No Amount Of Words Could Express My Love For Dante

Yet here they were: three boys the couple had adopted, rushing all around, and Vergil—Vergil—still there, instead of vanishing into thin air like Nero half-expected the first time he was stuck with babysitting duty.

The boys, of course, treated Vergil like any other adult unlucky enough to be within arm’s reach. They tugged on his coat, demanded games, peppered him with questions. Vergil handled it with the same unreadable mask he wore in battle, though every now and then a flicker of confusion cracked through.

Like the time they tried to explain hide-and-seek.

“How can you not know what hide-and-seek is?” one of the boys had asked, eyes wide as if Vergil had just admitted he didn’t know what candy was.

“I might have known this… game at one point,” Vergil had replied, voice calm but distant. “It has been a long time since I played it.”

“You’re just being old again,” another chimed in.

The trio had laughed at that, but Nero had seen something else in his father’s expression—a shadow of memory. He didn’t know all the specifics, but he knew the twins’ childhood had ended abruptly, brutally, the night their home burned. Hide-and-seek might have meant something very different to Vergil after that.

That suspicion was confirmed another day, when Nero came back from a shopping trip to find the youngest boy tugging at Vergil’s coat tails, staring up at him.

“I dun wanna be short anymore. No, I wanna be tall as you.”

Vergil frowned, icy eyes scanning the boy. Most adults wilted under that cold scrutiny. But the boy never did. He was already used to Vergil’s long pauses and stiff manner.

“Once upon a time, I was your height. I found it to be advantageous in some aspects, and debilitating in others.”

“Adven-teg-vous? Deb… lib… uh…”

“Favourable. Convenient—” He paused, then amended more plainly when he noticed the boy’s growing confusion. “Good. It was good in some ways, terrible in others.”

“What’s good in it?” the boy pouted. “Others only make fun of me.”

Vergil’s gaze turned distant. “It was useful to squeeze into tight spaces where no one else could reach.”

“So like hide-and-seek?”

“…A version of it.” His words were deliberate, as though choosing which doors of his memory to keep shut.

It was surreal watching a man who could barely figure out how to act, well, human, slowly find his footing with the kids. Right now, that meant a death glare at a pair of shoelaces. One of the boys kept tripping up, his laces unraveling every other minute.

Finally, Vergil stopped the boy by firmly grabbing his shoulders. Without scolding, without comment, he leaned down. His long arms reached around, fingers catching the offending laces and he began a slow, patient lecture, demonstrating the process of tying a shoe from the boy’s perspective over his shoulder.

“Take the laces. Cross them over and pull them down. Then make…” He hesitated—Nero could almost see him flipping through a mental catalogue of demons for comparisons, before discarding them. “…rabbit ears. Hold them. Cross them again, but don’t tighten yet. Loop the ears under the second time… then tighten.”

The second shoe he left for the boy to attempt himself. Tiny fingers fumbled, tied, failed, tried again. Each mistake was met not with frustration, but with steady correction, Vergil guiding the small hands until at last a solid knot was formed. The boy’s grin stretched wide as he bolted back to his brothers, shoes snug and secure.

Nero shook his head, finally stepping forward. “You’re probably the last person I’d expect to teach anyone how to tie their laces.”

Vergil’s lips curled into the faintest, sly smile. “Someone had to teach Dante how to tie his shoes.”

“Oh yeah?” Nero snickered. “So who taught you, then? Or are you about to tell me you were born the brightest kid on the planet?”

Vergil stilled, brow furrowing in thought. For a long moment, Nero wondered if he’d answer at all.

Then, quietly, Vergil said, “Sparda taught me.”

Nero blinked. For all the legends about the Dark Knight—the savior of mankind, the very god Fortuna worshipped—not one of them mentioned him crouching down to show his son how to make rabbit ears out of shoelaces.

Vergil’s eyes slid to Nero’s boots. “It appears you too could use a lesson in tying proper knots.”

Nero nearly choked, quickly looking down at his loosened shoelaces. It wasn’t his fault the damn things had a habit of falling apart. He was a grown man, dammit. He could tie his own shoes.

But the thought stuck anyway—that this simple knowledge had been passed down from Sparda to Vergil, father to son. And now Vergil was eyeing his very much adult son, quietly calculating the logistics of leaning over Nero for demonstration.

Nero scratched at his neck, suddenly feeling way too much like a kid. “Yeah, well, you’re not hovering over me like that.”

Not in battle—though he might’ve preferred that—but at Dante’s cluttered desk, wading through what could only loosely be described as paperwork. He frowned, flipping through crumpled receipts, half-finished contracts and an ever-growing mountain of overdue bills from Sparda-knows-when.

This was beneath him. All of it.

But since his clouded judgment had led him to cohabit the office with his twin—for now, at least—it couldn’t be helped. Running a devil-hunting business required more than just swinging swords and drawing demonic blood. It also required drowning in administrative incompetence. And as Dante’s efforts in the matter had resulted in this headache-inducing disaster, Vergil had no choice but to take the reins.

Then, a knock came from the front door.

He's come to expect potential customers barging in—some barking demands like they owned the place, others wide-eyed and frantic, pleading for help. Either way, to Vergil, they were all the same: a nuisance.

But knocking?

That was... unusual.

Vergil stood—Yamato untouched but always within reach—and moved to the door with the quiet, controlled steps of someone prepared to greet problems. He opened it to—nothing. The street outside was empty.

He scowled and began to shut the door.

“Uh... hello?”

The voice was soft. Timid.

Vergil looked down.

Three young girls in crisp uniforms stood below his line of sight, clutching colorful boxes. It took him a second to process what he was seeing, which might explain the brief flicker of confusion that crossed his face.

The tallest of the three hesitated under his glacial stare. Her rehearsed pitch faltered, but she gathered her courage and held out a box labeled 'Choco-Chomp Delights'.

“We’re selling cookies to raise money for our scout troop. Would you be interested in buying some?”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed at the box as if it was some kind of trap. His expression, which Dante had once diagnosed as a chronic case of stink-eye, only deepened.

One of the girls instinctively stepped back. Only a second later came the familiar clang of boots on the stairs.

“Alright, Verge,” Dante called, “what unfortunate soul are you terrorizing this time?”

Dante appeared at his brother’s shoulder, all lazy grin and casual swagger. When he spotted the girls—and more importantly, the cookies—his eyes lit up like kids on Christmas morning.

“Girl Scout cookies! Hell yeah. Gimme five boxes.”

Before the scouts could blink, Dante slapped some bills into the tallest girl’s hand and tore open one of the boxes like a starving animal. He devoured a whole cookie in one chomp, somehow managing to spray crumbs everywhere.

“Man, I really needed that,” he said through a mouthful, barely swallowing before he shoved the open box toward Vergil. “And so do you. Might sweeten up that sour-ass glare you’re giving everyone.”

The trio of girls giggled at that until Vergil’s icy gaze flicked toward them again.

Dante quickly gathered the rest of his purchase and offered the scouts a warm thank-you, waving them off with a playful salute before shutting the door.

Vergil raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You do realize these cookies could be poisoned.”

The only threat Dante faced was nearly choking from a burst of laughter. “Are you seriously suggesting some eight-year-olds are handing out demon-poisoned cookies? Try telling me again that you're not paranoid.”

“I am not paranoid. Unlike you, I prefer to stay vigilant.”

“Well, if they are poisoned, then I’ve got all the more reason to share them with you.” Dante popped another handful of cookies into his mouth.

“If they are poisoned, then I finally have a chance to be rid of you. So do sample some more.”

Dante waved a cookie under Vergil’s nose and kept talking with a stuffed mouth. “Come on, one ‘poisoned’ cookie won’t kill you. I’ve had a few already, and I’m still breathing.”

“Unfortunately so.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Vergil’s gaze drifted to the open box, then to the cookie Dante was waving under his nose as an insult. He seemed to sniff at it but said nothing. Just reached out and plucked his own, brand new cookie from the box.

He examined it first, as though it might indeed be cursed. Then, with a slow resignation, he took a small bite.

Silence.

Vergil's expression didn’t change—barely a twitch. But he chewed. Swallowed. Took a breath.

Dante watched, eyes wide with anticipation. “Well?” he prodded.

Vergil calmly finished the rest of the cookie, his face unreadable. “It is... acceptable.”

Dante grinned like he’d just won a decades-long war. “You like it.”

“I tolerated it.”

“Wow. You loved it. I’m buying more next time.”

Vergil scoffed and turned back toward the desk, refusing to eat another cookie. “Your delusions are becoming more concerning by the day.”

Dante tossed another chocolate cookie into his mouth with a smug crunch. “Whatever you say. We’re both poisoned now.”

A week later

The scouts knocked again, nervously.

This time, there was no slow horror-movie door creak. No icy glare.

Vergil opened the door in one smooth motion and got straight to business.

“I’ll buy your whole stock.”

The girls blinked.

Vergil glanced behind him, just once, towards the stairs.

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