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For most of his life Dante believed that he would never find family again. Until recently, that was true. Sparda was long gone, Eva killed when Dante was only a child, and his brother lost to him three times over and this time for good. So, who would believe his luck would turn for the final time and land this feisty homeless teenager in his lap. His brother's son. His nephew.
Even as they both eat their food and talk a little, Dante needs much of the time to process this new information. When he manages to, he can’t seem to keep his excitement down.
After his delicious family size pizzas, Dante smiles to himself as he departs from the restaurant with Nero in tow. Said young man glares at Dante, seemingly confused about the look, but doesn’t say anything.
“See? What did I tell you?” Dante declares, throwing his hands up. “I know all the best pizza places in the whole country.”
He can’t help but be in a good mood. Not only did he get to eat good food, but he also got to eat it with family. Though Nero wasn’t too chatty, Dante at least got some small talk with him and was able to answer a few more of Nero’s questions about said family. He still didn’t cover the whole Vergil thing, but he got a good laugh at Nero’s reaction to hearing that Sparda was his grandpappy. Nero probably still thinks he was pulling his leg.
When he turns, Dante finds his nephew staring up at the dark sky, snowflakes lighting up in the streetlamp lights. He flinches when the flakes melt on his face and fails to notice his uncle’s soft look. It’s gone when he glances back and Nero mentally reviews Dante's comment from a bit ago to come up with a reply.
Nero scuffs his fingers past his nose. “Yeah, but it was a bit pricy.”
“Totally worth it!”
Dante groans as he slips into the car more to be funny than due to any human aches or pains. Nero takes the passenger seat and tucks his pizza box into the back, a complaint on his tongue uttered in Italian. With a twist of the key, the car whirrs and moans but doesn’t start. Needles bore into the side of Dante’s head from his nephew’s glare, inspiring an awkward chuckle as he tries again. Still no success.
With a roll of his eyes, Nero steps back out of the car. Dante can’t help the surge of panic. Maybe he’s just going to leave because Dante is clearly hopeless. Sure, that’s a great extreme to jump too, but considering today was one of the greatest peaks of his life, he may or may not be waiting for the moment he finds himself falling back down the mountain and hitting his head on every single jagged rock along the way.
“What the hell are you waiting for?”
“Huh?” Dante replies intelligently, watching the snowflakes gather on Nero’s head.
“The...” he cuts his gaze away, mental gears turning as he mutters whatever word he seeks in Italian first. “Hood? Yeah, hood.” Nero gestures vaguely toward the lever to the left of Dante’s leg.
Pulling the lever makes the hood click up a notch. Nero closes the door and circles around to the front of the car. Sticking his fingers under the edge and shifting around snow that bites into his hands, he finds the latch and pushes it aside to open the hood the rest of the way. Dante slides around to the side and watches Nero’s eyes flick over the engine space.
“So... you familiar with engines?”
“No, I was just going to stare at it until it fixed itself! Of course, I know about engines.” Nero gripes as he leans over the engine, shifting so the light from the streetlamp illuminates it for as little good it does. “Shit light here though.”
“I think I have a flashlight tucked away.”
Dante circles the car and checks the glove box. No luck there. Next, he checks under the seats by starting under his. All his search reveals are few gun and motorcycle magazines as well as some strange bits and bobs he doesn’t remember acquiring. The final place he checks is under the passenger seat and he nearly melts in relief at finding the flashlight crowded in by old takeout boxes.
“Got it.” Dante clicks it on and accidentally blinds himself before turning it away. Then he comes around the side of the car and holds up the light to shine on the engine.
Scoffing, Nero snatches the light away and steers it around for himself to find the right angle. With the better light source, he double-checks his work so far before moving on. The oil is next on his mental list, the long dipstick draws slowly out of its tube. On it, Nero finds a thick, dark oil.
“Ever heard of an oil change old man?” Nero grumbles. He notices how his fingers have already gotten stiff and started shaking in the cold. He clenches them tight to hide it. After wiping the stick off on his jeans he sticks it back in and draws it back out to check the level again.
“I have,” Dante complains. “I just... don’t get it done that often.”
“Get it changed. If I’m right that’s the reason this stupid thing is acting up.”
“But it was just running earlier!” Dante complains.
“Not for that long. Old cars don’t warm up fast and we were in that restaurant for hours so you could stuff yourself on three whole pizzas while you asked me things.”
“Hey, I had to get charged back up after giving up half my power to wake up your sleepy little devil side.”
Nero mocks Dante under his breath, reaching his demonic fingers into the engine space to tighten or adjust a couple things within reach, including the connections for the battery which are corroded quite a bit. Nero abuses his access to incredibly tough, somewhat acid resistant claws to scratch through the worst of it and again just wipes any remaining residue on his jeans. His body has gone into full-on shivers now, but doesn’t let it stop him from his work. All he does is huddle deeper into his layers.
Shedding his coat, Dante drapes it over Nero’s shoulders and receives a growl for his kindness.
“Keep your damn coat. You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be fine. My demon side produces more than enough heat for me to survive winter time.”
In Italian, Nero grumbles, “ How nice of it. Mine wants me to get pneumonia. ”
Dante smirks at the kid's grumbling. He sure can be a sourpuss.
A beat later, Nero clearly thinks of something, slowly turning his head to look at Dante with a thoughtful—or maybe conniving expression. “Enough heat to... maybe warm up a car engine above freezing?”
Blinking at Nero, Dante looks between the kid and the engine for a bit before raising his hands up in front of himself, letting his devil’s natural heat pour into them, and lowering one to press down on the chilly metal. The moisture on the engine hisses as it rapidly evaporates.
“Hey! Careful." Nero moves to grab Dante but stops short, moving his arms to gesture instead. "Warm it up too fast and you’ll make the metal warp.”
“Yikes, okay!” Dante puts his other hand down on the engine, lowering the intensity of his devil’s heat a bit and trying to distribute it more evenly. “How do you know so much about cars anyway?”
Nero folds his arms close to himself, frowning. Dante continues to stare, however. Given the choice between the staring and just answering the damn question, Nero explains, “You know how I said I have a temper?”
“Yeah.”
“It got me in trouble. A lot. One of the punishments for disobeying orders is having to work the motor pool. You’re normally just there to guard the place and ‘wait’ for a call to come in that never would. I got to talking with the mechanics one time and they let me help whenever I had a shift there. They stopped using it as punishment when they figured out I actually liked it down there.” Nero shifts to the side to look at the engine and reaches out to test its temperature. “But, all that work on engines inspired me to build Red Queen.”
“Your sword? You built that?”
The kid smirks. “Yeah, I did. None of the Order swords could hold up against me so I convinced the swordsmith to let me learn how to make my own. I had to scrub his tables and floors for weeks but it was worth it.”
Dante smiles at the kid before looking back at the engine. “Thinks it’s warm enough?”
“I’ll check the gauges.” As he shuffles around the side of the car he adds, “And hope they work better than the rest of the car.”
Wincing a little at that, Dante must admit to himself that he maybe should take better care of his car. He could take better care of a lot of things really.
“Okay, temperature isn’t high but it is up a bit. Get your hands off, I’m gonna turn it over.”
Dante lifts his hands and listens to the car grind as Nero turns the key. He lets off after a bit and tries again and it grumbles and sputters to life before it’s chugging along miserably. Dante cheers and closes the hood before he wanders over to the window where Nero’s sticking his head out with a smirk.
“Well, now we know you’re effective as a heater if nothing else.”
“Punk,” Dante murmurs. “Scoot over.”
Nero slips back into the passenger seat and Dante reclaims the driver seat. After making sure they’re both settled and for once in his life insisting on seatbelts, Dante puts the car in gear. The snow creaks under the tires as Dante pulls out of the parking spot and he steers down the streets and out of town.
No more complaints are heard from the young quarter-devil as they drive through the snow toward home. Nero watches out the window the whole while. Open country passes them by, other towns and villages too. Even a few farms pop up here and there before they reach the outskirts of Jewel. Before long the gleaming upper city towers above them, blinding between the reflective surfaces and the snow. Crossing the bridge brings about an almost immediate change. Older buildings, dirtier streets, edgier people.
“Thought it’d be worse.” Nero murmurs.
“What?”
“The town. People outside of Jewel are scared of it, but it just looks like the cruddy area of Brayhill.”
“Yeah, well most of Jewel’s rep comes from the demon population.”
Nero stiffens like a drawn bowstring. “Demons?”
“Yeah. Jewel’s got a lot of ‘em. Some of them even do honest work. Sure, life is shit here, but hell is... well, hell. Jewel is calm in comparison. Plus, there’s so many people around here running around without ID’s or with fakes that they blend right in. Capulet is kinda like that too.”
The kid’s face twists with his brows furrowing. “You just let them live?”
Side-eyeing the young man, Dante considers his next words carefully. “They’re not hurting anyone.”
“But they’re demons.”
“So? One of my best friends is a full-blooded demon. You met her actually... She shot you.”
“ Si , because that’s inspiring.” Nero flops his arms out and thumps back into the seat. When he casts his eyes back out the window, he’s no longer looking but searching as if he could identify every demon just by a quick glance.
“Okay, not the best example, but not all demons are all, ‘ Rawr eat you alive!’” He takes his hands off the wheel to make clawing motions. “A lot of them come to the human world just to get away from all of the drama of the Underworld. Why do you think Sparda wanted out?”
“To save people?” Nero’s tone clearly makes certain to add on a ‘duh, stupid’.
A cheeky grin splits Dante’s face as a hearty chuckle shakes out of him. “Sure, kiddo.” Nero snarls at his new nickname. “Because people always have a single selfless reason to do the things they do.
“Yeah, Sparda was saving humanity from getting turned into cattle, but he also wanted to get away from Mundus and his warmongering. Also, he loved pastries. If Mundus took over, there’d be no more pastries. Gotta remember, he was still a demon. Demons don’t go from being selfish bastards to heroes in the span of a heartbeat.”
Nero shifts, clutching the back of the bench seat and his leg propped up on the seat cushion to confront Dante more fully. “But he was Sparda!”
“Yeah, and he loved humanity. Blah blah blah. I want to see you try to keep that pure image of Sparda in your brain when he dressed like he was still in the Victorian era, you’ve seen him unironically wear a monocle, and mismatch socks because he’s colorblind.”
Face scrunched up in confusion, Nero instantly thinks of the drawings of Sparda from Fortuna’s history books. He was usually depicted in his humanoid demonic form with the ornaments and robes of gold and purple like a proper king and his long curving horns as his crown. In his hands he always stood with an imposing stature as he held his sword point down in the ground and hands on the pommel. Now though, the image shifts to put him in those awful historical clothes with a head full of white hair, a monocle pinched into his eyes socket and mismatched socks on his otherwise bare feet.
He feels so stupid for letting that image creep into his mind. Not only would he be in trouble if he told someone else about something so absurd, it also just feels wrong.
Smiling, Dante offers a meager consolation. “Don’t worry about it too much, kid. It isn’t just your little culty island that has those kinds of uptight and proper ideas about my old man. The whole myth about him barely remembers that he was a demon, not a man. There’s a statue of him in a park in another town and he’s just a dude wearing a demonic helmet—riding a horse no less! He was more like a beetle dude and never rode a horse into battle. He claimed he rode the dreaded Sin Lava Boar when I asked him once, and—”
“Shut up!”
Raising his brow, Dante glances back at his nephew as the teen turns away, shoving himself against the door as if he could put any additional distance between himself and Dante. “I say something wrong?”
Nero doesn’t reply.
A frown crosses Dante’s face and he keeps an eye on Nero in his peripherals as he continues driving. After a while, Nero seems to come to some sort of decision, the tense line in his shoulders falling away a bit.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
Nero closes his eyes and takes a breath, looking like he’d really rather not explain. “For yelling at you.”
“Hey, I get yelled at plenty. I’m more worried about you. You seemed pretty upset.”
Nero purses his lips, raising a hand to tug at a prominent lock of hair. “I guess... I thought I got away from all that crap from Fortuna. I haven’t believed Sparda watches over and judges us since I was a kid. I guess, I just never got from there to, ‘Sparda was just a demon.’” Nero’s face contorts with annoyance. “I can’t believe I yelled at you for talking about your own father. Guess I'm not any better than the sorellas at the orphanage.”
How ridiculous. A demon, Sparda no less, casting judgement upon humans from above. Dante gives a quiet huff. “Considering where you came from, it doesn’t surprise me.”
Flexing his claws and rolling his eyes Nero remarks, “Thanks. I feel much better knowing that being a culty asshole is expected of me.”
“What does surprise me is that you believe me about being related to him.”
He casts his eyes out the window again. “I... I guess it just makes sense. For some reason.”
Dante can’t resist smiling a little bit at that. Proof that if nothing else, Nero’s demon recognizes him for what he is now, even if it hasn’t made the connection to itself. Though, he won't deny that he worries some. What other ideas did Fortunans impress upon a young Nero as they sought to indoctrinate him?