By the time Nero returned from a malodorous journey to Nico's apartment with a garbage-bagged demon tail, Trish was nowhere to be found, Lady had returned from her errand, and the five children who had been unexpectedly relegated to the park were channeling their disrupted routine into strident discord. As Nero stepped in from the garage, he could hear the rebellion mounting from the living room.

"Stop it!" whined Flavia, whose drooping shoulders suggested the damage her lack of afternoon nap had done to her usual good humor. "Quit touching me!"

Kyle, who had also been denied his usual rest, lurked near her with hands hovering in her immediate space. "I'm not touching! I'm not touching!"

Flavia whirled and slapped him with enough force that Kyle stumbled backward a step. For an instant, Nero was impressed in spite of her rule-breaking; had Lady been giving her lessons in self-defense, too?

Then Kyle's wide eyes crinkled as he opened his mouth to wail in mock pain. Carlo, who heretofore had been a neutral party, rounded on Flavia and seized one of her braids.

Nero immediately put his fingers to his mouth to whistle, forgetting what they'd recently been handling. The rank odor of deceased lizard demon nearly knocked him back a step, but he managed to get the sound out. The children, startled, turned to stare at him. "Knock it off, all of you!"

"He started it!" cried Flavia.

"I don't care who started it!" Nero snapped. "You all know better than to act like that! Now go wait in your rooms until dinner's ready."

"We can't," sulked Carlo. "Kyrie said Tony's resting in there and we can't bother him."

Nero sighed. The house simply wasn't big enough to separate all the children. "Okay, Flavia, Scipio, you go to Flavia's room for now."

Scipio looked affronted. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"It's only for a few minutes! Carlo, Kyle, you stay in here." He glanced around. "Where's Julio?"

"Helping Kyrie in the kitchen." Carlo threw himself into the armchair with a show of petulance.

"Smart kid," Nero muttered. "I'll come get you when dinner's ready. And I don't want to hear another peep out of any of you until then, understand?" He ushered Scipio and Flavia into the hall and was just stepping out after them when he heard a quiet "peep!" from the couch behind him. He whirled and jabbed a finger at Kyle, who was trying to look innocent. "Do it again and you're grounded," Nero snapped. Carl giggled at that, and Nero shifted his aim. "And you're next. Either one of you steps out of line again, you're both getting confined to your room for the next week."

Both boys instantly sobered at this threat. It was a more severe punishment than Nero typically handed out, and he realized just how far the day's events had stretched his tolerance. He sought refuge in the bathroom and took a few deep breaths to calm down before scrubbing his hands free of dead lizard—and then vigorously brushing his teeth, because he thought he could still taste it from the whistle mishap.

Kyrie glanced up from the stove as he entered the kitchen. "What was all that ruckus about? I thought I heard shouting."

Kyrie didn't approve of anyone raising their voice to a child—something Nero knew full well, and which was reinforced by the look she shot him over the saucepan she was tending. "It wasn't shouting," he hedged. "Just a warning to straighten up. Kyle was being a little…" His eyes flicked to Julio, who was setting the table, and he reined in his language. "…difficult."

"They were all really fussy at the park, too," Julio interjected. He glanced from Nero to Kyrie and lowered his voice. "If this is gonna be a regular thing, I think we might need a different emergency plan. They weren't real happy about sitting in the park."

Nero scrubbed both hands over his face, suddenly wishing he'd doused his whole head under the faucet. A nagging twinge was beginning to grow at the base of his skull. "I hope to—friggin'—whatever powers I'm still allowed to swear by that this does not become a regular thing."

Kyrie considered him a moment, then slipped her apron off and hooked it over Nero's head. He stared down at it, puzzled. It was one of her mother's old ones; her own had been soiled with Vergil's blood. "I'm going to go switch the laundry over and start the next load. You stand here—" She moved Nero in front of the stove. "—and just stir that sauce often enough to keep it from burning. In between stirs, I want you to take some deep breaths and try to calm down. All right?"

"I'm trying," he whispered. She squeezed his arm before leaving the kitchen, and Nero's throat tightened. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry until things felt better. He sure as hell didn't have the time, though, much less the privacy.

Julio finished setting the table, but lingered uncertainly. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, his voice smaller than usual. "Or would you rather not?"

Nero poked at the bubbling pasta sauce with a wooden spoon. "It's kinda been the day from hell." He huffed a weak laugh. "And for once, I only mean that semi-literally."

"I know Tony got hurt." Julio inched along the table, trying to get a better view of Nero's face. "And I haven't seen Mister Vergil since I got back. Did something happen to him?"

Nero closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. Calm down. "Yeah. He got hurt, too."

Julio chewed his lip. "Bad?"

Nero nodded. He knew Julio wanted to know more, but he didn't trust himself to speak.

"I'm sorry." Julio moved closer and squeezed Nero around the waist in an unexpected hug. "I know what it's like," he murmured against Nero's shirt. "I was real upset when my dad got sick, too."

Nero returned the hug as best he could with a marinara-coated spoon in one hand. "Thanks."

Julio backed off, suddenly self-conscious, and looked around the kitchen. "Um, is there anything else I can do in here?"

"No, I think we're just about ready. You can tell the other kids to wash up, though. Scipio and Flavia are in her room, and the trouble twosome are in the living room. Make sure they go one at a time. They're all spoiling for a fight."

"I'll keep 'em in line." Julio saluted. Nero laughed at the gesture and wondered where he'd picked it up. He sure as hell hadn't retained any of the military discipline the Order had attempted to drill into him…

Kyrie reappeared just after Julio had departed. She leaned against the door jamb, watching Nero. "Feeling any better?"

"Objectively, no." He rolled his neck and winced as the movement pulled against his injured shoulder. "I hate to admit it, because it makes me sound older than I ought to, but I think the stress is actually messing with my body. Everything hurts, and I can barely look at food."

"Or I suppose it could be the large hole that something put through your back a few hours ago." Kyrie moved closer and rubbed a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. "What was it, anyway?"

"Big… demon… scissors thing. I don't remember what they're actually called." He shook his head. "That's a little sore, but it's not serious. I think the rest is just tension."

"Perhaps." She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "I haven't felt right all evening, either."

"Sorry." He reached back with his free hand and laced his fingers with hers. "I never meant to get you involved in all this."

She shook her head without lifting it. "You know I'm part of this, just like I'm part of everything else that concerns you." She sighed. "But it's been bothering me."

"Not that there's been a shortage of messed-up things happening today, but which part, specifically?"

"The entire time we were trying to clean Vergil's wounds, I just kept thinking of all the times you returned home after a hunt with blood on your clothing and assured me that it was just a scratch, it wasn't serious, and you'd take care of it yourself. But seeing how badly hurt he was…" Her fingers tightened on his. "Just how much pain do you hide from me, Nero?"

Nero dropped the spoon beside the stove and turned to embrace her. "Hey. It's nothing I can't handle. And if it's serious, I tell you."

"Or you suffer in silence until your wounds heal enough that you think I won't be worried." She looked up at him. "Since we've been together, how many times have you willingly come to me for help when you were wounded?" Nero opened his mouth to answer, and she cut him off. "And your arm doesn't count. I found you like that."

"Well, I would have come to you that time, if I hadn't been passed out in a pool of my own blood."

"You are not helping your case."

Nero sighed. "Okay, you're right. Not many. But that's because most of the time, it really isn't that bad. You know how fast I heal."

"The day Julio was taken, you came back covered in blood. You still didn't let me see it until the next morning."

Nero knew he wasn't going to get out of this one. "Lauda put a sword through my lung. It wouldn't have been a problem except that I couldn't let go of Julio, so I was stuck with it for a while. And even then, I was fine the next day," he added before she could comment.

"Wouldn't have been a problem?" She laughed weakly. "Nero, most people die from wounds like that."

"Fortunately, I'm not most people. It hasn't managed to kill me yet."

"I'd ask how many times it's happened before, but I'm not certain I want to know." She sighed and stepped out of his arms. "We can talk about this later. The children will be washed up by now, and I don't want to keep them up any later than necessary."

"I'll go get them." Nero paused at the door. "What about Tony?"

"See if he's awake. He wasn't thrilled about resting, but I think he needed it. He tried to convince me that he wasn't in any pain and his ankle was fine. I nearly had to sit on him to keep him in bed."

"Yeah, that sounds like Dante."

She shot him a look. "And someone else I know."

"At least you know I come by it honestly." He ducked out of the kitchen before she could make a return volley and began rounding up the children. Carlo and Kyle were just as out of sorts as before, but were now showing even more signs of fatigue. Perhaps everyone would have an early night tonight.

Well, almost everyone. Nero glanced at the stairs as he passed and reminded himself that he'd have to take a chair up with him. He didn't trust himself to sit on the bed and not fall asleep.

Lady was stretched across her bed in the room she shared with Flavia, who was curled up beside her, half-asleep. Scipio was sulking on Flavia's bed. "Time for dinner," Nero announced. "You both washed up?"

Scipio nodded and wordlessly departed for the kitchen. Flavia moved more slowly. "I'm sleepy," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"You can go to bed right after dinner, if you want, but you've got to eat something first. Okay?"

She nodded and stumbled after her brother, yawning.

Nero watched her go, then turned back to Lady. "You want to brave the menagerie in the kitchen, or eat in the living room? You have your choice of seats tonight."

Lady shrugged. "I don't have a preference. Where are you and Kyrie eating?"

"I'll ask." He leaned out into the hall, where he could just see Kyrie through the kitchen door. "Kyrie, where do you want to eat tonight?"

She leaned out in the hall to answer. "In the kitchen, I assumed. Unless you'd rather?"

Nero shook his head. "I'll be upstairs. But Lady can take whichever room you don't want."

Lady pushed Nero from behind. He caught himself as he tumbled into the hall, and she stepped out behind him. "You know, we could all just stand and have a conversation like reasonable people, rather than leaning around corners."

"Just a moment." Kyrie ducked back into the kitchen, gave some instructions, and stepped back out. "What's this about you eating upstairs?"

"I figured someone needs to go up and sit with Vergil. We don't know how long he's going to be out, and somebody ought to keep an eye on him, just in case."

"I'll do it," Lady offered.

Nero blinked at her. "You sure?"

"Really, it's no trouble. You stay down here. Eat with the kids, or with Trish, when she gets back."

"Okay—uh, thanks—but…"

"It's just sitting with him, isn't it?" She glanced toward the stairs. "I can do that as well as anyone. I'll call you if he wakes up." She looked back at Nero. "Unless you'd rather do it? I mean, he is your father, and if you want to stay with him…"

"No, I don't care either way. It's just…" He hesitated.

Kyrie glanced between them and excused herself. "Whoever isn't sitting with Vergil can take supper up to whoever is. I'll have it dished up in just a minute."

Nero jerked his head toward the living room and moved down the hall. Lady followed, watching him expectantly. He struggled to think of a polite way to phrase his question, then decided there was no alternative but to be frank. "Look—don't take this the wrong way, but why are you offering? I mean, it's not like there's a crisis demanding my attention. And you don't even like Vergil."

"No, I don't." Lady sighed and stared at a point in the distance over Nero's shoulder. "But I suppose… I owe him something. An apology, at least."

"For what?"

She slumped back against the wall. "All this time, I've been suspicious of him. I was so certain he had some kind of malicious intent, that he was planning something terrible. Even when you told me you trusted him, I couldn't bring myself to. I kept thinking he was going to try to hurt Dante. Maybe even kill him." Her cheeks burned. "And then today, when Vergil saw that Dante was in danger, he didn't even hesitate. He almost died trying to protect him. That can't have been an act." She passed a hand across her face. "And I haven't exactly gone out of my way to be civil to him—partly for personal reasons, because… well, I told you about how we met. But part of it was also because, I don't know, I guess I wanted to let him know that I didn't trust him and I would be watching him." She let out a wry laugh. "And I did. I watched him prove me totally wrong and save my best friend's life while I stood by and couldn't do a damn thing—"

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about that," Nero broke in. "None of us saw that attack coming, and the only reason Vergil got to Dante was because he can freaking teleport. Hell, I've got twice the speed and five times the reach of an ordinary person and even I didn't have a chance at getting to him in time."

"I know. I'm just…" She pressed her fingertips over her eyelids. "There's a lot of bad blood between us, and some of that is my doing. I need to try to fix it. If nothing else, I should at least let him know I'm grateful to him for saving Dante. Not that he'll care at all what I think," she added with a roll of her eyes, "but I care, and it will bother me if I don't at least make the effort."

Nero thought back to Vergil's accusation that morning, when they'd argued over whether or not to involve Rosso. He hadn't seemed exactly jealous of what he perceived as Nero's preference for Dante, but it had obviously startled him to learn that he was wanted at all. "He might care more than you realize. And for what it's worth… I get it. I mean, Vergil and I didn't exactly get off to a stellar start, either." He waggled the fingers of his right hand. "I've spent the past year trying to figure out if he hated me, or resented me, or just plain didn't give a damn one way or another. Even after he saved my life in that factory, I kept trying to figure out what his angle was."

"And did you ever figure it out?" Lady caught herself. "I mean—not his angle. Just… his reasons."

"Not really." Nero sighed. "I'm starting to catch on to some of his tactics, but I think it's gonna be a long time before any of us figure out exactly what makes Vergil tick. Maybe Dante knows, but he's got a whole lifetime of experience to draw from."

"Whereas we've just witnessed an entire lifetime compressed into a few months."

"Yeah. And that raised as many questions as it answered." Nero leaned against the door jamb. "I guess I did figure one thing out," he added. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually hate me."

Lady chuckled. "I suppose that is progress."

"The weirder thing is, I don't think he hates Dante, either. I always thought he did, the way he went after him."

"So did I. But what he did today certainly seems to suggest otherwise."

Nero was wondering whether or not it would betray Vergil's confidence to share what he'd said about feeling responsible for Dante when the front door opened behind them. They turned to see Trish brushing a light mist from the sleeves of her leather jacket. "Hey, I wondered where you'd gotten to. You're just in time for dinner."

Trish didn't look as pleased as she usually would have at the mention of food. "That can wait. I found something you need to know about."

"Why do I get the feeling it isn't something good?" Nero automatically glanced down the hall to make sure no children were within earshot. "Where did you go, anyway?"

"I went to scout around for any sign of Lauda. I thought if he'd infused himself with more demonic energy, maybe I'd be able to sense him more easily."

"Any luck?"

"Not with Lauda. But I did encounter another victim of the Nilepoch."

A chill stabbed down Nero's spine. "In town?"

"No, out near the mines. A Chimera." Nero's shoulders uncoiled, but none of his relief was reflected on Trish's face. "Since it wasn't an immediate threat to anyone, I decided to observe it for a while and see what happened. It was just like the one this morning: Stunned at first, but it recovered far too quickly."

"So that one we saw this morning wasn't an anomaly." Lady tapped her lips thoughtfully. "Something has changed since we fought the Nilepoch."

"Could there be more than one?" Nero asked. "It's weird that it would have targeted two different demons in the same day. Before, it took it almost two weeks to show up again."

"It's possible another one broke through one of the old gates during that disturbance this morning, but if there were two Nilepochs, it's unlikely that they'd both have a reduced effect on their prey." Trish shrugged. "Personally, I like Lady's theory that when you damaged that orb in its mouth, you made it unable to take in as much power. Maybe it's only skipping forward in time a few hours, now, instead of days."

"If that's true, it would make it both less and more of a threat." Lady frowned. "It's not doing as much damage to its victims, but it's spending a lot more time in the here and now, and that means greater odds that it will come back into the city. We'll have to be even more vigilant."

"And don't forget that the longer it's running loose, the more it may be able to heal," Trish added. "Red Queen isn't a Devil Arm, and given enough time, most demons are able to regenerate from purely physical injuries."

"I guess we'll just have to find it and take it out before it can get stronger." Nero pushed a hand through his hair, feeling that nagging headache return at the base of his skull. "Though with Vergil down for the count, I don't know if our odds against it are any better than last time."

Trish gave a thoughtful hum and arched her eyebrows. "Well, if he stays down for the count, you could always just… happen to borrow the Yamato. Using a Devil Arm would give you a better shot at inflicting permanent damage."

Nero stared back at her. "Yeah—on myself, maybe. The last time I 'borrowed' Vergil's sword, I ended up minus one arm. I'm not keen on repeating that experience, thanks."

"There's nothing we can do about it for now," Lady broke in. "Kyrie's holding dinner for us. I'm going upstairs to look in on Vergil. We can discuss our plans in greater detail once he's out of danger."

Lady's last words echoed in Nero's mind as he went through the motions of a family dinner, scarcely tasting what he ate. Was Vergil still in danger? He'd taken it for granted that once Vergil's body began healing, it would continue until he was fully restored, but he had no idea if there were limits to their regenerative abilities. His own powers had somehow granted him a new arm, but Nero knew it wasn't truly flesh and bone; he could still phase it into an incorporeal state at will. At best, it was an excellent prosthesis, but not a true replacement for what he'd lost.

And, Nero realized as he aimlessly swirled a bit of pasta in the puddle of sauce on his plate, none of his vital organs had been damaged, whereas Vergil's heart and lungs, and likely the part of his brain beneath that gash in his skull, had been crushed by the falling stone. He had very probably died—clinically, at least—and despite Vergil's claims that he had revived from death multiple times, Nero wasn't sure whether any of those previous deaths had been caused by pure physical trauma.

The head injury worried him most of all. Nero had been comatose for more than a day after a blow to the head, and that had just been a relatively straightforward concussion. The acute damage to Vergil's brain had been worse, to say nothing of the lack of oxygen after his heart stopped beating. Even if Vergil regained consciousness, would all his memories stay intact? Would his cognition be affected? For someone as intellectually gifted as Vergil to lose his mental acuity would be Fate's cruelest blow. For all of Vergil's fighting prowess, Nero knew that he spent far more of his time studying than wielding a sword.

Nero hadn't planned on relieving Lady's watch until Kyrie was ready to retire for the night, but anxiety over Vergil's condition consumed his thoughts during and after supper. He hadn't realized how distracted he'd grown until Kyrie took away his dishcloth. "Go," she ordered.

He blinked down at his soap-covered hands, suddenly devoid of dishes. "What? Where?"

"Nero, you've been washing the same plate for the last two minutes." She handed him a dry towel and pushed him gently toward the door. "I'll finish up in here. You go take care of whatever you need to."

"Sorry," Nero sighed. "Guess I'm just preoccupied."

"I know. It's been a difficult day for everyone. Be sure to tell the children good night before you go upstairs."

Nero did so, though Kyle and Carlo were blinking heavily and Flavia was already asleep when he looked in on them. Only Julio, doing his homework in the living room, seemed aware of the shadow of dread hanging over the household. It added a few puckers of tension to his face, but he did his best to smile anyway, and gave Nero an encouraging nod.

Lady glanced up from the chair she'd placed beside the bed as Nero entered the bedroom. She automatically reached for the plate on the nightstand. "Sorry, I should have brought my dishes down when I'd finished."

"You can take them down with you. I'll take over up here."

Lady glanced at the clock. "Are you sure? I'm good for a couple more hours, yet. You could catch some sleep."

"I'm sure." Nero shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't think I could sleep with him like this, anyway." It was a rare admission, and Nero felt his ears grow warm as Lady's expression melted into sympathy. As much as Nero tried to avoid dwelling on his relationship to Vergil, he possessed enough self-awareness to realize that most of the steady fear plaguing him was rooted in the prospect of losing his nearest blood relative.

Lady relinquished her seat and squeezed his arm. "He'll be all right. He just needs time."

Nero didn't trust himself to answer.

When Lady had departed, Nero sat in the hard wooden chair and stared at Vergil, searching for any sign that the additional hour of recovery had resulted in some improvement in his condition. Vergil's hair was dry now, and his chest might look a bit less sunken in, but otherwise there had been little change. He lay just as still as he had that afternoon, with the same deathly pallor.

Nero propped his elbows on his knees and settled in to wait.

The hours crept on with little change to mark their passing. Nero didn't sleep, but at some point after Kyrie had retrieved her nightclothes and returned downstairs, he let his vision go soft and his thoughts wander. He replayed countless pivotal memories in his mind: V, hanging on his shoulder and stumbling through the Qliphoth beside him. A broad-shouldered silhouette against a column of light as Urizen's illusionary world shattered around them. A flame-blue demon charging toward Dante with deadly intent. The arrogance of Vergil's challenge. The indifference in his steel gaze as he'd regarded Nero. The fleeting glimpse of respect as he'd promised a rematch.

So many missed chances. So many questions, unasked.

Nero's mind had turned to exploring alternate scenarios when his attention was arrested by the soft squeak of the door hinges. He rotated to see Rosso hobbling into the room, leaning heavily on the doorknob. "Hey!" Nero kept his voice low, though there was little risk of disturbing Vergil when he wasn't even conscious. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I wanted to see my brother."

Nero frowned at the bandage around the boy's ankle. "I thought you weren't supposed to be climbing stairs?"

"I didn't use my foot."

"How'd you get up here, then?"

Rosso looked only marginally contrite. "I hopped."

Nero sighed. "You're supposed to be resting."

"I already rested." Rosso limped over to the bed and leaned on the edge of the mattress, keeping his injured leg slightly bent. "He hasn't woken up yet, has he?"

"Not yet, no." Nero stood and slid the chair toward him. "Here, sit down before you get us both in trouble."

Rosso sank into the chair, never taking his eyes from Vergil. Nero leaned back against the bed and watched him. He seemed uncharacteristically solemn, the easy smile he usually wore replaced by a taut anxiety that reminded Nero of the way Zaffiro had looked after his nightmares had begun. "He's going to be okay," Nero said suddenly, despite the fact that he had been trying to convince himself of that all evening, without success. "I know it looks bad, but you don't have to worry about him."

A furrow appeared between Rosso's eyebrows. "It's hard not to. I know what can happen."

There was something heavy and precarious behind that statement. Unlike Vergil's condition, this was a crisis Nero could address directly. "Okay. Talk to me. What do you know?"

Rosso looked down at his hands for a moment, then back to Vergil. He didn't bother looking at Nero. "I've lost people before. In the other place. In… in my memories." He swallowed. "The woman who took care of me for a while… my friend at the bar… the girl at the pizza shop… People die. It happens. And it's sad when they're not there anymore, but I know it's just the way things are. It's sad, but it's not something to be scared of. You know?"

Nero hadn't known that Dante had already experienced that kind of loss at this age, and it hurt to see how resigned he was to it. He nodded for him to continue.

"But today… When I thought…" The tension took a deeper hold on Rosso's countenance. "I've never been scared of losing anyone before, but suddenly, it was all I could think of. I kept thinking that if he died, I'd never feel him there again, and that part of me—the us part—would just… stop. I'd be alone. I think it was the most scared I've ever been." His expression crumpled. "And the worst part was that I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't stop him getting hurt. I couldn't make him get better. I just felt so useless."

A memory flashed behind Nero's eyes: Spreading blood livid against a white uniform. A grip of unyielding stone pinning him in place as his brother and commander fell. Nero pushed the images of Credo away and fixed his gaze on Vergil, driving away one nightmare with another. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Rosso was studying Vergil's still form, searching for signs of life. "He isn't moving at all," he observed in a small voice.

Nero tried to pretend he hadn't been fixated on that fact for hours. "He was hurt pretty bad. It's going to take him a while to come out of it."

"Are you sure he will?"

"Sure. Trust me, he's really hard to kill."

Rosso shot him a dubious look. "How do you know that?"

"I told you I knew you two before, right? In the other place?" Nero shrugged and tried to inject confidence into his words. "Vergil's been through a lot, but he's tough. He's survived worse than this. He'll be okay."

Rosso gnawed his lip and remained silent. The gravity of his expression made him appear older and more careworn than any twelve-year-old had a right to. Nero tried to study him without staring, wondering just what kind of circumstances Dante had been living under up to this point in his life. He'd rattled off that short list of people he'd lost without blinking, and that hadn't even included his parents, or the brother he'd been separated from for years. And then there were those rumors about Tony Redgrave. Half-devil or no, what sort of child became a notorious mercenary by his mid-teens?

Nero was searching for a way to probe Rosso's memories without asking outright when movement in his field of vision drove all other thoughts from his mind. He leaped to his feet and stared down at Vergil. Seconds passed, until Nero told himself he must have imagined—there! "Look!"

Rosso started and looked from Nero to Vergil, eyes wide. "What? What?"

"He's breathing! Just barely, but… There it is again! See?" The rise and fall of Vergil's abdomen was nearly imperceptible, but any movement was progress. Nero reached for Vergil's arm and probed for a pulse, trying to ignore the unsettling looseness in the shattered wrist. The faint tap of the vein against his fingertips was sparse and weak, but Nero released a breath and sank back onto the edge of the mattress. "His heart and lungs are working again. That's good." He laughed weakly, relief making him lightheaded. "That's great."

Rosso didn't reply, and when Nero looked at him, it was to find the boy regarding him with a curious look. "You seem really happy about it."

"Of course I am." Nero stared back at him, giddiness fading into puzzlement. "Aren't you? I thought you wanted your brother to get better."

"I do. He's my brother, so of course I would." Rosso looked back at Vergil, but the crease between his brows reappeared.

Nero wasn't sure how to interpret that, but in his elation over this evidence of Vergil's healing, he couldn't spare the attention to sort it out. He turned back to Vergil, watching the rise of his chest as though each shallow breath might presage the opening of his eyes.

A minute passed before he glanced at Rosso again, and he was startled to find the boy's eyes fixed on him, rather than Vergil. "Who are you?" Rosso asked suddenly.

Nero stared back. "Come again?"

Unlike the uncertainty he'd been drenched in before, Rosso's expression had morphed into something firm. Serious. The sort of countenance Dante rarely wore, but which commanded absolute gravity when he did. "You said you knew us before we lost our memories. You're not like the others. You look human, but I can feel you, the way I can feel my brother. And you're just as worried about him as I am—more than anyone else here." His eyes narrowed. "Who are you, to us?"

Nero hadn't expected the question, and found himself utterly unprepared to answer it. Easy lies and half-truths vied for dominance on his tongue. He was a fellow hunter; he was a friend; he was a business associate; he was someone Dante had helped once…

He stared into the young blue eyes, the same color as his own, frank and unyielding. "I'm your nephew."

Rosso blinked. Clearly, that was an option he hadn't considered. "Our nephew?"

"Your nephew."

This time, Rosso's eyes shifted to his brother and widened. "Oh. So you're…"

"Yeah. Vergil is my father." After all these months, the words still tasted unfamiliar.

"Oh." Rosso blinked a few more times. "Wow."

Nero chuckled. "Didn't think he had it in him, huh?"

"I guess it's just hard to think of him as a father."

You don't know the half of it, Nero only just stopped himself from saying.

Rosso's expression had turned pensive, and Nero let him process whatever he needed to. It took a minute or two. "Did I help take care of you?" he asked at last. "When you were little?"

Unbidden, a vision of Dante's warm laugh and affectionate embrace danced across Nero's perception. How different his childhood might have been, had he known his uncle then… "No. We, uh, didn't live in the same place."

"Oh." Rosso frowned. "I thought maybe that's why you took care of us, when we had our memories stolen. Like you were paying us back, or something."

"No. No, not at all. Listen." Nero leaned forward. "It's not about paying anything back. The reason I took care of you is because we're family, and that's what family does. No matter what."

Rosso's eyes slid from Nero to Vergil. "Is that why he protected me?"

"He's your older brother, isn't he? He probably feels responsible for you." There was no "probably" about it; Vergil had said as much outright.

The shadow of a scowl crossed the boy's face. "He's only older by six minutes. That doesn't really count."

"Well, right now he's more like thirty-some years older, so we can let it slide this time."

Rosso expressed his dissatisfaction with a low grunt. "At least once I'm his age again, I won't be the youngest anymore."

"You won't?" Nero cocked his head. "You don't have another sibling, do you?"

"No, but at least we'll both be older than you. Then we'll be the ones taking care of everything."

By rights, that revelation shouldn't have been startling—but with it came the answer to one of the questions that had been hovering in the back of Nero's mind for the past three months. It seemed so simple, now that he'd stopped fretting over the ramifications. Oh. So that's why Vergil pushed me out of the way.

First Nero, then Julio, and now Dante… Even Vergil, it seemed, shared the natural human inclination to protect the young of their clan. Nero wondered if his reaction in the factory had been a conscious decision on Vergil's part, or just instinctive. Did he even know that in protecting his son, he'd behaved like any ordinary parent?

Beside Nero, Vergil's silent breaths became slow wheezes as something shifted in his chest. Rosso half-rose from his seat, reaching for him, but Nero waved the boy back. "Let him be. I know it sounds bad, but his body knows best how to sort itself out."

Rosso slumped back into the chair. "I'm not very good at being family, I guess," he mumbled.

"How do you figure that?"

The earlier tension had returned to his face. "You said family takes care of each other, but it's my fault that he's like this. He wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had been faster."

Nero took in the furrowed brow and clenched hands. The frustration and guilt radiating from him was all too familiar. "If you could have done something to keep him from getting hurt, would you have done it? Even if it meant you would have been hurt instead?"

Rosso's head snapped up. "Of course!"

"Well, there you go." Nero sat back. "Now you know what he was feeling when he ran in to protect you. It doesn't mean it's your fault; it just means that keeping you safe was more important to him than his own safety."

"I hope…" Rosso's teeth caught at his lower lip. "When I'm older—again, I mean, like him—I hope I can protect him."

Nero gazed down at Vergil. He might have jumped between the brothers atop the Qliphoth to interrupt their fatal battle, but it had been Dante who accompanied Vergil to the underworld instead of letting him go alone, who somehow coaxed him back to this world, who kept him at his side and forged a place for him in their awkward circle. "You know something?" Rosso looked up, and Nero let himself smile, really feeling it for perhaps the first time all day. "When you're his age, you're gonna be the one who saves him."

Rosso smiled briefly at that, then lapsed into silence. He continued watching his brother, unconsciously matching the pattern of his own breathing to the rasping sound of Vergil's.

Nero allowed him a few more minutes, but a glance at the clock reminded him that it was the middle of the night, and Rosso had healing of his own to do. "Look, Tony—"

"Dante."

Nero blinked. "What?"

"You said I went back to using my real name. I think I know why, now." The boy's eyes remained fixed on Vergil, but there was something in his gaze that hadn't been present when he'd entered the room. "I'm never going to be anyone but who I am. I'm a son of Sparda. I'm my brother's brother. There's no point pretending I'm anyone else."

Nero studied him for a moment, seeing him in a new light. Physically, he was the same child, but something in him had abruptly matured—it was a new confidence, perhaps, or resolution. A look in the eyes. A sudden strength in the jaw.

Nero bid a quiet farewell to Rosso, the rambunctious boy he'd known for such a short time. Whether or not he possessed all of his memories, the person before him was unquestionably Dante, and no other.

"Dante, I know you want to stay close to your brother, but I don't think there's going to be much change for the next few hours. Why don't you go back to bed for now, and you can come up and sit with him again tomorrow, when he's closer to waking up?" Dante's lips compressed into a stubborn line, primed for refusal, and Nero pulled out the biggest guns he had. "If Vergil wakes up and you're still hobbling around on one foot, he'll just start worrying about you, and that'll keep him from resting and getting better as fast. The best thing you can do for him right now is take care of yourself."

Dante scowled, but wobbled upright on his good leg. "Fine."

"You want some help getting down the stairs?"

"No, I can do it."

Nero watched him limp across the room. "You're not gonna try to hop down the stairs on one leg and break your other ankle in the process, are you?"

Dante sighed, as though making a great concession. "I'll hold onto the banister."

Nero chuckled in spite of the situation. "Okay. Good night." He moved his chair back to its previous position and sat.

"Nero?"

Nero turned to find Dante framed in the doorway, the easy smile back on his face. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad we're family."

A warmth settled in Nero's chest—a comforting glow that at one time, he couldn't have imagined. "So am I."