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Today is “fancy dinner day” at the Devil May Cry. That’s the first thing that pisses off Nero, because it is midday, and even though he probably shouldn’t hang onto those small details, it’s just not fucking dinner. They just named it that to “make it sound more fancy”, which is nonsense, and the fact that Vergil grunts in agreement when he points this out is probably a good sign about his father? At least in this respect?
The second infuriating thing about the whole affair is that it’s a goddamn lie. What it actually means is that Dante puts away the mess that usually litters his office table, Lady brings a plastic tablecloth adorned with fake Victorian prints and –
“I brought extra cheese and topping for everyone to add on their pizza!” Nico declares proudly.
Dante, Lady and Trish cheer, and Nico glows like she just won some engineer award.
“That’s what you call fancy?!”
“You don’t eat homemade pizza everyday, Nero”, objects Dante.
“That’s not homemade! You’re only putting more stuff on it!”
Nico boos him, Trish and Lady follow suit, and Dante just shrugs pityingly.
Nero will not stand for this bullshit.
“Listen, next time, I’m fucking making you real homemade pizza and you’re going to understand what a fucking travesty this is”, he declares.
For the first time Nero can really remember, Nico looks at him with a semblance of actual respect.
At the next fancy dinner – which happens in the evening , thank you very much – the unabashed praise thrown his way is more than worth the hours he spent training in the kitchen. Vergil even nods coolly, like he would toward a good opponent, and take s another slice.
***
They’ve been traveling for a week across some demon-infested plains, and purging the vermin is taking entirely too long. The pay is good, at least, enough that the whole gang is reunited – Lady, who may be flirting with Nico, Trish, whose sultriness feels a lot weirder since Nero knows that she’s the physical double of his grandma, and finally Vergil and Dante, who are always either close to each other or standing on the opposite side of the van from each other because his father and his uncle are both the most formidable and simultaneously the most puerile men Nero has ever met.
Why he let the others take care of the shopping before they left, Nero will never know. He wanted to enjoy a bit more time with Kyrie, he didn’t realize, he was struck by a terrible bout of optimism – maybe all of the above, but long story short: this was a stupid idea.
The first day, they eat pizza, of course.
The second day, they eat leftover pizza.
The third, fourth, fifth and sixth day, they eat canned food.
When he’s alone with Nico, traveling on the roads, Nero never cooks, but they usually go eat out in the nearby town instead of relying exclusively on crappy third-rate beef jerky. The seventh day, he desperately rummages in the van, looking for anything healthy, and finds nothing but the cold, hard reality: the others only bought cans and biscuits.
“What’re you lookin’ for, Nero?” Nico ask curiously.
“Didn’t you buy any meat? Eggs? Fruits and vegetables?”
Of course Nero knows the answer to his question, and she doesn’t disappoint:
“Huh? Well, duh, I bought a ton of beef jerky, dude! And these raviolis have meat and spinach inside.”
“That’s not – did you – did you always eat like this before we met? How many nutritional deficiencies do you have?”
Trish looks up from her magazine, arching an elegant eyebrow.
“I don’t see the problem”
“Of course not! You’re a demon! But us humans –”
“I don’t see the problem either”, Lady says, “and I’m more human than you.”
Dante whistles in a “shot fired” way, and Nero raises his hands in powerless frustration.
“You’re all such dumbasses. You’re going to die at thirty from vitamin deficiency and that’s what you deserve!”
Dante grins – the asshole –, looking supremely amused.
“Now, now, Nero, that’s pretty morbid. Plus, most of us are more than thirty now.”
Lady glowers at him, crossing her arms, while Nico rushes to the rescue.
“And Lady doesn’t seems more than twenty, so your argument is invalid.”
“You’re all –”
Words escape Nero.
“You’re irredeemable. I’m buying my own fucking food next time we stop by a town.”
“I can pay for a share,” Vergil says calmly.
Nero stares at his father, whose cool gaze just rose from his book, and feels a brief minute of panic as he struggles to chose a reaction – hostility, agreement, reluctant appreciation, maybe even anger? He’s not used to having a father, much less a cold, murderous one that tore off his arm to boot. That’s pretty specific. There’s no wise, one-shoe-fits-all advice from his elders that can quite cover the problem.
Still, Nero wants a family. Vergil may be impassive and unapologetic, and Nero may bristle every time he’s confronted with his father’s cool temper, but all the same, he feels himself desperately grasping at any hint of closeness between them – any parallel, any hint of interest. It’s pathetic, but it’s all he has, for now.
So he sets his jaws and nods.
“I can use some help in the kitchen, too.”
“That seems fair,” Vergil agrees.
Everybody is staring at them. Something excited and giddy is pulsing in Nero’s chest, and he struggles to contains the ridiculous grin that wants to crack his somber expression. Instead, he turns and pretends to close the cupboard he just opened.
“Okay, next time.”
“If we – if you use Cavaliere,” Dante suggests, “you can reach the next town, shop for the week and make it back in a few hours.”
Nero looks at his uncle, who smiles at him – a friendly, carefree expression that seems perfectly innocent. Except that this is Dante and he’s offering something without the slightest hint of mocking quip. Vergil rises in response.
“I will drive.”
“Do you even know how to ride a bike, brother?”
Imperial disdain finds its way on Vergil’s cold face.
“If you can do it, I can.”
“Welp, Nero, don’t forget your helmet!”
And just like that, it’s decided. Nero didn’t even have the time to say Wait, what or Why am I the passenger; Vergil’s already out, Cavaliere in hand, and obviously Nero has no choice but to grab a bag and follow.
Irritatingly, Vergil does get the hang of Cavaliere in only a few seconds.
Later, after the most awkward shopping session in his whole life, they do fucking cook together. It goes by quickly with Vergil as kitchen help, because his father’s skill with Yamato apparently extends to knives – a few seconds is enough for the vegetables to meet a grisly fate.
“Cut the next ones a bit thicker, please.”
Vergil frowns, his perfection frustrated. Nero does a small demonstration to show how he wants them. A voice in his head is screaming about the strangeness of the whole situation, but said voice is late by a shopping spree, or even by a few months – when he beat up his father and his uncle to get them to be a family.
Dante’s not even watching. He’s already dragged Trish, Lady and Nico outside of the van to “avoid any disgusting healthy food smell” and they’re laughing and playing poker. Nero only just realizes that his uncle’s giving them time to bond and this is supremely embarrassing.
“Is that better?” Vergil asks quietly, showing off the newest batch of cut vegetables.
Nero nods and they work in silence while he mentally sorts through about a hundred of potential conversation topics. What do you talk about with your estranged demon father? He’s feeling a bit old for the birds and the bees talk.
The mental picture makes him cuts his finger, which he absolutely deserves. Vergil looks at him – not alarmed, not compassionate, only intrigued. His pale eyes go to Nero’s hand.
“You regenerate well.”
“Uh, thanks. You’ve – you’ve never cooked?”
Vergil shrugs.
“I always felt that restaurants existed for a reason.”
Which actually raises more question than it answers, like “how did you get the money for it,” but Nero’s not sure he wants to know. V invited him to a lot of take-out, and he wants to think that they didn’t involve previously robbing some poor dude in a dark alley.
In retrospect, they probably did.
“So... What kind of restaurants do you like?”
Vergil glances at him, the shadow of a smile gracing his lips.
“French. And you… Let me guess. Pizza?”
“Fuck no! Huh, Mexican. I can – I can cook some, next time.”
He does like pizza, but it’s just too… Dante and – and it’s not like he wants to impress his father, but…
Fuck, he does and he feels kinda pathetic about it, but there’s a hint of warmth at the corner of Vergil’s lips.
“I would like that.”
They’re talking. They’re talking normally, like… normal father and son stuff. Nero is so stressed that he desperately wants to run or hit something, but that can wait later. He'll have demons to beat up afterwards.
Later, when lunch is ready and far more appetizing than the disgusting gruel that the others have to share, Nero and Vergil share another bonding moment in protecting their vitamins from the hungry rabble.
***
God only knows how Nero got promoted to official cook of Devil May Cry. He certainly didn’t ask for it, because Nico is awfully demanding for someone previously content with forever jerky, and Trish always asks for “diversity” – which translates to “hard to find at the store.” At least they pay for the ingredients and he can often negotiate for help in the kitchen, but still...
He stares at Nico’s latest creation. It’s for him. It’s free.
It’s the most badass-looking leather apron he can imagine, brimming with demonic energy, and fire-infused letters spell “KISS THE COOK” on the front. Dante is choking with laughter in the back on the couch.
“You can’t imagine what it can do in combat,” Nico’s grin is so wide that the top of her head might fall off.
Nero is going to let them all fucking starve.