Work Text:
The main floor of the Devil May Cry was eerily quiet save for the soft crinkle of paper and muffled noise of the city outside its stone walls.
Nero sat at the small bar in the corner of the room, not-so-subtly staring at the back of Vergil’s head as he reclined on the couch. No calls had come in yet so everyone was left to mill about as they pleased and Nero chose to spend that time agonizing over a question. He fidgeted on the bar stool, releasing an exceptionally loud squeak amidst the quiet.
The tense silence had stretched on for almost ten minutes. If Nero didn’t speak up now he’d lose his nerve for the rest of the day. Again.
“...Hey, dad?” he started hesitantly. It was still surreal to say the word and have an actual flesh and blood man to apply it to.
“Yes, Nero?” Vergil responded, barely looking up from the book he was absorbed in.
Nero took a deep breath and ripped the bandaid off in the calmest voice he could muster:
“What was my mother like?”
Vergil visibly stiffened, almost tearing the page he was holding in half as he jerked still. He slowly closed the book and drummed his fingers against the cover, shoulders rising. Nero waited anxiously for him to snap at him, to tell him again that it ‘didn't concern him,’ anything – but no response came. Just a cold silence that was somehow even more damning.
“Do you even remember who she could have been?” Nero asked with a grimace. It was so hard to believe a man like Vergil could have been interested in any human, let alone several, but he had to ask. It wasn’t improbable– Nero existed, first of all, and Vergil wasn’t as cold towards him and Dante as he was with everyone else they knew. Sure they argued and fought on a regular basis, but there was rarely ever any actual malice behind it on Vergil’s part since he moved in with his twin (mostly just annoyance). He’d even overheard him laugh and join in on Dante’s ribbing occasionally, so his heart wasn’t fully made of ice. It probably just took a certain kind of person to thaw it.
A person who must have been pretty incredible to woo Vergil, if only for a night.
“I do know who it was,” Vergil said slowly as he sat upright on the couch. He glanced over at him before putting his book down with a sigh. “I expected you’d ask sooner rather than later, but it would be better to wait a bit longer to explain...”
“Why?” Nero demanded.
Vergil pointed his chin up towards the balcony. Heavy footsteps could be heard milling about the creaking floorboards of the second floor, coming from the main bedroom.
Dante.
More questions bubbled up inside Nero but he bit them all back.
Vergil wanted to wait until they were alone? Fine, he could do that. He had to wait 26 years to meet his father face-to-face, he could wait a couple more days to hear about his mother. But the frustration of being right on the edge of an answer was already gnawing away at him.
“Can’t you tell me anything right now?” Nero asked, exasperated.
Vergil pondered for a moment, clearly hesitant, before regarding his son again.
“Very well. I will say, there was no woman involved with your birth,” he said cryptically.
“What!? What the hell does that mean?!” Nero balked.
“Patience, son,” Vergil ordered.
Before Nero could object further, the landline started to ring, effectively ending the conversation as his father rose to answer it. He slouched, eyeing the liquor cabinet preemptively and barely listening as Vergil spoke to the client.
~ ~ ~
Nero’s mind was consumed by the odd answer for the rest of the week.
Every attempt he made to ask Vergil again was met with silence or terse excuses. The fact that Redgrave was experiencing a sudden influx of demons only exacerbated the avoidance further, splitting the three of them up across the city and leaving them all too exhausted to do anything but eat takeout and sleep once back at the office. By the fifth day he was convinced Vergil wasn’t actually going to tell him.
The three half-devils filed into the shop, exhaustion wearing down their enhanced stamina after another grueling hunt involving spawning Hell Antenoras. No sooner had they begun to settle down did the landline ring again. Dante reached across the mess that was his desk and picked it up on the third ring.
“Devil May Cry,” Dante answered with a barely concealed yawn. He wrinkled his nose as the voice on the other end carried on for a solid minute before cutting them off with a sigh. “Alright, alright, I’ll be right over,” he drawled and hung up.
“What’s the job?” Nero grunted, already reaching back for Red Queen.
“A really damn annoying one but ya don’t gotta worry about it, I’m gonna ride solo for this one,” Dante threw up his hand as Nero began to object. “No buts! It’s a hassle but it’d be overkill for more than one of us to go and somebody’s gotta hold down the fort. Besides we’ve been swamped all week so be grateful I’m giving you two a break. Do some father-son bonding or something,” he waved off with a nudge to Vergil’s side.
They both glared at him but didn’t stop him as he re-sheathed Rebellion with a flourish and waltzed out.
“I’ll be back late, don’t ruin the shop while I’m gone,” he called over his shoulder and pulled the door shut behind him.
An awkward silence fell over the room as Dante’s presence faded, making the Devil May Cry feel a little colder. Nero debated bringing up the topic once again, if only to get him to stop stringing him along. But just as he opened his mouth, Vergil turned and started to climb the stairs.
“Come, Nero,” he called briskly, already halfway up.
“Huh? Why?” Nero puzzled.
Vergil paused and gave him an odd look over the railing. “You wanted to know about your mother, did you not?”
“Y-yeah, yes, I do,” he quickly stammered and followed his father up the stairs.
Nero could feel his heart thumping in his chest with each step. His feet moved on autopilot as his mind whirled, barely registering that Vergil had led him into the spare bedroom set aside for him when he visited until they were already inside.
Vergil sat down on the lower side of his twin bed and patted the space to his side. Nero felt too wired to sit, instead standing directly in front of him as his fists clenched and unclenched are his sides.
“What did you mean there wasn’t a woman involved?” he asked, immediately jumping to the end of their last conversation.
“Simple, I don’t regard myself as a woman,” Vergil said plainly.
That ground his mind to a complete halt.
“…Huh?” Nero blinked.
“Make no mistake, I am your father and you will refer to me as such,” he stressed, “but I was the one who carried you in my womb and birthed you.” Vergil paused, shifting slightly in his seat as he fixated on his son’s face. “Do you understand what I’m—“
“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re saying,” Nero nodded quickly, not wanting to put him further on the spot with that line of questioning. He paced back and forth as his thoughts reorganized themselves.
So. His father was trans. Alright, cool, asked and answered— but that only raised even more questions. Specifically, ones that sparked an old bitterness he thought had already been resolved.
“I— but— how did you not know you had a kid?! Why did you leave me behind?!” He demanded, voice rising by the second. It felt like he was back in the orphanage, glaring at the nuns who could only offer cruel assumptions in response to his questions. Having his father back in his life now had helped settle the seeds of doubt they’d planted– complete ignorance of his existence was a far easier pill to swallow than outright rejection.
But Vergil knew. He always knew, and every small attempt he’d made to act like an actual father to Nero now left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Vergil closed his eyes and let out a sigh, gesturing for Nero to sit down again. He obliged this time, anxious to hear his excuse, and sat beside him. The old mattress dipped under their combined weight, angling them closer together. Vergil kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he explained:
“I was already overseas, conducting research in Fortuna when I discovered I was with child. As soon as I was sure, I dropped everything and focused solely on ensuring your development. It was surprisingly thrilling; feeling you grow, imagining who you would become. I often wondered if that was how my own mother felt carrying us,” he said wistfully, face softening before his jaw set again.
“However, in my third trimester I fell ill. I hadn’t realized just how delicate my condition had become nor exactly how much energy my body was consuming. I went into labor too soon. It was… long. And excruciating. When you finally slid out of me your body was so cold, so small.” Vergil turned his palms up as he spoke, as if holding an invisible infant. “You never cried, barely even breathed, and what little demonic power you had was so weak I almost thought you had been born human. I tried to nurse you with milk and my own blood, yet you still did not stir. You were fading quickly, so quickly, I…” His hands shook as he balled them up into fists.
“I was weak,” Vergil admitted in a small voice, “Too weak and too young to properly provide for you. If only I was stronger, if I had the power of Sparda, I could have been able to carry you to full term. I could have even saved you…” He inhaled sharply, head still bowed, and braced his thighs as he collected himself. “I left you on the steps of a chapel in Fortuna in the hopes you would receive a proper burial and poured myself back into my original goal. I raised the demon tower Temen-ni-gru, opening the gates to Hell so that I might obtain that power. Yet in my stubborn, grief-ridden pursuit I pushed away your father and fell, losing you both.”
Vergil finally lifted his head and met Nero’s eyes again, looking at him with a fondest so intense and close to tears it almost made him flinch. He reached up with one hand and gently ran his gloved fingers over his son’s crown.
“But you survived,” he whispered, voice overflowing with pride, “I don’t know how, but you survived and grew to be so strong.”
Nero sat stock still as the story sunk in and the fingers traced through his short hair. He felt… relieved. Vergil wanted him. Wanted him so badly that he went mad looking for a way to prevent losing another child and went against his…
“Father… my other father, who was he?” Nero pressed. The hand retracted from his head as the older hybrid glanced away, his usual stoicism suddenly building back up again.
“I never informed him of my pregnancy, he doesn’t know you’re his too,” Vergil deflected.
“Who is he?” Nero pleaded, grabbing him by the shoulder. As he was turned to look at him, Vergil remained stone-faced. The only crack in his composure was the slight wetness to his eyes that still lingered.
“Dante.”
All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room at once.
His second father was…
Nero stared at him, scanning his father’s face for any hint of humor or further explanation but received nothing back. It was like gripping onto a wall; he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watching Nero’s face shift between every emotion under the sun with those achingly sad blue eyes.
Hands shaking, Nero slowly released his grip and folded in on himself. His fingers hooked into his short hair, pulling at clumps to try and wake him from what must have been a nightmare.
But he was very much awake. The humidity of the room increasing as his Devil Trigger started to crackle and the weight of Vergil’s painfully reassuring hand on his back felt too real to be anything else.
His father was Dante.
“Holy shit… I’m fucking inbred?” Nero rasped, practically on the verge of panic.
That earned a flinch from Vergil, his façade cracking again at the bluntness of the revelation.
“Nero…” he started, tone much softer, but was immediately cut off.
“Is that why my arm stayed triggered?!” Nero demanded, thrusting out his magically regenerated forearm. He could still feel the phantom throb of the original sometimes, usually in the presence of the twins.
His parents .
The thought left his head as soon as it entered. He couldn’t let that fully sink in just yet, no, it couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be–
“…It’s possible the combination of our similar genetics with your premature birth could be the cause of any number of conditions you’ve had, yes,” Vergil relented.
Nero was on his feet in a flash, human and spectral hands wrapping around Vergil’s throat like a vice. Hot tears blurred the edges of his vision as rage consumed all rational thought.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screamed. “All this time, I thought I was a bastard, a mistake no one wanted to deal with! I was finally starting to think that didn’t matter— that at least I had Kyrie and a relative that at bare minimum cared that I existed— and then you show up, tear off my fucking arm, play house, and then tell me I’m your sickly incestious kid?! Do you get off on making my life a fucking mess?!”
Vergil didn’t attempt to stop or console him, holding his furious gaze with steady pale eyes that drooped as his windpipe was slowly strangled.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly rasped, “for everything.”
Nero’s hands trembled. There was no pompous edge behind the apology, no passive aggression; just raw, genuine remorse that he knew in his gut was a rare moment of vulnerability his father wouldn’t normally give as freely as he had so far. He wanted to stay angry, but wringing Vergil’s neck wouldn’t change what he was.
His hands fell away and Nero sank limply back down next to him. Next to his father. His father, who slept with his twin, got teen pregnant, and died thinking his child hadn’t survived until he resurrected and got his ass kicked by said son.
Nero felt like his brain was melting.
“W-Was I… Did you two intend to have me…?” he asked softly.
“Yes and no,” Vergil said, readjusting his collar. “Dante and I had actually discussed the idea of having children in our late teens and were quite risky as a result. Ironically, the one time he used protection turned out to be successful.”
“I didn’t need to know that part,” Nero groaned, covering his ears as they went pink with mortification. Knowing they fucked was bad enough, he didn’t need to think about how they conceived him too.
“My apologies,” Vergil coughed.
They both fell silent for a long time, the awkwardness of the conversation palpable in the room as they sat uncomfortably close. The initial flash of anger had cooled, leaving behind a numb weight in his chest. Morbid curiosity filled the gaps.
“Just… why? Why your own brother?”
Vergil just shrugged. “I can offer no further explanation other than it’s always felt as if we were two halves of a whole. Meant to remain together, in spite of our disagreements.”
“So you’re saying you’re soulmates?” Nero almost snorted.
The corner of Vergil’s mouth twitched up slightly, expression softening.
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
Nero opened his mouth to object further but paused, a thought suddenly slamming into him.
He thought of Kyrie.
Her parents had adopted him when they were still children and for most of his childhood he gladly referred to Credo and Kyrie as his own siblings. It wasn’t until his teens that he realized the love he felt for her wasn’t familial. He still remembered the glances they got when they were together, but no one in the Order ever attempted to intervene when their clumsy courting became painfully obvious. Even Credo didn’t openly object to it outside of the standard thinly-veiled brotherly threats to not break her heart.
Was it because they were step-siblings that it was brushed off as not as damning? Were interfamily couples tolerated within the faith in general or were they a special case? If the church hadn’t fractured into smaller groups after the Savior incident, would their relationship eventually be condemned for more than just his arm?
Nero dragged a hand down his face, shame mingling with the confusing fog of emotions hanging over him. He felt like a hypocrite. The only meaningful difference between their relationships on paper was that any children he and Kyrie could have would have less potential health risks (although he wasn’t too sure how his genetics would play into that now). They were still related and raised under the same roof. Even if they shared no blood. She was still his sister, no matter how often he told himself otherwise. He let out a deep breath and refocused on the moment at hand. He'd re-examine all that later.
“So… why didn't you tell Dante?” he asked, pivoting away from himself.
“There was never enough time,” Vergil said automatically before catching himself. “Or rather, my mind was preoccupied with other matters throughout our time in the underworld...”
Nero mentally skipped over the obvious implications of that statement and pressed on.
“But why not now? You only tell me after I hound you over it and leave him to think you hooked up with someone else?” he chastised. It was harsh, but warranted. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for Dante— he couldn’t imagine how he must have felt after realizing why the Yamato was drawn to him. Was that part of why he never told him about Vergil…?
“You’re the one most directly affected by this and I had every intention of telling you. However I was… concerned, about how you would react and hesitated,” Vergil admitted. His hand instinctively rubbed at the already fading bruises snaking around his neck, giving Nero a pang of guilt. “But you’re right, it’s time he knew as well.”
Vergil suddenly stood up, jostling Nero, who hadn’t realized he’d started to lean against him as they talked.
“I understand this is a lot to take in. I’ll leave you be,” he said and made his way to the door, stopping to look back as he wrapped his hand around the handle.
“Nero,” he called again over his shoulder, “we’ll always be here for you. Know that.”
“I know,” Nero nodded to the floor. The door clicked and the tap of Vergil’s boots slowly faded away, leaving him alone with far too many thoughts.
~ ~ ~
It was close to midnight when Nero finally sensed Dante coming back home.
He sat at the desk in his room, Red Queen waiting patiently for its tune-up as he strained his senses to track the demon-hunter’s movements below. Dante took a few steps inside the main office before the muffled sound of his voice chirped up. Another voice answered in turn from further in the room.
Vergil.
Was he going to tell Dante now?
Nero quickly slipped on his headphones and blasted the metal as high as he could stand. There was a lifetime of baggage surrounding his birth that he wasn’t privy to and ultimately wasn’t his place to eavesdrop on right now (nor was he afraid of hearing Dante’s reaction, no, not at all). Instead he focused his attention solely on the sword in front of him. Years of muscle memory and on-the-fly adjustments helped him lose himself in the task. The satisfying click of gears and drone of the drum roll drowned out the distant pacing of boots and raised voices.
By the time he was finished, an hour had passed and Nero noticed that the house was now eerily quiet.
And someone was lingering outside his room.
Three knocks rapped against his door before slowly opening. Nero pulled down one side of the headphones and turned the music down low before turning around. He tried to keep his expression even as his heart rate picked up.
Dante’s frame stood awkwardly halfway between the door and the hallway, one hand gripping onto the wood’s edge like he was using it as a shield. No smell of blood or lingering brimstone from a recently popped Trigger came from him, helping Nero relax a little. They hadn’t physically fought, at least.
“Hey, kid,” he smiled. The crease of his cheeks looked wearier than he probably intended. “Mind if I come in?”
Nero just nodded, letting the headphones drop around his neck as he readjusted to sit in his seat sideways. The old hunter crossed the threshold and gently closed the door behind him. He lingered on each action longer than he should have.
“Vergil told you?” Nero asked bluntly, just to break the tension.
“Yeah,” he nodded as he slowly walked further into the room. As he got closer, Nero noticed that his eyes were tinged red and puffy. Dante milled about his room for a bit, obviously unsure on whether he should sit or keep standing before settling down on the exact same spot on his bed that Vergil had sat just hours before.
He laced his hands between his knees, one leg bouncing slightly. Nero wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen him this nervous before.
“I should probably apologize, huh?” Dante finally piped up with a humorless laugh.
“For what?” Nero asked genuinely.
“You know, not being around as much. Vergil’s got a pretty damn good excuse, but I don’t. I’ve known ‘ya for seven years and never visited, barely even called outside of work. Not to mention never telling you about your old man. Even for an uncle, that's pretty shitty behavior on my part. But now, knowing you're my…” Dante’s voice caught, petering out. He shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”
Nero stared at him, stunned by the somberness of the older hunter’s demeanor.
“It’s fine, you didn’t know,” Nero said automatically, “I needed the space to figure some stuff out anyway. Just knowing I had some family out there was enough for me,” and he really did mean it. He’d had suspicions that he and Dante were related since the moment he saw him— men with snow-white hair and demonic powers weren’t exactly common. Having demons occasionally recognize him as a “spawn of Sparda” practically confirmed it, but he could never bring himself to ask Dante what their exact blood relation was. As far as deadbeat dads went, neither twin was the worst in the grand scheme of things. "And I appreciate you letting me use the spare room here, although I guess it makes more sense why you two would agree to share yours now,” he added with a thin smile.
It was going to take a while for Nero to fully come to grips with their relationship, but he’d cooled down enough to start joking about it. Humor was by far the best coping mechanism after all.
Some of the tension in Dante’s shoulders eased a bit at the comment.
“Ha, yeah. Still took a little convincing for Verg after how we left things off. Letting you have a permanent home base here finally won him over,” he chuckled.
Nero’s head perked up.
Permanent home base.
He hadn’t realized that was the real intention behind it. Dante had made a big show out of presenting the room to him when he visited a month after they returned from the Underworld, announcing he could stay there anytime, “no questions asked.” Instead, he had treated the Devil May Cry as more of a hostel/office than a second home, leaving only the most cumbersome to move and emergency supplies behind out of a knee-jerk compulsion to not impose.
Nero glanced guiltily along the bare walls and shelves. He wondered what it must look like to the twins to find barely any trace of him living there each time he left. He’d only stayed an extra week this time to wait out Vergil’s explanation/confession and share the load. Kyrie was right- maybe he should stay more often.
“Hey, stand up for me,” Dante abruptly requested, rising to his feet and disrupting Nero’s train of thought.
Nero obliged hesitantly and was immediately pulled into a bear hug. Arms that could crack stone and split open demons wrapped around his back like a weighted blanket, the scratchy texture of his beard brushing against his jaw as he ducked his head down into his shoulder.
“You’re the best thing we’ve ever done, you know that? You were never deadweight,” he reaffirmed quietly next in his ear. “We’re both proud of you, son.”
A fuzzy feeling started up in Nero’s chest as his ears went pink. His arms hung loosely at his sides, too taken aback to react. Dante’s body was warm; from his layered clothes, recently worked muscles, and the natural heat that radiated from a demon’s core. In that moment, he was comfort incarnate and Nero never wanted him to let go.
So this is what it’s like, he thought idly, to get a dad hug.
Tears pricked at the corners of Nero’s eyes again. His hands reached up and gripped the edges of his coat, the red leather smooth under his fingertips, and buried his face in Dante’s collar. Nero took one long, shaky breath and finally let himself cry.
He cried, ugly and choking as everything finally poured out of him: The grief of thinking for so long he was just a burden to be passed off, the confusion and rage of finding out the truth, but most of all joy. Raw, unbridled joy that in spite of the circumstances, he’d found his family and they cared. They wanted to be in his life, to touch him and hold him and apologize for not being there from the jump. The thing he'd always fantasized about, his birth parents showering him with love after rushing into the orphanage to rescue him, a childish wish tempered as the years flew by and he was eventually taken in by Kyrie’s family. Her parents were an upgrade from the nuns but still lacking— loving but distant, an unspoken agreement between them that he wouldn’t receive the same attention as their biological children. Similar, but not the same.
All of it melted away into a stream of hot tears and snot that streaked down his face and stained his dad's shirt as his arms rose to cling to his back.
Dante didn’t say a word, just holding him closer in turn and laid a grounding hand on the nape of his neck. Eventually Nero’s tear ducts ran dry and a hand clapped him reassuringly on the back before breaking the hug. When he looked up, Dante’s eyes were just as damp. They chuckled softly as they both rubbed their own eyes, the mood in the room and Nero’s mind much lighter.
Dante’s jaw stretched wide in a comical yawn as he stepped back and rolled his shoulders, joints audibly popping. “Well, it’s been a long night, I’ll get outta your hair now. Get some sleep, kiddo.” He ruffled Nero’s hair as he walked out, not waiting for a reply.
Nero sat back down in his chair, tongue heavy as the door squeaked and Dante nearly disappeared out into the hall.
“Night, Dad,” he called quietly.
Dante paused and Nero could feel his eyes fall on his back as he quickly turned to mime fussing with putting his weapon away. The soft exhale of a smile escaped him as he spoke through the crack. “Good night, Nero.”
The lock clicked close and once again he was alone.
Nero waited a moment, then slowly crept towards his door. He pressed his ear close to the wood and listened to the heavy footfalls as they retreated back to the main bedroom, a second set briefly falling in step before that door closed as well.
If they started talking, he couldn’t hear them.
He blushed again, knowing Dante would definitely tell Vergil about his breakdown yet also be teased for weeping just as much as he did. He was still trepidatious about the true structure of their family tree, but that didn’t stop the grin climbing on Nero’s face.
Nero slept better that night than he ever had before. Both parents only a few steps away.
~ ~ ~
“Nero, hold up, ‘ya got something on your face.”
Dante licked his thumb and swiped it over Nero’s right cheek, clearing a path through the splash of demon blood that was starting to dry.
“You don’t have to baby me,” Nero huffed, swatting his arm away and wiping the spit off on the back of his glove. The action just smeared the mess more.
“Hey, just making up for lost time,” he backed off with a grin, “but whatever, I’ll just help with someone else’s mess~”
Dante air tricked and appeared in a red flash behind Vergil, who was finishing off a few strangling lesser demons. As he slid Yamato back into her sheath, Dante wrapped his arms around his neck and planted a big, wet kiss on his brother’s cheek— spreading the viscera coating himself over the other’s relatively clean countenance in the process. A half second of surprise and blush quickly shifted into an unamused glare.
“We agreed not to do this in front of Nero, did we not?” Vergil chastised, but made no attempt to shake out of the embrace.
“Oh c’mon, the kid is old enough to handle seeing his old men flirt,” Dante said. His voice lowered to a hum as he shifted to face each other, tilting Vergil’s chin up with one hand while the other slipped to his waist. “We don’t gotta downplay it anymore, remember?”
Vergil made a noise of casual agreement and held onto his twin’s shoulders, leaning in. They locked lips tenderly, undoubtedly slipping blood over each other’s teeth in the process.
“I’m standing right here!” Nero called indignantly over his shoulder, blushing profusely out of embarrassment as he quickly turned away from the sight of Dante’s hands wandering downwards. All the subtlety and plausible deniability they maneuvered through to hide their affection in polite company completely evaporated when they were on a hunt together. Nero was starting to think the only reason they clashed swords so often was to stop themselves from jumping on each other mid-fight.
“Apologies,” Vergil mumbled, slightly out of breath as he covered Dante’s insistent lips with a gloved palm. He cleared his throat and pulled out of his grip, falling in step beside Nero. “The job is complete, let us return home.”
“By the way, excellent work, Nero,” he noted with a pat on his son’s shoulder, “You cleared the main nest in record time.”
Dante jogged up on Nero’s other side and threw his arm around the young man’s shoulders, nearly causing him to stumble as they kept walking.
“Yeah, you did great today, son! Let’s get some pizza to celebrate,” he announced, nudging both men.
“If we weren’t half-demon, I’d be shocked that your heart hadn’t stopped from all that grease by now,” Vergil derided with a wrinkle of his nose. He lightly touched Nero’s back, drawing his attention back to him. “What would you like to eat, Nero?”
“Ah, I dunno,” he blushed. He rubbed his nose, still slightly overwhelmed by the sudden attention and praise they gave so freely now. “Pizza’s fine. I could go for some wings too.”
“That’s my boy!” Dante cheered, shaking him playfully. Vergil rolled his eyes, a smile ghosting his lips.
The trio continued to walk and talk idly all the way home, finally harmonious.