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Chapter Text

Your muscles burned, and each of your breaths came in quick, ragged puffs that you could barely control. Every heave of air pressed your breast against the firm, sweat-slicked chest that held you down.

              “Vergil-“ his name forced past your lips in a ruined groan as you did your best to arch under him, to wiggle, to push – anything to get him off.

              Your mate leaned down close to you, and though his lips barely brushed the shell of your ear when he spoke, you could feel the burning heat of them before they even touched your skin. He’d always had that effect on you – you could feel the heat of him surrounding every inch of you, and it made you shiver down to your core every time.

              “Again.” He whispered.

              And then he was gone.

              “You know,” you groaned, dragging your weary body up to chase after him. “I don’t see why I can’t do this with Nero.”

              A scoff from behind you – once again, you could feel his presence before he’d fully materialized. He had a bottle of water in his hands, and he drank deeply from it at his own leisure. You would get your chance when you finally matched him blade-for-blade.

              “Because my son is a sub-par swordsman by comparison, and he and Dante will be gone at least three more days.” Vergil shook his head at you, but he couldn’t hide the affection in his eyes no matter how severely his lips turned down. Part of you wondered if he’d chosen to do this now – while his brother and son were out of town on a job – to save you from the humiliation of the other swordsmen seeing you struggle so badly. “And I’m sorry, but he dotes on you. I can’t have your training lapse because the boy is too soft on his mother.”

              One narrow-eyed glare, a twist of your fingers, and a now-familiar, gut-wrenching tug just behind your navel later, and the bottle of water in Vergil’s hands turned to a solid block of ice.

              The half-devil raised one snowy brow at you, but you could see amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

              “You’re getting better at that, my love.”

              “Being annoyed really makes the difference.”

              “I don’t know why you’re so cross with me,” Vergil stated as he dropped the frozen bottle and resumed his place across from you in the training ring behind the shop. You still remembered the day you had to move everything when Dante had brought his prodigal brother out of Hell with him for the final time. You’d been annoyed, then. Now... You had been here with him every day for the past two weeks, with one goal in mind. “I never said you had to beat me. I just want you to block me – just once.” He raised the sheathed Yamato once again for emphasis – not even willing to waste the effort of taking out the blade against such a useless opponent.

              Or not willing to risk harming his mate. Your mind supplied, more rationally.

              Sure, right.

              You chose the first option. Being pissed off usually helped you in a fight.

              “I don’t really need a sword anymore, anyway,” you argued, raising your ice-formed blade to the ready. “I have my magic now. And Epiphany.”

              “Yes,” Vergil remarked, eyes narrowed, but not cruel. He still spoke to you, gentle as he ever did in your quiet moments together. “And we know where that left you last time.”

              Last time…

              Bound. Pinned by icy needles. Tortured for days and nights you still couldn’t count. A demon carving its very essence into the flesh of your back with it’s jagged, icy claws-

              A shiver coursed through you despite the heat of the day, and your heavy workout.

              Epiphany had failed you then. You had failed, then.

              Vergil was trying to supply you with the tools he knew best to avoid that outcome once more.

              Ice crawled over your skin, then melted again just as quick as it had come – an infernal reminder from the demon that had bound itself to you from beyond the veil of the mortal realm. Normally, you had control over that kind of reaction, but lingering in the memories of the time you were held captive by the very beast whose powers you now harnessed to fight it’s own kind… Only then were you ever weak to it’s influence over you.

              “Come back to me, my love.” Vergil’s soft voice was once again at your ear, his hands cupped carefully around your shoulders. Any other time, you were sure he would have upbraided you for being so lost in yourself that you hadn’t noticed him moving, but you knew he still carried no small amount of guilt over the Incident last summer. When you were lost in those thoughts, he always knew.

              His touch always brought you back.

              “Sorry, sorry-“ you shook your head in a last attempt to dispel the memories, not wanting to lose any more daylight than you already had to that demon. “I just – you brought it up, and I wasn’t ready.”

              “I apologize,” Vergil cupped his hand to your cheek now, brushing back a strand of sweat-damp hair from your face as he did. He leaned down, his lips grazing yours in a soft kiss – the only affection you knew he would afford while you were both in the training ring. You would never get over the novelty of an apology from the eldest son of the Dark Knight Sparda. You weren’t sure what made your belly flutter more – the feeling of contrition radiating from him in waves, or the soft voice and tender touch you knew he reserved only for you. “I should have known it would be on your mind. It’s close, after all.”

              Close.

              The one-year anniversary of when a higher devil straight from the Inferno had captured you in a Redgrave gas station and tortured you in a frozen condo with the spare hope that even one of the Sparda twins would save you.

              You’d told it fat chance. Dante was incapacitated by his own stupid ambitions, and Vegril was desperately trying to reject the fresh mating bond he was unwittingly forging to you. You had been alone and scared, but in the end… Vergil had defied all odds and expectations of himself. He’d saved you, after all.

              You could hardly believe how far you had come since then, in only a year.

              Mated. Learning swordsmanship from the only person to ever beat Dante in a one-on-one match. A higher demon bound to your soul against your will but granting you magic the likes of which you had never imagined having. You held a sword made of that demon’s ice in your hands – unbreakable, so long as you kept up your concentration.

              You had been through so much in the past twelve months…

              You took a breath, steadying yourself with the scent of Vergil surrounding you.

              How did he manage to still smell like bergamot after so long in the training ring?

              When you finally felt stable, your world righting itself once more, you took a few paces away from him. Separated now, you could focus once more.

              “We need not continue, my love – if it’s too much-“

              Vergil would never give that kind of grace to anyone else he was training. You were special, as his mate, but you would not accept charity from the man you knew to be a cold-hearted bastard with a sword to his twin brother, his son. You would give him the best that you had. It may not be enough, but he would know. You weren’t going to let him think you were that kind of weak.

              Not anymore.

              One deep breath, and you launched.

              Even with your new magic, you weren’t nearly as fast as a half devil like Vergil, but you had become definitively more powerful in the past year than you ever were before the Ice. Faster than any normal human, stronger and sturdier than you could ever imagine. Not the kind of power that could rival Nero, of course, but you were witch in your own right. You could handle yourself. And you felt like lightning.

              You were even fast enough to surprise Vergil when you took off.

              But not nearly fast enough that you were able to actually land the blow you were aiming for.

              The past year had been full of exercise: balance, strength, agility, and various blunt weapons training before Vergil was confident enough in your abilities to put a real sword in your hands, so to speak. It was no discredit to your fighting standards – you knew he wanted to make sure that you would have as many resources as possible if the worst was to ever happen to you.

              Again.

              Thanks to his training you had never felt better in your life. Healthier, stronger. More confident in your own self. You’d fought against Lady, sparred with Nero, even went through some of the motions with Dante when he was in rare enough form to entertain you and your wooden bo-staff. Lucia had even granted you her time and grace, though you knew she was more comfortable fighting with her claws and magic than with that heinously evil looking bident she summoned from the aether.

              This final trial, your mate had saved for himself.

              At the last moment he was able to, Vergil raised the Yamato against you to halt your charge. Unsheathed and up close like this, you were sure you would have been stopped regardless of whether Vergil actually managed to catch the stroke of your blade or not. Yamato radiated an unceasing, all-consuming power that nearly took your breath and stopped your heart. It halted the ice of your blade seconds before it could sap the living warmth from your mate.

              The ice melted against the daunting power of the legendary weapon – but that falter was only a moment of hesitance until your mind caught up to the surprise of failure. Your will reasserted itself over the demon in you, immediately re-forming the melt into a sharper blade with a single thought.

              Vergil stared at you, his eyes wide – his pupils blown.

              This was fun for him.

              Erotic.

              “Very well done, my love. You’re improving.” He inclined his head to you in a nod to your growing abilities. With his voice so low and husky, the praise sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

              With you so distracted, Vergil wasted no time on recovery.

              The Yamato twisted with barely a movement from his wrist, and broke free from the ice with a single flick.

              Vergil took ready stance once more, and you knew you once and for all you would never have that kind of opportunity again. When the fight started once more, you would be on the defensive, raising your blade against each of his – admittedly pulled – blows.

              The Yamato sang with every sailing arc through the air, and when it landed against your blade, the strength of it once again took your breath. The resounding clash of ancient steel on enchanted ice rattled your ears as each blow your ice absorbed shook your arms to the bone. You managed to hold him off for just a little while, but you’d already lost hope of going back on the attack.

              Vergil was holding back, and you still couldn’t manage against him.

              Would you ever be any good in a fight again?

              Would any of this magic matter if you couldn’t even defend yourself against Vergil’s weakest attacks?

              Each strike made your arms feel heavier and heavier-

              Your head was spinning, your body wavering between too hot and too cold-

              The ice melted from your hands-

              The ringing song of the Yamato as it sliced through the air stopped just before it’s blade touched your skin-

              “Darling?”

              Vergil’s voice sounded so far away, muffled by a thousand layers of fuzzy cotton around your ears-

              (You felt like you were suffocating in it.)

              You knew you were never going to get back into the shop on time-

              (God, what were you supposed to tell him? Look away?)

              Vergil took one step forward, Yamato forgotten at his side-

              (No time to explain – this was a new level of embarrassing-)

              You turned away from his concern, into the garden bed you’d planted beside the training ring-

              (You were suddenly extremely glad that Dante and Nero were away.)

              And hurled.

Chapter Text

“Well, everything looks fine to me,” Kyrie pulled her hand back from your forehead as she looked down at the thermometer in your mouth after it beeped. “Your temperature is normal, and your heart rate and blood pressure are in acceptable range. Follow my light?”

              She held up a penlight for you to track with your eyes. You huffed at her, an annoyed sigh.

              “Kyrie, I promise – I’m fine,” you objected to her treatment, but you followed the light regardless. Even if you were irritated with the whole ordeal, you knew Kyrie meant well, and that she would not be allowed to leave until she completed an exam. Or – you wouldn’t be allowed to leave until she completed an exam. Either way, you were both trapped here, so you tried to be on your best behavior despite your objections. “As soon as it was over, I felt fine. I’m not even nauseated anymore.”

              Satisfied with your ocular and neurological health for the moment, Kyrie stashed her penlight back into her nursing bag. It was a stroke of luck that she and Nero were in town – Epiphany needed a new layer of ink, and Nero had been out working with Dante for the past week while she stayed at the shop with you. She smiled at you when she straightened back up, patting your hand politely.

              “It’s alright,” Kyrie couldn’t help the expression, you knew. She always found your antics and frustrations amusing, even if they weren’t as impotent as before the Incident and were frequently accompanied by uncontrollable hoarfrost. You suspect she was teasing you, anyway. “I’m pretty sure anyone that spars with Vergil would get nervous enough to barf at some point.” She was definitely teasing you, yeah. She watched you kill a demon last year, after all. “Even Nero still has a hard time.”

              From behind her, where you had been pointedly ignoring his constant pacing since he had deposited you in your bed after insisting on carrying you upstairs, Vergil scoffed.

              “He merely wastes his time with theatrics. He would not have to be nervous if he was a more efficient swordsman.”

              You glance up at Kyrie conspiratorially, rolling your eyes at your mate. The giggle she tried to suppress behind her hand was audible, regardless.

              Vergil halted his pacing when he heard it, but ignored it’s meaning. “Is she well, Kyrie?” he asked, gesturing towards you on the bed.

              “She’ll be just fine, Vergil,” Kyrie soothed him with the same placating tone that you heard her use on Nero a thousand times before. Vergil was none the wiser. “Would you go get her a glass of water? There’s just a few more things I want to run through before we’re through, and then she’ll be free.”

              You looked up at her, confused – your water tumbler sat on the night stand behind you.

              Kyrie did not look back.

              Vergil nodded, not paying attention, just glad to make sure you were well.

              “Of course.”

              In a familiar flash of blue, he was gone.

              “What else do you need to run?” you asked Kyrie, blinking glittering flashes of hellish blue magic from your eyes.

              “Just one,” she replied, holding up a single, wrapped packet, about the size of a tampon. She nodded over to the door between your room and the next. “Over there.”

              The bathroom?

              Understanding dawned – that flat package had new meaning.

              “Oh – no, Kyrie,” you shook your head with a little laugh. “I doubt it’s that, we’ve been-“

              Kyrie raised a brow.

              Careful.

              You’ve been careful.

              … Haven’t you?

---

              The touch of Vergil’s hands soothes you, sword-firm callouses scraping over the smooth skin at your sides. You will never forget the touch of him now. The way he feels, all over you, is stitched into your memory. The way he touches you is as familiar to you now as the beat of your heart in your chest.

              Vergil was usually a quiet lover – soft groans and quiet oaths of your name. You wouldn’t call him gentle, but he never deliberately hurt or degraded you. As firm and unforgiving as he was above you, your bodies always met with soft desire.

              This – this was something new.

              Your skin was a kaleidoscope of healing scars and bite marks – reminders of Vergil’s claim to you overlapping all others bruised into your body. He growled deep with every thrust, pulling your hips against himself each time he buried himself into you. Every muscle in his body was taut, every shift of them visible under pale skin as he moved in you.

              “Vergil-!” You cried his name, arching against him when a new angle struck you deep and left you shaking. “Please!”

              “Mine-“ he growled back.

              Beneath it all, you were surprised to feel the familiar thrum of his power around you. With a shock you realized that the claim was more than symbolic possession-

              He pulled out of you at the last second, well-practiced by now, using the smooth plain of your mound to grind himself to completion. The heat of it seared across your belly, Vergil’s snarl of your name chasing away the shivering emptiness that followed his release. In the same breath he slid one hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging it back to arch your throat and steal your breath with a kiss, binding you. e pulled out of you at the last second ,,

              You knew that he would finish you like this – this kiss first, then a thousand more down your ruined body until those lips found your core. It had been like this countless times already, and no matter how empty you felt now or how familiar the sensation had become, he never failed to make you scream on his tongue.

              “Please,” you repeated in a breath against his lips. “Vergil, please-“

              A low, rumbling growl tore its way through his chest.

              Vergil fucked back into your heat, pace never faltering from where he had left off.

---

“Still,” Kyrie said, not unkindly given the blank expression she saw on your face. “Best we rule everything else out first, before we go to the Family, yes?”

              The Family. You shouldered at the thought of it.

              She didn’t mean just the people downstairs, the family you had cobbled together over the years. The Family, in proper noun terms, were just that – members of Lucia’s congregation of local sorcerers bound under her uncle and the Donato name. Many of them were professionals across the city, and there were more than a handful attending at Capulet General. The very same hospital responsible for healing much of the wounded mess of your back after the torture you’d endured a year ago. If there was something wrong with you again, you were certain that your pseudo-sister-in-law would know the results before you did. And this particular test was a results you’d like to keep to yourself, no matter how it turned out.

              Which wouldn’t be bad necessarily. Lucia could keep a secret, and she would never intentionally pry it from you or your care team, but… a new witch as you were, you would like to keep as much of the Donato attention away from you as possible.

              After another moment of silence spent debating the pros and cons of the magical mafia knowing if you were pregnant or not – or being reminded of your presence at all – Kyrie all but shook the offending packet at you.

              “You’re stalling.”

              Shit, she’d caught you.

              With one big sigh, you heaved yourself up off the bed and snatched the test from her hand.

              “And you’re wasting your time.”

              “Of course.” That same acquiescent agreement and secretly amused tone had never bothered you before, but now that she had turned its full force from your mate onto you, it was more than a little annoying.

              You opted to ignore it though, and not think too hard about what that sudden flare of fresh irritation might mean.

              It had been… weeks? Months? Time had largely lost all meaning since Vergil saved you a year ago. Magic had done something new and strange to your perception of reality and the linear passage of time.

              How long had it been since that night?

              How long had it been since your last period?

              And surely… surely one errant moment wouldn’t have done what so many people spent years trying to accomplish. Was it different for demons? For their witches?

              More importantly – what had possessed Vergil that night?

              You were beginning to believe that maybe there was more to the demon birds and bees he’d given you the year before, just after you were released from the hospital. Part of you suspected that it had hardly been a crash course.

              You worked as you contemplated the situation, making your way to the bathroom to take Kyrie’s final test.

              At some point while you waited, the stick set as far from you as possible on the edge of the sink, you heard Vergil return to your shared room with the water that you didn’t need. A muffled conversation took place, Kyrie letting him know you were in the restroom. You were sure his heightened senses would be able to pick up your heart rate had taken off the second you heard him come back. The fresh anxiety was nearly overwhelming.

              Blessedly, he did not come to the door.

              Three minutes had passed.

              You swallowed, your nerves beyond frayed.

              Your body hardly felt like your own.

              As you approached the sink, the mirror above it frosted over with a thin rime at your quickened breath.

              Your hands shook as you picked up the test, eyes closed so you couldn’t see the results immediately.

              “It’s just one line,” you told yourself, voice a harsh whisper attempting to rationalize away the fear that you were struggling to shake. “It’ll be just one line, and you threw up because it’s scary to sword fight a son of Sparda.” And honestly – you weren’t sure that was very hard to believe at this point. It wasn’t too far from true. Not that you would ever admit that, anyway.

              “Just open your eyes,” you breathed, the frosty air chilling your lips. “Just one line. You’ll only see just one line-“

              You took deep breath, and forced yourself to follow through.

              “Just one-“

              Two.

              There were two.

Chapter Text

Your world narrowed down to just two lines as an explosion of ice surrounded you – freezing you into a cocoon of spikes and safety from the consequence (and cause) of your actions. Distantly, you were aware of the muffled sound of a door being broken in, muted calls of your name barely reaching you through thick hoarfrost. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about any of it, not even when your new magical senses registered the bell-like pealing of ancient steel striking the walls of your frozen shell.

              Lines.

              Not line.

              Lines.

              Two.

              Pink and innocuous, staring back at you like the slits of a serpent’s mocking eyes.

              Two lines.

              Twins.

              Twins?

              No – gods, no, you hoped not.

              Nero didn’t have a-

              Were you sure? Was anyone sure?

              Dante and Vergil were a special case, they had to be.

              Lines.

              Of course they were special – why not? The power of Sparda divided evenly between two sons, amulets bearing their destiny borne around their neck, swords of opposing but equivalent power – keys in their own right to Sparda’s namesake. Hell, Vergil had gotten you pregnant in one shot, without even technically coming in you. That had to count for something.

              Right?

              But of course he would knock you up just by making a mess.

              Typical of a Sparda twin.

              Twins.

              “No!”

              The ice shattered, and the whistling of blade stopped a mere second before meeting your skin.

              Cold, blazing blue eyes stared down at you, desperate and wide with panic you never expected to see in them ever again after last year. The fire behind his irises did not die this time, the strongest demon in Hell kept at bay only by your proximity.

              “What. Happened.”

              It was not a request.

              You looked up at Vergil then, unable to form the words to speak the truth of it. Instead, you gestured to the sink’s edge where the test had fallen when your spell finally broke. Your hands were shaking, the tips of your fingers colorless and cold from the uninhibited use of your own magic. It had happened before – they would return to normal. Eventually.

              Would you?

              Vergil was silent for a moment, staring at you with one long gaze to determine your health before he finally ripped those fiery eyes from you to look to the test. There were instructions beside it, on how to interpret the results. You had seen him read whole books in minutes, ancient tomes translated from dead and demonic languages in an hour, flat. It still felt like he stared at that strip for an eternity, the words on its accompanying pamphlet passing over his eyes but not through his brain while the two of you stood there in stunned silence.

              The Yamato fell uselessly from his hand, the clatter ringing in your ears as it met the tile floor.

              Kyrie broke the following silence, making her presence known with a short cough from where she stood in the ruined bathroom doorway.

              “I know Nero is healthy, and barring the… infection with his arm when we were younger, he was strong and never sick,” she spoke softly, and you watched Vergil’s expression change strangely as she gave him information about the son that he never wanted. Secrets of Nero’s youth that he wouldn’t otherwise have known, or ever asked for. “Given the lack of information we have in regards to who his mother may have been, or what her hereditary health was like, we’ve mostly assumed – since finding out what he was – that Sparda’s blood has been the deciding factor in his overall wellbeing.”

              Vergil was a statue, shoulders hunched over you where he stood, still staring at that test.

              “That being said,” Kyrie continued after a moment of hesitation, braving that dark look in your mate’s eyes. “We don’t know whether it was her that left him at our doorstep, or some other relative or companion. Dante and Vergil were born safely, but Eva was a very powerful witch with a credible legacy of her own by that time. I believe it would be in everyone’s best interest – yours, and the baby’s of course – if we used the resources that we have at Cap General to make sure that the development is0”

              “Kyrie.” To date, you had never heard Vergil speak so harshly to his son’s girlfriend. His regard for her had always been surprisingly high, no matter how he felt about his son. Kyrie was a scholar, a cleric, a witch of her own, and a nurse – Vergil at least respected her for the capabilities of her mind, despite her general frailty. He had always been generous in his patience with her, if not outright affection. This new, sharp tone – more of a snarl than a warning – was just as shocking to hear directed at her as the lines had been for you.

              “If you please,” he continued, voice hard, after her mouth snapped shut and she allowed a moment of silence. “I would like to take a moment with my mate. Alone.”

              That was all he needed to say.

              In the early days of his adjustment to life in the human realm, Vergil’s mercurial moods were simply a part of life. When routine set in and his mating to you become more comfortable, those quick changes in mood became more gradual, and his temper less volatile. He’d been stable and dependable for so long now that you had almost forgotten the downright bastard that Dante had pulled out of Hell and shoved onto your shared doorstep. You had forgotten that this was the same man that split his own soul with the sword his father gave him in order to shed his humanity and gain the power of Hell through the bloodied fruit of the Qliphoth tree.

              Vergil was, and always would be, a threat.

              You found Kyrie’s gaze from beneath the overbearing awning of your mate’s shoulders. Whatever she saw in your expression must have been enough to reassure you that he was currently no threat to your safety, or you baby’s. She gave a short nod, and gathered herself together as best as she could after that brief dressing-down.

              “Of course,” she said with that soft, polite smile of hers. “Apologies, Vergil. I’ll be downstairs if either of you need me.”

              You watched as her careful mask of polite neutrality fell into place, before she made her way back out to the shop through your room, her nursing bag clutched white-knuckle tight in hand. You were grateful – Lady was the one manning the desk now in Dante’s absence, and was perhaps the only devil hunter in the shop’s employ who would not have naturally heard the commotion upstairs. You knew Kyrie would happily tell her that your vomiting incident had been from nerves, and while you were not overly glad about that hit to your pride, it was better than the alternative.

              The truth.

              The truth, which brought you back to the statue of your lover hunched like a feral animal over your shoulder. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror at least told you his eyes no longer held the same fiery glow of his power, and his teeth were only as yours. His skin remained the creamy, pale white of his human form, and he bore no imminent signs of the Change.

              “You’re going to have to apologize to her before Dante and Nero come home,” you tell him softly, breaking the increasingly tense silence as gently as you can manage with a reminder for human decency.

              “I know,” Vergil nodded, his throat working to swallow hard around the words, like he couldn’t quite figure out how to force them past his throat. His tongue darted out, nervously wetting pale, dry lips. “I was just-“ he gestured all around him, at the shattered ice and imposing two lines, then after the ghost of Kyrie’s presence. “It was too much.”

              Vergil hated when his failures were laid out before him so plainly. You knew, more than anyone, that over the past year his treatment of Nero had become his greatest sin. He did not regret the choices of his early years – he had done too much, learned too much, and gained to much power to feel remorse over what led him to now – but the rift it has driven in him… You can see sometimes that it’s almost too much to bear. Nero was an unfortunate consequence of a stepping stone to his father’s true legacy, and he made himself accept that a long time ago, knowledge that he just never would have told anyone he knew if it wasn’t pushed out into the open by his brother.

              Forced proximity to his son had changed much of that indifference into something adjacent to remorse. Nero was a part of Sparda’s legacy, and for that alone Vergil owed him something, at the very least, even if you knew he still couldn’t tell what exactly that something was. It was because of Vergil’s absence that Nero cared so little for the power of his own blood, and it was hard for your mate to hide how that irritated him. He hadn’t been there to foster in Nero the same pride he held in Sparda’s heritage and power, and so some freakish cult had driven him to nearly rejecting his birthright.

              You wondered how much of that indifference would be transferred to on to your-

              Two lines.

              Right.

              Neither of you had even mentioned it, yet.

              All things considered, it was still hard for you to even think about forming real words. Your mouth felt welded shut with ice.

              You tried to take a deep breath through your nose, but it was still as frosty as it had been before, burning your throat and chest and throwing you into a fit of shuddering coughs. Your hands were still shaking but when you tried to wrap them around your center to warm yourself, the motion only reminded you of the imminent truth and central problem:

              You were pregnant.

              Baby pregnant.

              Pregnant with a baby.

              Pregnant with the baby of a half-demon.

              A baby that was quarter demon.

              A quarter-demon baby, inside you.

              You were a witch, and you were pregnant with a fetus of demonic descent that just so happened to be the grandchild of the Dark Knight Sparda, fathered by his eldest son, who also already happened to have a twenty-something son of his own from his reckless, evil, teen parent years.

              You were okay.

              You would be okay.

              Sure, yeah.

              You were fine.

              “I’m going to throw up.”

              “A valid response.”

              You had almost forgotten that Vergil was even there, but he moved you fast enough that your idle observation became an immediate reality when he placed you in front of the toilet. It only took you a single breath before you lost that morning’s breakfast while he held your hair from your face.

              You almost bat him away from you, embarrassed at your own body and human misfortune. When was that last time that Vergil threw up? After Eva burped him when he was an infant? But despite the weak waving of your hand, he held up your hair and stayed beside you, staunchly refusing to move while you emptied your stomach.

              When you finally sat back, totally exhausted, you wiped your mouth off with a piece of toilet paper he supplied, then flushed the entire terrible reminder of your situation away from you. You pressed your forehead against the chilled edge of the toilet bowl, embarrassed with your own humanity. This – this was more than you had anticipated with Vergil. You had only been together for a year and even then, it had taken you months to even consider yourself his mate after the disaster he had caused with your emotions. You only fell in love with him well after you had started considering yourselves something of a couple.

              Were you ready to add a child to this complicated mess? To this family?

              “This is my fault-“

              You couldn’t stop the sharp laugh that came out of you when he spoke.

              “I should have realized that something was wrong when I-“

              “Please don’t tell me that you have some kind of hyper-fecund mating period you didn’t tell me about.”

              His silence was telling enough.

              “The nesting I warned you about.” Vergil was almost annoyed with you for forgetting a conversation from a year ago that you had while you were under the influence of heavy painkillers and Fear. You could tell it by the tone of his voice that he was trying not to snap at you, but he just barely managed to restrain himself. “And the fact is that it has never happened to either Dante or I – even Lucia has not been victim to it, and she would have more regular cycles as a female. Not one of us thought our fathers’ biological imperative had passed onto us! It certainly hasn’t reached Nero.”

              “How would you even know?” you asked with a scoff, unable to stop the quick-fire accusation now that you were getting worked up. You didn’t want to fight with him on this – not now, especially – but it was like the spigot between your brain and your mouth couldn’t be turned down.

              Vergil fixed you with a glare, the iciness of which rivaled your own new powers. “Contrary to pervasive beliefs, I do speak with my son.”

              It was like some kind of demon had control of your mouth – some horrible goblin that took every thought your mind cooked up and tossed it right over the filter that normally took out all the offensive shit you tried not to say after first reactions.

              You couldn’t have stopped yourself even if you tried.

              “Oh that’s great news, maybe this one won’t try to kill you, then!”

              You felt, more than saw, him physically recoil from you. By the next heartbeat, when you looked up to apologize, aghast at your own behavior, Vergil was already on his feet and at the door.

              “I have deserved much over the years, in return for what I have wrought. I endured all of it, and done what I am capable of in my nature to remedy and amend,” he spoke calmly at least, but even that felt like a blow. Vergil kept his eyes locked on the ruined door jamb, his hand resting there almost as if to keep himself upright before he left. “We are long past what tore us apart last year, and I have dedicated much of my time and self to repairing the rift that I tore with my own wrongdoings.”

              You felt like you’d been slapped.

              He wasn’t wrong.

              “I will opt for clemency, this time, because I know this is particularly difficult for you. Please do not make me regret it.”

              You rest your head back against your arm, willing away the second wave of nausea now that Vergil was gone.

              What the hell had you said any of that for? You weren’t going to blame the pregnancy – hormones didn’t change you the second you found out you were carrying. Maybe – maybe you could at least blame finding out – the shock, the disbelief, everything that Kyrie had said to you building up into a shield and sword you lashed out with the second anyone got too close.

              The uncertainty.

              Was this something that you even wanted? Did Vergil want this? Would he? He’d already made a mistake with Nero – was this his way of attempting to rectify that, or was he going to regret this child as much as (he tried not to show anyone) he regrets the first? Was there an inhuman part of him acting out the piece of his demonic nature that he had so far been unaware of because it hadn’t applied to him until now? Dante and Lucia, while they were together, hadn’t been officially mated like you and Vergil had, right? Or had they gone through this already, avoided the worst of it, and failed to share the info with the class?

              Would birth control have even worked against the legacy of a demon knight?

              You had too many questions and now that you had hurt Vergil’s feelings, of all people, you had no way of getting answers while Dante was out of town. He would never admit it, but you knew from his tone, his posture, that you had hurt Vergil deeply – you were just glad that he hadn’t lashed out at you, even if it would have been totally justified from the way you were acting.

              You took a deep, steadying breath and rose to wash your mouth out, glaring at the two lines that still sat there, staring at you from the sink. Pink and happy, like they hadn’t just turned your entire life on it’s head and spun it totally out of whack.

              Vergil was right – it had to be the shock. The stress. You wouldn’t have acted that way otherwise.

              You threw away the offending test so you could spit your mouthwash into the sink without the mocking reminder of your current plight. When you were done, you went back to your room and curled up tight into your cold bed, empty save for your own misfortune.

              A nap would help, you had to believe that.

              And then you could talk.

Chapter Text

When you woke, you knew you weren’t alone.

              Your new powers came with preternaturally heightened senses – you could feel weather changes before they occurred, better than the radar; your vision had sharpened to perfection and you could see clearly even in the stubborn dark. You were near immune to the cold now, much to your chilly mate’s chagrin, and you could hear a pin drop across a busy highway. You could also tell when you were being followed. Felt when you were being watched.

              You knew these things would help when you were finally ready to go back to demon hunting – if you were ever ready to go back to demon hunting. Now, they just annoyed you, regularly interrupting your previously ordinary life. Mostly ordinary.

              Nothing could ever be normal in this line of work.

              But at least now you were better aware of your intruder.

              You woke from a deep sleep with a startled gasp, flinging your sheets aside in the same motion that the ice formed sharp claws around your fingers. You crouched there at the edge of your bed, heart thundering in your chest and ready to pounce on the unexpected trespasser. Instinct drove you, a threatening snarl ripping through your throat as you lurched forward-

              Right towards Nero staring at you from the chair he had pulled to your bedside, one white brow raised in an amused, but ultimately unimpressed expression of inquisition.

              “Old man said you’d tanked it during training.”

              Well, there went your last few remaining days of peace.

              “Now, I’ve nearly shit myself looking down the blade at him before, but puking and fainting is a new one. Maybe ask Dante about it, he’s got more experience.” Nero grinned at the grimace that turned your feral expression sour as you collapsed back to your bed, groaning. “What happened? Was he just too smelly or did you finally get tired of being bound to his shit attitude and ugly mug?”

              “Nero, sweetheart, you’re nearly identical to your father. In feature and in charm.”

              “Still stands,” he said, leaning back in the chair with an amicable grin. It took only a second before his face fell, more serious than you’d seen him in a while. “Jokes aside ma, really. What happened?”

              A shiver danced up your spine at the endearment. Ma. Nero had taken to calling you that over the past year – just a tease about your relationship to his father, even though you were pretty sure you weren’t any more than ten years older than him. It stemmed from a moment of quick wit on Vergil’s part in the Before, but the joke stuck after everything.

              Nero had no idea how real it was, now.

              You sighed, your face falling into your hands after the ice there melted back into your skin. You felt it when the string that had been holding you taut for so long finally snapped, your shoulder sagging hard, and your back bowing you over your knees. Crumpled into yourself like that, you shook your head, desperate for Nero to drop his question and not ask any others.

              Why did he care, anyway? It wasn’t like he was protecting his father-

              No, you realized quickly, a flare of unexpected annoyance pulsing through you the same way it had at Vergil. It was so vivid and sharp you could feel it in your chest, scraping your insides like claws.

              He was protecting you.

              Irrational frustration followed, a wave of frozen anger passing over and through you while Nero sat and watched, waiting for his answers.

              So concerned for the fragile human.

              So worried for the girl who had been through so much.

              You were tired of everyone trying to protect you, babying you for the past year and treating you like porcelain, expensive and breakable if you even looked at it wrong. They tiptoed around you like there was a bull at every corner, Vergil being the only exception that took you seriously, going so far as to train you to put your fate and confidence back into your own hands. You were tired of it, you were more than what had happened to you. You were-

              You stopped those thoughts abruptly, restraining yourself from making the same mistake with the son that you had already made with the father.

              You couldn’t afford to alienate everyone in the shop, especially when you knew one important thing above all else: you were sure those weren’t your thoughts.

              Later. You would discuss that later, with Kyrie and Vergil, maybe even Lucia.

              Maybe that demon had put more in your head than it’s magic, after all.

              Not counting the unshakeable fear of the dark, the night terrors, and the generalized paranoia that had afflicted you for the past year, of course.

              Unaware of it all, Nero watched you. You could see his eyebrows drawing together, lips turning down into a frown as he became more concerned when you continued to not answer.

              “I- apologize,” you forced yourself, sighing when the words were finally out and resting your head back into your palms. “I was – having some pretty uncharitable thoughts just now.” You shook your head once more just to be sure you were completely rid of them. “I’m fine, Nero,” you assured him as you continued. You even managed to sit back up in bed with a heave of effort, crossing your legs beneath you into forced normality. “I think I’ve just been working a little too hard at it lately. Exhaustion got the better of me – you know how much of a hard-ass he is sometimes. I can take care of myself, by the way,” you added with a moderate glare. “I don’t need you to come here and interrogate me to antagonize him.”

              Nero watched you a moment longer, clearly not convinced, but admittedly just as willing to drop the issue once you said you were fine. You were trusting Nero to take your words at face value, and you didn’t want any more anger or frustration to bleed into your words and tone, lest he pick up on something else you were trying to hide from him. It helped that he probably didn’t want to incur the wrath of his nesting father for disturbing and upsetting his  sleeping mate.

              Too bad you were just as temperamental, these days.

              “Long as you’re alright, you know?”

              “I know, Nero,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him now – how had you ever been so angry at such a ridiculous young man? “Anyway – why are you even back this early? Calendar says you don’t get back with Dante for another three days.”

              Nero shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “Dante and I cleaned up that mess last week. We’ve been helping a few business partners with repairs in the ground zero. Real fuckin mess over in Montague right now,” he shook his head, and you were suddenly no longer as jealous of the work as you had been when the job fell on Dante’s desk two weeks ago. “Mostly menial labor, now. When the old man called after you knocked out earlier and said you’d had a disagreement, Dante figured it was about the right time to pack up and go home.”

              A disagreement.

              Vergil had told them you’d had a disagreement?

              Vergil had willingly told his son and twin brother anything about himself, let alone his relationship to you and it’s current standing after a major life event had occurred for both of you? Not only that, but he’d boiled it down to a disagreement?

              There was certainly something rotten in Capulet, but you weren’t paid enough to figure out that particular malaphor. Or why it made you so uneasy.

              You took a deep breath to try and steady yourself to calm. Never once had you considered that Vergil would have called Nero or Dante with a personal matter like this. He had never been one to reach out in regards to his emotional wellbeing or – god forbid – his mental health. He’d never been inclined to discuss your relationship with any member of his family, before. You were glad he was growing as a person, leaning on them for support, but to chose this moment to do so? None of this was any of his business to share without your input or consent. Not when it was tied so closely to- to those lines.

              “I’m sorry, Nero,” you did your best to school your expression so you wouldn’t give him any more than a politely upset frown. “But whatever disagreement I may have had with your father, it’s his business and mine alone. He wasn’t wrong to confide in you, but if he didn’t tell you any more than that, you aren’t going to hear it from me.”

              It was the most charitable answer you could give while you were so close to the edge of your patience, but it was – more importantly – the total truth. You didn’t want to punish Vergil for reaching out to his brother and son when he needed to – not when it was like pulling teeth to get him to even think about leaning on Dante for support. You just weren’t going to put yourself in the line of fire of that problem-solving nosiness that was so prevalent amongst the descendants of Sparda.

              Everything had to be an issue to be fixed, with them. And while they were used to Vergil being the source of the problem, this time he didn’t have an army of demons he was bringing down on their heads. It was you and the Embryo, and you would not be solved like one of their constant puzzles. Your relationship with Vergil wasn’t a riddle for them to wrap their heads around. You understood that Dante and Nero would do anything for their family, no matter what, even if they didn’t really like the guy.

              But you desperately needed some boundaries.

              Before Nero could even work through all that to respond, you popped up from your bed and padded to the door on bare feet, gesturing him out as politely as you could manage.

              “Now – not that I don’t like waking up to uninvited guests in my bedroom staring at me while I sleep,” you couldn’t help the glare, there. Things had changed in the past year, and you weren’t sure when it had happened or when you had stopped noticing your total lack of privacy in the shop. “But I’m going to need some time to recover, kid.”

              Nero sat there, incredulous for a moment before he finally stood to leave. Concerned the whole time, he stepped out of your room onto the metal grate. You had never been so glad for those awfully squeaky stairs or how they muffled his voice as he walked back down to the shop below. You didn’t want to hear about how weirdly bitchy he thought you were being all of a sudden.

              “Jesus Christ,” you sighed, leaning back against the door once it was closed. You pressed the heels of your palms over your eyes, willing yourself to find answers and peace in the dancing colors behind your lids. “What the hell is wrong with me?” Vergil had been right to call them – you didn’t know what had gotten into you lately. This hadn’t even been the start of it, either.

              The human messiah has very little to do with this, pet.

              Your blood froze, your body seizing where it was.

              That rasping, clattering laughter that had chased you through a year of sleepless nights rattled through your brain in a haunting echo.

              For a moment, you weren’t in your bedroom, safe in the shop and secure with your demon-hunting family downstairs. You were suspended over a drop floor, your toes just a little too far to support the rest of your body as it hung from a spear of ice. Your back flayed open with every shhk, shhk, shhk of the demon’s icy claws slicing through your frozen flesh-      

              You came back as quickly as you had gone, not even sure if what had happened was real – half convinced you were still asleep in bed and being tormented in your sleep all over again. Never once had it followed through to your waking hours, never once had it whispered in your ear while your eyes were open.

              This couldn’t be happening-

              Don’t be so certain, pet, your demon hisses. I’ve been with you this whole time, after all. Did you think you could still use me and be rid of me completely?

              That laughter – that horrible, clattering laughter.

              You shut your eyes tight, trying to ignore the sound of it rattling in your brain like a thousand impossible chains holding you down to the coals of your old agony. The ghost of Christmas past, but it’s a million times worse than any old business partner.

              You weren’t sure how long you were standing there against the door, but it took at least until the next warbling gong of an old cursed grandfather clock downstairs before the laughter finally went away. Paralyzed – frozen – with fear, you couldn’t move yourself away from the door, shaking in the horror of it all. In all this time, it had never spoken to you, but now? Now, after this, the horror reveals itself?

              No.

              No?

              Absolutely the fuck not.

              Irritation chases away the fear in your chest, scattering it first, then stoking into a full-blown rage. You weren’t dealing with this! Not now, not tomorrow – not ever. You had a million other things to worry about – two lines – that were infinitely more pressing to you – those two fucking lines – than the implication that using your magic had somehow strengthened the demon that had branded you with it.

              Was that it’s plan the entire time?

              No!

              You jolted yourself into action. Moving too quick, too mechanically to be fully human, you find exactly what you need for the half-formed plan you were cobbling together as you moved. Your heavy denim jacket, the keys to your bike, a well-loved handgun that you always put in the same place in your nightstand despite the roided-out half-devil you slept beside. Your boots on, and your hands barely shaking. You slipped your hunting knife into the sewn-in sleeve sheath in your jacket as one last step of preparation before you finally turned back to the door.

              It didn’t take a witch with preternaturally enhanced senses to be able to hear the conversations going on in the shop below. Sound rises and amplifies in the metal steps going up to the bedrooms, and as long as no one is stomping on them, the whole shop can be heard if you’re quiet enough upstairs.

              You paused, hand on the doorknob, listening for whose questions you would surely have to field the moment the door hinges creaked.

              “Well, the best you can do right now is to deal with it. Your personality ain’t exactly stellar either, y’know.” Dante, emphasizing his statement with the slap of a cue against it’s target.

              “Right, thanks.” Vergil’s lackluster response, likely from his usual place in one of the red leather armchairs while his brother yaps at him.

              “No, that’s not right, here-“ Nero was speaking softly to someone – Kyrie, then, since you could hardly hear her response of thanks. You had no idea what they were doing, and you didn’t really care. It didn’t pertain to you at the moment.

              Lady was on the phone, and her calm but insistent demeanor told you it was work related, but not an emergency. A lot of the time the shop can determine if it’s demons or an ordinary case just from discussion. You hadn’t gotten a good old fashioned PI work in a long time, but you still always fielded the calls with the demon questions, just to make sure.

              That should have been you down there, taking those notes. You hadn’t been back to so much as the front desk since the Incident, let alone on the a case. It was a wonder to you why Dante even kept you on the books at this point. Why you still even lived here, despite your lack of actual work.

              Because of Vergil, probably.

              Which pissed you off even more.

              But importantly, you noted, one person was still missing from the shop: Lucia.

              Her absence is noted in Dante’s careless behavior to his brother, and an overall lack of boisterous energy in the shop. She’s back at home with the Donati, likely. She refused to return to the condo that had eventually turned into your prison last year. She’d fitted the space herself, inadvertently terraforming it for your kidnapper. You didn’t begrudge her the behavior of one evil, uninvited house guest, but you still appreciated the absolute horror you saw on her face when she returned to the shop after her first and final outing back to your personal ground zero. You don’t remember most of the actual torture – after Vergil brought you back, your mind has thankfully done it’s very best to block out the worst of it. But the way Lucia hugged you tight against herself when she came back from that made you realize just how bad it looked. If even after a few weeks it was still enough to put that look on her face… it must have been terrible.

              The two of you had gotten closer ever since. She’s helped you not only with your magic, but with the unique challenge of being one of two ignorant saps that fell in love with a son of Sparda. Her perspective on much of your recent life experiences had been totally invaluable, and you were able to help her make sense of some of her own ordeals throughout the last year.

              So you weren’t really ashamed to say you needed her help.

              You were ashamed to admit how long it took you to muster the courage to open your bedroom door.

              Which was totally valid, considering the heavy silence that dropped the moment you turned the knob.

              The only continued noise was Lady still on the phone, though her gently encouraging questions had become monotonous as she stared up at you once you stepped out onto the landing. You could see her dual-toned eyes tracking you, and that she had a notepad out in front of her still, despite the fact that her pen was no longer moving across the page.

              Dante was the one that met you at the bottom of the steps.

              “You feeling better after a nap, kid?”

              The all-too-familiar flare of annoyance swelled in your chest, and you were helpless to stop it. How dare he patronize you? You were tired of everyone treating you like a fragile child! And who was he calling kid? You were actively fucking his older brother, you-

              Took a deep breath to stop the thoughts, and managed to only look a little peeved that he’d halted you on your path to freedom. There were important things you had to take care of. You couldn’t be side tracked by your mate’s annoying twin brother. Who also happened to be your boss. Still.

              Maybe.

              Maybe not for long.

              “Get out of my way, Dante.” It wasn’t very polite, but it was much nicer than you wanted it to be. Forced out through gritted teeth, but not as biting as it could have been. “I have errands I need to run.” You pushed past him after that, barreling towards your goal of the front door.

              You almost made it, too.

              Almost free from the year-long oppressive atmosphere of the shop. You needed to get out of here. You needed to see Lucia, to breathe fresh air, to-

              Vergil was there before you could reach for the handle.

              Inhuman anger, red-hot and throbbing in your chest. Your breath stuck in your throat, your whole body heat up then slammed down to ice cold rage-

              Your mate only looked down at you with soft concern, an expression that he usually reserved for the rare few moments of true privacy you were able to steal together. Your resolve nearly shattered then and there, and you felt that instantaneous rage fizzle down to a soft buzz.

              You knew you had to get out of there, all the same. You couldn’t let this out on Vergil, not again. He didn’t deserve this form you.

              And you still didn’t understand why it was happening.

              “Do you need help?” Vergil spoke softly, careful to keep his voice low in a room full of witches and half-demons. Through your irritation, you knew that he meant well, and his consideration was touching. He was offering to run errands with you – he wanted to be with his pregnant mate. Not because he didn’t trust you not to fuck it up on your own, no matter how you felt. He just wanted to stay beside you, his instincts were probably screaming at him to protect, and that didn’t make you weak. It just made him… a demon.

              And maybe you hadn’t been fully forgiven for your earlier treatment of him, but it was clear that he was willing to put it aside and move on. To be with you.

              When had Vergil become the better person, here?

              You knew the answer immediately: when he saw those two lines.

              Unfortunately for him – for both of you, really – you had to do this alone. Of all your gathered family, Vergil especially could not be a part of your current mission.

              So you made an effort. Forced yourself calm, and managed to smile as softly at him as you could in an attempt to not look like a grimace.

              And you apologized.

              “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier,” you told him, keeping your voice just as soft. “That wasn’t very good of me, and totally uncalled for. You were right. There’s just… this is a lot.” You could tell him that much at least, keep yourself straight through an explanation and apology. “But there are some things that I need to handle alone right now. I’ll tell you about them later, if I can. Right now…” you sighed, and glanced at the door in longing. You had to get out of here. “It’s still… too much.” It was a lame explanation, but it’s all that you could offer him.

              Vergil regarded you with a look that told you he didn’t exactly buy it either, but he understood he didn’t have much of a choice. Regardless, you could tell by the softening of his expression that your apology had been accepted.

              “You’ll be safe?” he asked.

              “Of course,” you told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand – a rare display in front of the whole team like this. You could feel their eyes sharpen to the both of you, as uncomfortable an observation as it had been the moment the two of you became an Item together. “I always am.”

              Except for, y’know. The time you weren’t.

              You ignored that internal warning, because it was clearly written on Vergil’s face that he was thinking the same thing. Still, he stepped aside after that, clearing you way to the shop door. There was only so much he could do, and your reassurance was enough to even remotely comfort him.

              “Very well. Return home.”

              Your need for safety was implied.

              “Always.”

              Of that, you were sure.

              The storefront was clear of pedestrians and clients when you were finally able to step outside. Which was good, because you probably would have bit off someone’s head if they tried to talk to you now. You thought of Lady on the phone and knew that if you’d had to deal with a customer in your current condition, you probably would have lost Dante a good chunk of money.

              You went around to the side alley to retrieve your bike, and prayed traffic out of town would be clear. You were pregnant – you couldn’t afford road rage on a motorcycle.

              When you pulled out of the alley, you headed down to the main road out of Capulet, towards the outskirts that were too wealthy to be called a suburb.

              You needed to speak with Lucia about a witch.