A/N: This story is a sequel to 'Sand in a Sieve'. Please read that story first. The only warning is some language.

Disclaimer: The lack of royalties was the first clue I had that I didn't actually own Devil May Cry. Damn it. ;P

Small Victories

Small victories are better than none. - Neil Shusterman

It was Dante who had given her the idea.

He had casually mentioned how Vergil had once told him that it was for the best that they were half human, raised by a human in the human world.

"Otherwise," Vergil had sniped, "you undoubtedly would have been rejected as a nestling, ignored in favor of me, the obviously superior spawn."

She knew that deep down her son loved her; Vergil had told her how upset the little boy had been when she'd left for a week. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to keep those feelings in the forefront of the boy; his devilish nature was too strong. She snorted. Really it was the same thing with his father. The difference was she hadn't found a satisfactory solution for her marital problems. If she could still call their relationship a marriage. It was no secret to her that Vergil considered her less a mate or (heaven forbid) a wife than chattel.

She shook off those thoughts. At least she had something to try with the little boy. He would be getting up from his nap soon - he was nearly like clockwork about sleeping and waking - and she could enact her plan as soon as he did.

She rose from the couch, groaning with the discomfort caused by her very late term pregnancy, and made her way to the kitchen.

The boy would be hungry when he woke; Vergil had told her before that it had to do with his devilish nature, but every little kid she'd ever known had been the same way, and they had all been human. It had long been established that she would have a snack waiting to be served to her son when he made his way into the kitchen. She had always delighted in this ritual, a special time for just the two of them, until the boy had become demanding.

She no longer served up the snack as a shared meal for them in his eyes, but as part of her duty to him, because he was owed the service. Of course, the three-year-old had hardly put it that way to her; he had started demanding certain snacks, becoming petulant if she refused his orders, and not allowing her to share in the snack, only wanting her to eat after he was finished and then only what he himself had not wanted.

Her outright refusal to obey her son's demands had caused many scenes: tantrums, lashing out, refusals to have further snacks, and other negative reactions, including once, his appeal to Vergil. That had been a disaster.

Vergil could have used it as an opportunity to solidify their stand, show unity between Mama and Daddy, but no, he'd instead told his spawn that he must find his own solution.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean, anyway? To the boy, it had meant that Mama was wrong but nestling had to assert his own dominance, not rely on Daddy's.

Her grim musings were interrupted by the sure sound of her son's footsteps. Her heart ached at the thought of what she was going to do; it seemed so utterly heartless to ignore, even disdain her own precious son, but she had to try this plan, wretched though it seemed. If things did not improve between her and the boy, she would never be able to deal with the unwanted wretch in her belly.

"I want my snack, Mama," the little boy said as he climbed onto the kitchen chair.

She sipped at the tea she'd made herself and nibbled on the sandwich she'd built, never once looking at him.

He frowned, looking so very like his father that she found this both harder and easier to do.

"Mama!" he commanded sharply.

She wondered if he mimicked his father's tone consciously or instinctively.

"Where's my snack? I'm hungry!" his demanding growl was barely tinged with a panicked whine.

She looked at him coldly, seemingly unfeelingly.

"Weak nestling needs me to get it food?"

The little boy's eyes widened. She could see it right there: his human was frightened, panicked that Mama was being mean, and his devil was confused and angry about her disobedience. Which would answer her first?

"Get nestling's food!" he ordered, though panic had tightened his little voice. Panic and uncertainty.

She considered a response, then decided against one. If she argued, she'd be justifying her position; if she merely turned back to her own meal, she reinforced the impression that nestling was unworthy of her attention.

It took only a few sips of tea before the little boy burst into tears. Sad, upset, almost despairing tears. Her heart wrenched, but she merely took another bite of sandwich.

"Mama!" the little boy wailed. "Mama please!"

She suppressed a shudder; her son had echoed her own words from several months ago. About nine.

"Mama hates nestling!" he screamed unhappily.

Ah, congratulations, you seem to have broken his devil.

She shook away the sour thought.

Her son's face was buried in his arms on the table. She quietly rose and went over to him.

"Mama doesn't hate nestling," she said as she cuddled him into her arms.

He looked up, his light blue eyes still filled with tears, his pale face puckered in utter misery.

"But Mama wouldn't get me a snack," he said piteously.

She smiled. "Nestlings have to listen to their mamas. Nestlings who don't, aren't worth their parents' affection or attention."

She gave him a soft kiss on the temple.

"I know you don't exactly understand, sweetie, but that's okay. Listen to Mama from now on, okay?"

He nodded. She smiled and hugged him. It would probably take a couple of reminders here or there, but she felt like she'd won back her son.

"Come on," she instructed. "Let's get you cleaned up and then Mama will fix you a snack, okay?"

The little boy nodded happily, brushing away his tears. She frowned.

"Sweetie, do you know what changed my mind?" she asked.

He shook his head, his eyes wide with attentiveness.

"Because you showed me that you're not a weak, spoiled nestling. Do you know how you did that?"

He shook his head again, obviously eager to know the secret. She smiled and touched his nose with her finger as she answered.

"You cried tears for your mama. Tears are one of the most precious and powerful gifts of a human heart."

He frowned, obviously considering her words as much as he could.

"Don't worry if you don't understand, little one," she said lightly as she led him to the bathroom. "When you grow to be strong and powerful, like your uncle and father, you will."

She reached down and ruffled his hair, a human sign of affection, then gently pulled it, a devil one. He smiled up at her, growling playfully in response.

She smiled back, swallowing her sadness over the deplorable state of her family. She was fairly certain she had her precious son back, but it seemed a small victory in light of the troubles she and Vergil had in their relationship, especially with the imminent arrival of his wretched spawn on the horizon.