[To Vergil's credit, he tolerates the silence better than he might have months ago. Not to say that Vergil doesn't find it unnerving still, but he is at least able to exert enough patience that even as the seconds feel like they are stretching far too long, he does not begin to spiral into imagining the worst outcomes. Difficult as it is to soothe himself entirely, Vergil is able to at least bear in mind that expressing what he feels is not a bad thing. And if Nero does not yet feel the same, that's more than understandable. Vergil has been plain about his instantaneous devotion to Nero the moment he learned the truth, but Nero has also been clear about his own needs for a few things before he could sort through what he felt about Vergil and their relationship. Thus, even with things going well as they have been (and that's largely the reason why Vergil can soothe himself at all in Nero's prolonged silence), there are no guarantees.]
[Besides, Vergil didn't say it for his own benefit. And he certainly didn't say it because he expects to hear it back. It's an important thing for Vergil to remind himself of that as Nero stares blankly as he processes. He said it because he felt it was important for Nero to hear it. Regardless of the outcome.]
[...Oh, but how pleased and warm does Vergil feel to hear Nero say it back.]
[Vergil is so good, so well-trained in tamping down on his reactions. He taught himself how to cut them off at the pass, push them all so far away until it nearly felt like the emotions were happening to someone else. He isn't nearly so aggressive with them these days, but he still maintains a tight control over his emotions. He cannot now, however. He tries, of course. It feels immediately foolish to try, of course, as the attempt is futile in the end, but instincts and habits die especially hard when they were what keep one going for as long as they have for Vergil.]
[He turns his blurry gaze away from Nero, but despite his best efforts, his smile is not lessened in any capacity. Vergil is privately grateful his bedroom is at least dark enough that it would be difficult for Nero to tell how much his face is flushing over how difficult it is not to smile. It is absurd how much he's smiling. Utterly ridiculous. But he cannot help himself. Not when he knows it's something he's earned, something Nero came to feel with enough time and work between them. Vergil has probably never been prouder of himself, certainly not as a father. He definitely hasn't been as grateful to Nero. Not as himself, in any case. He takes a breath before he speaks again.]
Come, [he says pushing down the other side of the blankets for Nero to get settled.] You should get some sleep.
[Awwww, gee, look at him. He's so pleased. It's adorable.
But that's kept to himself, and a little warm smile of his own. Nero would never in a million years make a crack about Vergil smiling, or his honest reactions to what he knows must be an important thing for him to hear. That's why he said it, after all. Because some things are better said out loud than left to implication. Especially when they both know Vergil would consider it presumptuous to even guess such a thing.
When Vergil moves the blankets he finally sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, just enough to kick off his lounge pants and dress down to his boxers. Then he slides under the covers and settles in with his arms pillowed behind his head.]
I'll tell you a bedtime story, if you want. Comes with the package.
[As Nero settles himself in to sleep on the other side of the bed, Vergil lets his eyes fall shut as his smile continues on.]
If I want, he says. As if there's a choice and he won't begin pouting at me until sunrise if that's what it takes to make me change my mind.
[Never mind even if Nero somehow summoned the mightiest of pouts, it wouldn't likely deter Vergil from sleeping all that much. He managed eight years of sharing a bedroom with Dante. He could surely just roll over and manage a night of Nero attention-seeking out of a hope Vergil would eventually acquiesce.]
Go on. Tell your story. But you had best sleep afterward.
[He laughs, under his breath but genuinely amused at the accusation.]
Hey, it is a choice! That's why I asked. But now you're locked in.
[And he absolutely didn't have a story in mind. So he thinks a moment, tries to come up with something. And he ends up going down the path of "bedtime..."]
Once upon a time. There was a kid who lived in an orphanage. And he used to stay up late at night so he could sneak out and get into trouble... or find a good signal for his handheld to watch TV from the mainland.
[He smirks, pleased with the silly way he's phrased all this.]
One time, he wanted to watch a creepy monster movie he found. But he couldn't get a good signal no matter where he tried. So he waited until everyone was asleep, and snuck up into the old bell tower. It was dark and creepy and there were cobwebs everywhere... but he managed to get the signal, just enough to watch the movie.
And it scared the living shit out of him.
[Another laugh, recalling the memory.]
So by the time he ran back down the tower, footsteps creaking, noises everywhere, he was a total mess. But when the sister came to the dormitory door and saw him all covered in dust and cobwebs, snotty and crying his eyes out, all she did was take him by the hand and bring him to the kitchen for tea and toast.
And that was the last time the kid ever went up that belltower. Even if it did get the best signals in the whole orphanage.
[Vergil is a little more attentive than he otherwise would be to Nero's story once it becomes obvious that he's sharing a memory from his childhood. Truthfully, he anticipated Nero to make up some foolish nonsense. So, it's a pleasant surprise to have yet another piece of Nero's childhood to count among the rest that Nero's shared with him. It's easy to picture the boy from the photographs trying his best to be brave and failing miserably, too scared by his environment and the film he just watched to even be all that frustrated with himself for getting so scared in the first place.]
He really never went back?
[Vergil is at least willing to play along with how Nero's presented the memory.]
Nope. Never. Instead, he learned how to fix his antennae so it'd work better.
[It's a funny story, even though it brings with it a bittersweet realization. Nero had to run to the dormitory where the nuns slept when he needed comfort. Sister Maria was kind and consoled him more than most of the others would, with her late night treats and attention. She was as good to him as she could have been. But there was no mother or father whose room he could infiltrate, whose bed he could crawl into when he was scared.
He cherishes these moments. But sometimes he does mourn that they couldn't come earlier. That that mischievous, dust-covered, sobbing little boy couldn't know that someday he would have them. Nobody should have to be alone when they're afraid. Especially not late at night.
The thought comes and goes quickly, and with it comes the sudden, unexplained urge to reach over and set his hand on Vergil's arm again, grasping his elbow. (Through the blankets, if need be.) Maybe it's affection. Maybe it's checking to see if he's still there, if he's real, if this isn't just a dream he's having himself. But the hand remains there and eventually gives a little squeeze.]
[Vergil opens his eyes when he feels the hand on his arm, glancing in its direction when there's a light squeeze.]
It was just a bad dream. [It's a reflex more than anything. Perhaps a poor one at that, he realizes a second too late after the words have already left his mouth, but a reflex all the same. He doesn't mean to be dismissive, and certainly not after everything Nero has gone out of his way to do for him tonight. Vergil reaches for the hand on his elbow, hoping he's quick enough to get ahead of any potential hurt feelings. Privately, he wishes he was better at this than he has the tendency to be, but he knows he doesn't necessarily have the time to dwell on it.] But you said as much yourself that we are in everything together. And it was...better. Not having to sit with it alone. Even if all it was in the end was a bad dream.
[Nero doesn't seem bothered by the reflexive brushoff. If anything, he's used to it. He's pleased for Vergil reaching back for him though, and leaves his hand in place when it's apparent that he is.
He's even more pleased when Vergil makes, for him, a rather vulnerable admission.]
I'm glad. Even if it's just a bad dream, being alone with it sucks.
[With one side of his face smushed against the pillow, he offers a smile with the other side and tightens that squeeze on his elbow, one more time.]
[Beatrice would be proud of her son. Vergil's had the thought before. Nero gives him numerous reasons to think it and more importantly, believe it on a frequent basis. But he thinks and believes in it now so strongly as he looks at his child smiling at him. The heart Nero inherited from his mother shines through that smile, making it look more like a reflection of hers than Vergil's for the moment. And it's such a good thing, Vergil thinks. Whatever Beatrice's fate, at the very least, an important part of her lives on so strongly in Nero, the part that Vergil knows she'd want most for Nero to take from her.]
[He rubs the back of Nero's hand lightly before stilling his hand, leaving and encouraging that light point of contact between them as he closes his eyes once more.]
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[Besides, Vergil didn't say it for his own benefit. And he certainly didn't say it because he expects to hear it back. It's an important thing for Vergil to remind himself of that as Nero stares blankly as he processes. He said it because he felt it was important for Nero to hear it. Regardless of the outcome.]
[...Oh, but how pleased and warm does Vergil feel to hear Nero say it back.]
[Vergil is so good, so well-trained in tamping down on his reactions. He taught himself how to cut them off at the pass, push them all so far away until it nearly felt like the emotions were happening to someone else. He isn't nearly so aggressive with them these days, but he still maintains a tight control over his emotions. He cannot now, however. He tries, of course. It feels immediately foolish to try, of course, as the attempt is futile in the end, but instincts and habits die especially hard when they were what keep one going for as long as they have for Vergil.]
[He turns his blurry gaze away from Nero, but despite his best efforts, his smile is not lessened in any capacity. Vergil is privately grateful his bedroom is at least dark enough that it would be difficult for Nero to tell how much his face is flushing over how difficult it is not to smile. It is absurd how much he's smiling. Utterly ridiculous. But he cannot help himself. Not when he knows it's something he's earned, something Nero came to feel with enough time and work between them. Vergil has probably never been prouder of himself, certainly not as a father. He definitely hasn't been as grateful to Nero. Not as himself, in any case. He takes a breath before he speaks again.]
Come, [he says pushing down the other side of the blankets for Nero to get settled.] You should get some sleep.
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But that's kept to himself, and a little warm smile of his own. Nero would never in a million years make a crack about Vergil smiling, or his honest reactions to what he knows must be an important thing for him to hear. That's why he said it, after all. Because some things are better said out loud than left to implication. Especially when they both know Vergil would consider it presumptuous to even guess such a thing.
When Vergil moves the blankets he finally sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, just enough to kick off his lounge pants and dress down to his boxers. Then he slides under the covers and settles in with his arms pillowed behind his head.]
I'll tell you a bedtime story, if you want. Comes with the package.
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If I want, he says. As if there's a choice and he won't begin pouting at me until sunrise if that's what it takes to make me change my mind.
[Never mind even if Nero somehow summoned the mightiest of pouts, it wouldn't likely deter Vergil from sleeping all that much. He managed eight years of sharing a bedroom with Dante. He could surely just roll over and manage a night of Nero attention-seeking out of a hope Vergil would eventually acquiesce.]
Go on. Tell your story. But you had best sleep afterward.
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Hey, it is a choice! That's why I asked. But now you're locked in.
[And he absolutely didn't have a story in mind. So he thinks a moment, tries to come up with something. And he ends up going down the path of "bedtime..."]
Once upon a time. There was a kid who lived in an orphanage. And he used to stay up late at night so he could sneak out and get into trouble... or find a good signal for his handheld to watch TV from the mainland.
[He smirks, pleased with the silly way he's phrased all this.]
One time, he wanted to watch a creepy monster movie he found. But he couldn't get a good signal no matter where he tried. So he waited until everyone was asleep, and snuck up into the old bell tower. It was dark and creepy and there were cobwebs everywhere... but he managed to get the signal, just enough to watch the movie.
And it scared the living shit out of him.
[Another laugh, recalling the memory.]
So by the time he ran back down the tower, footsteps creaking, noises everywhere, he was a total mess. But when the sister came to the dormitory door and saw him all covered in dust and cobwebs, snotty and crying his eyes out, all she did was take him by the hand and bring him to the kitchen for tea and toast.
And that was the last time the kid ever went up that belltower. Even if it did get the best signals in the whole orphanage.
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He really never went back?
[Vergil is at least willing to play along with how Nero's presented the memory.]
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[It's a funny story, even though it brings with it a bittersweet realization. Nero had to run to the dormitory where the nuns slept when he needed comfort. Sister Maria was kind and consoled him more than most of the others would, with her late night treats and attention. She was as good to him as she could have been. But there was no mother or father whose room he could infiltrate, whose bed he could crawl into when he was scared.
He cherishes these moments. But sometimes he does mourn that they couldn't come earlier. That that mischievous, dust-covered, sobbing little boy couldn't know that someday he would have them. Nobody should have to be alone when they're afraid. Especially not late at night.
The thought comes and goes quickly, and with it comes the sudden, unexplained urge to reach over and set his hand on Vergil's arm again, grasping his elbow. (Through the blankets, if need be.) Maybe it's affection. Maybe it's checking to see if he's still there, if he's real, if this isn't just a dream he's having himself. But the hand remains there and eventually gives a little squeeze.]
I'm right here if you need me.
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It was just a bad dream. [It's a reflex more than anything. Perhaps a poor one at that, he realizes a second too late after the words have already left his mouth, but a reflex all the same. He doesn't mean to be dismissive, and certainly not after everything Nero has gone out of his way to do for him tonight. Vergil reaches for the hand on his elbow, hoping he's quick enough to get ahead of any potential hurt feelings. Privately, he wishes he was better at this than he has the tendency to be, but he knows he doesn't necessarily have the time to dwell on it.] But you said as much yourself that we are in everything together. And it was...better. Not having to sit with it alone. Even if all it was in the end was a bad dream.
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He's even more pleased when Vergil makes, for him, a rather vulnerable admission.]
I'm glad. Even if it's just a bad dream, being alone with it sucks.
[With one side of his face smushed against the pillow, he offers a smile with the other side and tightens that squeeze on his elbow, one more time.]
Sleep good, Dad.
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[He rubs the back of Nero's hand lightly before stilling his hand, leaving and encouraging that light point of contact between them as he closes his eyes once more.]
Goodnight, dear child.