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Nero startled awake, quickly trying to make sense of his surroundings and catalog any threats. He was sprawled on the couch in Dante’s (their?) living room, having crashed and fallen asleep as soon as he walked in through the door, back form his gruelling 3-day demon hunting trip.
What woke him up? Apparently Vergil, trying to cover him with a warm-looking blanket.
“Dad…” Nero groaned, rubbing roughly at his own face, the adrenalin winding down now that he realised there was no danger.
“I did not intend to wake you,” came Vergil’s quiet response.
Nero sighed and sank back against the couch, shaking his head at his father in a gesture of ‘it’s fine, whatever’. He looked up at Vergil… even though his voice was soft and his gesture tender, Vergil’s expression was dissatisfied. Like it always was. Fuck. Nero did not have the energy to deal with his father’s bullshit right now. “What?” he annoyedly asked, tired, but never tired enough to back down from a fight.
Vergil reached his hand out to the side Nero’s face, his thumb softly caressing the hair above his ear. Nero was suddenly weak against his father’s affectionate gesture, all the animosity gone in an instant when offered the love he’d fruitlessly craved for years.
Nero hated this weakness of his. He always tried to cover it up but the truth was, the wound left by his father’s abandonment was still open, and any amount of affection poured into it would never be enough to fill it. He would greedily take anything.
“You shouldn’t exhaust yourself like this,” his father gently chastised him.
“We need the money old man,” Nero murmured, “Dante will never fix this place up and I don’t want to live in a shithole.”
Vergil frowned at his son. “Language, Nero. Don’t disparage Dante, you cannot know the struggles he faced to obtain this place. And he welcomed us here, in his home.”
“It’s still a shithole,” Nero grumbled, feeling regretful about his earlier comment, but stubborn as always. He did truly appreciate finally having a home, finally having a family, and he wanted to make it… nicer. He wanted this place to be cozy and welcoming so that Vergil wouldn’t leave this time. He didn't want a rundown building reminding him of the orphanage he grew up in. Nero knew it was up to him to fix it up, as the truth was, “Dante is a cheap slob.”
Vergil sighed through his nose, displeased with his son. “Well since you’re awake now and so energetic, perhaps you should bathe and properly lay yourself down to sleep.”
Nero grumbled and complained as he got up, still bone-tired and unsteady on his feet. Vergil helped, holding him by his upper arm to carry some of his weight and keep him upright, and held his other hand at his son’s back, silently offering comfort. It felt nice.
They slowly made their way up the stairs to the bathroom, where Vergil sat his son down on the lidded toilet to prepare him a warm bath. Nero leaned against the wall, trying not to fall asleep watching his father work. When the tub was partly filled, steaming and fragrant, Vergil came back and helped him with his clothes. Nero silently accepted his father’s aid, moving just enough to allow him to take his bloodied garments off.
Next thing he knew, he was in the tub, the hot water relaxing him to his core, bath foam tickling his nose. There was a careful hand against his forehead keeping the warm water out of his eyes as Vergil poured some over his scalp. Nero sagged back, his head resting against the tub while Vergil washed his hair, massaging and threading his fingers through Nero’s short strands.
Nero should have felt silly and embarrassed but he was too tired to care, and too deprived of affection to reject it. He partly slept through his father’s ministrations, sometimes awaking and becoming aware of Vergil gently raising his leg out of the water to properly clean a wound, or holding his hand to carefully inspect if his fingernails suffered damage. He didn’t need any bandaging thankfully.
Nero more properly awoke when his father slowly pulled him out of the bath and sat him back down to dry him with a fluffy towel. Nero frowned. It felt luxurious against his skin, it didn’t seem like something Dante would splurge on. When Vergil wrapped another soft towel around him, Nero realised why. It smelled like Vergil… it was his father’s. Nero threw his hands around Vergil’s shoulders and buried his face in his father’s chest to hide the tears gathering in his eyes. This must be what being loved felt like.
His father held him close for a while, gently stroked his back. After Nero’s breathing calmed down a bit and he was past the danger of doing something as embarrassing as crying in front of his father, Vergil wrapped Nero’s legs around his waist and lifted him up easily. Still embracing him, he walked his son to his room.
Soon, Nero was dressed in comfortable sweats and an oversized shirt, covered in blankets and a warm duvet, with his father caressing his scalp as he fell asleep. The mattress seemed softer and the covers nicer somehow; maybe it was Nero's fatigue or his father's presence making everything seem better.
He tried to stay awake for this, to feel his father's caring touch and convince himself that he wasn’t unwanted, but he hadn’t slept in days and hadn’t felt this cherished in years, if ever. As his surroundings started fading away he realised he hadn’t let go of his father’s towel, still clutching it’s softness to his chest.
————
Dante was waiting for his brother to exit Nero’s room. He’d heard their conversation earlier and tried to stomp on the feeling of inadequacy taking root in his chest. He’d been very young and naive when buying the old building, spending his hard earned money on it down to his last cent, but also having to rely on predatory loans for the rest of the sum. He was just a kid himself back then, with no human background, no credit history. In his desperation to have a home again, this place seemed like a heavenly gift. He didn’t expect the mounting debt that came with it.
Watching it critically now, he could see why Nero thought it was a shithole. Dante honestly did his best to tidy it up after his family moved in, and worked even harder than before, accepting every job available to get more cash. He’d been trying to furnish the place; he bought the most comfortable bed he found and placed it in Nero’s room, purchased a small bookcase with antique tomes for his brother. Dante started to buy quality essentials he’d never allowed himself to enjoy before, like the expensive soap and the towels Vergil used tonight…but he realised he would have to do better, if he expected his son and mate to find this place worthy of them.
He wished he’d been more careful with his finances, he wished he could offer his family a home to be proud of. But he'd been unprepared - he’d never expected his mate to be resurrected and to find out he had a child. It used to be just him, living in this empty place with his painful memories for company. There had been no point in making it inviting, when all Dante did here was drink himself to sleep to hopefully avoid the nightmares, occasionally remembering to eat some take-out just to barely survive.
Vergil walked into the hallway, softly closing Nero’s door behind him, and advanced with steady steps towards Dante. He gathered his brother in his arms, tucked Dante’s head under his chin, shushing him and rocking him gently.
Dante realised he was shaking. He grabbed Vergil like a lifeline, inhaled his scent hungrily. Nero’s own scent was fresh on his mate’s clothes. He couldn’t lose them. Dante would not survive if his brother left him again. He needed to fix this.
“He didn’t mean it, Dante…” Vergil whispered, comforting his brother. “Sometimes our son is rash, but he is not cruel. ”
Dante felt Vergil’s hands guiding him to meet his brother’s gaze. Vergil had a rare amused little smile on his face. “He inherited my ambition and your nerve, it’s truly not his fault. ”
Dante leaned forward into a soft kiss, his brother’s presence calming him. As long as Vergil was here it would be all right. Slowly, they would make this place a fine home for their son.