Vergil never really liked kids.

They were loud. They also smelled, occasionally of various odours at the same time, some their own, some acquired via outside means, like rolling down the hill at a dog park. Which also meant that cleaning up after them could also turn out to be a chore that would take up the better part of the day.

And most of all, they never knew when to stay still. A prime example of this was his own brother, who on the occasional family outing had to be leashed so that he could not run off, either chasing after a particularly curious looking bird or losing the concept of time and space while petting a dog.

In retrospect, as he stood in the small, glass-walled information desk, Vergil realized that even if his mother got some funny stares for this practice, there was some truth and practical aspect to it.

The cold sweat ran to the small of his back. The mild concern that brought in this entirely too human reaction, something so far entirely foreign to him, was the result of one simple fact – Nero's whereabouts were currently unknown.

He turned away only for one second or two, merely to place a case of coloured pencils back on the rack; the next moment he only saw the empty space where the child stood. The woman next to them only shook her head when asked whether she saw anything, completely useless.

"Nero," the young man sitting next to him spoke as he leaned to the microphone. He was barely more than a child himself, the marks of puberty still apparent on his face. "Nero Durans? Your father is waiting for you at the information desk. I repeat, the father of Nero Durans is waiting for him at the information desk."

"Is that it?" Vergil asked, his voice cutting. The man leaned back in his chair, doing his best to ignore the apparent chill in the air.

"This is all I can do. Security is monitoring the mall, including the cameras. Don't worry man, most kids turn up within an hour or so."

The cold feeling crept further up along Vergil's spine. It couldn't be worry, could it? He thought he eradicated that feeling soon after Eva's death.

"Maybe take a seat?"

Casting a glance at the ugly little chair, that was clearly not cleaned within the month, Vergil gave him a withering look. At this point most of his opponents, be they witches, warlocks, or demons would usually start running for their lives, but the youth seemed to be oblivious to the peril he was in. "I'd rather stand."

The boy simply shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

"It's easy," Dante said, his feet resting on top of the desk, "Just go and get whatever is written on the list."

"Why don't you go? You are clearly better versed at buying unnecessary equipment."

"Well, the school thinks whatever is on that piece of paper is important. To shape the young minds or whatever."

"What is even a learning clock?" Vergil asked scanning through the list handed out by Nero's homeroom teacher. It was colour-coded for books, stationery, and items of personal use. "Obviously, they can't mean a sentient clock capable of learning theoretical knowledge."

"Obviously."

"See? It is apparent that you are better suited for this. Think about it like acquiring more superfluous dust collectors."

"If you mean my jukebox, first, ouch, second, I know that you listen to it when you think no one sees or hears. The kid does and boy, he talks. Third," he added, counting away on his fingers, "I got a date with Destiny."

"Funny."

"No, really. That's the client's name. Apparently plagued by demons at the bar she works at, pretty dramatic stuff from the sound of it. So it's gonna be just you and the kid. Think of it like some quality father-son bonding time, huh?"

Father-son bonding time. What a strange notion.

Sparda disappeared when they were around five, so the only bonding he remembered were the swordsmanship lessons. That, and one faint memory of sitting somewhere incredibly high, looking down on his mother and Dante, who were laughing up at him. One of the few memories that evoked a sense of warmth.

He looked at the child on the other side of the room, huddled in a hoodie, a size or two too big, as he hid behind a picture book.

He arrived into his life rather suddenly, just over a year ago.

Looking for "pieces of his lost humanity" at Dante's behest, he travelled the world on a "journey of self-discovery", as his brother phrased.

Lady accompanied him for some of the way, to keep an eye on him; not like if push came to shove, the human woman could have done much to stop him. Parting ways after some disagreement over how to handle civilians caught in the crossfire of one battle or another, they parted ways.

Sometime later, driven by curiosity or fate, he eventually reached the peculiar little city of Fortuna. The town which at his last visit was already a bit backwards when compared to the progress of the world outside of it, seemed to have gone even further back in time.

And then, sitting on a bench in the afternoon sun, he saw the boy.

He was hanging tight to a woman, her auburn hair flowing freely behind her as another child, a daughter singing at the top of her lungs, held onto her other hand. An older boy brought up the rear. His eyes were sharp and alert, his back straight as if he had a stick strapped to it.

A little green ball rolled to his feet. He looked up to see the child, still clutching the woman's hand, stare at him.

There could be no mistake. The hair was one thing; but the smell of him… His age, foggy as his memory was of his time spent here, also seemed to check out.

"Go on now," the lady said, crouching down, "Ask for it back."

"But…"

"Do you want me to come with you?" the little girl piped up, her smile mirroring that of her mother. The boy's face took on a distinctly strawberry-like shade as he dashed over to the bench. He looked up at the man, seemingly a bit taken aback, but held out his palm expectantly.

"Can I have it back? Mister? It's my ball."

He lowered the hand holding the ball.

"Take better care of it."

Without further ado, he ran back to the family. The woman smiled as she ruffled his wispy white hair.

"There's a brave boy. Did you say thank you?"

"No."

"Oh, Nero."

"But it's my ball!" the boy grumbled, his expression defiant, as he clutched the toy tightly.

"Nero," the serious looking youth spoke. The boy turned an even deeper tint of red.

"Thank you," he whispered, barely audible.

"Think nothing of it."

Taking the child with him at that point did not yet cross his mind. For one, it would have been bothersome; until five minutes ago, he did not even know that he existed. He was not prepared to take care of him, neither did he want the responsibility. On the other hand, a little voice, which vaguely sounded like Dante, told him that it would be cruel to tear the child away from a safe place he knows.

And he definitely did not need another troublesome being dictating his life.

Their second chance meeting happened at the grocer's, when he found himself short on change.

"I'm sorry, young man, but I'm running a business here."

"I understand," he said, "Only the water then."

"I'll pay it," a vaguely familiar, feminine voice said. It was the woman from the park, the boy hiding behind her skirt, while the girl sat in the cart, her legs dangling through the rails.

"It's really not necessary."

"It's fine. Anyone can find themselves in a pinch, at any time."

"That's really not the case," he said, feeling increasingly irritated. The line behind them started to grow and people gawked at them, like one would at a street performer.

"Then think of it as a gift that keeps giving. Small good deeds make the world go around," she said with a smile, then added, whispering, as she motioned at the boy behind her, who tried his best to appear nonchalant, "Plus, he couldn't stop talking about you."

"I really didn't do anything."

"I think it's your hair. It's not easy for him, I suspect it must have been the same for you. He has been overjoyed to know that someone who looks like him exists," she said, pressing the coins into his hand, "So please, just take it. We are keeping up the line."

Someone like him, indeed.

The third time happened just as he set out to leave the city.

Much like at the initial meeting, they were just leaving the playground, the mother, the children, and the teen. A storm was fast approaching, the first drops of rain already beating the ground, the wind twisting and turning the branches of the trees. That's probably why they did not notice that they were followed. Vergil, immersed into his book, at first only heard the scream.

When he arrived, she was sheltering the children with her own body, blood seeping from the cut on her shoulder, the teen trembling, but firmly planted between her and the scarecrow-like creature. What he did not see however, was the beast that emerged from the yellow lightning, it's hungry eyes already on its prey.

Yamato turned into a blue flash in his hands as he swiftly beheaded the Blitz, before vaulting over the humans and slicing the scarecrow apart in a single motion. The bodies crumbled away in the wind, leaving no trace that they ever existed.

"You," the woman said, her voice shaky. She looked up at him, trying to focus on his face, but her eyes were hazy; probably a hit to the head. "You're not a knight; then how…"

"Later. Your wound needs tending to."

The husband, Loquet, gave him measured, mistrustful looks as they entered the house. He ushered the children upstairs and while the mother had dressed the wound. Credo, the older sibling ushered him into the spacious kitchen and left him with a steaming cup of coffee. The two joined him soon after.

"So, as I understand, I owe you and apology and a thanks," the man grumbled.

"Unnecessary. I was merely paying a debt."

"Still, not many civilians would think of risking their lives when they don't have to."

Civilians. The thought made him smile, something that obviously unnerved the owners of the house.

Alma, the mother turned to him with an apologetic smile, "You said, you'll explain?"

"Indeed. As things are, there is a good probability that I'm the father of that boy. I'll be taking him with me."

"You can't do that," Loquet said, turning white. Vergil gave him a leveled look in response.

"And who will stop me? You?"

"If needed be." The man swallowed. Despite his bravado, he was definitely not a fighter, whatever else he may be.

"I think you are mistaken. It was not a request." No answer from the parents, only an exchanged look. Vergil leaned forward. "Do you even know what he is?"

"He's a little boy in need of stability and a family. How do you even know that he is your son? You can't be much more than twenty, and he lived in that orphanage since he was born five years ago!"

"Six years ago, I came to this town chasing shades and myths that came to nothing and made some… Acquaintances. I did not know of his existence until six days ago. But as things are, there can be no doubt that he is indeed my son."

"So where were you for five years?"

"Making some very bad choices, in retrospect."

"And you'd drag a child into that?"

"Let me enlighten you to your alternatives then. One, you give up the custody of the boy and he comes with me. Two, he'll grow up here, in your family. Your wife was attacked today. Am I wrong in assuming that demonic activity increased in your area since you took him in?"

Silence.

"Despite your best efforts, he will attract unwanted attention. You have two more children. Just how many can you spare?"

"The Knights…"

"Useless as they come," he said with a smile, "Just ask this Holiness of yours about it."

The clock on the wall ticked away. The man looked up at Vergil who still stood in the same place, a chilly aura emanating from him. The effect however was somewhat dampened by the small schoolkid's bag decorated with red puppies and yellow kittens that hung from his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're not gonna sit?"

"Quite."

"Yo, Matti," a tall, burly man leaned into the room, munching away on a piece of doughnut, "There's a lady, sayin' the people are freakin' out 'bout a kid in the pet shop."

The guard swallowed quickly and hid the doughnut behind his back as he took note of the other person in the room.

"Kinda looks like you, the way she was describing it. Your son, huh? The lost kid?"

"Where is this pet shop?" he asked in place of an answer, grabbing the white bags at his feet.

"Just this way."

They spent the better part of the afternoon talking, heated as it occasionally got.

"Why do you even want to take the kid now, huh? I suspect that whatever is coming after him will not stop simply because he is with you. How can you be so sure that you can protect him?"

Honestly, he couldn't answer that himself. He just knew that the boy can't be left in this place. For one, his newly discovered instincts kept screaming at him not to leave his flesh and blood when he can not even feed and clothe himself properly at a place with such high demonic activity.

He also did not appreciate the irony of him growing up in a place that hailed his father as a god.

"If I couldn't, you would be planning your wife's funeral now."

"Two weeks then," the man said, tired, "Let the boy get to know you. Let him decide."

The days came and went. As promised, he turned up every day once the children returned from the playground. The first few days he barely saw the boy, who kept hiding on the top of the stairs, peeking through the bars, but running away as soon as he noticed that Vergil caught him looking.

"I'm sorry," Alma apologised again and again, "He can be rather shy with people he doesn't know."

"That is a good thing, is it not?"

"I suppose it could be. But it does make it hard for him to make new friends. He's being brave about it, but I can see that he is more lonely now that Credo began training with the Knights."

The ice broke on the fifth day as he was leaning back on the couch, flipping through the pages of his new book. He ignored the shuffle of the tiny feet on the carpet to let him make the first move. He read in a book that it worked for most semi-intelligent animals; surely children could not be that different?

"What are you reading?"

Nero stood right across the room from him. Even if he kept safely out of arm's reach, it seemed like he decided to finally come out of his shell.

"A tale of love and woe."

The boy furrowed his light grey eyebrows in concentration.

"I do not know that word."

"It means great sorrow."

"Nah," he said, shaking his head, "Not that one either."

"You can always learn."

Nero took one tentative step closer, then noticed Yamato laid against the side of the sofa.

"Why do you have that sword on you? Only the knights are supposed to wear swords here. Are you not afraid they'll take it?"

Despite himself, Vergil smiled as he said, "They are most welcome to try."

"I'd like to see that."

"You'd like to see me fight?"

"Yeah! Credo is mean, he taught me some moves, but says the rest is just too dangerous. Doesn't even let me watch! And when you saved us you looked like the ancient heroes!"

Hero. That's ironic.

On the last day, the boy, mistrustful as he was, reached his hands towards him.

Something prickled around his chest and throat.

Clutching the stuffed toy against his chest, eyes puffy from crying, Nero chose him.

"Nero."

The boy jumped from the bench where he sat, mesmerized by the colourful birds that chirped and jumped behind the glass.

"Father."

"Are those why you left?"

Nero hung his head in shame, his eyes fixated on his shoes, refusing to meet Vergil's eyes. "I heard a kid talking about them and I just had to. I'm sorry."

"Don't do it again."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, but let's keep this a secret between you and I." He knelt down next to the boy, lifting his chin up with one hand, "And next time, keep an ear out, or I will leave you."

"Okay!" the child agreed enthusiastically, believing with an innocence only a child could have that it was merely an empty threat, "Lady said to call her if something is wrong, anyway. I do not think she really trusts you, Father. Why?"

That meddling woman.

"Things happened. I'll tell you later. When you're more grown."

"Everyone keeps saying that. Just how much more do I have to grow?"

"When you can lift the Rebellion."

"But it's heavy! And Dante wouldn't let me," Nero exclaimed with a huff.

"Precisely. So take your studies seriously and get stronger."

"You can be so mean! You don't even tell me how to do that!"

"I'll tell you. When you are older."

The frustrated scream of a self-righteous six-year-old drew many disapproving looks from the bystanders.

"I'll just ask Dante then!"

"You think he is more powerful?"

"Yes!" the kid said without thinking, then looked thoughtful, "But daddy is faster. And more clever."

He just finished applying the last layer of wax on the red coat. Feeling the pride of a job well done, he nodded inwardly as he opened a bottle of beer. Normally he asked a leather worker whose shop was close by to do it, but the guy just broke his hand and the coat was in a desperate need for some care.

The door behind him opened and closed.

"Dante."

"Hey, Vergi…" before he could finish, he doubled over in pain as a steel-hard fist punched him just below his diaphragm.

"Bastard, what the hell was that for?!"

"You know why," the man answered as he disappeared behind the doors of the kitchen.

A/N: Vergil's heart grew three sizes that day. Then two days later came the realisation that you can't just go around exterminating demons with a kid on the arm.