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Nero isn't sure how they ended up in the nest of pillows and blankets on the shop floor, but he is sure that it was Dante's fault. His uncle's light snores puff against Nero's ear. Each breath he takes nudges Nero's back, his chest comforting and solid. His father watches him from his front, left hand curled into Nero's right and his armored tail twisted around Nero's middle. It's not the most uncomfortable thing Nero ever laid on. The damn springs in the orphanage beds bruised him.
Still, Nero watches his father closely. Vergil's eyes trace over the shape of Nero's face several times, meeting his son's gaze only to flick away in favor of some other small detail. For the first time, feeling his father's scrutiny doesn't raise his hackles or make him squirm in discomfort. The perusal is curious—almost innocent.
"What do I look like to you?" Nero asks, voice low so as not to disturb Dante's rare sleep.
"I'm afraid I do not understand the question."
Nero tucks the fingers of his free hand between the coils of his father's tail in an effort to convey closeness and genuine intent. He doesn't quite know how he knows that, but his instincts tell him his old man is okay with it. "I just.... I want to know what you see in me. What do I look like to you? Who do you see?"
Vergil arches an inquisitive brow.
"I know, that probably doesn't make much more sense, but-"
"The first thing I see you as is my son," Vergil says, the words stirring warmth in Nero's core. He sounds sure of himself in that respect. There was a time he wouldn't even admit to knowing Nero, much less seeing him as his son.
Nero's fingers twitch, but he stifles the urge to brush his nose. This is awkward enough without his father knowing he's uncomfortable.
Vergil notices anyway. His mouth ticks up and his eyes crinkle almost teasingly. "I know you may not like this part so much, but you are my child. You are still young, and you still get into trouble. My instincts will always somewhat regard you as my nestling, and those instincts are a hard thing to ignore when it comes to you." Vergil reaches out his free hand, brushing Nero's brow.
"Why?"
The blue devil chuckles. "I'm quite sure you're smart enough to know the answer to that. However, as for what other things I see in you..."
The young devil hunter waits patiently.
"You are many things to me, Nero," Vergil says softly. "You are... brave. Braver than Dante. Braver than me. You are strong, both in mind and body. Our father's blood flows in your veins, as does mine. And your mother's."
Nero blinks at the comment. Since their return from the underworld, Vergil never once mentioned Nero's mother. The one time Nero tried to broach the topic, Vergil shut him down.
"I see small pieces of your mother in you. Her memory was... taken from me. I cannot recall her name, but I've seen flashes of her face," Vergil murmurs, pressing his thumb along the line of Nero's brow. "In the tilt of your eyes. In the lower shape of your nose. And, as our mother did for Dante and I, she gave you her humanity. You have her courage."
The words edge Nero toward tears. He can imagine having his love taken away from him, but he can't fathom not remembering Kyrie's name.
"She would hate that my gift to you was her loneliness."
Nero sucks in a sharp breath, tucking his chin against his chest. He takes comfort in the way his father's tail tightens around him. Dante's arm around his ribs presses him closer to the old devil hunter's chest. Vergil does not mention the quiet sob that leaves his mouth. Huddled in this cocoon of safety with his father and uncle, Nero feels safe. He never thought he would feel safe to cry in front of Vergil, but he has, many times, wanted to.
"Sweet joy, but two days old." Vergil's fingers pass over the arch of Nero's ear and follow the ridge down the line of his jaw. "But.... I also see myself in you. So much of myself sometimes, it scares me."
A beat passes between them at that, marked only by Nero's quiet sniffles.
"You have my strength of will, but also my blind stubbornness."
"Ouch."
Vergil chuckles. "Yes, well, one does not simply go up against an opponent who defeated Dante seconds prior without a little of that stubbornness." The blue twin's lips tip down, but his voice holds sadness rather than disappointment. "For so long, I believed I had cursed you with my heart. Spiteful, vengeful, power-hungry."
Nero squeezes his father's tail a little tighter, bracing himself.
"I was wrong."
The boy opens his eyes and lifts his gaze to his father's. Vergil grips Nero's hand tighter, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Nero stares, unabashed.
"You do have my heart, but you have it as mine should have been. Even apart from both myself and your mother, you did not grow up alone. You cherished those who loved you, and you allowed your humanity to guide you rather than turning your back on everything. You cared for my buffoon of a twin, even though he lied to you. Though you did not know me, you put aside your anger and gave us a chance to come home."
Nero's following sob cuts short when Vergil's fingers cup his cheek. "Dad-"
"So, who do I see when I look at you?" Vergil murmurs, gently stroking his thumb back and forth across Nero's cheekbone. "I see my son, radiant, bold, and impossibly good. If my only deed in this world was to have had you, then I would be well-endowed." Vergil leans forward to press a kiss to Nero's forehead. "I love you."
Nero sniffles, teary-eyed and overwhelmed. "I love you, too."