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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[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.