Chapter Text
The crash that woke Vergil had him grabbing his katana and flinging his arm out protectively before his brain registered that he was alone in his room. He set the sword down, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and called out an irritated, “Nero!”
By the time he’d made his way to the kitchen, Nero was hastily pushing a cupboard door shut. He looked over his shoulder and forced a guilty smile.
“Uh…morning, Dad,” he said.
Vergil pointed at the cupboard. “Open it.”
“I don’t…I don’t think I should, um, do that…it…”
“Open. It.”
Nero bit his lip and slowly opened the cupboard. A wave of pans crashed out of it, making the boy wince. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on his feet.
“Nero,” Vergil said.
“Well, you see…it…um…it…” He made the mistake of glancing up, meeting Vergil’s unamused gaze. “Okay! I did it!”
“I am aware you did it,” Vergil said. “Fix it. Now.”
Nero grumbled as he got to his knees and started stuffing the pans back in. Vergil lightly kicked his thigh.
“Fix it correctly.”
Nero huffed but began to organize the pans under the watchful eye of his father. When they were back neatly, he shot Vergil one of his “happy now?” looks.
“Better,” Vergil said. “What were you even doing?”
“I’m hungry! And you sleep forever!” Nero whined, sitting down and crossing his arms. “I want food.”
Vergil checked the time. “You should live with your uncle for a week if you think 6:30 in the morning is ‘forever’, Nero.”
He grabbed a frying pan out of the cupboard Nero had just reorganized, already knowing the boy wanted eggs. Sure enough, Nero leapt up and grabbed the carton of them out of the fridge. He got the rest of what was needed, carrying it over to Vergil. Once Vergil had made the mix and poured it into the pan, he handed the wooden spoon to Nero to scramble the eggs.
He felt a brief flash of bitterness as Nero went up on the tips of his toes and began to scramble them. He no longer needed his father to pick him up to reach. Lately, he didn’t even like to be picked up at all, whining if Vergil tried.
He was nearly five, though. He’d hit a growth spurt a few months ago, just when Vergil was beginning to accept that Nero might always be small.
When the eggs were ready, Vergil plated them and the two sat at the table together to eat. Nero kicked his legs, still too short for his feet to touch the ground. It was a reminder that he was still just a little boy, and Vergil took an odd comfort in the sight of those swinging feet.
“Can we go to the market today, Dad?” Nero asked, eyes wide and pleading.
“Only because I need groceries,” Vergil said. “You can have one sweet. Just one.”
“Awww.” Nero pouted. “Two?”
“I said one,” Vergil said firmly.
He found as Nero got older, the boy pushed boundaries more. Vergil doubled down on his rules the more this happened. If you gave Nero an inch, he’d take a mile. Vergil had learned that the hard way after bending just a few times.
After they ate, they cleaned up and got dressed. Nero picked his own clothes, a red shirt with a blue vest over it. His hair was a mess, but he only ran his hands through it to try to fix it and then bothered no more with it. Vergil’s lips twitched a little as he debated whether or not he wanted to have the now-familiar “brush your hair” argument. He decided against it on the weak grounds that it was windy out today and it would probably just get messy anyway. He took an extra moment fixing his own hair instead.
When they were ready, they left the house, Nero leading the way. He found a large stone, kicking it along and making a game out of it as he went. Vergil was always fascinated by the ways Nero found to entertain himself.
When they reached the street market, Nero abandoned his stone in favor of browsing the vendors for the best sweet he could find. Vergil left him to it, keeping a watch on him out of the corner of his eye but seeing to buying fresh produce they needed.
He took a bag from a vendor, paid, and noticed Nero standing still. He wandered over, following Nero’s gaze and stiffening a little.
A small group of children were playing catch as their parents shopped nearby. The children, a little older than Nero, giggled and squealed as they played, faces bright with enjoyment.
Nero shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away, trying to hide the longing on his face. As the weather grew nicer, more and more kids were out playing together. Nero always lingered on the edge, watching but never able to join.
“Have you found a sweet yet?” Vergil asked, taking Nero’s hand in his own and guiding him away from the laughing children.
Nero shook his head. “No.”
He didn’t sound enthused about it anymore. Vergil was at a loss for what to do about it.
Nero trailed along with him as he shopped. His own excitement seemed to slowly come back to him as they passed a vendor with a bunch of baked goods. Eventually, Nero settled on a giant chocolate chip cookie one vendor carried. Vergil didn’t even complain about the size of it; he paid and passed it to Nero, allowing him to eat it as they walked to finish up their shopping.
“Do you want to go to the park?” Vergil asked when the shopping was done. “I just have to drop the groceries off.”
“No,” Nero said, a little too quickly. He surely knew other kids would be playing there. “Can we play in the backyard, Dad?”
“Sure,” Vergil said. “You need to work off that cookie.”
Nero scowled and bit into his cookie again. He helped Vergil with the bags of groceries and the two walked back to the house together. Nero helped to put everything away before grabbing his toy sword and following Vergil outside.
They faced off against each other. Vergil had bought him a new toy sword when he outgrew his original one. Nero was still clumsy with his technique, but he was just as persistent as he had always been.
Even when Vergil knocked him down now, Nero just sprang right back to his feet and kept coming, striking at Vergil with messy swings.
Vergil easily blocked them and exploited one of Nero’s many openings to hit him in the ribs. Nero winced, drawing back to rub his ribs. He ran forward again, striking at Vergil’s knees, a dirty trick that was unsuccessful because Vergil was used to the attempt by now. He blocked it and hit Nero’s wrist, causing him to drop his sword. Vergil kicked the sword away.
“You know that’ll never work,” he said.
“It could,” Nero argued.
Still a clueless child. A little more reassurance that his son had not yet grown up.
“It won’t,” Vergil said. He nodded to the sword. “Pick it up and let’s try again. Instead of swinging at me like it’s your first day fighting, come at me with a plan, Nero.”
Nero promptly ignored that advice, going for Vergil’s knees twice more despite the hits to his wrist it earned him, Vergil’s own way of trying to break the habit. When Nero abandoned his assault on Vergil’s knees, he instead swung wildly at Vergil’s chest, never managing a hit. Vergil decided to take it as a win since at least Nero had stopped going for his knees.
They kept at it until Nero sat down heavily, trying to catch his breath. He looked frustrated that he hadn’t managed to beat Vergil.
“Dinner?” Vergil offered, a token of peace he knew Nero would take.
Sure enough, Nero brightened, patting his stomach. “Uh-huh. S’ghetti, Dad?”
“Sure, we can have spaghetti,” Vergil said, helping Nero up.
He’d worked incredibly hard on Nero’s speech the last couple of years. It had resulted in a much improved vocabulary, even if Nero did struggle with pronunciation at times. Sometimes Vergil suspected it was laziness more so than inability.
As his speech improved, Nero utilized it more and more. Some days the boy could be a right chatterbox, to the point that it nearly made Vergil miss his stubborn silence.
Even now, Nero chatted on and on about their training as he seated himself at the table and Vergil got to work making their dinner. Nero was examining his toy sword as he spoke, likely trying to puzzle out the next modification he could make to it. He loved to play around with his weapons and toys.
Vergil had just managed to hit that point where he tuned out Nero’s words and just let his voice buzz in the background as a familiar white noise when he heard the front door open. Nero leapt to his feet, because only one person had a key to their house.
“Uncle Dante!” he cried, rushing from the room.
“Hey, kid!” Dante’s voice floated into the kitchen. Vergil reminded himself to change the lock soon.
Dante came in, Vergil gritting his teeth as he realized Nero was happily in Dante’s arms. Dante sniffed at the air.
“What’re we having?” he asked.
“Nero and I,” Vergil said, very clearly, “are having spaghetti. What do you want, Dante?”
Dante shrugged, setting Nero down on his chair. “Had some time between jobs and I figured I’d swing by. It’s been a few weeks.”
“A few peaceful weeks,” Vergil grumbled.
“Oh! Oh! Uncle Dante, lemme show you the book Dad got me!” Nero cried, leaping from his chair and running from the room to get it.
Dante leaned against the counter. “He’s almost five, Vergil. You can’t avoid the school thing forever.”
“We were homeschooled,” Vergil said, refusing to face Dante.
“Yea, and we had each other to play with. He has no one,” Dante said. “School will help him make friends. And give him a normal life. Living with you ain’t exactly the basis for normalcy, brother.”
“He cannot go to school,” Vergil snapped. “We’ve had this argument before, Dante. It’s too dangerous. He isn’t going, and that’s that. As his father, it’s MY decision.”
“He needs-”
“To stay safe,” Vergil said, hearing Nero’s footsteps coming back towards them. “Let it drop, Dante.”
Nero burst into the room, proudly holding up his new book. Dante snatched it from him and held it upside down, examining it intently.
Nero giggled. “Wrong way, Uncle Dante! Stupid.”
Vergil considered chastising him, decided Dante was stupid, and didn’t waste his breath. Dante took to teasing Nero as Vergil finished making their dinner.
As he plated the food, he listened to the sound of Nero’s laughter. He’d never had any friends before; his entire life had been Vergil, Dante, and Lady. Nero had never even interacted with another child before, or at least not since he’d been in Vergil’s care.
But sending him to school was too dangerous. If anyone discovered he wasn’t entirely human, it would make him a target. If anyone learned he was the grandson of Sparda, Nero would never be safe again. Vergil simply couldn’t risk it.
Plus, the Yamato was still missing. There had been no sign of it since things went quiet originally. If whoever took it discovered Nero, they would surely attempt to kidnap the child to experiment with his potential power and connection to the sword.
No. No, Vergil would rather see Nero lonely than in danger. School simply wasn’t an option; Vergil would continue to teach him at home.
He turned with the plates in hand. Dante had taken a break from their playing to get himself a drink, digging around in the fridge like he owned the damn place.
Nero sat with his toy sword on his lap, staring at it longingly. That sad hunch to his shoulders was back as he half-heartedly kicked his legs back and forth.
Lonely. He looked so lonely.
But he was safe. Protected.
Surely it was worth it.
But if it was worth it, why did Vergil suddenly feel so guilty?