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The French, Vergil told him, had a saying--“pleurer comme une Madeleine”--for those who cried incessantly and in excess. Madeleine, it seemed, was a baby determined to earn her name.
Three days of foul mood had kept everyone in the house mostly awake, and Kyrie more than anyone else. Amelia’s temper was flaring, Julio kept accidentally breaking things out of carelessness and tired inattention, and Tycho cried for just about any reason imaginable. Nero had always expected the first few weeks to be a special sort of difficult, but his tiny human was running both Kyrie and him completely ragged. At least he’d had a short break last night, when a demon hunt had taken him so far out he’d had to sleep in the van. He’d come back energized (not that the word meant much anymore), and belatedly realized that Vergil’s insistence that he should go on the mission despite its location might have been a trick to get him to sleep. Especially considering he was now quietly arguing with Kyrie that she should sleep at Nico’s and get her own time away from Madeleine.
“Nero and I can handle her for one night,” he’d promised, which was kinda hilarious considering it’d taken everything to get him to hold her the first time. Mostly, he hovered around quietly, sometimes touching her tiny fingers or nose like he couldn’t believe she was real, or brushing the tuft of white hair with a wistful look that made what ifs about their missing years burn through Nero hard and fast.
Still, Kyrie ended up agreeing, and then they’d promptly found school friends for Amelia and Julio to have a sleepover with, while Tycho was more than thrilled to go to Auntie Nico’s, too.
That afternoon, Madeleine slept like a charm, cooed happily when offered to breastfeed, and was all around incredibly easy to handle--enough that Kyrie almost changed her mind and stayed. Nero had to lead her to the door, carrying her small luggage in one (human) hand and Tycho in a (demon) arm.
“Just enjoy your girls’ night with Nico,” he said, kissing her forehead.
The van waited, parked in the street, and when Kyrie hesitated, Nico honked her and passed her head through the window. “C’mon, girl! Time to get some beauty sleep.”
Nero spun towards her. “Yo Nico, you honk that horn one more time and I’ll show ya what it’s like to be a demon in my way!”
“Calm your jammies, lil’ bro. If Mads can sleep through your snoring, she can sleep through anything.”
“I don’t snore!” he protested, but when Kyrie giggled next to him, he knew that was a battle he would lose. And indeed, Tycho tapped his shoulder and informed him very seriously:
“You do.”
Nero huffed and set him down. “Yeah, okay, whatever. You be good, all right buddy?”
The kid nodded solemnly then reached out for Kyrie’s hand. She stole one last kiss from Nero before heading out, leaving him with their troublesome daughter.
Kyrie had been gone for exactly 37 minutes when Madeleine woke up and began screaming for attention. She often slept in a large baby-basket for which Nico had rigged them a rocking system, but Nero knew better than to waste time trying to calm her that way. Unless she was really sleepy, Princess Madeleine accepted nothing short of warm human arms. He set aside his sketchpad and swooped her out of the basket, lifting her up high.
“Hello sunshine!” he called, and her wail turned into a surprise hiccup at the speed of the movement. Not that it’d last, but Nero smacked her cheek while she was calm anyway, then yelled over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. “Get us some warm milk before she goes full banshee, will you?”
Nero glanced at the clock--and yep, they had twenty minutes tops in which she might be distracted enough not to cry, and then if she wasn’t feeding, they were done for. He took a quick whiff at her diaper and once satisfied it didn’t smell of poo, he settled back into the loveseat with Mads against his chest. She stared at him, golden-brown eyes intent on his face (she didn’t use to be able to focus like this, and it still amazed him all the little things she learned every day)--one… two seconds… then her lips curved into a grimace and she wailed. Nero couldn’t help his laugh.
“You’re one hell of a little lady, you know that I hope!”
She probably did, cause he sure told her about a dozen times a day. Nero wondered if he’d been the same, if that was why everyone at the orphanage had resented him, and he immediately shut down that train of thought. No point in it, really. With a playful poke on Mads tiny nose, he slunk out of the seat and back up, to carry her around frog-style while gently shaking her. She subsided long enough for Vergil to come around with the milk bottle, and then Nero plugged her in with a relieved sigh.
Thus began the endless cycle of feeding the baby, rocking the baby, walking with the baby because she liked that more than anything, switching from human arms to demon arms to avoid tiring too soon, and--when finally the cries subsided for more than a few minutes, crashing back into their bought-used rocking chair with the baby, hoping to put her to sleep.
Vergil wordlessly left him to the routine, instead stalking through the house to take care of pretty much everything else--washing onesies and diapers, cleaning the dishes, preparing meals ahead of time, picking up the other three kids toys scattered all around the living room… As much as he obviously feared holding Madeleine, acting like he was liable to break her, he more than made up for it through house upkeep, and Nero was ridiculously thankful he’d come to live with them.
They’d gone through the cycle at least three times, maybe more, (it was easy to lose track) and Nero had managed to chomp down dinner by the time Madeleine grew tired enough that she could no longer be coaxed into a quieter state through energetic walks and a dummy. It didn’t help that she forgot how to drink half the time, biting into the plastic teat instead of sucking from it (something Kyrie had abundantly complained about whenever Mads repeated the behaviour on her), or choking on the milk and forcing Nero to hurriedly straighten her up for a burp. Vergil jumped to his feet just about every time that happened, waves of demonic power slipping out of him even though he’d seen it over and over. Nero had no doubt he’d freeze time the moment he was convinced she was in any danger. It was a little intense, maybe, but every tiny display of overprotective anxiousness from him still filled Nero with quiet warmth.
She became much harder to put back to sleep, and the brief hope of a quiet night Nero had entertained this afternoon vanished. If anything, she seemed to have replenished energy to scream harder, and no amount of singing to her or rocking really helped. His ears rang from the constant wails, his heart shrivelled with every new minute he failed to comfort her, to be the father she needed, and his patience thinned until he felt like punching a hole in the nearby wall. Mads' nonstop cries made it impossible to think, and every time he hoped she'd calmed and he set her down in the basket to sleep, she just started anew.
Finally he had enough. He was supposed to have backup, wasn't he? Nero stomped to Vergil, who had been hovering a few steps behind with warm milk, and pushed her into his arms. His father’s eyes widened in fear.
"Your turn," he declared. "I'm going for a walk--just a few minutes, don't panic! I need to clear my head. You just… sing or whatever."
"I don't think--"
"You've lived through worse, gramps."
He didn't give Vergil another chance to protest, just whirled around and left the room. It had to be the middle of the night now, but he didn't care. He needed some quiet to fight off the mounting guilt and panic.
###
A baby. He had a baby in his arms.
No need to panic. He had done this before. A few minutes. Under supervision.
The door snapped shut as Nero left, and his heart stammered.
He was definitely panicking. Which, really. Nero was right. He had survived worse. But it wasn't him he was worried about, not in the slightest. It was the minuscule warm bean in his arms, the length of her body barely more than his forearm, her heavy head in his palm, still entirely unsupported by her neck yet. Madeleine had drawn her first breath only six weeks ago, and in that short span of time, Vergil had come to realize babies knew nothing about how to live. She could barely see more than a few feet and didn't even understand that her hands were hers. It was a miracle any such creatures survived.
It was a miracle Nero had, when he hadn't been there to protect him at all.
Madeleine's cry brought him back to the present. It had such a desperate, angry undertone, it felt like being stabbed straight through the lungs--and now that it was his responsibility to stop it, he understood why Nero had needed to leave. He just--he needed to stay calm. Sit down first. He could do that. Nico handled this baby like she was a ragged doll; surely he could slide a few feet to the side and sit down! Keeping his baby-holding arm rigid to steady Madeleine’s jerky and surprisingly strong movements, Vergil inched his way to the loveseat and lowered himself into it.
Mission accomplished, he told himself as he allowed a deep, slow breath--then Madeleine jerked so hard he briefly thought he’d drop her, and her tiny hand slapped his chin. He secured her, his heart hammering in his chest, then gently caught the small fingers. Her entire palm could not be any bigger than his thumb, and when she reflexively closed her fingers around his, it felt like his entire lungs emptied. He stared into her eyes, and she hiccupped, big tears rolling down her cheek.
"Now, don't you cry on me once more," he warned.
It was, of course, the best way to get her crying again. She flung her arms out and put the full force of her minuscule lungs behind the wail, and Vergil would have sworn she could out-scream even the eldest banshee in Hell. Her yells felt like panic directly injected into his brain, and for a moment he only managed to cling to Madeleine and despair. He had sat down without a toy to distract her with, and he didn't dare stand back up.
"Please, little bean. You are making everyone's lives needlessly difficult."
Madeleine did not care for his plea, as a baby her age was wont to do. She kept crying, squirming in his iron grasp, frying his ability to think. Vergil did his best to review the many tricks he had seen Nero and Kyrie employ over the last weeks. Kyrie sang to her, and Nero tickled her often, yet he couldn’t bring himself to try either, nor did he think he had the skills necessary to pull them off. He had never prepared for this. Years honing his demon powers and swordsmanship did not adequately provide him with--
Wait. Madeleine’s field of vision still left to be desired, yet Kyrie had been very adamant she enjoyed lights, particularly if they turned on and off. He may not wish to stand back up, but even sitting, he could conjure something shiny and blue for her to stare at. Vergil’s heart hammered painfully against his chest as he reached within himself and drew upon his powers, creating a trio of dagger-shaped summoned swords above his head. As blue light bathed Madeleine and him, she stopped crying. Her eyes widened and tracked the swords as Vergil spun them.
“Light shows, is it?” Vergil asked. “I believe you are in luck.”
He booped her nose and shifted her on his lap, so she could more easily stare above him. The prolonged silence soothed his nerves. Vergil let the daggers fade, and Madeleine’s face immediately scrunched up. No time to lose, then--he began an actual spectacle.
Vergil let daggers appear and disappear in the familiar rhythms of the children songs that had filled the house since Madeleine’s birth. He could not draw as wide a variety of notes from it as when he had the Yamato in hand, but Kyrie was not there to judge, and Madeleine simply did not do so. She watched lights flare in and out, her tears dry at last, and when Vergil brought forth five daggers and had them collide in a shower of sparks, she emitted a screamish, gurgly giggle, the sound unlike anything adults ever produced--like she’d no idea how to produce an actual laugh. Tension unwound within Vergil like so many taut ropes, which all pooled at the bottom of his chest in a warm bundle. He’d never heard anything more beautiful than this scrappy, half-formed baby-giggle, and now he wanted nothing else than to provoke it all over again.
###
Fear jolted through Nero when he first noticed the flashes of blue coming from his house, and he broke into a sprint, demon energy pulsing through him and coiling, ready for a fight. He stopped just short of bursting through the door, braking hard and fast upon hearing… a song? That was definitely Vergil’s voice, in sync with the crystalline clink of summoned sword, spouting nonsense rhymes. Madeleine was not crying. In fact, she was giving her grandfather her best approximation of a giggle.
How the hell had he gotten the baby under control in less than 30 minutes? They’d been trying for days! To think this asshole had been so fucking terrified of holding Mads, and it turned out he could charm her without breaking a sweat? Damn but he would kick his ass. Later, though. Now, he meant to enjoy this--and gather video proof.
Nero snapped his cellphone out and gently pushed the door open, stopping just short of when it’d creak. He edged his way inside, the sweet melody of his dad’s rhymes and his daughter’s happy screams swirling together and turning his insides into soft wool. Vergil held the baby as he valsed through the living room, lighting the ceiling up with a series of quick summoned blades. Although he’d retained a mostly human form, his demon tail had curled back up, and he used it to tickle and poke Mads in rhythm with the music, drawing the most exquisite gasps and laughs out of her.
There was no way Vergil would’ve allowed himself the little dance steps and songs had anyone been present in the house, and the sight left Nero so stunned, he almost forgot to turn on his camera. He watched, breathless, as Vergil switched from a rhyme about bubbles and baths to one on body parts and casually touched Mads’ cheeks and nose and hands as he named them. Nero might never share the video (except with Kyrie; she absolutely needed to see this), but he already knew he’d watch it over and over.
Vergil let the song trail off, and as the last summoned sword vanished with a tink, he spun and found himself facing Nero--who hurriedly shoved his cellphone in his back pocket, grinning.
“Nero.”
Vergil froze, deer-in-headlights style, awaiting judgement. It was tempting to stare in silence and let him stew in his embarrassment, but chances Mads would get bored of it quick, and he sure as fuck wasn’t gonna risk her crying again.
“So ya got secret grandpa charms, huh?”
“I-I hardly think--that is…” Even in the dim light, Nero could tell he’d grown beet-red. He sighed and readjusted his grip on the baby. “She enjoys flashing blue lights, it would seem.”
“No shit.” His face hurt from smiling so much. He hovered closer, to peek at his little angel in Vergil’s arms. She gurgled and reached for her grandpa’s chest, clearly questing for something. “Milk time again, I’d say. You’re in charge. Maybe your magic will put her to sleep for good.”
What counted as ‘good’ varied depending on how awful the rest of the week had been, but in this case, anything upwards of 60 minutes would be a fucking miracle. She’d been drinking a shitload of milk tonight, though, so they might get lucky. Nero slid into the kitchens and set the milk to warm, before sending the video to Kyrie with the caption “For your eyes only.” It would reassure her, if she wasn’t already knocked out and sleeping.
Once he had the milk ready, Nero returned to the living room and handed it to Vergil, before stuffing pillows under the man’s arm to help him hold Mads steady. He’d grown quiet again--probably awe and embarrassment mixing together into one big pile of awkwardness--so Nero crashed the sofa next to him and closed his eyes. Only the discreet gulps of Mads drinking down her milk broke the silence, and he hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to hear the sounds of his house once more.
“She appears to be sliding into sleep,” Vergil said.
“Is the milk all gone?”
“Almost.”
Nero motioned for Vergil to pass the baby, which he did--very awkwardly, like he held the most precious porcelain. Mads was thankfully a great burper, and he only needed a few solid taps on her back to get her going. Which, damnit, meant she’d puked on his shoulder again. He kept forgetting to place something there beforehand. With a sigh, he handed her back to Vergil.
“Try and get her to drink a bit more.” He met Vergil’s dubious gaze. “Trust me. She’s got more room than she thinks, and the more we fill that lil’ stomach up, the better our chances of not hearing her wail for the next two hours.”
“Very well.”
He pushed the bottle against Mads’ lips and she immediately reached for it, clamping hands around and sucking it in. For all that she sometimes forgot how to drink, she was a hungry little gremlin and rarely refused offered milk. Before long, she’d emptied what had been left and curled right back against Vergil’s chest. He stared at her, wordless, as he placed the empty bottle on the side table.
“Warm, ain’t she?” Nero asked.
Vergil’s gaze flicked up but didn’t stay there--like he’d meant to look at Nero but couldn’t muster the willpower not to go right back to the baby. Not that Nero blamed him. Mads was an utterly adorable creature and none of them could resist her charms.
“Nero, she’s so…” He trailed off, shook his head.
“Exhaustingly perfect?” Nero asked, and it drew a chuckle out of him.
“Precisely, yes.” She’d stopped moving now, slipping into a welcomed slumber. “Should I put her back into the basket?”
“Nah.” They tried not to have her sleep in their arms all the time, but with the kind of shit week they’d had, Nero felt like an exception was in order. Besides, he didn’t think Vergil had ever held her for long. “Ya hold onto her. I’ll get her grandpa-made blanket so she’s even cozier.”
They had her wrapped and tucked in a few minutes later, and apart from a small hiccup and a peek through barely-opened eyes, she didn’t wake or protest at all. Nero handed her back to Vergil, and in the dimmed light of the living room, he could see his dad’s eyes shining. Fuck, but Nero couldn’t help wonder if he looked at him the same way, sometimes--if he stared at his son like nothing could make this life any better, any more worthwhile. Nero had never caught the look, yet he’d never forget Vergil’s words about redefining pride. Maybe it just was a different sort of feeling, when you didn’t nurture that love from baby stage--maybe he, too, would grow to love Mads in different ways as she got older. Right now, though, he was pretty sure he looked at her round cheeks and pretty tuft of white hair the same way Vergil did.
“So, how d’ya wanna kill time?” he asked.
Vergil’s brow furrowed. “You should sleep while you can.”
“No way.” Nero flopped on the couch besides Vergil, close enough that he had a good view of his girl’s face. That immediately brought a smile to his face. “It’s just the two of us with the whole ass house. S’not gonna happen often, dad, so we oughta make the best of it.”
“The… best of it?”
“Yeah. Trade stories or whatever.”
For all that he and Vergil had managed to find good speaking grounds, they never really did just sit down and talk. They sparred, Vergil helped with the house, Nero went hunting and shared what he’d seen, but they didn’t do casual things together. Which, yeah, that’d be weird if it happened too much, but this was a strange night and his baby wasn’t crying for once, and Nero kinda wanted to hear about the no-doubt wild shit that must have happened in the Legendary Dark Knight’s household.
“You ever had a pet?”
“A--” Vergil stopped, a sharp chuckle escaping him. “Why, Nero, are you considering adding one more source of disorder to your family? I would have expected the current chaos to be sufficient.”
“Wouldn’t mind a dog one day, but nah. Just curious.” And it was a fairly safe question, less likely to stir awful memories from Vergil’s past.
“Well, I am afraid we did not have pets.” Mads pushed a hand out of her blanket cocoon, interrupting him. He readjusted his position and gently slid a single finger under her many, minuscule ones. She immediately gripped it. “Animals behaved strangely around Father and I doubt most conventional pets would have been happy living in his house. I seem to recall Dante insisting on a dog nonetheless, and an argument about pets of a more demonic nature, but that particular memory is… hazy. I will say, however, that I used to be quite friendly with the cats I encountered in my--Nero!”
Nero startled at his name. He’d been halfway through a yawn, his mind already dozing off.
“Perhaps you should reconsider sleep.”
Oh, he had his Dad Voice now. It’d taken time for Nero to spot this change of tone, but when Vergil grew concerned and convinced he had the appropriate solution, he shifted into a father-knows-best mood that was simultaneously endearing and frustrating.
“I said no.”
“In which case, I have a suggestion.” The corner of his lips curved into a smile, and Nero perked at the hint of mischief in his voice. “When demons pursued me no matter where I hid, I often needed to keep myself awake. I was much too young for coffee, which only has a limited impact regardless, but I frequently relied on a secret weapon.”
He paused, and Nero rolled his eyes. Dante might be more overt about his dramatic flair, but Vergil had his own way of being constantly extra. "Secret weapon, huh?"
He made sure to sound unimpressed, and Vergil took the bait. His eyebrows shot up, his lips pinched, and he tilted his chin up. "Perhaps a demonstration would be in order? I do believe you have the required materials."
"You're on."
Regret passed through Vergil’s expression as he realized this meant he had to set Mads down, and Nero had to suppress a snort of laughter. He lived here and could have her anytime, yet until today, he’d done his utmost to avoid holding his granddaughter for more than a few minutes. At least that particular absurdity had been broken. They placed Mads in her baby basket, where she miraculously kept sleeping, and Vergil glided towards the kitchen, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like more children’s rhymes.
Nero heaved himself on the table--a deliciously forbidden pleasure, that--and watched as his father retrieved a large bowl and their supersize bag of regular chips from their respective cupboards. He dumped the entirety of it within the bowl, then rummaged in the pantry until he found two more ingredients: kosher salt and pure vinegar. He radiated smug excitement as he brought the bowl to the table, sprinkled salt on top of the chips then opened the vinegar bottle.
“Are you prepared, Nero?”
“That’s your secret weapon?” he asked, crossing his arms. “They’re just chips. Homemade salt and vinegar chips.”
“There is no ‘just’ where this is concerned.” Poor Vergil, he bristled with ill-concealed offence and wasted no time in rushing to his secret chips’ defence. “The taste of these will burn your mouth and throat, and their fumes carry you through even the most difficult nights. Let them scorch you into awakening and then we’ll see if you still call them ‘just’ chips.”
Definitely, constantly extra. Nero snorted and was about to tell him off for the drama, but Vergil uncorked the vinegar and poured a ridiculous amount of it on top of the chips, soaking them thoroughly. There had to be a whole fucking pool at the bottom of the bowl now! His dad scooped one up as Nero watched, open-mouthed, his throat and eyes already burning from the vapors.
“Best eat them while they crunch.”
Vergil’s singsong voice was a challenge for Nero to go in now, if he dared. The whole-ass kitchen might stink now, but Nero wouldn’t let that stop him. He scoffed and plunged his hands into the bowl, grabbing a handful of wet chips and shoving them into his mouth without hesitation.
The sharp acidic taste startled him, but fuck, these were actually excellent? Like, miles ahead of the shitty wannabe salt and vinegar chips you bought out of a grocery store. Nero let out a muffled sound of delight and wasted no time swallowing them and grabbing more. He could feel each chip burn his lips and sear its way down his throat, and every damn bit acted like a jolt through him.
Vergil observed in silence, victorious pale eyes catching the moonlight, smugness curving his lips. When they parted to speak, Nero cut him off.
“Yeah, whatever, old man. Y’were right,” he mumbled, mouth still half full. “Now eat if ya want any.”
Vergil dragged a chair closer to the table, grabbed the bowl of chips, then propped his feet on the table while he kept the bowl on his lap, out of Nero’s easy reach. The sheer impropriety of it snatched a laugh out of Nero, who sent his demon arms diving into the bowl for his next handful.
“Now I know those chips really get to your head. Feet on the table like you’re Dante on some shit!”
Vergil didn’t even protest. He closed his eyes as he continued eating them, each new chip dragging a little pleased hm-hm out of him, like he was in a whole other fucking world. Nero’s lips chafed already, so he slowed down and instead basked in the eerie moment. His girl had quieted at last and he was sitting on their table, savouring pure salt and vinegar on a chip-like vector while Vergil had thrown all pretense of prim and proper control to the winds and slid into an almost childish enjoyment of his favourite food. Even now, he didn’t get to see his dad relax so much--and that had happened twice in the same evening. As much as Nero wanted to snap a picture of him, he wouldn’t risk breaking their strange bubble for it. B’sides, if he sent anything from this angle to Kyrie, she’d not only know Vergil had put his feet on the table, but also that he’d sat on it. No way this information escaped the room.
They emptied the bowl far too quickly to Nero's liking. Vergil clacked his tongue as he stared at the pool of vinegar at the bottom of the bowl. The asshole looked positively fucking sorrowful as he sighed, extended the bowl in Nero's general direction, then met his gaze.
"Nero… For this experience to be complete, there is one thing left you must do." One solemn shake of the bowl sent the salted vinegar at the bottom sloshing. "I believe in you, my son."
Fucking. Hell. What an absolute fucking dork. He'd put his serious mask on, too, like nothing mattered more than whether or not Nero drank his goddamn vinegar. He snatched it up with a grin.
"I ain't afraid of some cheap home acid," he declared. He brought the bowl to his lips and downed the whole thing one-shot.
It ripped through his throat, burning the whole way down until it splashed in his stomach, turning his head and chest hot. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes but he kept going until every last drop was gone, then he slammed the bowl down on the table as if the pint-worth of vinegar was no more trouble than a shooter of vodka. It tasted amazing, though--a whole explosion in his mouth, even better than the chips themselves--and he'd never felt so awake.
"Fuck," he said.
"Secret weapon."
Nero's shaky laughter surprised both of them. Every pore of him breathed in vinegar now. "Whole house stinks of it. It's a miracle Mads ain't back to screamin' like the world's comin' down on her."
Vergil closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. "Perhaps she already knows the truth about the power behind her grandfather's homemade salt and vinegar chips."
"Don't ya wish," Nero retorted, trying to hide how warm he felt every time Vergil labelled himself 'grandfather' behind the bite of his words. He would never get tired of it, or of any of the small ways they got to be a (mostly) normal family (sometimes). Whole night of eating stomach-destroying chips with his father while the baby slept? Sign him up any fucking day. Only one thing could make this better. "Hey, dad… ya think the vinegar stinks strong enough to cover the smell of bacon?"
"Bacon?"
"Ya heard me," Nero said. "I figured, maybe I outta initiate you to the Secret Super Nero Mix. Your shit gets you through the night; mine will get ya through the day!"
Vergil removed his legs from the table, instead leaning forward with clear interest. "And it's secret because…"
"Kyrie hates it." He jumped down the table and motioned for Vergil to follow him back into the kitchens. "I keep tellin' her I gotta feed my inner demon, but she just won't listen!"
It'd mostly become a joke between them. She found the mix disgusting and teased him restlessly about it, so he tried to eat it where she wouldn't see, or when he returned from a hunt at the crack of dawn and she still slept. He hadn't had any in way more than a year now, though--certainly not since he'd lost an arm. The smell would've made her incredibly nauseous through her pregnancy, and he didn't wanna have his meals at the cost of hers.
"Here I thought Kyrie had exemplar tolerance. It must be quite something, if even she cannot abide it.”
Vergil had a way to deliver his jokes with the most serious and calm tone ever. Or at least Nero thought they were jokes. It kinda freaked him out, that he couldn’t tell for sure, so he just stared right back at him for longer than necessary.
“You tell me, ‘cause we’re doin’ it.”
“Most excellent.”
The singsong was back in his tone, and Vergil’s obvious pleasure warmed Nero. This was ridiculous, but fuck, the last time he’d wound up flinging bacon in a pan in the middle of the night, Nero had been with Credo. They’d come home after a three-days mission with a mix of their most annoying colleagues--Piers McSleazy and Bubblegum Penelope (not that you’d ever hear Credo use the nicknames, but he smiled at them all the same when they were alone) did not make a restful team--and they’d both needed to decompress. He wished Credo and Vergil had gotten to meet. These two fuckers had so much in common, in their own weird way. But, really, he just wished Credo was alive at all.
“Nero… Are you all right?”
He startled at Vergil’s voice. Had he just spent the last minutes staring at his pan, unopened pack of bacon in hand? Damn. “Huh. Yeah. Got lost in memories there.”
He’d never really talked about Credo with Vergil. Nero had healed a shitton of wounds over the last year, but this one remained raw. He didn’t want to poke it, so he tore open the bacon and threw a bunch of slices in the sizzling pan. The smell mixed in with the leftover vinegar and soothed him.
Vergil didn’t ask what memories, but a gloved hand briefly squeezed Nero’s shoulder before his father leaned against the counter, next to the oven. They watched wordlessly as the bacon darkened and shriveled in the pan, fat melting off from it as it cooked. Nero kept his ears peeled for any hiccups or cries from the living room, but Mads remained blessedly silent, too. He couldn’t remember when she’d last slept this long--she must have hit the miraculous 60 minutes mark now. After a while, Vergil returned to the living room and gathered the empty milk bottles, set them in their washing basin, and poured hot water and soap on top. He went back for dirty onesies and clothes, gathering them in a pile for later, and was about to properly clean the bottles when Nero placed the last piece of crispy bacon on a plate.
All other activities ceased. Vergil observed as Nero spread several bacon strips on their plates. He then filched the peanut butter from the breakfast cupboard, scooped two huge spoons out of it for each plate and flung it on the bacon. While it melted off, he yanked the freezer door open, grabbed for their vanilla ice cream, and added one triumphant ball of it on top of it all. The decadent drips of bacon fat, peanut butter and ice cream had started mixing at the bottom of it all, and his mouth watered at the incoming feast. He grabbed one of the two plates and extended it towards Vergil, who accepted with ill-concealed shock.
“This is a monstrosity,” he stated before smiling at Nero. “I will gladly partake in it.”
They crashed back at the table, and Vergil gave his fork a small spin before he plunged it through ice cream and peanut butter, hitting the crunchy bacon and breaking through it. His eyes widened when he took his first bite, and when several lines barred his forehead, Nero started worrying Vergil wouldn’t like it (his loss, really, and yet…). Then his father quickly shoved another bite in his mouth, and a third, allowing himself a few hmmph of delight as he ate. Grinning from ear to ear, Nero dug into his own plate of Secret Super Nero Mix.
This shit was a wholeass explosion of heavy tastes warring in his mouth. The intense saltiness of bacon and peanut butter competed with the sweetness of the ice cream, while the hot and cold halves of it clashed together. Salt and vinegar chips had fried his brain because of the highly-concentrated taste of acid; these sent his whole tastebuds valsing and trying to figure out where to start. It was aggressively heavy and powerful, and Nero loved every fucking second of it. The two of them wiped their plates clean in a matter of minutes, and once he had finished, Vergil’s fingers hovered above the small pool at the bottom of his. Nero snorted.
“I ain’t repeatin’ anything I see tonight,” he said.
That was all the incentive Vergil needed to wipe his fingers across the plate and straight up lick ‘em. Not even dignified licking, either. He acted like Dante trying to get the last tidbits of cheese grease out of the pizza box, and Nero was living for it. This whole night was turning into a big soirée of debauchery while watching the baby.
“If I may, Nero…” Vergil stopped to pick up the last of the peanut butter from his plate with his index finger. “You say this is called a ‘Mix’, and I’ll admit I expected you to make use of a blender over the course of preparing your meal. I wonder if it might serve well in a format closer to that of a milk shake? It would certainly give it the advantage of portability.”
“Portability.”
He imagined himself grabbing his Super Nero Mix at the crack of dawn before heading out on a missing, sipping from a straw with his feet on the van’s dashboard while Nico hit the gas, the explosion of tastes jolting him awake. What a fucking dream.
“It was, of course, only a suggestion…”
Nero rasped his knuckles on the table and knocked twice before jumping to his feet. “No, that’s great! I love it! Let’s try it out with the leftover bacon.”
His enthusiasm brought back Vergil’s smile. “Heat the bacon once more, then. If we are to attempt this new form, then we ought to do it right.”
So they did. They threw the bacon back into the pan at low heat, and while it warmed up, Nero found their blender and threw in the peanut butter and ice cream, along with a hint of milk so it’d have a better texture. It might be the hour and the lack of proper sleep, but the perspective of a bacon and PB milkshake turned him giddy as all hell. As soon as the strips were ready, Vergil dropped them in the blender before scooping a whole spoonful of melted fat and adding it on top. Nero laughed, capped the whole thing, and slammed the blend button.
When the blender screamed into life, he brutally remembered he had a sleeping baby in the room next door.
Nero cursed and ripped the cord, too panicked to even press the button again. He met Vergil’s gaze and they waited, neither of them daring to breathe, every fibre of their beings ready to flinch at the first of Mads’ wails.
The silence remained.
Relief washed through Nero and he ran a hand over his face. How could they be so dumb? Poor Mads needed her rest, and she was hard enough to put to sleep, they should’ve known better than to run a goddamn blender right next to her! Fuck, but they almost ruined all of Vergil’s hard work for a chance at a delicious milkshake.
It was… honestly, it was downright hilarious. Pure. Dumbass. Nero couldn’t help his sharp bark of laughter, and then Vergil was laughing, too, in those strangely melodious and dark chuckles. He reached for the counter for support as Nero leaned against it, too, and it was all they could do to keep their hilarity at an acceptable noise level.
“Perhaps we should add foresight to this recipe,” Vergil said.
“Ya think?” Nero pushed himself off, his ribs hurting slightly from laughing so much. “I should check on her. Make sure our little princess is still all good.”
“Very well. I shall endeavour to fix our blender issue.”
Nero had no clue what he meant by that, but he could ask when he returned, if Vergil hadn’t busted the whole kitchen somehow. Mads took priority, anyway.
He stalked back to the living room, careful to lighten the habitual stomping of his walk, and leaned over her basket. She was still sleeping soundly, wrapped in a bundle of comfy blankets, a single arm jutting out of her cocoon. Nero readjusted the lighter top blanket on top of it, knowing full well she'd have freed the arm within a few minutes. He ran a finger over her tiny nose, his smile widening with every second his eyes stayed on her. Damn, but she was beautiful. Every time he looked at her, he was stunned by it. Every little piece of his tiny baby was the most blessed thing in this world, and it still didn't feel real at all. Amelia, Julio, and Tycho had dropped into his life unannounced, with forceful personalities and issues all of their own. He loved them deeply, but Mads couldn't even see the world properly yet, and that felt different.
Nero was reaching out to caress her cheek when a wave of demonic power washed over him. He'd recognize Vergil's peculiar way of distorting time anytime now, and within it emerged a dulled out buzzing--the blender, Nero realized, and it was all he could do not to laugh. He snorted, blew a kiss in Mads's general direction, then returned to the kitchens.
Vergil was pouring them two glasses of the milkshake as he strode in. He extended one to Nero, then raised his.
"To our great taste in food,” he declared.
Nero clinked his glass against Vergil’s, “And the secret sharing of it.” He downed the whole glass in one go, savouring the explosion of heavy tastes on his tongue. “We’re like a secret cult or some shit.”
“As long as neither of us summons Dante’s accursed pizza…”
“Okay, now I wanna hear that.”
Nero grabbed a chair for himself and flung himself into it, one arm over its back. Of course Dante would dig some sort of ridiculous pizza. But how bad could it really be, considering what they’d just eaten? Cursed foods did not exist, only weak-willed eaters.
Vergil refilled his glass with what had been left of the milkshake, and they settled around the table, father and son, as he began the tale of Dante’s biggest culinary enterprise as a child--one he’d gleefully reproduced within two weeks of Vergil’s return. It started simple enough, with the most basic cheese pizza imaginable: dough, tomato sauce, mozzarella. Except, then came the entire bag of candy corn, and even Nero seriously had to reconsider his maxim. But he was no weak-willed eater; when Dante came over next, he was having him cook this shit. Vergil desperately tried to convince him otherwise--“You do not understand, the candy corn releases juice and the pizza becomes moist and bitter!”--but there was no changing his mind. He needed to know.
They were still arguing about it when Madeleine’s first hiccupy cry reached them, almost an hour later. Nero didn’t remember when she’d last slept so much, and even though dawn was peeking and he knew he’d have to run the whole day with exactly zero sleep, he didn’t remember being this energized since Mads had crashed into his life. He pushed himself up, grinning still.
“Back to our duties! You get the milk, gramps, and I’ll get the baby.”
“Alas, our secret nourishment cult will need reconvene at a later date to further discuss this issue.” He rose and clasped his hands behind his back before bowing, all solemn and shit. “It has been a pleasure.”
Nero snort-laughed, but fuck, the old man was right. It’d been good. “Yeah, let’s do this again. And who knows, maybe one day Mads will join us with her own secret recipe.”
Vergil’s whole body softened at the idea, and for a few seconds he only stared ahead, smiling as he imagined that future. Nero’s throat tightened--every proof of how deeply Vergil loved his granddaughter left him yearning for a past they’d never had a chance to share. They were together now, the whole fucking world be damned, and they were making the best of it--through the best fucking food, and the most beautiful baby.