he had a choice about it."

Kyle's angry momentum faltered. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Lady continued, her mismatched eyes fixed on him, "that Nero knows what it's like to be thrown into this line of work before you're ready. And maybe - just maybe - he's trying to give you a range of options for your life.”

"But I'm choosing-" Kyle started.

"Are you?" Lady challenged. “ Or do you just want to follow in Nero’s footsteps?”

Kyle fell silent, his earlier certainty wavering. He stared down at his coffee, watching the ripples in the dark liquid. "It just feels… right for me," he finally admitted, voice smaller than before. "Everyone else has their place. Nico with her inventions, Kyrie with the orphanage, and Nero with hunting and the mobile branch. Even Carlo and Julio have got their own things. And… I’m just here.”

Lady hummed in acknowledgement, her expression softening somewhat. “ Well, kid, I can’t stop you if you wanna start hunting, neither can Nero at the end of the day, but it’s something you need to think about for yourself.” The huntress offered him a slight smirk. “  How about we strike a deal. Up to you if you wanna tell Nero, about it or not. I am more than willin' to stand up for you if Nero goes off on one." The huntress shrugged, taking a small sip of coffee. " If you still wanna be a devil hunter when you turn sixteen, I’ll show you how to use a range of guns properly.”

Kyle's head snapped up, eyes widening with a mix of surprise and hope. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Three  years is plenty of time to think it through," Lady said pointedly. "And if by then you still want this - really want it, not just because you're feeling lost - then yeah." She fixed him with a stern look. "But I mean actually think about it. Not just spending the time waiting to turn sixteen."

Kyle nodded quickly, then tried to school his expression into something more serious. "I will. I promise."

Lady's smirk widened slightly. "And in the meantime..." She took another sip of coffee. "Maybe try exploring other paths or things you like. You might surprise yourself." Her expression turned wry. "After all, I don't think any of us ended up exactly where we thought we would."

"Even you?" Kyle asked.

"Especially me," Lady replied, something flickering behind her mismatched eyes. "Life's funny that way." The huntress cleared her throat, evidently trying to dismiss whatever cruel thoughts were brimming to the surface as she mockingly scrunched her nose. “ Anyway, shouldn’t you get a shower? No offence, kid but you stink.”

Kyle blinked, then self-consciously sniffed at his two-days-old shirt. His nose wrinkled as he caught the mix of sweat and motor oil from helping Nico carry some gears the other day into the garage. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I do." He stood up, then hesitated, looking back at Lady. "Thanks. For, um. You know."

"Yeah, yeah," Lady waved him off, though her dismissal showed a hint of warmth. "Now go get cleaned up before everyone thinks we're harboring something dead in here."

Kyle started to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Hey Lady?" When she looked up, he added, "I'll think about what you said. Really think about it, I mean."

"Good," the huntress replied simply, reaching for her coffee again. "Now scram and get a shower. We've got a big day planned ahead."

It was official. Fortuna sucked just as much ass as the last time the devil hunter came. There were only a few bars, all of which looked just as inviting as the other with their crappy drink menus, and the few restaurants between here and the square all looked like they’d gone too up their asses for Dante’s own taste.

Even the old dive bar where he'd once started a memorable brawl (entirely in self-defence, no matter what Nero claimed) had fancy copper fixtures now and something called "artisanal cocktails". Maybe that would float Trish's boat or Lady’s, but for hell’s sake, he needed a good beer or whisky, and it seemed none of the bars were selling it without it being organic or some crap like that.

Dante slouched through the crowded market square, hands stuffed in his pockets, taking in the changes even a few months after his last visit. For one thing, it seemed good old Fortuna was getting out of its little isolation bubble. He’d already spotted clothes from this century with the traditional Renaissance fair getups now—mostly on the younger kids and what had to be Mainlander tourists. Some teenager walked past in honest-to-god jeans and a hoodie underneath his white cloak, and wasn't that a sight that would've caused riots a few years back?

The  kid had mentioned that in recent years, Fortuna had started loosening its collar a bit. They had to, really - between the whole Savior incident, trying to make an income off their tourist sector and then the constant influx of mainlanders coming to gawk at their "quaint customs," the place couldn't stay frozen in time forever.

Still, the old guard kept their cold shoulders and incredulous stares as the devil hunter sauntered through the gates. A woman in full traditional dress hustled her kids to the other side of the street, though whether that was because of his infamous reputation ( kinda hard for people not to notice the white hair like the kid), being recognized from the panicked locals ( who still remembered his particular stunt in the Opera House),  or his deliberately scruffy appearance was anyone's guess.

The foreign tourists, sticking out pretty much like sore thumbs in their casual clothes and cameras, just seemed to think he was part of the local color. Hell, Dante was pretty sure he saw a kid with a floppy hat on trying to take his photo when he feigned interest in a bar menu. ( Which said-photographer gave a slight squeak when the devil hunter turned up in the next photo right behind them, throwing up a peace sign with a shit-eating grin).

"Tourist hotspot, huh?” Dante muttered, sidestepping another camera-wielding visitor as he dodged into a side street away from the crowd. “Just what old pops always would've wanted .”

Dante tried to put such thoughts aside as he finally arrived at the kid’s house sometime past mid-morning taking in the neighbourhood. Not a lot had changed since the last time he had come, but he couldn’t but feel that odd inkling again as he drew closer to the house and rang the doorbell.

Truth be told, the devil hunter wasn’t sure what to expect when the front door opened, dreading if perhaps his suspicions had been correct and he’d find himself face to face with brother dearest. Not that the devil hunter wasn’t  always in the mood for a good fight, but after the shitty ferry ride and having to listen to even crappier tunes played over the speaker, Dante really didn’t fancy  having to deal with one of Nero’s punches and attitude for wrecking his house. The kid had a helluva right hook with those spectral fists of his, and damn he would be lying if he didn’t say his jaw still had phantom spasms occasionally from that connection on top of the Qliphoth.

Dante found his shoulders instantly loosening at the sight of Nico behind the door. But the same couldn’t be said for the young mechanic. Her eyes widened slightly, for once remaining devoid of her usual quips as she her grip on the door knob tightened.

While the devil hunter awkwardly stood for a few seconds staring inside the house absent-mindedly, he quickly came to three rapid conclusions.  First of all, his theory on his dearest nephew skipping town for a few days had been right. There was no feeling of the kid or Kyrie’s presence in the house. Second of all, aside from Nico, there was no one else residing inside. And finally, if not most surprisingly, there were the faintest traces of energy patterns he recognised all too well over the years. His brother dearest, followed by weirdest of all, both of the babes.

It seemed Morrison’s lead had been right in saying both Lady and Trish had taken some detour after an abrupt phone call saying they wouldn’t be back in Redgrave for a few days, arguing they needed a “break”.

But that also lead to one of the biggest for Dante of all. Why the hell would those three willingly spend time together, let alone in the kid’s house? Somehow he called bullshit on his antisocial asshole of a brother suddenly willing going out of his way to spend time with either woman. Hell, he was pretty sure he’d seen Vergil actually snarl  with too many teeth when Lady accidentally brushed past him in the shop last month. What could-

The devil hunter's gaze flickered towards the stairway bannister where a small red raincoat had been tossed against it haphazardly. Dante stared at it, his mind whirring.

"Dante? You listenin'?"

The devil hunter blinked, his gaze shifting to meet the young mechanic's questioning look with a grin. “ Loud and clear.”

Nico gave a skeptical look, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door. “ What brings ya to our neck of the woods, eh?”

Dante kept his lopsided grin in place, desperately trying to avoid breaking out in a smirk as he began to put the pieces together. Of course. Nero’s trip and the kids. No wonder the asshole was in such a spin about it a few nights back. It was not something he thought that he would actually see in a million years, but hell, if weirder things had happened. “ Well, had something to say the kid, but seems he’s out of his town.”

"Y-Yeah, him and Kyrie took off a few days ago." Nico pulled out a cigarette, tapping it against her palm. “ Somethin’ about a once in a lifetime opportunity from a client.”

Dante raised an eyebrow at that, feigning innocence. “ Oh?” His eyes darted to the coat again. “ Just you lookin’ after the kids? How ya holdin’ up? ”

Nico shifted uncomfortably. "Y-Yeah, not too bad. G-Got the orphanage staff," she said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. “ A-And also a few people from the choir. Y’know there’s this really sweet gal,  Elea,  the one Kyrie sometimes mentions from-“

"Nico, you are many things," Dante cut in, his grin slightly softening. "But a good liar’s not one of them."

Nico paused looking conflicted on whether to try and tell a white lie, or blurt something else out. Instead she just sighed in defeat, slumping against the doorframe. She fiddled with the unlit cigarette, avoiding his gaze. "Look, I ain't supposed to say nothin', promised Nero, especially when it came to you. They're… all out for the day.”

"All out where ?" Dante asked, still pretty confused by the fact somehow someone had  convinced Vergil to do something aside from being cramped in a corner with a book. "Must be pretty important if the kid's got you playin' guard dog."

Nico winced. “ Not my kinda scene, so I stayed back to work on somethin’, but clothes shoppin’.”

For a moment, Dante just stared at her, mouth slightly agape, as if waiting for the punchline. When none came, he let out a bark of laughter that echoed through the empty hallway. " "You're kiddin’ me. A shopping spree?" He ran a hand through his silver-white hair, a trademark smirk growing wider by the second. "What did they do? Threaten to burn his  books, or somethin’!?”His voice cracked slightly on the last word, caught between amusement and genuine shock.

Nico fidgeted with her unlit cigarette, shoulders hunching defensively as Dante's laughter filled the hallway. "Look, if you must know, your brother's been playin' nice with everyone lately. He ain't that much of an asshole when he wants to be." Nico shifted her weight, the cigarette dancing between her fingers as she gestured. "Hell, he even helped me out on a job."

That caused Dante’s laughter to falter. "Helped you out? On a job?" The lopsided grin shifted into something more genuinely puzzled. "What, like actually volunteered? Or did Nero have to twist his arm about that too?”

"Nah, that's the wild part - he offered." Nico shrugged as she lit up her cigarette. " Hell, he even made breakfast and dinner for the kids."

Dante's face went through a journey - eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, jaw-dropping, eyes blinking rapidly like he was trying to reset his own brain. For a solid minute, the legendary devil hunter stood there, mouth opening and closing without sound, looking like someone had just told him that his beloved pizza place was permanently switching to olive-only toppings.

Finally, that familiar wide grin spread across his face as he thought of something perfect. (Well, by his standards at least.) "Hey Nico, got any holy water handy?”

Kyle stared at Nero's father from his spot by the doors, trying not to lose his balance as the overcrowded bus lurched through another turn. The Dark Slayer stood in front of him , one hand gripping the overhead rail as he seemed to be trying to take up as little space as possible - a feat made impossible by Vergil’s stature and the sheer press of oogling commuters around him. The slight twitch in his jaw suggested he was about three seconds away from impaling the next person who dared to get in less than a metre radius of him.

In a way, Kyle couldn't entirely blame him. Even growing up in the city, he knew all too well how Fortunians weren't exactly the most discreet when it came to staring at anyone they deemed "unusual." Hell, he'd been on another family days out with Nero and witnessed firsthand how people gawked at the young devil hunter - between the white hair and his height, you'd think they'd never seen someone who looked different before. At least Nero usually handled it with eyerolls or occasionally flipping someone else- Vergil looked like he was contemplating mass murder via public transport.

Suddenly, the bus driver slammed the brakes without warning, sending everyone lurching forward. Kyle's grip on the handrail slipped, and his stomach dropped as his feet fell. Time seemed to slow as he hurtled forward directly toward the last person anyone would want to crash into on public transport. Vergil's eyes widened a fraction as Kyle collided with him. Despite his iron grip on the rail above, the force of impact combined with the press of bodies around them sent both tumbling. Kyle found himself awkwardly pressed against Vergil's chest, his face burning with mortification as he scrambled to right himself.

Someone in the back of the bus snickered. Kyle could have sworn he heard Lady snort, followed by Trish's poorly disguised cough.

Hell, what was he supposed to say to call and say to Nero's father? It's not like he could nickname him 'Uncle'. He barely knew the guy, but 'Mr. Sparda' seemed way too formal. 'Sir' felt too much like addressing one of the old Order officials, and considering what Nero had told him…

Fortunately for the teen, the bus wheezed to a stop at their destination, doors hissing open to the old shopping quarter. Kyle practically bolted through them, grateful for the escape route. Behind him, Vergil stepped off, seeming to survey his surroundings, though Kyle could have sworn he looked slightly relieved from the somewhat less constipated expression on his features.

The rest of their group filtered out from the back of the bus - Carlo and Julio first, followed by Lady and Trish, still wearing matching amused expressions as they descended the steps. The wave of displaced passengers swept around them onto the sidewalk, the crowd dispersing as shop windows and colorful awnings stretched before them.

“ We could’ve opened a portal”, Trish teased as she stretched her arms and stepped onto the sidewalk.

"It would have drawn more attention," Vergil replied flatly, his tone making clear the matter wasn't up for debate. Kyle couldn't help but notice how several people were already giving their unusual group curious looks—between Vergil's… eye-catching appearance, Trish's leather outfit, and Lady's barely concealed pistols, they weren’t exactly “blending in”.

The huntress snorted. "Yeah, no thanks. Bad enough having my ass dragged through one unwillingly." She finished that last word with a pointed glare at  Vergil.

The white-haired man took no reaction to such a look and continued to look ahead. Whether Vergil was genuinely unaffected or simply choosing to ignore Lady's barb was impossible to tell - his face remained as impassive as ever. Kyle found himself wondering, not for the first time, whether Nero’s father could express more than one emotion at a given time.

"Can we get ice cream now?!" Carlo chirped hopefully, bouncing up and down. Julio also looked interested despite his attempt to remain casual about it, his eyes brightening at the mention of the frozen treat.

Lady's features softened as she bent down and gave the kid's hair a playful ruffle. “ Sorry, kid but we need to do some shoppin’ first.” She sent a look towards Trish, and something about that caused the teen to shiver slightly. Vergil seemed quick to pick up on it, too, pale eyes narrowing as he assessed the wordless exchange between the two women.

Carlo's face fell immediately, shoulders slumping as his excitement deflated. "But..."

“We can get some after," Trish interjected smoothly, giving the boy a conspiratorial wink. " "Behave during shopping, and maybe you'll earn yourself that ice cream.”

Carlo and Julio’s faces immediately brightened. For a blink, it and you could miss it a moment; Kyle was confident something crossed Vergil’s features, but whatever it was gone before the teen could process it.

He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed when Lady turned to him expectantly. "And what about you, kid? Anything you want while we're out?"

Kyle shrugged. “ Ice cream is enough for me.”

Lady kept eye contact with Kyle slightly longer than necessary, making the teen tense slightly under her gaze from their earlier chat. Instead of pushing further, she smirked and turned across the opposite plaza.

“Perhaps myself and the children should remain here," Vergil stated coolly, angling himself towards the bench across the street. “Children can find themselves subjected to exceptional stress under—”

"Nice try," Lady interrupted without missing a beat. “But you and the kids tagged along, so the least you can do is help out, asshole. Plus,” the huntress grinned wildly. “Trish and I were talking and think that you could—” 

“No,” Vergil scowled. His tone was flat and final, pale eyes narrowing at whatever scheme the two women had cooked up.

"For hell’s sake, Vergil," Lady gestured at his attire with evident exasperation. "You stand out worse than you were runnin’ around with tattoos and a leather vest, and that's saying something. Even in this weird-ass city where everyone's only just coming out of cosplaying as choir boys, you look like you walked out of some fancy period drama shit."

Vergil's expression remained impassive as he stared down the huntress. "My attire is perfectly adequate."

"For what? A duel in hell?" Lady quipped, rolling her eyes. "Even Dante manages to try and tone it down a bit when we’re not on big jobs."

A muscle twitched in Vergil's jaw at the comparison. "I fail to see how my wardrobe choices are any concern of yours, Mary.”

Lady's mismatched eyes narrowed in annoyance. "It's my deal when we're out in public and you’ve gotta a big red sign over all of us sayin ’Hello demons and fine folk of Fortuna, Son of Sparda here’. “ The huntress drawled, using air quotes. “Maybe a shocker to you of all people, Vergil, but some of us need a day off from demonic bullshit for once.”

Vergil's lip curled. "And prey tell if my father was able to if my father was able to walk these very streets in full regalia without issue, why should I diminish myself to appease the masses? I have already walked these streets with Yamato at my side, and none dared approach.”

"Because they were scared shitless, genius," Lady countered. “ And hate to burst your bubble, but you’re already drawin’ us way too much attention.”

As if to prove her point, a young couple passing by did a visible double-take at the sight of Vergil, the woman clutched her boyfriend's arm while whispering something that sounded suspiciously like "Oh, My Savior,” as they passed the ragtag group. Kyle was pretty sure they were also awed at the fact that Carlo and Julio were unfazed by the whole thing and trying to outmatch one another in an impromptu wrestling match, but the teen didn’t think that was important at the moment.

Vergil's expression darkened at the woman's words, a faint sneer crossing his features as he tugged at his coat sleeve. “ Just this once, Mary… I’ll agree there’s some  merit to your argument.”

Lady smirked. " What was that? Didn't quite catch it."

"Do not make me repeat myself," Vergil snapped back, though there was less bite to his words than usual. His hand dropped from his sleeve to smooth down his coat unconsciously.

"Well, now that we've settled that, I know just the place," Trish interjected smoothly, her red lips curving into an amused smile. “ Gifted a fair few things to Nero from there over the years.” The elder twin’s scowl bordered on the ghost of a grimace at that.

“ Lead the way then, hun’,” Lady replied, snapping her fingers at Carlo and Julio to break it up. The two younger boys looked a little sheepish at being caught and quickly trudged after the demoness and huntress with their heads bowed down low at their feet.

Kyle awkwardly stood with Vergil, who seemed almost reluctantly frozen on the spot for a brief second before he walked forward with long strides. The pace was quick and brisk enough that the teen struggled to keep up, but he kept enough distance from the other part of their group ahead. The teen could see the actual panic of a man who had just realized he'd fallen into a trap of his own making cross Vergil's usually controlled features.  Perhaps for the first time, the teen could see a bit where Nero got his flustered expression when Kyrie called him out.

“ What is it, child?” Vergil asked stiffly, looking ahead.

Kyle paused. "Nothin', just...wanted to say thank you. About earlier with the plates and stuff, a-and also apologize about the bus." He forced himself to keep walking, the words feeling clumsy but necessary.

Vergil's gaze flickered to Kyle and then back to the path ahead. His posture remained rigid, but there was the slightest pause in his stride—the kind that suggested he hadn't expected gratitude and wasn't quite sure what to do with it now that he had it. Nero's father cleared his throat, then quickened his pace. Kyle held back a sigh - that was all the acknowledgement he would get. Considering how far the day had gone, maybe that was for the best. 

Dante groaned as he flung himself onto a bench, startling a few pigeons and earning him a disapproving look from an elderly gentleman passing by. The old man muttered something about "youth these days" as he shuffled past, apparently blind to the irony of including the white-haired devil hunter in that category.

Okay, maybe Nico did have a point. It wasn't one of his best ideas, but hey - it was either using holy water to dim his energy or letting Vergil sense him, and honestly, Dante couldn't be assed to infuse energy to repair his coat again. But still, he was too curious. Whatever the hell the kid had done to get the douchebag to play nanny ( if his theory was correct), then it must’ve been a helluva of a shitshow.

The devil hunter was ready to fall asleep right there and then. The sun was out, it was warm and aside from the odd tourist gawking at him as they went past, it was perfect conditions just to waste the day away. Sure, he didn’t need sleep, but there were few ways to kill some time around here. Well, that would’ve been the plan if it wasn’t for a certain laugh that made him bolt upright.

That was Lady. No way in hell could that laugh belong to anyone else. Shit.

Dante instinctively rolled off the seat and crouched lower behind a nearby marble planter for cover, trying to make his six-foot-plus frame as small as possible. Lady only laughed like that when she was about to  blast something sky high, and given his current position... He risked a glance around the decorative shrub, immediately freezing when he caught sight of not just Lady, but Trish and Nero’s kids, and much to Dante's shock, Vergil was following in toe.

The devil hunter couldn’t help but stare gormlessly as Vergil stilled, his eyes narrowing as he looked around furtively. Dante barely dared to breathe, watching as Kyle—trailing a few steps behind—nearly bumped into the elder twin’s back at the sudden stop.

"What's wrong?" Kyle asked, trying to sound casual but not quite hiding his concern.

Vergil remained frozen, and Dante could practically see the gears turning in his brother's head. Great. Just great.

"Hey, hurry up! You're falling behind!" Carlo's voice rang out from ahead, where he'd bounded forward with Julio and the women. The call seemed to snap Vergil out of it, though Dante didn't miss how his brother's jaw twitched as he strode ahead, Kyle struggling to keep up.

Whether the asshole knew it was him or not remained to be seen, but Dante wasn't about to test his luck. He waited until they were far away enough (out of heightened earshot) before letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Dragging himself up from his less-than-dignified position,  the devil hunter winced at the lingering sting of holy water.

Whether for better or worse judgment, Dante stood up and began to follow the small group down the street, keeping his distance. He was pretty sure Trish had caught him at one point as she glanced back at an alleyway he’d quickly hidden in, earning a few startled looks from pedestrians. A slight smirk tugged at his lips as the demoness subtly shook her head and feigned interest in  passing a nearby shop window.

Dante grinned at that. Good old Trish. At least one of the babes was willing to have some fun. The one time he'd tried playing a prank on Lady by replacing her ammo with blanks, she'd somehow figured it out before even loading her gun and made him regret ever being born. Twice. The second time involved a very creative use of Kalina Ann that still made the devil hunter wince thinking about it.

The devil hunter  peered around the corner to see the group entering what looked like fancy boutique store, already feeling himself blanch at the likely price tags inside. Even from here, the devil hunter could see the designer labels on the window display, and his wallet ached in fear of the likely bill on his tab.

As Dante watched the group enter the shop, a sudden thought occurred to him out of panic. He'd followed them this far, but what the hell was he supposed to do now!?