[Vergil's frown deepens once it registers what Nero is doing to his hair. He ducks away from Nero's hand, swatting at it until Nero takes it back and Vergil can sit back upright without further ruffling. Loosened strands likely draw out more of the family resemblance between Vergil and Dante, but Vergil does not allow them to be for very long. He makes a small, annoyed noise before pushing his hair back into place, but does not give Nero an answer right away. His hands fall back down to his lap, and still he says nothing.]
[Nero presents it as a binary choice, and Vergil supposes it is. Either he allows Nero to help or he denies him. (Although, who is to say that the stubborn child will not still force the issue even if Vergil says he does not want any help?]) Vergil does not truthfully know what he wants. Glaring at them as though the answer might present itself if he glares long and hard enough, his hands curl into light fists in his lap. Everything within him loathes the idea of allowing himself any sort of dependency upon anyone else. It bristles and goes on the offense immediately, ready to do whatever it might take for him to hide away until this illness passes. But a part of him... A part of him knows the promises he's made to Nero about not handling things alone. It also knows how that night wasn't nearly as long or terrible as it could have been when Nero stayed with him after her a nightmare.]
I've looked after myself for nearly forty years. There was no one else. [Part of him wants to be uncharitable and say no one ever wanted to be there, but he knows that's not true. Vergil never gave anyone the opportunity to try. He never asked them to stay, and he always ran. And then he was so far removed from even himself that... But regardless still of the reasons why no one was ever there to look after him, Vergil was still alone.] Even if there had been, they could not have done anything.
[They would have died. And then Vergil would have as well. Simple as that.]
I'm fine on my own. [He tightens his fists in his lap, pursing his lips.] But if you wish to make yourself useful, I am not exactly in a position to stop you.
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[Nero presents it as a binary choice, and Vergil supposes it is. Either he allows Nero to help or he denies him. (Although, who is to say that the stubborn child will not still force the issue even if Vergil says he does not want any help?]) Vergil does not truthfully know what he wants. Glaring at them as though the answer might present itself if he glares long and hard enough, his hands curl into light fists in his lap. Everything within him loathes the idea of allowing himself any sort of dependency upon anyone else. It bristles and goes on the offense immediately, ready to do whatever it might take for him to hide away until this illness passes. But a part of him... A part of him knows the promises he's made to Nero about not handling things alone. It also knows how that night wasn't nearly as long or terrible as it could have been when Nero stayed with him after her a nightmare.]
I've looked after myself for nearly forty years. There was no one else. [Part of him wants to be uncharitable and say no one ever wanted to be there, but he knows that's not true. Vergil never gave anyone the opportunity to try. He never asked them to stay, and he always ran. And then he was so far removed from even himself that... But regardless still of the reasons why no one was ever there to look after him, Vergil was still alone.] Even if there had been, they could not have done anything.
[They would have died. And then Vergil would have as well. Simple as that.]
I'm fine on my own. [He tightens his fists in his lap, pursing his lips.] But if you wish to make yourself useful, I am not exactly in a position to stop you.