Alright, I've got time for a quick strawman press conference. Let's go. Yes, you.

"This fic is weird to write at the same time as Blackout."

That wasn't a question. Next person.

"Hey, uh, how does this AU work? Like what happened to Mundus? How is Sparda-"

We're out of time. Onto the fic.

The only sign that there was any house somewhere in those woods was a lone mailbox out by the main road. I was glad someone had already gotten the mail for the day because the rain was coming down in sheets. I wouldn't have been able to keep letters dry if my life had depended on it.

The whole "cool" part of motorcycles stopped as soon as the sky started drizzling because then I was just some dumbass soaked to the bone. All the mud from the endless driveway weaving through the trees wasn't helping matters. Really, driveway was a strong word - more like an overgrown dirt path.

I hadn't realized as a child just how extravagant my parents' house was. It stood alone in a clearing, two stories of too many rooms. In the dim blue-gray of the storm, the yellow lights from the windows shone as beacons. Someone was always home.

I had to take off my boots before going inside, but that didn't stop water from rolling off my jacket and forming a puddle as I closed the door behind me. The good news was that no one was in the living room to fuss or demand a greeting or glare at me. The bad news was that I could hear talking from the kitchen, and that was where I wanted to go. My stomach had been growling for hours, and what was family for if not to mooch food off of?

"I just wanna go out for a little bit," the kid was howling as I slipped through the dining room. The sound of my brother's voice made me halt before the kitchen entryway. He was home. Great.

"It's pouring out," he said, so disinterested in the conversation that I was surprised he bothered to answer. "You're not going out in this. You'd just end up muddy and miserable."

Peering in, I found him leaning back against the counter with a cup of what was probably one of his fancy teas. His eyes flicked up to mine for an instant before dropping back down to the kid. Not even a "Hello" or a "Nice to see you, my brother whom I love so dearly and have missed for so long." Before I could get onto him for his cruelty, Nero piped up again.

"I won't get muddy! Just wanna go out real fast!" He accented his words with a stomp. His back was to me, but I felt sure he was puffing his cheeks and glaring up at his father with all venom a seven-year-old could muster.

Vergil answered the look with a disapproving one of his own that made Nero duck his head. "Why would you want to go out in a storm?" Vergil asked.

Nero rocked back and forth from heel to toe, grumbling, "Just wanna play and stuff."

"You can do that inside. If you need something to entertain yourself, do some practice."

"But-"

Vergil's tone snapped from stern to sterner. "I said no, Nero."

And that was that. With a huff, the kid stormed out the other side of the kitchen. I could hear him clomping up the stairs as Vergil's eyes took on their dull shade again. "Do you need something?" he asked me.

"Leftovers! Got anything good?"

"Check the fridge," he said with a shrug.

As I rifled through plastic containers and mysteries wrapped in foil, Vergil watched the storm through the kitchen window. He was moody regardless of weather. "I think you were kind of hard on the kid," I said while trying to decide if a seasoned slab of something was chicken.

"He was being argumentative," Vergil said. "I wasn't going to let him run around in a storm."

"Nothing wrong with a little water."

"I can see that. You've left a river across the floor."

As I took a bite from a block of cheese, I found myself earning a withering glare from my brother. "I'll clean it," I said around the mouthful. "Hey, how old is this chicken?"

"That's pork."

"So too old?"

"You won't die."

That was good enough for me, so I tossed it in the microwave. "You know," I began as Vergil rinsed out his cup, "if you keep the kid cooped up in here all the time, he's going to get moodier."

"He goes out to play almost every day. It's really none of your concern."

"I'm not sure that wandering in the woods by himself counts as playing."

The microwave whirred like the steadily-building anger behind Vergil's eyes. "Are you really going to lecture me on how to raise a child when you still act like one?" he asked.

"I'm not the one who still lives with our parents."

"That was not by choice!"

"Whatever," I drawled, showing him my palms in a lazy surrender. I didn't feel up to our usual snarling match. "I'm just trying to say you could take it easy on the kid. Kids get whiny when they're bored. Do you remember how we used to hassle Mom when it rained?"

Vergil wasn't one to let things go. The argument with Nero must have worn him out already because he heaved a sigh instead of snapping a response. As he opened his mouth to answer, a roar cut him off. "Is that Dante!? Is Dante here?"

The gig was up. "Hi, Mom," I called.

Her stomping steps brought her to the other side of the kitchen, where she hovered in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "You have not called me in two weeks. Two weeks!"

"And how I've missed you," I crowed, placing my hand to my chest. "You're looking lovely today, as always, Mom." She had her hair up in a bun, frays poking out every which way. Along with an oversized t-shirt, she wore an old pair of jeans covered in paint stains. My comment earned me the only glare that could rival Vergil's.

"My son, I love you, but I will kick your ass," she said as the microwave dinged.

"I believe you, and I'm scared."

Shaking her head, she broke with a soft laugh. "Please eat all the leftovers. We're drowning in them. Take some with you too."

The thought was tempting. I considered it as I retrieved my food and shoved a bite of the questionable pork in my mouth. "But then I'd have to clean all the containers," I realized.

"And bring them back," she said, grinning.

"Ah, that's your ploy." She was too smart and not to be trusted, always tricking me into something. If she had her way, I would have been there all the time like Vergil. As much as I loved visiting, I did have a shop to look after. "By the way, is Dad here?" I asked.

"He's out, but he should be back soon, and no, you can't borrow any of his weapons."

"I wasn't going to ask." Not her, anyway. I would have asked Dad, but now she was bound to find out if I tried. Damn.

She made a sound like she didn't believe a word I said. I couldn't blame her. She'd learned better than to listen to me years ago. "Have you seen Nero yet?" she asked. "He's probably up in his room. I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."

I knew her well enough to understand that what she really meant was "Go say hello to your nephew this instant."

"Who wouldn't be happy to see me?" I said as I scarfed down the last of the food. Vergil raised his hand, and Mom smacked it back down.

After I put my dishes in the dishwasher under Mom's watchful eye and kindly accepted the towel she threw at my face, I headed upstairs. The kid's door was open. He had his head down, music stand in front of him, and was plucking the strings of his violin with such rapt attention that I knew I had to save him.

"Hey, kid," I called.

His eyes brightened before they even shot up to find me. "Uncle Dante! You're so wet."

"Yeah, I love the rain," I said, still trying to ruffle my hair dry with the towel. "I love to just stand in it. It's like a free shower."

"Showers are free," he muttered, his brow furrowed.

"Not where I live. How are you doing, kid?"

"Okay." He sank into another pout and kicked his feet. "It's raining. Father says I can't go out."

Hearing Vergil called Father was just the worst. It had always been weird enough that he called Dad that, but to make Nero call him that too felt surreal. I had to hold back a cringe every time the kid said it.

"Why do you want to go out in the rain?" I asked.

With a hum, he dropped his chin into his palms. "It wasn't supposed to rain today. I was supposed to see my friend."

Depressing as it sounded, Nero didn't have friends. Silence held us as I tried to make sense of where this one came from. There were no other houses for miles, and Nero was homeschooled because Vergil was an idiot. Not even Mom could convince him of what a bad idea that was. So while it was nice to hear that Nero had a friend, I did have some concerns about how he met this person and if they were… an actual person.

"Do you know how to tune?" Nero asked, breaking me from my thoughts. He was still plucking at his violin strings and frowning. "I can never get in tune."

"No idea," I said. "I'm as tone deaf as a yowling cat."

When he rested the violin under his chin and pulled the bow across, the chord came out so dissonant that my expression twisted along with the sound. "I guess it's fine," he muttered. Nothing about that was fine. "Are you gonna listen to me practice?"

"No…" I dragged out the word as I searched for an excuse. "I need to go see if Dad is back yet."

"He's not," Nero said, head tilted, eyes rolled up in thought. "But he's close."

Though I found it a bit creepy, the kid had an odd sense for demons that I couldn't match. I guessed that was why they let him out on his own, not that anything was dumb enough to wander too close to my father. As I headed downstairs to escape the demonic screech of Nero's practice, I found Mom and Vergil sitting in the living room. Mom wore a pitying smile through her wince, and Vergil looked like he wanted to smother himself in his book. "He's a bit out of tune," Mom said. "But he's not doing too bad."

Vergil snapped his book shut with a sigh. "I'll have to re-tune it again. I'm not sure how he undoes it so quickly."

"It's got a nice horror vibe to it," I offered. "I feel like I'm about to get murdered." Vergil looked like he wanted to say something, but Mom threw him a glance that kept him quiet. "So hey," I continued as I hopped down from the bottom step. "What's up with the 'friend' the kid was talking about? Did he find a frog he likes or something?"

"A frog?" Mom echoed, her head tilting. "I hadn't thought of that, but it could be." That didn't sound reassuring.

Vergil's expression had somehow soured further. "There is no friend," he said with a scowl.

Mom snagged his ear, tugging so he could hear his scolding better. "There's nothing wrong with him having an imaginary friend." Judging by her tone, they'd had this conversation before. I must have stepped on a landmine of a topic. While they argued, I slumped down across the recliner.

"I wouldn't mind him having an imaginary friend if he would accept the fact that it is imaginary."

"That defeats the purpose."

"It makes him sound delusional."

"Children are like that. They have wild imaginations."

"There's a limit."

"Well," I cut in, "he probably wouldn't have to make an imaginary friend if he could make real ones."

Vergil's eyes snapped to me like the lash of a whip. He was holding back for Mom's sake, but he looked ready to go for my throat. We'd argued over Nero so many times that I lost count not long after we met the kid. In the end, nothing I said mattered. Nero was Vergil's kid, not mine, but I couldn't make sense of why he chose to raise Nero so far from any social interaction. I could only guess it was some attempt at protection, Vergil's confused version of it anyway.

Before I could dig myself into a deeper pit with another snide remark, Dad threw open the door. The resounding slam snapped all of us out of our staring match. "My son is here!" Dad said with a starry-eyed smile. When Vergil threw up his hands and turned his glare toward Dad, the old man laughed. "My son who is usually not here is here."

"Please shut the door," Mom called. "You're letting all the rain in."

Vergil grumbled about his needing to fix Nero's violin as he stood and stalked up the stairs, while Dad pulled the door closed. His hair was plastered down from the rain. It hung in front of his eyes and stuck to his glasses until he pushed it all back into place. "It is pouring," he said. "What brings you out in weather like this, Dante?"

"Nothing exciting. I had some free time." I was hungry.

He gave that same untrustworthy smile as Mom. "Well, you shouldn't drive home in the rain. You can spend the night."

"I have work tomorrow," I said.

"Is that right?" He hung up his drenched coat only to pull a different one from the rack and slip that on. "How is the demon-hunting business?"

Always an odd question to hear from my demon father, but it was an odd question to hear from anyone. I answered with a shrug. I wasn't dead yet, so things were going as well as I could have hoped. If I talked too much about jobs, Mom was bound to get stressed. Despite how many times she'd said she was okay with my choice of career, the topic would send her pacing, and her hands would flit. Dad was the same. He wouldn't show it like Mom, but I could spot his worry burning in his eyes no matter how he tried to fake a relaxed smile.

A few months before, he'd offered to hire me to take out any demons around the forest. "For Nero's sake," he'd said, even though I'd known it was for mine. I'd turned him down.

I'd turned him down all five times he'd asked.

Today, he kept his smile and spared me the bargaining. "I'm glad you're still in one piece. Would you like to borrow any weapons?"

"No," Mom said.

"Nevermind," Dad chirped.

As though expecting something, Mom kept looking at him as he took a seat next to her. Whatever message her eyes were trying to convey was lost on Dad for a solid minute until he blinked and rushed to speak. "Oh! We were going to hire you."

Mom buried her face in her hands. "No, Dear, we were going to ask a favor."

Well, he'd botched that one. They must have been trying some new con to slip me funds. While I appreciated the concern, my pride could only take so much coddling. I was supposed to be cut off the moment I turned eighteen. That was the deal. "I don't want your money," I said. "So if it's a favor, I'm not getting paid."

"We're not paying you, but we will need to give you some money," Mom said. "On your next day off, I want you to take Nero out."

Usually when people told me to take something "out," it had a different meaning, so I had to shake my head to make sense of her words. "Out where?" I asked.

"Out. Anywhere. There's so much to do in the city. I'm certain you could find something fun for the two of you. Getting out will be good for him, and you ought to spend more time with your nephew."

Of all the things they could have thrown at me, I didn't expect that one. I wasn't one to list entertaining children as a skill on my resume, nephew or otherwise. As I leaned my head from one side to the other, the idea rolled through my mind like a marble. "For how long?" I asked at length.

"Much of the day would be nice," Dad said. "He has so much time to himself. It would do him well to experience the city some."

"So why are you giving me money?"

Mom shrugged. "To keep him fed and entertained. He can scarf down food, so expect to spend quite a bit on that."

She didn't need to tell me that. I'd seen the kid eat, watched him pack away food like it was his last meal. If I had put my hand too close, I was sure he would have bitten my fingers clean off. No matter how I tried to pick and pry at their idea, I couldn't find any issues. Sure, dealing with the kid could be awkward, but I found him more tolerable than most others his age, and he did need to see something other than sheet music and trees every now and then. One concern did strike me, though.

"Did you ask Vergil about this?" I asked.

"Yes." Mom's response was too curt.

"And he said it was alright?"

"He did." Again, she bit out the words. Vergil hated when I breathed the same air as Nero. There was no way he'd given the okay for this expedition. I was glad I hadn't been there when that conversation happened because Mom was still pouting over it, Dad patting her shoulder in an attempt to cheer her up. Part of me wondered if she'd asked Vergil to take Nero out before me with no luck, but I brushed the thought aside.

No matter my reservations, I could never turn down an opportunity to piss off my brother. "Alright, sure," I said, shrugging. "I can keep the kid entertained for a few hours. Should be fun."

"You're playing too fast again. Those are whole notes. Count them four."

Nero made a sound like a puppy trying to growl as he set to stomping his foot rather than tapping. One. Two. Three. Four. With his heavy hand, the sound droned rather than sang from the violin. When I first offered to teach him, his eyes had flashed with a gleam of interest. "It looks like a little guitar," he'd said.

"Not quite, but they have some similar mechanics," I said, offering him the old instrument. He'd been so afraid to touch it, so afraid that it might shatter in his grasp. Admittedly, I'd feared the same. "This was mine as a child," I told him as his small fingers curled around the polished wood. "My mother gave it to me. It has some old scratches and scuffs, but it still plays well. If you'd care to learn, I can teach you."

His wide-eyed enthusiasm had dulled over time, but he must have found some reason to practice because he did it without prompting. Yet, when I watched him play, his hands shook so much that the notes did too.

When one note came out as a screech, he dropped the instrument to his lap with a huff. "I don't like this song. The notes are hard. It's dumb."

"It isn't a difficult song," I said only to realize that wasn't very encouraging. Mom kept getting onto me for that, so I fished for a more helpful comment. "You'll improve. Everyone is terrible when he first starts."

Nero's hands tightened on the bow and neck of the violin as the trembling infected his shoulders. "It's a stupid song," he spat. "I don't want to play that one." Tears rimmed his eyes. I must have said something he didn't like again. He was so easy to upset and even easier to anger. There was no winning with Nero.

"You can take a break for now," I said. He wasn't going to be playing much of anything in his state, and I didn't need him breaking any more strings by trying. When I held out my hand, he shoved the violin into my grasp and shot to his feet.

While his attitude with me was always a concern, I was his father, not his friend. I wasn't going to make the same mistakes that my father had.

But then again, I wasn't supposed to be his enemy either, and I felt like I may have been slipping past that point in his mind. I could never seem to find the right thing to say to him. He was never happy to see me, but even from downstairs, I'd heard the joy in his voice when he greeted Dante. My brother was a novelty for him, so that must have been the reason.

But then again, he greeted Father the same way. And Mom.

Just not me.

Children didn't come with reason. They were all nonsense and trouble, a puzzle with no solution. It was maddening when nothing I said would get through to Nero, no matter how I tried to explain or bargain. Nothing.

I may not have been a good parent. I could admit that much. Others seemed to have unlocked some secret to the whole process that was beyond me, but I hadn't wanted to be a father. I hadn't planned on anything of the sort.

The day I'd gotten an odd collect call had been one of the most sickening of my life. "Hey, Verge," Dante had greeted in a weak imitation of his usual tone.

"Why are you on a payphone?" I asked. "Should I be concerned?" If he was going to ask for money, he should have just called our parents, his pride be damned.

"I'm at a job… in Fortuna actually."

My brows shot up at that. Father had specifically told us to never go to Fortuna for reasons he refused to disclose. Naturally, I had gone as soon as I had the opportunity only to discover a cult in his name. While I found it unsettling, Dante fell over laughing at my explanation. "Damn, I'll have to go sometime," he'd said.

He couldn't pretend to keep ahold of that amusement anymore, his voice thinning. "You remember that time you came here?"

"Yes," I said, trying to imagine where this could have been going. I had a sinking feeling I was going to have to go to Fortuna and pick him up from some disaster.

"How many years ago was that?"

"I would say four, five perhaps."

Dante spat a string of curses, cut off with a cracking sound that I hoped wasn't property being destroyed. "I can't believe I'm asking this. I can't believe-" He took a sharp breath. "Vergil, you didn't… get with any girls while you were here, did you?"

The world seemed to melt in front of me.

At the time, I'd kept an apartment flat, sparse and barely used. That was fine with me. I'd been happy with just that. I didn't need Father's extravagant house with all its rooms of fancy junk. But I couldn't keep a child in one room of white walls, an empty fridge, and little more furniture than a bed. Mom had made too much sense when she'd coaxed me into returning to the one place I'd sworn I never would.

She was still right. Even two years later, I still needed her help with Nero. She was the only one who could make sense of him, the only one he would listen to. For that reason, I would accept advice from her when I thought it necessary, but Dante had no business telling me how to raise my son. Every time he tried, I was left with red-hot anger broiling under my skin. My brother couldn't even take care of himself. He had no room to tell me how to take care of my son.

After I snapped the violin case shut, I looked up to find Nero glued to his window. Pressed up on his toes, his eyes flicked around in a wild search. He'd never cared much for storms before, and I doubted he could see much of anything through the blur of raindrops pattering on the glass. "What is it?" I asked.

The worry that softened his features was something I hadn't seen since we first met. I was so accustomed to anger twisting his expression now. "Hope my friend will be okay," he said.

"Nero." I tried to keep my scolding tone light, but my thinning patience was showing through. "Enough with this 'friend' thing."

"They not a thing!" he barked, fists trembling at his sides. I would need to focus some more on his grammar studies, it seemed.

"It's not real. Imagine what you wish, but there's a limit to pretending." If it had just been a fake friend, that would have been fine. Strange but acceptable. Even the fantastical elements were tolerable. By Nero's accounts, they could do anything and go anywhere - space and caves and such nonsense. Fine. That was fine. "I don't care if this 'friend' can do all the magical impossibilities you describe-"

"They can!"

"But!" I snapped over him. "You cannot continue to blame your poor behavior on them. I will not tolerate it. You must take responsibility for your own actions." He would come home late with tears in his clothes and covered in mud, or he'd forget to do his lessons. Every excuse was that his friend was at fault. Dante and I had tried the same excuses as children, blaming each other for everything. At least my brother was real. Though, given Nero's insistence on refusing to take any blame, he was bound to start blaming any real friends he made as well.

There was no winning with my son.

"You're just stupid," he snarled. "You don't know. Shut up."

I didn't need to speak for him to realize his mistake. Crossing my arms and darkening my glare was enough to make him shrink back and duck his head. "Nero, you know you're in trouble now," I said.

"Yeah." He wore no remorse, only a scowl. "I'm always in trouble."

He was right. Too many of our conversations ended the same. Always like this.

There was no winning against my son, and there was no winning against me.

We made a hellish pair.

I'm not so sure about reheating pork in the microwave like that, Dante.

Thanks for reading!