Work Text:
Nicoletta Goldstein (Nico for short) was - is - the daughter of Agnus; the Order’s chief researcher into the realm of the demonic and all around crazy scientist to boot. Although she didn’t look much like her father, taking after her mother/grandmother in terms of looks, her personality was a whole other story.
Obsessive, some people may call it. She preferred the term passionate.
Gunsmithing and studying demons were two things hard-coded into her DNA. Gunsmithing from her grandmother’s side and her scientific interests from her father. The two hobbies went hand-in-hand really, elements of demons and their powers could be intertwined and weaved into the mechanisms of her guns and other such creations like a fine lace, as proven with her pride and joy; the Devil Breaker.
How she wanted to strangle Nero some days for his carelessness with her beautiful, lovingly crafted pieces of art.
That could wait though. After all, it’d be hard to study somebody’s Devil Trigger if they were unconscious and couldn’t use it. (or dead, but she wouldn’t go that far. Maybe. If he didn’t push his luck.)
That’s why she was here at Devil May Cry today, hanging out around the shop, piling it high with her clutter while poking and prodding at the two half-devils and one quarter-demon like rats in a lab. With their permission of course, she didn’t particularly feel like getting up close and personal with Yamato any time soon. Nero's detailed description of getting impaled with her blade was enough to put the budding scientist off the taste for good.
On the couch in the corner, sat the red devil: Dante. Slouched into the cushions and sipping from a tall glass of orange juice while snacking on salted pretzels, grinning tiredly to himself at the sight before him.
In the center of the room sat the blue devil: Vergil. Sipping from his own glass of juice using a straw through the gaps in demonic armor plating resembling teeth, buzzing with demonic energy as he maintained his Sin Devil Trigger form just long enough for the curly haired woman to pluck yet another loose scale from his back. He winced, though it didn’t really hurt that much (not like Nico could tell, their devil forms didn't really have the capacity for facial expressions), and his twin chuckled.
“You’ll go bald at this rate.”
The blue twin huffed, voice echoing and rumbling throughout the room thanks to his current form.
“They grow back. Besides, she took more from you than she did from me.”
Nico snorted, patting his spikey shoulder gingerly and placing the scale down on a metal tray. She had quite the assorted collection growing of either twin's scales. One tray piled high with a varying array of fiery red and black scales, the other arranged neatly with silvery blue scales. Vergil's came off with a lot more difficulty than the loose scales peppering Dante's Sin DT form... perhaps Vergil groomed himself more often than his younger brother. Did demons even groom themselves in the first place? They weren't exactly known for their hygiene. She suddenly had a lot more questions to ask the two half-devils before she left.
Vergil sighed. Craning his neck and flicking his tail around behind him, he transformed back into his human state with a shower of blue sparks and a heavy breath. The only sign of his exhaustion were the dark circles under his eyes, though Dante could tell he was about ready to hibernate for a week. He'd stayed triggered for a good hour and a half, a personal best. Dante had kept his going for a little under an hour. His older twin always did have a lot more stamina when it came to their demonic side, after all. It made sense, he'd had a lot longer to train it than his little brother did over the years.
Vergil stood to join his brother on the couch, after pouring himself a second glass of orange juice and swiping a bag of salty chips to snack on himself.
Maintaining a devil-trigger form took a lot of energy. Hence, the sugary drinks and salty snacks so generously provided by their host; Nico was grateful the twins were so willing to maintain them for her studies, though she wondered if their compliance had anything to do with the quarter-demon rather than her silky smooth voice when she asked oh-so-kindy last week.
The quarter demon, who sat off to the side seemingly lost in his own little world, idly bouncing his leg and picking at the fraying edges of his coat's ripped sleeve: Nero. He'd tuned out the other two devil's chattering and Nico's rambling about an hour ago.
"Hey." Her ear-bleeding voice ripped him quite rudely from his thoughts, and he met her grin with a scowl.
"Your turn big guy."
It took a moment for him to process her request, before he crossed his arms and shook his head. "Nah, i'm good."
She groaned, gripping him by the sleeve and yanking him to his feet, "C'mon, you promised! Dante and Vergil did it-"
"Well, i'm not Dante or Vergil, so back off will you?" He squirmed free of her hold, and plonked himself back down in his chair. Pouting like a child. Dante had to stifle his laugh, not wanting to piss off his nephew any further.
"Why not?" Nico whined while tilting her head back, almost stomping back to her collection of demon scales. He frowned, and bit his tongue in place of an answer. He was kinda hoping she wouldn't ask that.
Eventually he caved, "I'm just tired, okay? 'Was up late last night helping Kyrie with the kids," He grumbled under his breath.
She nodded slowly, clearly not believing him. With a huff, she muttered to herself just loud enough for Nero to hear, on purpose. "Right. Sure. Not because you don't wanna show me or anything. That's cool."
He shot daggers in her direction, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. His reasoning wasn't entirely a lie, but if he had to estimate the ratios here, it was probably only 5% truth and 95% bullshit. The real reason he refused to admit, lest the shame eat him alive from the inside out. Especially not in front of Dante, and doubly so in front of his father.
His father who had mastered the skill to the point of perfection, who could will a whole copy of his demonic form into existence whenever he pleased without even having to lift a finger. To admit the truth to somebody like that... Nero would rather get stabbed with Yamato again.
"Is it really that bad? I just don't want to right now, alright? Get off my case." He found himself growing defensive, voice raising up an octave and brows knitting together into an even deeper frown. Nico paused, glanced at him, and sighed. Perhaps he'd come off a bit harsher than he meant to. He brushed his nose again, sniffed, and bit his lip.
Vergil raised a brow at the young man, distaste on his tongue at the attitude pouring off his son in waves, getting under even Nico's tough skin. She was used to his antics. the blue half-devil definitely was not. Although he'd realized rather quickly how much of a potty-mouth his own flesh and blood had developed throughout the years, how he had a tendency to let loose and preferred not to hold back on sarcasm and insults, something about this particular instance felt off.
Maybe it was the way Nero had curled into himself so tight he appeared to struggle for breath. The flush on his cheeks or the shake in his hands. Or maybe it was what Dante would call "fatherly instincts" kicking into overdrive, combined with the natural heightened senses of being a half-demon, at the sight of the boy in what could only be described as distress.
He always was a shitty liar.
"Nero." Vergil stood slowly, placing his glass down and crossing his arms. He leveled the young quarter-demon a stern look, though it didn't do much to combat his newly raised walls. He'd have to work on his "dissapointed dad stare" it seemed.
He softened just a little though, probably realizing how ridiculous and childish he looked in that state. "Sorry. Like I said, i'm tired," he mumbled while straightening his posture stiffly and letting out a deep breath.
Vergil narrowed his eyes, and hummed. Dissatisfied.
"Is that the only reason?"
Nero shrugged. Dante chuckled, trying a reassuring smile to ease the quarter-demon's tension. "There's no need to be embarrassed over it kiddo. I've seen it, and Vergil has seen it too. I'm sure Nico won't judge."
She smiled and nodded, holding back on any of her usual comments for now. It didn't take a genius to figure out Nero wasn't joking around, that he seemed genuinely stressed over this otherwise trivial matter. He shook his head and shrugged again, gritting his teeth together.
He felt his cheeks flush hot, and he had to blink away tears threatening to form on his lashes. Why was he crying? Stress? Embarrassment? Frustration? The bone-chilling gaze of his father directed straight into the back of his skull?
"It's not that, I just.."
The room was silent. Urging him to answer with bated breath. He'd never felt stage fright before, but he had a funny feeling this was pretty damn close. Taking a deep breath, his mouth opened to speak, to answer.
But once again he shook his head, standing abruptly and starting for the door on swift feet. He had to get out of here, before he imploded completely from the pressure.
"I just don't want to!"
Before anyone could protest, the front doors to Devil May Cry slammed shut, leaving the two half-demons and Nero's annoying companion in silence. Dante silently wondered where he got his short temper from, casting a glance over to his still frowning twin brother.
"Uh... that went well." Sarcasm dripped from Nico's words as took a seat on the stool in the center of the room, lighting up a cigarette with little care for the shop's lack of ventilation. Dante made a face and leant back to open the window, while Vergil schooled his features a lot smoother.
"Is he always that..."
"Bitchy?" Nico finished with a puff of tobacco from her lips, followed with a shrug of her own. "Eh, not really. Must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin'."
Dante sat forward, raising a brow. "Did anything happen? He seems on-edge. More so than usual."
Nico chuckled, but shook her head. "Not that I know of. Kyrie seemed fine, the kids were happy. Nero's just..." She puffed the cigarette, muttering. "On his man-period or something."
Dante nodded, taking that as explanation enough. Vergil however was not so easily convinced. He could still sense Nero's presence, just outside the door in fact. If he listened close enough, he could hear the young man's ragged breathing and feel the pounding of his heart. Clearly this was a deeper issue than Nero having a simple temper-tantrum.
He bit his cheek, contemplating for a moment. Deciding.
"Gonna chase him down or something?" Nico called out, watching Vergil move toward the front doors, toward where Nero had stormed out not even 5 minutes earlier. She sounded amused. he didn't really understand why, but it wasn't a bother. He simply nodded.
"Good luck. Calming that kid down when he's pissy takes.. a special kind of patience. I would know." Dante chuckled to himself, leaning back a bit more casually into the couch.
Right, Vergil had forgotten; Dante has known Nero a lot longer than he has. He knows how to handle Nero a lot better than he ever will, probably. Jealousy bubbled in his chest, but he pushed the feelings down quickly. It didn't matter. He hoped. Whatever Dante knew, he could learn. He would learn. And what better way to learn than through experience?
"Dully noted." The blue devil grunted, and stepped through the doors to follow after the young quarter-demon quickly.
It was cold outside. The chilly air and slight breeze nipped at Nero's skin and tried to claw its way into his bones with every hasty step he took, even if he had his arms curled into his stomach as tight as they could get. He didn't know how far he'd trailed from the shop by now, all he knew is that he'd been walking for at least a good 15 minutes.
Eventually he reached an empty parking lot to some kind of diner, it looked to be closed. Perfect. Nobody would be around to bother him, it'd just be him and his thoughts and all the time in the world to mull them over. Taking a seat on a curb, he rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes.
Maybe it was the embarrassment, the shame after all that did it. Maybe it was Nico's pestering or Dante's teasing. Or maybe, it was his Vergil's eyes, and how... dissapointed they looked in him. He winced and curled in on himself even further at that thought, letting out a heavy sigh and feeling fresh tears sting his eyes. He never thought he'd get so worked up over the old man, he promised himself he'd stay strong even if the initial shock still hadn't worn off even 3-ish months later.
Vergil. Dante's twin brother. His father. Something in his chest twisted, writhed and tried to wriggle free out of his throat but he kept it trapped, shoved down as far as it could go and then some. He would not start crying now.
He took a deep breath and brushed his knuckles against his nose. He needed to calm down. It was stupid, he was getting himself all wound up over nothing, and if he kept going the spring would wind too far and snap. He just needed a moment to think, that's all. He needed-
"Nero?"
-To be left alone. Well, there goes that plan.
He'd recognize that nasly fucking voice anywhere, even if he was both deaf and blind he'd know it was his father sneaking up behind him. How he got here so fast was beyond the quarter-demon, and it wasn't really at the top of his priorities list anyways. What was at the top of his list was the way his throat squeezed shut, how he tried to make himself as small as possible on instinct and almost whimpered at the sound of his father's voice. Like a pathetic little child being cornered after breaking a vase or something.
"What?" He refused to turn around, even as Vergil approached and stood directly behind him with those icy blue eyes digging straight into his back. Didn't anybody ever teach this guy it was rude to stare?
Both parties were silent for a good while. Vergil didn't answer his son's previous inquiry, and Nero refused to speak any further. Both because he didn't want his voice to crack in front of his dad and because his throat was too tight to do so anyways. For a moment, he thought his father had left him alone before he spoke in a quiet voice. One Nero could almost call concerned.
"You're trembling."
He was?
He reached up to his face, sniffling and wiping tears from his cheeks with a scoff, only now registering the shake running through his shoulders. So he was.
"Yeah, and?" He bit his lip, continuing despite knowing he'd only sound like a bratty kid, rather than a pissed-off 25 year old. "What do you want?"
Vergil frowned and sighed.
His son had every reason to be curt with him, to give him attitude and curse him out untill even the devil himself weeped ugly tears. But that didn't mean it never bothered him. Having been raised to act respectful toward his elders, the young man's "punk" nature wasn't one the half-devil was particularly fond of at all; however, he couldn't bring himself to scold the boy for it.
It'd only cause problems. And he kind of deserved Nero's harsh words anyway.
Taking a deep breath, he decided to take the gentle approach. He'd seen Dante do the same once or twice, and witnessed Kyrie do something similar whenever the young man was upset, and it seemed to work well enough for them. So, he took a seat next to Nero. Planting himself a comfortable distance away on the curb, crossing his legs beneath him and folding his hands across his lap, Yamato perched quietly at his side like always.
Nero didn't move. He barely breathed. The last time he was this close to his father was when they were fighting at the top of the Qliphoth tree. The last time they were this close, Vergil had skewered him on Yamato and he'd done the same in return. Another eternity of painful silence lasted between them, the tension so thick you could slice through it like butter, and again Nero refused to be the first one to break. He wouldn't lose what little pride he had remaining. Normally Vergil would do the exact same, and they'd be sitting there for days in complete quiet.
This time however, was different. In a way he admired Nero's stubbornness, he saw himself in the boy more and more each day. The good parts of himself at least. He's glad Nero didn't inherit his naive stupidity. Mostly.
The half-devil spoke quietly, hesitantly, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands in an effort to seem less threatening to the quarter-demon hunched over beside him.
"What's wrong?"
Nero almost laughed. Vergil showing concern? Acting worried about somebody else? The same guy who raised the Temen-Ni-Gru (which Nero had learnt he was behind of thanks to one of Dante's drunken rambles,) and the Qliphoth tree without so much as a single thought to what the consequences would be?
He supposed he was being harsh. Too harsh, more so than his idiot father deserved. He had changed, if V was anything to go off of. While no, it didn't take away from the damage he'd caused, he wasn't a monster. Nero didn't fully know why Vergil did the things he did, but maybe one day he would. Perhaps even - hopefully even - admitted by the old man himself.
He was trying to take responsibility and at least begin to right his wrongs. Starting with Dante, and now trying with Nero. The least the young quarter-demon could do was try as well. If not for his father, then at least for his uncle.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "Just... tired."
Vergil raised a brow, glancing over to his son, noting the red-rimmed eyes and weak voice. He was holding back.
"I want an honest answer, Nero." He spoke firmly and took a breath, tentatively reaching for his son's shoulder. "What's wrong? Why are you upset?"
Nero chewed his lip, and furrowed his brows. His little bullshitting tactic wasn't working, that much was obvious. Does he cave and admit the truth despite risking shrivelling up like a raisin in embarrassment? Or does he stubbornly continue down this path to failure, despite knowing Vergil could see straight through him.
"its- I.." He sighed, "It's embarrassing to admit." Well, he made a start at least. Progress is progress.
Vergil nodded, pursing his lips. He remained quiet, waiting for Nero to keep going. When he didn't, the blue devil pushed gently.
"Is this about that woman's bothering?"
Nero nodded sheepishly, feeling his cheeks grow hotter. Nico was right back then, he had made a promise to her... but well, sometimes promises were meant to be broken. Maybe that was just an excuse. He was getting defensive again, so he took a breath and tried to straighten up, brushing his nose with the back of his hand and turning away.
"Yeah." He stated simply. Vergil nodded again, humming.
"She wanted you to trigger, didn't she?" He paused, taking a moment for Nero to nod in agreement before finishing. "I don't see an issue with it. Why does it bother you?"
He sighed. A deep, heavy, and drawn out sigh. Yep, he was about to shrivel up more than a raisin in a dehydrator. He could feel his body constricting and wrinkling up now. Brushing his nose, and swallowing, he closed his eyes and admitted the truth quietly. Bracing himself for the worst, though he had no clue what that "worst" could even be. A disappointed glare? A laugh? Which was worse? Both at the same time, probably.
"I... can't."
Vergil went silent. He tilted his head, confusion morphing his features into a frown. One which Nero mistook as a disproving scowl, making him wince and shy away with a shaky breath.
"What do you mean?" The half-devil asked softly, perhaps realizing his features may have unintentionally come across in the wrong way and taking a moment to soften them. The last thing he wanted was for his son to assume he was dissapointed in him over something as simple as this, not when he'd already come so far in bridging the estranged gap between them.
Nero shook his head, looking down at his hands. "I just- I can't. I've tried, but I can never.." He took a breath, "I can never get it to happen."
His father hummed. Taking one of Nero's hands, before he realized it he'd started to trace the lines of his palm with a gentle finger. Nero found himself relaxing into the touch. Enjoying it, even. Craving more. The pieces clicked in his brain slowly but surely, the realization that maybe he'd misunderstood Vergil's reactions before and now washing over him in a calm wave. Watching his father's hand move so lightly across his skin, as if afraid any firmer touch would cause damage, drove that point home further. He wasn't upset, he was just... confused, was a better way of putting things. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders once he'd come to that conclusion. A small one, yes, but it made a difference.
He made a mental note to put in more effort when it came to reading Vergil's facial expressions.
"Yet you triggered during our battle on the Qliphoth?" He tried to keep his tone light, non-accusatory. Nero shrugged, and for once, he didn't pull away.
"I know. But back then it kinda just... happened."
"You didn't activate it yourself?"
"No- well, I don't think so anyway. I dunno, its kinda blurry.."
Vergil nodded, listening intently. The quarter-demon continued, "I remember.. being overwhelmed. Emotionally. And physically. In a lot of ways."
"I see..." Vergil paused his soothing gestures across his son's hand, frowning. "Sometimes going into your devil-trigger form can be a reaction to intense emotional or physical stimuli. It's a way for your body to cope and release the sudden flood of hormones in the brain, most often due to adrenaline, stress or fear."
Nero nodded slowly, "Makes sense." He leant in, genuine interest sparkling in his eyes.
"But you've never been able to trigger of your own accord?"
He shook his head, frustration mixing into his tone no matter how hard he tried to push it down. "No. I've tried to, like I said, but I just... I can never get it to happen."
His father hummed. Tilting his head, thinking. He let go of Nero's hand and stood up with a grunt, leaving Yamato leaning gently against the curb to watch and observe as a bystander, to which she hummed in mild offence at being abandoned. He ignored her.
"Stand, Nero."
Nero raised a brow, but obeyed his father's command regardless and stood with a grunt of his own. He crossed his arms and waited, a little confused but otherwise eager to see what Vergil had planned. That slight grin had him growing antsy, though he tried to ignore that feeling. No harm would come to him here. Surely.
Vergil extended his hand, offering an open palm to his son. Nero hesitated, flinching back at the last second and narrowing his eyes in response.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to teach you how to trigger." The half-devil stated simply, standing perfectly still and waiting for Nero to come to him. He wouldn't force anything, if Nero wished to leave, he wouldn't stop him.
The quarter-demon bit his lip. Tempting as the offer was, that small part of him was still weary. Afraid, wanting to run and hide before something happened like last time. After all, the last time his father held him firmly by the hand... well, it didn't go too well. He still winced at the thought, fingers brushing idly over the soft skin of his right arm. Vergil seemed to notice this. Picking up on the scent of fear, the smell sour and prickling the inside of his nostrils aggresively.
Nero had every reason to be afraid, though that didn't mean he wasn't at least a little hurt by it.
Nero swallowed. Taking a deep breath, he closed the gap and grasped his father's palm hesitantly. Vergil's fingers were surprisingly cold, his fingers flinching and breath hitching for just a brief second out of mild shock, causing the half-demon to chuckle under his breath. For some reason he'd expected the blue devil to run warm, much like his brother who ran much hotter than the average human, so much so he sometimes thought Dante had a fever instead. They may have been twins, but they were very much opposites in their own unique ways.
Vergil's hand clasped around Nero's wrist, his movements slow as if reaching out to pat a skittish animal. He could see the way Nero swallowed, nervously, free hand twitching at his side itching to brush his nose (he'd noticed his son's nervous tick over the last few weeks, and found it endearing in its own way), and the faint, weak, frantic flickering of demonic energy deep within his core. Being only quater-demon, the fact that it was so hard to pick up on didn't surprise Vergil. It'd make triggering a little harder, yes, but it shouldn't make too much of a difference. He hoped at least.
"Now, focus." He spoke softly, quietly. Nero did as he was told, and breathed out slowly. Vergil's eyes locked onto his, searching, and he flicked his gaze to his father's coat lapels instead. Wow, the design was a lot more intricate than he'd realized. Were those designs embroidered into the leather?
"Nero?"
The quarter-demon shook his head, glancing up at his father who now wore a small, forced smile with furrowed brows. Oops, he hadn't meant to zone...
"Sorry.. huh?"
Vergil sighed gently. "Close your eyes."
Nero swallowed thickly, hesitating and lowering his eyelids slowly. His grip tightened on his father's hand, a mix of stress and anticipation building up in his chest. Vergil could feel the small bursts of demonic energy in response, reacting to the swirl of emotions flooding his son's racing mind, and it gave him an idea. An idea Nero would probably dislike, but he had a funny feeling it would do the trick just fine.
Slowly, he brushed his hand further up Nero's arm. The quarter-demon's breath halted in his throat, but he kept his eyes shut and tried to remain calm regardless. Trying to place his faith in his father for once, despite every instinct in his body screaming to yank away, fight back or otherwise put an end to this before it continued any further. To let his guard down, to trust Vergil.
"Hey-"
He yelped at the sensation of sharp nails digging into the flesh right above his right elbow, though his voice came out as more of a pathetic whimper rather than a stern warning. Vergil didn't budge. Keeping the pressure tight, enough for Nero to definitely feel it, yet soft enough as to not cause any damage. God forbid he ever do that again.
"Concentrate"
Nero swallowed and nodded, taking a breath to quell the mild shake in his hands.
"Center your attention on your demonic energy... Can you feel it?"
The quarter-demon took a pause, breathing deeply. He definitely felt something; restlessness, hyperactive like he'd just chugged a whole pot of black coffee in one go. The sudden urge to just move, to expell the buildup of energy bubbling deep within his chest, hit him like a semi-truck. His skin felt like it was alive, crawling and vibrating, trying to peel itself off of of his muscles, and he felt a weird lightness blooming in his head.
Shakily, he nodded.
Vergil hummed in satisfaction. While his son was busy trying to discern what was a symptom of his demonic heritage and what he should probably get checked over later by a doctor, he removed his hand from his arm and folded it across his chest. Standing back, he continued with the last of his instructions and left the rest to Nero.
"Let yourself feel it. Let it wash over you, embrace it. And, when you're ready, release it."
Nero nodded once more, screwing his eyes shut even tighter. Flexing his hands, eyes flitting around behind closed eyelids and heart fluttering in his chest. He inhaled slowly, taking in as much air as his lungs could handle. Focusing every sense on that sudden burst of demonic energy in his core, and doing just as his father said.
It hurt. More than he'd expected, but less than he thought it could. In a shower of light blue sparks much like the ones belonging to the half-devil's transformation, he felt scales and plates sprouting to cover his whole body in less than a second. Something sharp poked his tongue where he hadn't realized he'd been biting it, teeth going from blunt to razor sharp and almost taking a chunk from his tongue entirely before he unclenched his jaw. His hair, longer and flowing, brushed against his lower back and made him shiver. The last thing to form were those spectral blue wing-arm-things out of his back, the feeling much like stretching a muscle as they unfurled and perched on his shoulders.
He felt stronger, alive and powerful. He remembered feeling this way the first time he'd fully triggered on his way to the top of the Qliphoth, and again when he was clashing blades with his very own father a mere 5 minutes later.
Only this time, he wasn't fighting. The adrenaline rush of battle and bleeding wounds nonexistant, and that wave of power crashing quickly.
Nero's eyes opened slow, now yellow and squinting against the light like he'd just been flashed with a military grade torch. (Was he always this light-sensitive while triggered?) Meeting his father's eyes, and his stern gaze.
Vergil nodded, allowing a grin to stretch across his lips as he watched his son's transformation. Now that he could get a closer look at his devil-trigger form without the risk of being launched across the room like a baseball or body-slammed into the ground so hard he cracked both the floor and his spine (thank god for demonic healing powers), he noticed details he'd failed to picked up on beforehand. The soft blue glow eminating from the gaps between dark silver-turquoise skin on his chest, clawed fingers and long, flowing white hair. Those blue spectral wing-arms were quite the unique sight too, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. And he even had tiny, non-functional wings cradling his head like a little crown in place of horns like himself or Dante had. Oh, that woman would have a field day with this.
"Very good."
Nero smiled a big, sharp-toothed grin. He had to admit, genuine praise from his father felt like pure ecstasy, especially while in this demonic form more atuned with primal instinct rather than skewed human logic.
As stunning as the sight was though - both of his demonic form and that big smile on his son's face - Vergil couldn't help but have his focus drawn to the energy quickly fading away. Without an external source to extend it, it slowly occured to him the true cause behind Nero's frustrations all along; He didn't know how to maintain this form on his own.
Taking a breath, Vergil reached for his hand slowly.
"Keep your focus, concentrate on your energy, Nero."
Nero nodded, allowing his father to take hold of his arm once more, this time leaning into the touch rather than flinching away. Something in the half-devil's heart swelled at the sight, but he kept his composure for the time being. He could be cuddly later.
To keep Nero in this form would mean giving his body an excuse to continue surging with energy. A reason to stay triggered.
Luckily, he had another idea. A childish, silly idea, but an idea nonetheless.
The quarter-demon took a deep breath. Focus, right. He had to focus. He could feel his form slipping, the power fading. It felt like trying to keep your eyes open halfway through an all nighter when your body just refused to stay awake any longer. A growl rumbled in his chest with growing frustration, briefly startling him from his thoughts and drawing a laugh from his father, as he watched the half-devil transform into a devil-trigger form of his own.
His father's devil form was much bulkier. Much more demonic looking than humanoid like his own form. He would've felt jealous if he didn't know the reason why; after all, the demonic power flowing through his veins was much less potent than his father's.
A noise rumbled in Vergil's throat, halfway between a growl and a purr. If his demonic form could show a shit-eating grin, it'd show the widest most smug thing currently known to mankind. Nero raised a brow, confused and cautious, yet excited all the same.
"What are you-"
He was cut short as his father pat his shoulder once firmly, then stepped back bouncing on his heels untill he was a good 10ft away. It clicked slowly, the gears turning visibly in his head before a grin of his own spread across his demonic features.
Tag. Vergil, son of Sparda, was challenging his own son to a child's game of tag. Oh... it was on.
He lunged, letting a playful noise rumble through his chest as he reached to tackle his father around the waist. Of course, Vergil wasn't going down that easily. He side-stepped the quarter-demon with a laugh, jumping into the air and taking flight.
No fair. Nero growled, a little more annoyed this time, and caught his tail before he could get too far. Vergil snarled, whipping around to try and grip Nero by the shoulders but being snatched quick by those damned spectral arms. Having 4 arms must be pretty convenient, especially in situations like this.
Nero pinned Vergil with his knees by the wings, grinned and tagged his shoulder, before sprinting off in the opposite direction with his father quickly catching up behind him. They continued like this for hours, a back-and-forth exchange that Nero wished could last forever. It was exhilarating.
The thrill of this child's game, a feeling of adrenaline and a giddiness bubbling in his chest, only served to strengthen the hold he had on this demonic form the longer he spent running, chasing, tagging and playing. It briefly occured to him while being tossed up into the air and promptly caught mid-air in his father's wings, that that may have been Vergil's main intention with this little game all along. Not only to play, but to extend his trigger and let his body adjust to the feeling of staying triggered outside of danger. At the same time though, Vergil did seem to be enjoying himself. This was the most he'd heard him laugh and see him smile... ever.
Keeping Nero in his devil-trigger may have been the primary goal here, but he'd like to think that spending some time together was part of it too.
Realizing he'd been let go about 25ft off the ground and was now quickly succumbing to the force of gravity, a strangled yelp clawed its way from his throat as he scrambled through the air to unfurl his wings and glide safely to the ground, rather than becoming a new splotch of paint on the asphalt of the parking lot. Vergil's arms flinched forward, reaching to catch Nero if he didn't manage to save himself in time, which thankfully wasn't the case.
What was the case however was Nero landing on Vergil himself with a loud thud, rather than safely on his own two feet a safe distance away. The two went crashing to the ground, rolling back while Nero was cradled in his father's wings and his own dug into the ground in an effort to bring their momentum to a screeching halt. Once still and no longer writhing around in a tangled mass of silvery-blue demonic limbs, settled next to each other on their backs, Nero couldn't help but laugh alongside his father.
He was exhausted. They both were, panting for breath and sore all over with the physical strain of running around and being tackled for about 3 hours straight. He was sure to be bruised tomorrow. Taking a deep breath, Nero closed his eyes and finally allowed his trigger to subside in a gentle spray of cyan sparkles. His father followed suit, casting his gaze sideward at the spent form of his son sprawled out on the concrete at his side.
He smiled. A gentle, genuine smile filled with nothing but adoration, and a little thing his brother would call "love". He didn't fight it. Rather, he embraced it.
Reaching out, he slid his arm under Nero's neck and pulled him in close, letting the tired quarter-demon rest his head on his shoulder and relax against his body at his own pace. He mindlessly played with the ripped sleeve of Nero's jacket, subconsciously wanting to keep him near and hold him close. Wrap him up in his arms, keep him safe and protected. To never let any harm come to this wonderful thing he'd brought into this world with his own blood, sweat and tears.
His own flesh and blood, his son. He chest felt tight, the feeling rising in his throat something Vergil could only describe as "proud".
"You did well." He tilted his head down to nuzzle his chin against the top of Nero's head, as the quarter-demon snuggled up against Vergil's neck. He felt the boy smile against his skin, reaching up to ruffle his hair in response.
"Yeah?" Nero muttered softly, stifling a yawn.
Vergil nodded. "Yes."
He paused, before tilting to place a tender kiss on the crown of his son's head. "I'm very proud of you, Nero."
Nero froze. He felt heat rush to his cheeks and his throat squeezed shut in a very familiar way, as his eyes began to sting and his breath hitched in his chest. Those words were all he'd ever wanted to hear for his entire life.
Sure, Kyrie's parents would say things like that when he was a kid. Tell him they were proud of him, tell him that they loved him just as much as they loved their own two biological children, that even though he wasn't born from them they would treat him just the same regardless. But deep within Nero's mind, it never felt right. It was never enough. Kyrie's parents weren't his parents, they never were and they never would be. They were just taking care of him because the orphanage in Fortuna didn't want to deal with the "rude brat" any longer, they were a substitute and, at the time, what he'd hoped would be a temporary stand-in, although as a kid he had been convinced his entire (biological) family was dead.
His entire life he craved that real, genuine parental-affection he knew could only truly be experienced with his real parents, and his real parents alone. His entire life, that piece of him had been missing, in it's place an empty void which could never be filled no matter how many times he tried to patch the hole shut. His whole life, and now finally 25 (ish) years later, that wound had finally begun to heal. It'd take a long time to scar over, and even longer for that scar to fully fade, but no longer would he have to curl up in a corner to lick his wounds by his lonesome. No longer did he have to starve while he watched everybody else around him bathe in the things he craved to the point of tearing into his skin with the pain of being denied.
Because his family, turns out, wasn't all dead after all; He had a bastard of an uncle he loved more than he could ever show, somebody who'd been there through some of his toughest times after losing Credo and the destruction of his home, and who he'd been there for in return during the old man's drunken moments of raw truth. And he had an emotionally constipated, but still trying his hardest father. His father.
Living, breathing, holding him close like he was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. He found tears very quickly spilling over his cheeks and soaking into Vergil's coat at the realization, and the moment it finally clicked in his brain that this was real, he couldn't hold his composure any longer.
Vergil said nothing. Allowing Nero to bury himself against his shoulder, listening to his quiet sobs and feeling his hands curl into fists in the worn leather of his coat while his body shook with each ragged breath. He lifted his arm to wrap it around the boy's back in a gentle hold, shifting just slightly so Nero could snuggle up closer, and he could extend more of his warmth in return. He'd always struggled with his affection, but this felt natural. It felt right.
"Shh.." He crooned at the boy softly, letting a low rumble begin in his chest akin to a cat's purr. "Breathe, Nero. It's okay."
Nero nodded, taking a deep breath and sighing. This was all he'd ever wanted in life, and now that he had it? For the first time in his life, he felt at peace. Like all was right with the world, lying here in an empty parking-lot close to sundown after playing tag with his dad for a solid 3 hours straight. He smiled.
"Yeah..."
He shifted, sitting up to look Vergil in the eyes. The half-devil raised a brow, lifting his arm alongside Nero to continue playing with his hair.
"Dad...?"
Vergil hummed. He'd never admit how warm and fuzzy that title made him feel. It'd be a secret only he'd be afforded the privilege of knowing. "Yes?"
Nero swallowed, brushing his nose and speaking just above a whisper. "I love you.."
Vergil paused, before sitting up to kiss Nero's forehead and pull the boy against his chest gently. His throat constricted, and it took a little effort to get the words out, but eventually he managed a soft reply against his son's hair.
"I love you too, son."
By the time the father-son duo arrived back at Devil May Cry, the sun had long since set and Nico had long since returned to her hotel-room, leaving behind most of her clutter since she'd probably be back the next day to continue her little studies. Carrying Nero piggy-back style - the quarter-demon was quick to zonk out after expending so much of his energy on his trigger, lasting not even 30 minutes lying on his father's chest after their little heart-to-heart before he started snoring louder than a lawnmower - and entering the shop as quietly as he could. The squeaky door hinges begged to differ. He's scold Dante about it later.
Dante, who sat at his desk with some kind of punk-rock tune wafting from the jukebox in the corner. Feet kicked up and magazine over his face, snoring even louder than Nero. It was times like this he cursed his heightened senses, specifically his sense of hearing, but his annoyance could be ignored in favour of something a little more positive. In a way, he was glad to hear the two snoring so loudly.
Nero and Dante were the only people he had in his life, really. (He was still working on his non-existent relationship with Dante's lady-friends, and that was going tolerable at best.) He'd almost lost them both before. To hear them both so unmistakably alive was a silent, strong comfort.
Carefully he settled Nero down on Dante's old couch, making sure he wasn't folded into any weird uncomfortable position before turning to sort through the old broom closet for a blanket. Surely Dante had spares down here...
"You're back."
Dante's voice, hoarse and groggy with sleep and cut off at the end with a large yawn, sounded from his place at his desk. Vergil made a quick motion for him to stay quiet, gestured to Nero, and continued his search in quiet. Dante smiled at the sight of his nephew so tuckered-out, it was a little bit cute, he had to admit.
"Kid's out like a light."
The blue twin hummed, fishing out the least itchy wool blanket he could find before returning to his sleeping son. "Yes, well.. he was in his trigger form for quite a while. About 3 hours."
Dante nodded in approval, stretching and moving closer to the two of them, watching as Vergil tucked Nero in neatly with the old woolen blanket. "Whew, not bad. That's a long time- for both of you."
The red twin grinned, "It'd be a new personal best for sure."
Vergil nodded, stifling a yawn of his own and sitting down on the coffee table. Brushing his hand through Nero's hair, smiling when the quarter-demon leant into his touch even in his sleep.
"Did you figure out what was wrong with him?" Dante queried with his head tilted, gazing curiously at Nero all snuggled up on the couch. Vergil nodded again.
"He didn't know how to trigger."
"Oh-" Dante couldn't help but chuckle. "That's it? Huh... heh, he must've been pretty embarrassed to run off like that."
Vergil only grunted in response, blinking slow and beginning to nod off while sitting up straight.
"You must be pretty exhausted too, Verge," Dante placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Why don't you go up and get some rest? I'll watch over the kid for you."
Vergil shook his head, this time letting his yawn slip. "I'll be fine."
The younger twin rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. Instead, heading into the spare bedroom down the hallway, returning shortly with a spare mattress, blankets and pillows.
"Then at least let me get you settled in down here."
Vergil raised a brow, crossing his arms at his younger twin yet grinning in amusement anyway. He stepped aside, and let Dante do his thing. Soon enough he was snuggled up on the floor next to his son on the couch, arm raised and fingers intertwined with the kid as the two of them slept like a goddamn rock.
Dante couldn't help but smile. It was an adorable sight, and a truly endearing one. It was everything he could've hoped for, to see his hardass brother actually getting along with his stubborn nephew. The two were so much alike each other - so much so that sometimes Dante couldn't tell the difference between them - he'd expected them to seperate faster than oil in water. Especially after seeing that rather... colorful display from Nero on top of the Qliphoth. But it seems he'd been proven wrong.
Sure, they had a ways to go. But it was a start, and that's what mattered.
Once he was sure the two were safe and sleeping comfortably, the legendary devil-hunter headed upstairs for some shut-eye of his own. They still had a lot to do in the morning, after all. Nico wasn't done.
"Come on, Nero! I let you get away with your little tantrum yesterday but I ain't gonna let you go today."
Nico whined, forcibly sitting Nero down in the stool in the center of the room, while Vergil and Dante sat off to the sidelines watching the scene unfold like some kind of shitty sitcom, amusement on both their faces.
Nero yawned, giving Nico the most un-interested glare he could muster.
"I'm tired, Nico. Can't we do this later?"
She huffed, poking at his back with what looked to be a pen from where the twins were sitting, but upon closer inspection, was likely something closer to a pair of tweezers instead. "Nope."
He grumbled, and sighed. In a burst of blue sparks, blue spectral arms formed from his shoulderblades and wrapped their clawed fingers over his shoulders, drawing an excited squeak from the woman-
"Hah!" Dante laughed, while Vergil scowled in distaste.
-Followed by a whack across the shoulder and a mumbled curse, as one of those spectral arms flipped her the bird before both disappeared entirely. She gave up.
"Fine, have it your way. Get off the chair so Dante and Vergil can sit down."
He smirked to himself smugly, happily waltzing over to the couch as Dante took his spot with a wide, proud smile. Vergil continued to frown, shooting his son a disapproving look, to which Nero's smirk only grew wider.
"We ain't done here, just so you know." Nico spat with annoyance at the stubborn quarter-demon, raking over Dante's scales with that tool once he took on his devil-trigger form just like yesterday. "I'm going to see your trigger eventually, and if that means I have to force you, then so be it."
Nero shrugged, "Yeah sure, keep dreamin'." He didn't particularly care if Nico would follow through with her threats or not, he didn't really expect her to and if she did, well then he'd deal with it. He'd won this round, at least. He was happy about that.